Skins

The Foot Fish

They bitch all day about fish and the lack thereof.

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Photo © Icarus Blake

There are two bars in the village next to each other. One has better ice cream, but the espresso is magnificent in both. They are a three minutes’ walk from a half moon shaped beach that is almost deserted even in high season. The local fishermen sit on the lower part of a short cement dock that delimits the entrance to the tiny harbor. They bitch all day about fish and the lack thereof. It’s the changed currents, the warmer seas, the overfishing of the big cooperatives… They supply local restaurants with the catch of the day. The same kind of fish everyday, the same three ways of cooking it on the menus. There are no foreign tourists here. On week-ends, Sicilian families pack themselves in small cars like sardines and eject themselves on the beach with all their paraphernalia. Lunch on the beach is a big deal. Tables are set with colorful plastic cloths and silverware. Large, beaten up pots, come out of nowhere full of cold pasta alla Siciliana.

Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

So heavy to eat and digest, yet delicious enough to justify the three hour lunch. All food is washed down with cold local white wine. Light to the taste, but a killer for the legs. Then it’s nap time. All bodies seem to naturally roll on the sand under the shade of large, faded umbrellas and gently glide into a just sleep. Yes, the children are overweight, much like their parents. But unlike here in America, it is considered a sign of good health. Do they get sick more often than we do? Do they live less? To the contrary: they live long happy lives. We have arrived here late Friday night. It was pitch dark and hard to find the hotel. The concierge was an old man asleep in the back office. He came to answer the bell in his pajamas. He said he needed no passport and took out a welcome tray of gigantic cannoli from under the counter.

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Photo © Icarus Blake

The female model was from Toronto and she took the pastry like she was offered a cobra. She bit a tiny corner of it, as a courtesy, and the next thing you know she was sitting outside eating her third cannolo with the rest of the crew. It turned into an impromptu party, all sitting on different rocks with our feet in the lukewarm water of the Mediterranean. The air smelt of jasmine and the occasional stray dog came about to get a back rub and lick the crumbs off the rocks. I remember a deep sleep with the windows wide open and the chatter of seagulls in the distance. I was up at dawn to look for locations for the photo-shoot. I got caught by the returning fishermen and had coffee with them.

 Photo © Icarus Blake

Photo © Icarus Blake

They showed me their old wooden boats and the fresh catch. I asked them if I could come back and shoot some pictures with them. They laughed and answered I could do what I wanted. I ran back to the hotel and told my fashion editor I wanted to do a story with fish: a fish-fashion story. She was puffing away at her third smoke of the morning and was focused on a sex scandal involving nuns in the local paper. She nodded distractedly. We shot at the harbor for a few hours, then the model appeared with a pair of lacquered red shoes. The red fish, I thought, would go well with the red footwear. That is when I shot the picture we used for this cover.

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Icarus Blake & Max Power: Editors in Chief
Lora Wiley: Managing Editor
Teo J. Babini: Senior Editor
Greta Pininfarina: Fashion Director
Miko Sala: Art Director
Tiffany Credle: Senior Publishing Editor
Daniel Cardona: Graphic Designer
Luigi Scarcella: Graphic Illustrator
Matt Heidkamp: Editorial Producer and eCommerce Manager
Nancy Cooper: Finance Supervisor
ePublished by Kodezero NYC
Tech Supervision: developing.it

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Contributors to this issue:

Ciro Zizzo/Grace at your Feet
Ciro is a fashion photographer that lives and works in Milan.
www.cirozizzo.com/

Muge Karamanci/Blow and Roll
She is a photographer, a poet, and a filmmaker. She has lived most of her life in Istanbul, Turkey. Currently, she is living in Boston. She has two Turkish poetry books published.
mugekaramanci@gmail.com

Dylan Angell/We Need Your Nihilism
Dylan Angell was born in Durham, NC and currently lives in Greenpoint, BK. He works as a Documentary filmmaker and plays trumpet in a number of improv groups and sings his own songs in his band, Dead Elephant Bicycle.   He has a zine of short stories/poems/prose etc. titled Escaping vol.1. Feel free to contact him.
dylanangell@hotmail.com

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