January 14th, 2015

andrew potter

Andreas Steinhöfel (born January 14, 1962)

Andreas Steinhöfel (born January 14, 1962 in Battenberg, Hesse) is a German author for children and young adult books, and a translator. (P: Blaues Sofa from Berlin, Deutschland: Andreas Steinhöfel at The Blue Sofa / Club Bertelsmann)

Andreas Steinhöfel grew up with two brothers in the Middle Hesse small town of Biedenkopf, and did there his A levels. At first he began to study Biology and English, but then decided to study media at the University of Marburg. After his graduation in 1991 he published his first book, Dirk und ich.

One of his most famous books is Paul Vier und die Schröders (1992), which is now one of the standard reading in German schools. The movie adaptation of the book won the 1995 Deutschen Kinderfilmpreis. The novel Die Mitte der Welt is especially popular among teenagers, and was also nominated for the 1999 Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreis, as well as the sequel Defender – Geschichten aus der Mitte der Welt. Die Mitte der Welt was translated into English (The Center of the World) by Alisa Jaffa. (P: Nicor, Gianni Vitiello)

Steinhöfel lives and works in Hesse. His long-time companion was Gianni Vitiello, until this latter death in 2009.

Gianni Vitiello (1973 in Koblenz - December 11, 2009 in Berlin) was a German DJ of the Berlin techno underground culture.

Vitiello grew up in Minden and in 1996 moved from the Cologne area to Berlin. Here he worked for alternative underground parties and played for collectives like Pyonen, Neurocomic and Bachstelzen. He became a much booked DJ and played in the Tresor, Sage Club, SO 36, Deli, Casino, Polar TV and Bar 25. In November 2000, the magazine TenDance elected him DJ of the month. He had larger performances at the Arena Berlin, the Nation of Gondwana, the Fusion Festival and during the Carnival of Cultures parade on the truck of Pyonen.

On 11 December 2009 he died as a result of circulatory failure after a show in a Kreuzberg club, Ritter Butzke.

Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andreas_Steinh%C3%B6fel

Further Readings:

The Center of the World by Andreas Steinhofel
Publisher: Laurel Leaf (December 10, 2008)
Amazon Kindle: The Center of the World

Seventeen-year-old Phil has felt like an outsider as long as he can remember. All Phil has ever known about his father is that he was Number Three on his mother’s long list—third in a series of affairs that have set Phil’s family even further apart from the critical townspeople across the river. As for his own sexuality, Phil doesn’t care what the neighbors will think; he’s just waiting for the right guy to come along.

But Phil can’t remain a bystander forever. Not when he’s surrounded by his mother, Glass, who lives by her own rules and urges Phil to be equally strong; his sister, Dianne, who is abrupt and willful, with secrets to share; his uncle Gable, a restless mariner, defined by his scars; his best friend, Kat, who is generous but possessive. And finally, there is distant Nicholas, with whom Phil falls overwhelmingly in love—until he faces the ultimate betrayal and must finally find his worth . . . and place in the world.

More Spotlights at my website: http://www.elisarolle.com/, My Lists/Gay Novels


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andrew potter

Charles Bell & Willard Ching

Charles Bell (1935 – 1995) was an American Photorealist and Hyperrealist, known primarily for his large scale still lifes.

Bell died in Manhattan, New York of lymphoma on April 1, 1995, at age 60. He had AIDS at the time of his death. His partner of 22 years, interior decorator Willard Ching, had died of an AIDS-related illness three years earlier, in 1992.

According to a Guggeheim Foundation biography, Bell never received any formal training in his art. He claimed inspiration from Richard Diebenkorn and Wayne Thiebaud. He also worked in the San Francisco studio of Donald Timothy Flores, where painted mostly small-scale landscapes and still lifes. He was given the Society of Western Artists Award in 1968. After moving to New York, Bell created his paintings by photographing a subject in still life.

With a subject matter primarily of vintage toys, pinball machines, gumball machines, and dolls and action figures (the latter frequently arranged in classical poses), Bell sought to bring pictorial majesty and wonder to the mundane. Bell's work, created in his New York loft studio on West Broadway, is noted not only for the glass-like surface of his works, done largely in oil, but also for their significant scale.

Bell was born and raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where he graduated from Will Rogers High School in 1953. He earned a Bachelor of Business Administration degree from the University of Oklahoma in 1957, then served for two years in the U.S. Navy as a lieutenant. Bell lived in the San Francisco Bay Area after leaving the navy, and began his artistic activity in San Francisco. He moved to New York City in 1967 and set up his own studio. Bell worked as an accountant and served as comptroller of the International Nickel Corporation until 1980. Thereafter, he was a full-time artist. He had exhibited his works as early as 1969 at the gallery owned by Louis K. Meisel.


Charles Bell was an American Photorealist and Hyperrealist artist. Bell died of AIDS-related lymphoma in 1995. His partner of 22 years, interior designer Willard Ching, had died of AIDS three years earlier, in 1992. "[The pinball series is] the artist's greatest achievement -- visually, technically and technologically." --Henry Geldzaler. Bell's work, created in his NY loft studio on W. Broadway, is noted for the glass-like surface, done largely in oil, and for their significant scale.


©Charles Bell (1935-1995), Courtesy of Louis K. Meisel Gallery. Sugar Daddy, Gumball X, 1975 (©7)



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Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Bell_(painter) & www.nytimes.com/1992/01/16/us/willard-ching-50-a-national-leader-of-interior-designers.html

Days of Love: Celebrating LGBT History One Story at a Time by Elisa Rolle
Paperback: 760 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (July 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1500563323
ISBN-13: 978-1500563325
CreateSpace Store: https://www.createspace.com/4910282
Amazon (Paperback): http://www.amazon.com/dp/1500563323/?tag=elimyrevandra-20
Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MZG0VHY/?tag=elimyrevandra-20

Days of Love chronicles more than 700 LGBT couples throughout history, spanning 2000 years from Alexander the Great to the most recent winner of a Lambda Literary Award. Many of the contemporary couples share their stories on how they met and fell in love, as well as photos from when they married or of their families. Included are professional portraits by Robert Giard and Stathis Orphanos, paintings by John Singer Sargent and Giovanni Boldini, and photographs by Frances Benjamin Johnson, Arnold Genthe, and Carl Van Vechten among others. “It's wonderful. Laying it out chronologically is inspired, offering a solid GLBT history. I kept learning things. I love the decision to include couples broken by death. It makes clear how important love is, as well as showing what people have been through. The layout and photos look terrific.” Christopher Bram “I couldn’t resist clicking through every page. I never realized the scope of the book would cover centuries! I know that it will be hugely validating to young, newly-emerging LGBT kids and be reassured that they really can have a secure, respected place in the world as their futures unfold.” Howard Cruse “This international history-and-photo book, featuring 100s of detailed bios of some of the most forward-moving gay persons in history, is sure to be one of those bestsellers that gay folk will enjoy for years to come as reference and research that is filled with facts and fun.” Jack Fritscher


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Lady Eve Balfour, Beryl Hearnden & Kathleen Carnley

Lady Evelyn Barbara "Eve" Balfour (1899 - January 14, 1990) was an English farmer, educator, organic farming pioneer, and a founding figure in the organic movement. She was one of the first women to study agriculture at an English university, graduating from the University of Reading. Balfour, who lived on a farm with her companion Beryl ‘Beb’ Hearnden (1897-1978) from 1919 to about 1951, and then lived with agriculturalist Kathleen Carnley (1889-1976) until this latter's death, ‘discovered the freedom of breeches’ in the First World War; Elizabeth Lutyens remembered ‘She had an Egyptian face of great strength and charm, with cropped hair and masculine manners, in spite of a feminine heart.’ Hearnden's pursuit of paid journalism work in London coincided with her departure from the struggling farming cooperative. (P: Lady Evelyn Barbara "Eve" Balfour (1899-1990), English farmer, educator, organic farming pioneer, and a founding figure in the organic movement. Photograph by Elliott & Fry, 1943)

The daughter of the second Earl of Balfour, she began farming in 1920, in Haughley Green, Suffolk, England. In 1939, with her friend and neighbor Ryan Nelson, she launched the Haughley Experiment, the first long-term, side-by-side scientific comparison of organic and chemical-based farming.

In 1943, she published the organics classic, The Living Soil, a book combining her research with the initial findings at Haughley. She then started a series of lectures and talks based around farmers markets and cattle sales, often joined in Wales by Dinah Williams, who founded the first organic dairy farm that today is the feed farm for Rachel's Organic dairy produce.


A.C.W.W. Officers for 1953-56. Left to right—Front Row; Mrs. Dahlerup-Peterson (Denmark); Lady Coomaraswamy (Ceylon); Mrs. A. M. Berry, new president (Australia); Mrs. Hugh Summers (Canada); Mrs. Ian Macdonald (U.S.A.). Back Row; Miss Beryl Hearnden (England); Mrs. Kleyn-Menalda (Holland); Mrs. Elema-Bakker (Holland); Miss M. E. Payne (Austrailia); Mrs. Olufine Riseng (Norway); and Mrs. George Apperson (U.S.A.). The A.C.W.W. (Associated Country Women of the World) are women who live in rural and urban areas, representatives of many races, nationalities and creeds, believe that peace and progress can best be advanced by friendship and understanding through communication and working together to improve the quality of life for all people
Lady Evelyn Barbara "Eve" Balfour (1899 - January 14, 1990) was an English farmer, educator, organic farming pioneer, and a founding figure in the organic movement. She was one of the first women to study agriculture at an English university, graduating from the University of Reading. Balfour lived on a farm with her companion Beryl ‘Beb’ Hearnden (1897-1978) from 1919 to about 1951, and then lived with agri-culturalist Kathleen Carnley (1889-1976) until this latter's death.

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Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Eve_Balfour

Days of Love: Celebrating LGBT History One Story at a Time by Elisa Rolle
Paperback: 760 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (July 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1500563323
ISBN-13: 978-1500563325
CreateSpace Store: https://www.createspace.com/4910282
Amazon (Paperback): http://www.amazon.com/dp/1500563323/?tag=elimyrevandra-20
Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MZG0VHY/?tag=elimyrevandra-20

Days of Love chronicles more than 700 LGBT couples throughout history, spanning 2000 years from Alexander the Great to the most recent winner of a Lambda Literary Award. Many of the contemporary couples share their stories on how they met and fell in love, as well as photos from when they married or of their families. Included are professional portraits by Robert Giard and Stathis Orphanos, paintings by John Singer Sargent and Giovanni Boldini, and photographs by Frances Benjamin Johnson, Arnold Genthe, and Carl Van Vechten among others. “It's wonderful. Laying it out chronologically is inspired, offering a solid GLBT history. I kept learning things. I love the decision to include couples broken by death. It makes clear how important love is, as well as showing what people have been through. The layout and photos look terrific.” Christopher Bram “I couldn’t resist clicking through every page. I never realized the scope of the book would cover centuries! I know that it will be hugely validating to young, newly-emerging LGBT kids and be reassured that they really can have a secure, respected place in the world as their futures unfold.” Howard Cruse “This international history-and-photo book, featuring 100s of detailed bios of some of the most forward-moving gay persons in history, is sure to be one of those bestsellers that gay folk will enjoy for years to come as reference and research that is filled with facts and fun.” Jack Fritscher

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andrew potter

Gerald Arpino & Robert Joffrey

Gerald Arpino (January 14, 1923 – October 29, 2008) was an American dancer and choreographer. He was co-founder of the The Joffrey Ballet and succeeded Robert Joffrey as its artistic director in 1988. Born of an Afghani Muslim father and an Italian Catholic mother, Robert Joffrey cofounded the Joffrey Ballet with Gerald Arpino in 1956. The company grew from a small touring group to become one of the most prominent dance troupes in US. Gerald Arpino studied ballet with Mary Ann Wells, while stationed with the Coast Guard in Seattle, Washington. Arpino first met Robert Joffrey at Wells' school. After the death of Robert Joffrey in 1988, Arpino became the Artistic Director of the Joffrey Ballet.

Gerald Arpino studied modern dance with May O'Donnell in whose company he appeared in the 1950s.

He served as co-director of the Joffrey Ballet's school, the American Ballet Center, and was the leading dancer until an injury forced him to stop in 1963. By 1965 he had choreographed five works for the company, and became the Joffrey's co-director and resident choreographer. In the first twenty-five years of the company's existence, Arpino had created more than a third of all its commissioned ballets.

In 1995 Arpino moved the company to Chicago. In July 2007, he was named "Artistic Director Emeritus" as a search for a successor began. Arpino suffered from prostate cancer for seven months and eventually died on October 29, 2008.

Malcolm McDowell plays a character loosely based on Arpino in the Robert Altman film The Company, which had the participation of the Joffrey Ballet.


Joffrey Ballet founders Robert Joffrey & Gerald Arpino, early 1960s (©2)
Born of an Afghani Muslim father and an Italian Catholic mother, Robert Joffrey cofounded the Joffrey Ballet with Gerald Arpino in 1956. The company grew from a small touring group to become one of the most prominent dance troupes in US. Gerald Arpino studied ballet with Mary Ann Wells, while stationed with the Coast Guard in Seattle, Washington. Arpino first met Robert Joffrey at Wells' school. After the death of Robert Joffrey in 1988, Arpino became the Artistic Director of the Joffrey Ballet.

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Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerald_Arpino

Robert Joffrey (born as Anver Bey Abdullah Jaffa Khan, 24 December 1928 (or 1930), Seattle - 25 March 1988, New York University Hospital, age 59) was the co-founder of the Joffrey Ballet with Gerald Arpino in 1956. (Photo: courtesy Jerome Robbins Dance Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations.)

Born of an Afghani Muslim father and an Italian Catholic mother, Robert Joffrey cofounded the Joffrey Ballet with Gerald Arpino in 1956. The company grew from a small station-wagon touring group to become one of the most prominent dance troupes in the U.S. In addition to serving as artistic director and chief administrator of the company, Joffrey was also a teacher and frequent choreographer. He created seventeen works for the Joffrey, including Persephone (1950), Pas de Deésses (1954), Astarte (1967), Remembrances (1973) and Postcards (1980). He also made dozens of dances for other occasions, ranging from galas to fashion shows, and from musical theater to opera.

His early training was with Mary Ann Wells in Seattle and with Alexandra Fedorova, at the School of American Ballet and the High School of the Performing Arts in New York City. He also studied modern dance with May O'Donnell and Gertrude Shurr.

During his lifetime, Joffrey received many honors, notably the Dance Magazine Award (1963), Capezio Award (1974), and the Dance/USA National Honors (1988).

Joffrey's death, due to AIDS complications, was concealed—apparently at his behest—until the publication of Sasha Anawalt's book on the Joffrey company in 1996.


AIDS Quilt

Source: http://www.artistswithaids.org/artforms/dance/catalogue/joffrey.html

Days of Love: Celebrating LGBT History One Story at a Time by Elisa Rolle
Paperback: 760 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (July 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1500563323
ISBN-13: 978-1500563325
CreateSpace Store: https://www.createspace.com/4910282
Amazon (Paperback): http://www.amazon.com/dp/1500563323/?tag=elimyrevandra-20
Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MZG0VHY/?tag=elimyrevandra-20

Days of Love chronicles more than 700 LGBT couples throughout history, spanning 2000 years from Alexander the Great to the most recent winner of a Lambda Literary Award. Many of the contemporary couples share their stories on how they met and fell in love, as well as photos from when they married or of their families. Included are professional portraits by Robert Giard and Stathis Orphanos, paintings by John Singer Sargent and Giovanni Boldini, and photographs by Frances Benjamin Johnson, Arnold Genthe, and Carl Van Vechten among others. “It's wonderful. Laying it out chronologically is inspired, offering a solid GLBT history. I kept learning things. I love the decision to include couples broken by death. It makes clear how important love is, as well as showing what people have been through. The layout and photos look terrific.” Christopher Bram “I couldn’t resist clicking through every page. I never realized the scope of the book would cover centuries! I know that it will be hugely validating to young, newly-emerging LGBT kids and be reassured that they really can have a secure, respected place in the world as their futures unfold.” Howard Cruse “This international history-and-photo book, featuring 100s of detailed bios of some of the most forward-moving gay persons in history, is sure to be one of those bestsellers that gay folk will enjoy for years to come as reference and research that is filled with facts and fun.” Jack Fritscher


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andrew potter

Geraldine Jewsbury & Jane Welsh Carlyle

Jane Welsh Carlyle (14 January 1801 – 21 April 1866, née Jane Baillie Welsh in Haddington Scotland) was the wife of essayist Thomas Carlyle and has been cited as the reason for his fame and fortune. She was most notable as a letter-writer. (P: ©Mrs. Paulet /Carlyle’s House, London. Jane Welsh Carlyle, ca. 1856 (©4)).

In 1973, G.B. Tennyson described her as
One of the rare Victorian wives who are of literary interest in their own right...to be remembered as one of the great letter writers (in some respects her husband’s superior) of the nineteenth century is glory beyond the dreams of avarice.
Jane had been introduced to Carlyle by her tutor Edward Irving, with whom she came to have a mutual romantic (although not sexually intimate) attraction.

The couple married in 1826 and for the first six years lived on a farm in Scotland; the marriage was often unhappy. Thomas was always busy writing and Jane remained dutiful in doing the housework. Their voluminous correspondence has been published, and the letters show that the couple's affection for each other was marred by frequent quarrels. Samuel Butler once wrote: "It was very good of God to let Carlyle and Mrs Carlyle marry one another, and so make only two people miserable and not four". Carlyle's biographer James Anthony Froude posthumously published his opinion that the marriage remained unconsummated.

Historian Paul Johnson notes in Creators that she not only irked her husband but made prickly comments about others, such as fellow female writer George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), of whom she said: "She looks Propriety personified. Oh, so slow!"

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Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Welsh_Carlyle

Days of Love: Celebrating LGBT History One Story at a Time by Elisa Rolle
Paperback: 760 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (July 1, 2014)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1500563323
ISBN-13: 978-1500563325
CreateSpace Store: https://www.createspace.com/4910282
Amazon (Paperback): http://www.amazon.com/dp/1500563323/?tag=elimyrevandra-20
Amazon (Kindle): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MZG0VHY/?tag=elimyrevandra-20

Days of Love chronicles more than 700 LGBT couples throughout history, spanning 2000 years from Alexander the Great to the most recent winner of a Lambda Literary Award. Many of the contemporary couples share their stories on how they met and fell in love, as well as photos from when they married or of their families. Included are professional portraits by Robert Giard and Stathis Orphanos, paintings by John Singer Sargent and Giovanni Boldini, and photographs by Frances Benjamin Johnson, Arnold Genthe, and Carl Van Vechten among others. “It's wonderful. Laying it out chronologically is inspired, offering a solid GLBT history. I kept learning things. I love the decision to include couples broken by death. It makes clear how important love is, as well as showing what people have been through. The layout and photos look terrific.” Christopher Bram “I couldn’t resist clicking through every page. I never realized the scope of the book would cover centuries! I know that it will be hugely validating to young, newly-emerging LGBT kids and be reassured that they really can have a secure, respected place in the world as their futures unfold.” Howard Cruse “This international history-and-photo book, featuring 100s of detailed bios of some of the most forward-moving gay persons in history, is sure to be one of those bestsellers that gay folk will enjoy for years to come as reference and research that is filled with facts and fun.” Jack Fritscher
Crossposts: http://elisa-rolle.livejournal.com/2892282.html

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andrew potter

Harry Stack Sullivan & James Inscoe

Harry Stack Sullivan (February 21, 1892, Norwich, New York – January 14, 1949, Paris, France) was an American Neo-Freudian psychiatrist and psychoanalyst who held that the personality lives in, and has his or her being in, a complex of interpersonal relations. Having studied therapists Sigmund Freud, Adolph Meyer, and William Alanson White, he devoted years of clinical and research work to helping people with psychotic illness. Sullivan introduced the term “significant other” to describe any person who has great importance to an individual’s life or well-being—which is now often used to describe a companion of either gender. Beginning in 1927, Sullivan had a 22-year relationship with James Inscoe Sullivan, known as "Jimmie", 20 years his junior. Although some contemporaries and historians have regarded Inscoe as an unofficially adopted son, and Sullivan as closeted, one should remember that to be open about it would have made his professional interest in the area and further research very difficult. His colleague Helen Swick Perry's biography of Sullivan mentions the relationship and it is clear his close friends were well aware they were partners.

Sullivan was a child of Irish immigrants and grew up in the then anti-Roman Catholic town of Norwich, New York, resulting in a social isolation which may have inspired his later interest in psychiatry. He attended the Smyrna Union School, then spent two years at Cornell University from 1909, receiving his medical degree in Chicago College of Medicine and Surgery in 1917.

Along with Clara Thompson, Karen Horney, Erich Fromm, Otto Allen Will, Jr., Erik H. Erikson, and Frieda Fromm-Reichmann, Sullivan laid the groundwork for understanding the individual based on the network of relationships in which he or she is enmeshed. He developed a theory of psychiatry based on interpersonal relationships where cultural forces are largely responsible for mental illnesses (see also social psychiatry). In his words, one must pay attention to the "interactional", not the "intrapsychic". This search for satisfaction via personal involvement with others led Sullivan to characterize loneliness as the most painful of human experiences. He also extended the Freudian psychoanalysis to the treatment of patients with severe mental disorders, particularly schizophrenia.

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Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Stack_Sullivan

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More Real Life Romances at my website: http://www.elisarolle.com/, My Ramblings/Real Life Romance

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Robert Mapplethorpe & Sam Wagstaff

Robert Mapplethorpe (November 4, 1946 – March 9, 1989) was an American photographer, known for his large-scale, highly stylized black and white portraits, photos of flowers and nude men. The frank, homosexual eroticism of some of the work of his middle period triggered a more general controversy about the public funding of artworks.

Robert Mapplethorpe met his lifetime companion Sam Wagstaff in 1972 at a party. Mapplethorpe, whom Wagstaff called his sly pornographer, was also his guide to the gay demimonde of extreme sex and drugs that flourished in New York in the 1970s and 1980s. In the 1980s, Wagstaff gave Mapplethorpe $500,000 to purchase the top-floor loft at 35 West 23rd Street, where the photographer lived and had his shooting space. Wagstaff died of pneumonia arising from AIDS at his home in Manhattan on January 14, 1987, two years before Mapplethorpe.

Mapplethorpe was born and grew up as a Roman Catholic of English and Irish heritage in Our Lady of the Snows Parish in Floral Park, Queens, New York. His parents were Harry and Joan Mapplethorpe and he grew up with five brothers and sisters. He studied for a B.F.A. from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where he majored in graphic arts, though he dropped out in 1969 before finishing his degree. Mapplethorpe lived with his partner Patti Smith from 1967–1974, and she supported him by working in bookstores. They created art together, and even after he realized he was gay they maintained a close relationship.


Sam Wagstaff & Robert Mapplethorpe by Francesco Scavullo
Sam Wagstaff was an American art curator and collector as well as the artistic mentor and benefactor of photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, who was also his lifetime companion. Wagstaff is known in part for his support of Minimalism, Pop Art, Conceptual Art and Earthworks, but his aesthetic acceptance and support of photography presaged the acceptance of the medium as a fine art. Sam Wagstaff met Robert Mapplethorpe in 1972 at a party. Wagstaff called Mapplethorpe "his shy pornographer."


Two Men Dancing, 1984

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Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Mapplethorpe

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Samuel Jones Wagstaff Jr. (4 November 1921 – 14 January 1987) was an American art curator and collector as well as the artistic mentor and benefactor of photographer Robert Mapplethorpe (who was also his lifetime companion) and poet-punk rocker Patti Smith. Wagstaff is known in part for his support of Minimalism, Pop Art, Conceptual Art and Earthworks, but his aesthetic acceptance and support of photography presaged the acceptance of the medium as a fine art. Sam Wagstaff met his lifetime companion and protégé, photographer Robert Mapplethorpe in 1972 at a party. Mapplethorpe, whom Wagstaff called his shy pornographer, was also his guide to the gay demimonde of extreme sex and drugs that flourished in New York in the 1970s and 1980s. In the 1980s, Wagstaff gave Mapplethorpe $500,000 to purchase the top-floor loft at 35 West 23rd Street, where the photographer lived and had his shooting space.

Born on November 4, 1921, in New York City, Wagstaff was the son of Samuel Jones Wagstaff Sr., a wealthy lawyer from an old New York family, and his second wife, Polish émigré Olga May Piorkowska, a fashion illustrator who had worked for Harper's Bazaar and was previously married to Arthur Paul Thomas. He had one sibling, a sister, Judith (Mrs Thomas Lewis Jefferson). His parents divorced in 1932, and Wagstaff's mother, a daughter of Polish inventor and scientist Col. Arthur Emil Piorkowski, married Donald V. Newhall, an artist.

After growing up on Central Park South, attending the Hotchkiss School and graduating from Yale University, and being a fixture on the debutante circuit, Wagstaff joined the US Navy in 1941 as an ensign, where he took part in the D-day landing at Omaha Beach in World War II. He later worked in the field of advertising in the 1950s, which he hated. He returned to school to study Renaissance art at the New York University Institute of Fine Arts, however, and turned his energies to the art world.

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Source: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sam_Wagstaff

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More LGBT Couples at my website: http://www.elisarolle.com/, My Ramblings/Real Life Romance


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andrew potter

New Release: Best Gay Erotica 2015

Best Gay Erotica 2015 edited by Rob Rosen
Series: Best Gay Erotica
Paperback: 232 pages
Publisher: Cleis Press (January 13, 2015)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1627780904
ISBN-13: 978-1627780902
Amazon: Best Gay Erotica 2015
Amazon Kindle: Best Gay Erotica 2015

Best Gay Erotica 2015 is filled to the page-turning brim with fantastic tales of fire dancers and TV repairmen, of hunky painters and electricians and magicians, solo sex, duo sex, and sweat-soaked triple onslaughts. Heck, throw in an alien and a priest, and you’ll soon see why this anthology is head and shoulders — not to mention certain other body parts — above the rest, and always with the highest literary quality that readers have come to expect from this esteemed and steamy collection.

Excerpt:

Super Service by Michael Roberts

My front door was wide open, and so was my mouth.
The vision in front of me wore an immaculately white crew-neck t-shirt that hugged his chest as if it and the torso had fallen in love and intended to cling to each other as closely as possible. I couldn’t blame the t-shirt. A fanciful image, peut-êtrè, but the sight made me absolutely giddy.
His jeans were washed, pressed, loose fit, and somehow more sensual than if they were skin tight and composed mostly of patches, holes and loose thread.
He was looking down at a clipboard in his hands, and the top of his head was sexy. The light brown hair was short and one small tuft wasn’t properly combed, and this imperfection was endearing. I asked myself how I could swoon over a man whose face I hadn’t yet seen. He glanced up, and everything was a gorgeous picture with the doorway as frame.
He appeared to be in his early twenties. His nose was aquiline and his lips were firm and his eyelashes were lovely little creatures that had wandered onto the symmetry of his features.
“Mr. March?” he asked, and I could tell from his tone and from the expression on his captivating visage that he had said the same thing earlier and I hadn’t heard, so taken was I.
“Yes,” I answered, “that’s me. That’s I. I’m him. I’m he. I’m March.”
There was a beat of silence, after which he said, with a slight smile that could have meant so many things, “I’m Reggie. I’m here about your cable television.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my cable,” I said, nearly blushing at the double entendre, bereft to know that there thus was no reason for him to stay, that he soon would pass out of my entranced vision. I didn’t want to tell him that I knew nothing was wrong with the cable because I’d been watching a Lifetime movie with Heather Locklear.
“I’m here preventatively,” he improbably said. “I want to make sure nothing goes wrong in the future.”
“Oh,” I replied and continued to stand like a dunderhead in the door until Reggie raised his eyebrows interrogatively. I sort of squeaked, “Oh,” and stood aside to let him into the apartment.
“Where’s the TV?” he asked, and I wordlessly pointed.
Reggie rippled toward the living room. His upper body flowed beneath the white cotton, his thighs reluctantly releasing the denim as he moved. He bent over to inspect the cable connection, and I was mesmerized by the smoothness of his bejeaned rear end. I reflected that I was a man somewhere in his thirties with a certain level of sophistication and intelligence and savoir faire, and therefore I should not be subject to such emotional overload, and then Reggie squatted in front of the wall plug-in, and the fabric embraced the semicircles of his ass, and I was utterly lost.
“Were you watching this?” he asked, nonjudgmentally, indicating Heather’s shock as she realized that her sister was in fact her brother and guilty of at least three murders, including the one of the Pekinese.
“Phhh,” I said dismissively with an airy flip of my hand. “I was trying to find that special on Etruscan art.”
“I hope it gets shown again because I’ve got to commandeer your set for awhile.”
“Fine, fine,” I assured him. “Fine. I’ll just…” I gestured in the direction of my easy chair. Was there, heaven forbid, a porno mag on the side table or a gossip sheet, something that I perused as an alternative to my regular intellectual pursuits? Good, there was a Henry James novel that I’d been trying to read for two years. I sat down and opened the book and attacked the first chapter, the first sentence that went on for three pages.
“Is there another TV?” asked Reggie.
“In my bedroom,” I told him, “through that door. And also one in my roommate’s bedroom, that way.”
I could see him in the corner of my bedroom with the set, and although nothing was occurring but his turning things off and on and fiddling with wires, he was also turning me on.
Next, he went down the hallway and over to Travis’s room and out of view. He was out of view even when I got up and tried, ever so casually, to see him. I was, irrationally, jealous.
Irrationally because, for one thing, Travis wasn’t even there, so nothing was happening, unless, of course, Reggie had thrown himself on Travis’s bed, as if he were in a different Lifetime movie and was rolling about lasciviously, running his hands up and down his marvelous body, and I was becoming vaporous, and I needed to put the brakes to the fantasy train on which I found myself, though, yes, if Travis were there, he probably would be admiring Reggie’s construction; what breathing gay male wouldn’t?
Travis and I had been, at various stages in our relationship, lovers, buddies, cronies, and maybe soon to be crones, now, for the moment, closest friends. Someday, we would be like old dogs who would sniff each other’s butt and realize that we had been on that route before, many times before, and we would pad harmlessly to the fire and lie down to sleep, our legs twitching in remembered romantic pursuits, and people would no longer be able to tell us apart.
But we weren’t at that point, yet, and so I was indulging in absurd resentments over a roommate who was away from the city visiting another friend. I didn’t know if I was suspicious of Travis’s succumbing to the charms of his buddy, whom I knew to be attractive and about whom I myself had the rather-more-than-occasional lubricious thought, or envisioning Reggie’s enticements having their sway over Travis if he were here, which he wasn’t, and what if he found Reggie to be more alluring than I—which, all things considered, was possibly not impossible—oh, God, my head was aching, and I sank down into my chair and sat on Henry James.
The doorbell rang.
One paid the price for living in an apartment building in which the lobby door didn’t ever completely latch, allowing all sorts of interlopers to, well, interlope.
I sprang up.
Then a part of me sprang up further. In the hallway stood a man who was stocky in a linebacker sort of way—I’d learned a few things about football from a former lover who was into sports and sportsmen, which was why I still had a Pavlovian response to men who looked like athletes. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that was trying to meet the challenge of keeping its wearer’s upper section encased but had partially given up. Two buttons were open over intriguing curvatures, and biceps that had biceps were about to burst the seams. His work pants were of a matching gray-green color with front pockets that gaped over hefty, muscular thighs.
He was examining a clipboard in his hands, and the top of his head was sexy. (The scent of déjá vu and the not-unpleasant tang of perspiration wafted across my quivering nostrils.) His thinning dark-brown hair was in a brush style. I asked myself how I could be so enamored of a man whose face I hadn’t yet seen, and he glanced up and answered my question.
His face was also athletic—as if it had been in scrimmages in which the opposing team had wreaked some havoc but had not damaged his innate good looks. The tip of his nose angled a bit and a small scar creased his jaw line. He was probably in his mid-thirties.
“I’m Ken, and I’m here about the plumbing,” he informed me.
“My plumbing’s all right,” I said, and I very nearly added, “according to my latest doctor’s visit,” but I didn’t. Suddenly, I felt as if I were in one of those experimental films that play with time and sequence and I didn’t know the script.
“Are you Mr. March?”
“I think so.”
His aspect didn’t change—well, there may have been a flicker of a smile.
“Actually, it’s not your plumbing, but some of the apartments below yours. There’s a problem that we think may have started farther up, and we’re trying to find out where.”
“That’s logical,” I said, although that wasn’t true—in fact, I thought I saw logic’s tail disappearing at the end of the hallway.
“So if I may, I’d like to look under your kitchen sink.”
I wanted to say, “Yes, and I’d like to examine your pipes, too,” but I didn’t. Instead, I said, “You may,” feeling as if I were in a fog.
“Well…” he said, and indicated that perhaps it would be best if I got out of the doorway and let him into the apartment.
“Of course,” I said, and moved. He reached down and picked up his toolbox, and when he had entered, I led him into the kitchen, glad that I had washed the dishes and emptied the trash.
He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and lowered himself headfirst into it. Soon he was lying on his back, his upper half inside, his lower half sprawled along the floor. I stared down at him. His thighs weren’t all that stretched his pants.
“That’s okay,” he muffedly said, “you don’t need to hang around.”
And groin gawk, I told myself under my mental breath.
“I’ll call you if I need anything,” he added.
I retreated. It wasn’t enough that his bottom section was spread before me and that his crotch was jam-packed, making my own crotch tight, but his legs were the sides of a triangle and the apex was richly round, distracting my exit. I bumped into the kitchen doorframe and tried to get out of the room before he noticed my awkward egress and emerged from the cave of my cabinet, wrench in hand. I continued to back away into the living room to my chair and sat on Henry James.
I may have squawked, and I rose precipitously up as if Henry had pinched me. Simultaneously, the doorbell rang. I stifled a second squawk and went to answer.
Continuing my descent into the anthropomorphic, I nearly bleated like an alarmed sheep. At the door was a man in painter’s clothes, with a spot of ochre on his fly. He was looking at a clipboard in his hand, and the top of his head was of course sexy, his hair combed in a sort of Elvis Presley fashion and glistening in the hallway light. Hadn’t I been in a scene something like this one not long ago? When he glanced up at me, I saw that under the painter’s cap, he was attractive: he had a mustache and was young looking, middle twenties, except for wrinkles around eyes that were a penetrating shade of blue, and I did not want to be thinking about penetration, and I said, “Uh?”
“I’m Frank,” he responded, although responded may not be the right term—how do you respond to “Uh”?
“I’m a painter,” he said, rather unnecessarily.
“I didn’t—” I said, and he said, “I know, but your landlord—” and I said, “It’s rather busy here,” and he said, “Oh, I’m not painting today; I’m just checking things out,” and so was I, and I said, “Uh.”
He waved a set of paint samples at me, and I nodded, having run out of things to say. I let him into the apartment, wondering when the tea party was going to begin.
As he went past me, I smelled a subtle cologne, certainly not eau de Sherwin Williams, and that was odd, but I got distracted by the fact that his work clothes fit his body so well, and he had a fittable body. He walked with a certain insouciance, a certain swing to the hips, that one wouldn’t—or at least I wouldn’t—have associated with a house painter.
He flashed a grin that left me weak from top to bottom and in between, and he headed toward a hallway, and I wandered to my easy chair and sat down on Henry James.
I tried to read the Henry James, which might have been written in a foreign language. Henry James has that effect on a lot of people. But a lot of people are impressed by Henry James, and I find that the mere mention of the author or his books, whether or not one has actually read Henry James, can be useful in cruising a certain kind of target.
I didn’t know how many times I’d struggled through the first sentence when Ken came into the living room and coughed discreetly. I jumped a few feet and said, with my ¬sang as froid as I could muster at the moment, “Yes?”
“The problem may be in the bathroom,” he said, “so may I…” I vaguely indicated the way, and he went in that direction.
I settled back to Henry James’s confusing syntax.
“Mr. March,” Ken called after a few minutes.
I marked my place with a finger, superfluously, since getting back to Page 1 would present no problems. “Yes?”
“Would you come here? I want to show you something.”
I put Henry James on a table—I’d sat on him as often as one should sit on Henry James in an afternoon—and walked to the bathroom and went in. I said, “What do you want to show me?”
He shut the door and faced me and replied, “This,” and pulled down his pants, and his hard cock jutted out.
It went very nicely with the décor of the bathroom.
“Do you like it?” he asked, and I said, “Ahhh…” or maybe I said, “Ummm…”
Whatever I said seemed to encourage him, for he said, “Would you like to try it?”
Of course I would. I was alive, wasn’t I?
On any other afternoon, a stranger’s showing me his cock in my bathroom might have been extraordinary; the way this day was going, it was just par for the peculiar course.

About Rob Rosen: Author of the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, and Creature Comfort, and editor of the anthologies Lust in Time and Men of the Manor.

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