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When his daddy is not home, Prince Michael Joseph Jackson Jnr. falls asleep listening to his reflections.
"I put my voice on tape, reading poems, stories I’ve written", Michael says during an interview given on November 1997, on the occasion of a brand new photo shoot of he and his wonderful 11 months baby taken by photographer Harry Benson.
Michael wants to give the exclusive to this magazine, and he also wants "LIFE" to take pictures of Prince each year of his life, so that his fans and the public can see him growing up.

jolene -Member- Posts: 49- 06 July 2001 07:09 PM-
I miss Blossom. My friend Andy had a plan to edit episodes from certain eras together to show how her breasts developed over time.

In a grouping of four photos taken between 1994 and 2000, Dijkstra uses an unusual compositional format to photograph a young Bosnian girl as part of a project documenting the children of refugees. Taken at two-year intervals, the photographs of Almerisa are in distinct interior settings and chronicle Almerisa growing up as well as her assimilation from Eastern to Western Europe.
More or less neutral settings provide free range for the four large color portraits documenting the coming-of-age of Almerisa. (If these photos are lab experiments, at least the scientist is benign and humane and not in the business of creating a master race.) Again the effect is phenomenal, flushing out the figurative pheasants of character and culture from the underbrush.
At ages six, eight, ten, and twelve, Almerisa takes her seat in an uncluttered, cheaply furnished interior (unlike any lushly velveted or rustically woodened atmosphere in a classic Dutch portrait) that could be the hallway between two cube-shaped bedrooms in a high-rise apartment building.
At age six her feet don't even come close to touching the carpeted floor. Sitting in a red plastic chair, she's dressed in a plaid jumper, a clean white blouse (with a red bow at the throat), and noticeably royal blue socks—a formal-looking, composed little girl with melted-chocolate eyes and warm-toned skin that aren't done justice by a Scottish-highland Sunday-best wardrobe.
At eight, she's in a yellow butterfly-print dress, girlishly old-fashioned clean clothing her parents must have been proud to provide, black patent-leather shoes and white socks with pink trim.
As she ages, her feet get closer to the floor—they touch tip-toes by 10 and are flat on the floor at 12—and her clothes get more stylish, going from long pigtails and red fingernails and black clothes at 10 to white jeans and a bright blue jersey at 12.
She starts to slouch a bit at 12, too, as if to deflect attention from the breasts she's budding. But the composure and brown-eyed confidence is still largely there. She still looks like she has her things together at 12—the awkward refugee turned into self-reliant immigrant maybe.
It's as if she has accumulated enough energy from the previous three sittings to propel herself forward into several more sittings that Dijkstra would be welcome to show us every other year as long as she can, as the British filmmaker of the documentaries 7-, 14-, 21-, 28-, and 35-Up has done every seven years with his motley collection of citizens.

One of the guys mentioned that a friend had done time-lapse movies of his kid's head growing, clamped in a foam frame. And of wounds healing. I have always wanted to do the kid time-lapse thing, but without even a wife it is difficult! Some day.... I dont think Crista and Padh. would let me clamp my nephew Aidan's head in a frame!

McFarlane's (1942) work shown here is a documentation of twenty years of his son Morgan's life. From the birth of his son, he observed his son: his growth through childhood to the development into a grown man. McFarlane archived the negatives under "Diary, Morgan": thousands of small moments of their life together. When Morgan climbed a cliff just ten years old, McFarlane realised that parents can never really protect their child from danger and pain. In December 1994, Morgan was killed in a car accident. These photos help McFarlane celebrate his son's short, radiant life. He hoped, by photographing Morgan, to discover something both universal and personal. His work is presented in the same frame of mind.

(FICTION)

She giggled. "Yes, silly. Dan, before we hit the tub, I want to share something with you that I have shared with very few people. I feel I can trust you, and you might even like it."
What could that be, I wondered. She walked over to the big screen TV, turned it on and inserted a tape into the VCR. Grabbing the remote off the coffee table she sat down and turned to me.
"We both have a love of old films. Well, I have been taking home movies for a long time. Got interested in them through my Dad. He gave me my own 8mm camera when I was nine and told me to make any film I wanted to. He bought the film and paid for the processing. For a year or so I did all sorts of fun little documentaries, about friends, school and my family. Then I sort of lost interest, until I was 12."
"Oh, this is interesting", I thought. "I get to watch her home movies. I'd rather watch her in the hottub, thank you." She went on.
"Twelve was an awkward age for me. My best friend Gina had already started developing. Her body was the envy of all the girls in our class. None of the other sixth grade girls had anything even close to her round firm chest. She was already a 32B. I was still stuck with the body of a boy. I swore I would show her up and have the body everyone wanted, someday. I was consumed with the thought of growing a big chest."
"Where was this going?" I wondered to myself.
"On my thirteenth birthday I was still flat as a pancake. I remember getting some clothes as presents and they were all little girl things. I ended up crying in my room for what seemed hours. I was convinced that I was going to develop a knockout bod, but where was it! All the women in my family had big chests, but they had all developed quite young. I thought I had somehow ended up with the hidden, "flat chest" gene.
Then, I got an idea. I pulled out the old movie camera, loaded it up with a fresh roll of film and wedged it in my bookshelf firmly between some big reference books.
I had studied stop motion animation and decided that I would make a record of my body as it grew. I really had no idea how the film would turn out. I locked the door and stripped naked. I made a small mark on the floor and stood over it in front of the camera. With a long cable plunger attached to the shutter button, I snapped three frames.
I did this once a week for four years. Oddly enough, that day coincided with the start of my body's changes. I grew and grew. My height changed only 6 inches in that time. My chest grew much more. Watch."
She started the VCR and there was Heather on the first day of her experimental film. It was like nothing you have ever seen. Before my eyes she grew, at a rapid rate. Within seconds her breasts grew to buds, then filled out to what must have been A cups, then B.
On it went. The background changed a bit through the months, but not as dramatically as her body. She developed hips, grew in height some and the breasts just ballooned. When the film ended she was sixteen and easily a FF cup.
"You're probably wondering how big I am after seeing all that. Well, at the start of the film, as you could see I was, well, flat. Within two months I was a B cup. By my fourteenth birthday I was a double D. When I reached my fifteenth I was a Double E. Then I slowed down some. By sixteen though, I was an H cup. 'H' as in HUGE.
I had to buy ugly old bras at the large women's shop, but that's where all the women in my family got theirs, so it was okay. I was proud of my chest. I kept growing till I was twenty-one. I am the same size today depending on the time of the month."



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