Night Fever: 1977 to 1979


Night Fever: 1977 to 1979


Photography and Text by Tony Ward, Copyright 2017


NIGHT FEVER: 1977 to 1979


It was the end of the 1970’s, where  I discovered an electric atmosphere at a Rochester, New York discotheque called Club 747.  The fun and excitement of this unique night club drew me back frequently to make photographs. Inside the energy and unusual décor, inspired by the interior design of a 747 jumbo jet, typified the Zeitgeist in nightclubs of the Disco era.  New York’s Studio 54, where the famous and not so famous partied until dawn epitomized this same period in time.  In 1977, the famous American actor, John Travolta introduced his Fred Astaire-like moves on the big screen in the smash hit, Saturday Night Fever.  Travolta’s ode to a neighborhood Brooklyn nightclub was represented with the same enthusiasm by the Saturday night fever of Club 747 in Rochester, New York.

The characters at Club 747 enhanced the mood. There was the African American man whose face and hands were marked by the scars of severe burns. He looked upscale in his three piece suit dancing to the rhythms of Donna Summer, The Bee Gees and the Village People. A young determined white college student with her hand in a sling was deterred from receiving her drink. She simply waited for her shot from an anonymous donor with her functional left hand outstretched, as if the drink was already received. The crowd was from all walks of life, the young and the old, the upper class and the less fortunate.  They all seemed oblivious to their differences in age, gender, race, social class, religious beliefs, political persuasion or sexual preference. As a body they were universally seduced, united and enlightened by the music and dance of this uniquely American period in time: the 1970’s.


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Diary: Portrait of a Swinger


Diary: Sandra. Portrait of a Swinger



Photography and Text by Tony Ward


Diary: Portrait of a Swinger

Sandra had a nice modern apartment in the town of St. Pauli, a neighborhood that contains the infamous Red Light District of Hamburg, Germany. I knew this neighborhood well,  easily finding her place within walking distance from the Monopol Hotel, located on the Reeperbahn in the same neighborhood.  She was located on the top floor of a 5 story building with roof access and lots of skylights. From her location you could simply walk onto her balcony and listen to the cat calls, as the hookers lined along the Herberstrase in plain sight of the St. Pauli police station.  Yes. Prostitution is legal in Germany. Sandra’s apartment provided a comforting setting to light her portrait. I shot on a big red contemporary sofa just off of her nicely appointed bedroom. I used a combination of high ISO with cross processed film, available window light added most of the fill with my ever present ring flash. Sandra pulled clothes from her own wardrobe dressing herself up like when she and her husband invite another couple over for a night of play.  She exuded a classic sex appeal with a mixture of Asian and German looks with perfectly sculpted high cheek bones and a perfectly balanced frame with big hair. She exuded a vibe as if she were ready to please.


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Posted in Art, Blog, Diary, Erotica, Fashion, Fetish, Glamour, Hetero Love, Lesbians, Models, Obsessions, Photography, Portraits, The Tease, Women

A.H. Scott: What Happened to Trump’s Brain?


What Happened to Trump’s Brain?


Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2017


Photography by Tony Ward, Copyright 1977




He paces with anxiety and mutters to himself alone

Taste for strawberries isn’t on his mind, as two scoops of ice cream or an appetite for meatloaf may give a bit of solace to him in this historic home

Watched in silence are those who dwelled here before he did

Milhous whispers, “Your reputation is on the fast track of outdoing me, kid”

Andrew chuckles, “You don’t even know I was dead before the war began”

Johnson chimes in, “I came up with sounder visions when I was sitting on the can”

JFK dismissively whistles, “Your level of tact can only fill a thimble”

Ronald wisely quips, “Bonzo had more sense than you. And, my personality was ever more nimble”

Clinton says in his Southern drawl, “Call me what you will, but my hands ain’t small”

W. sighs, “So, you wanted to toss dirt on my days in office. Well, my, my, my”

Man who mutters and paces places hands over ears

He makes it clear that these voices isn’t what he wants to hear

Rush of wind blows through the Oval Office doors, as he looks over and sees the man who lived there a few months before

He rubs his eyes and screams, “No, it can’t be you!”

Man from Illinois via Hawaii isn’t standing there in the flesh

Yet, his spirit of brotherhood filled this place of lost happiness

Mutterer grumbles this man’s name like a curse every time it is spoken from his bitter lip, “Oh, so now it’s you. So, what’s your smart-ass quip?”

A voice filled the air and said ever so soberly, “This job ain’t no joke. This is the White House and not some luncheonette casually selling Pepsi or Coke”

Yet, the resident who is now President decided to be a carbonation of resentment

Orange Crush isn’t refreshment

Orange Crush is a man without sanity or attachment

Unlinked from the truth that stares him in the face

Scaffolding of his psyche has vanished without a trace

Signposts of the past can be seen as history to some

Yet, history is alive in the marrow of democracy of today and all the tomorrows to come


About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by A. H. Scott, go here


Posted in Art, Blog, Men, Politics

Diary: Two Girls From St. Petersburg in Paris


Two Girls From St. Petersburg in Paris

Photography & Text by Tony Ward, Copyright 2017





I was fortunate to meet Natasha on one of my numerous trips to Paris.  This Russian born model with exquisite taste selected a finely tailored (French) pink lingerie ensemble with a short red wig that fit her angular bone structure perfectly.  It was the late 1990’s, a time in which I was producing a series of pictures for my erotic books and Penthouse Magazine.  I met Natasha through a book shop owner that was located in the Marais district. She was already an experienced model by the time we met, having worked with several prominent French photographers I had come to know. Since she was highly recommended by my colleagues, I was confident our collaboration wouldn’t be in vein. Our first meeting was delightful (she spoke excellent English) as we laid the groundwork for what would become several years of collaboration whenever I arrived in town for a book signing, an exhibit or to make new erotic pictures.  She was a muse. On this particular visit, I checked in to the Hotel Regina, one of my favorite places to reside in the 1st Arrondissement. I was shooting for Penthouse. No expense would be sparred with regards to hotel accommodations.  The suites were expensive, but it was well worth the investment. Bob Guccione, owner, publisher of Penthouse, patron of the arts loved the look of rich, and expensive. He would pay handsomely for that look it if he liked your work and you knew how to deliver the goods.

The suite I reserved at the Hotel Regina featured a view of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre which was just across the street and the Tuileries garden.  It had a small balcony where you could step out and affirm that you were in the heart of Paris, as the motorist sped down the famous Rue de Rivoli into the wee hours of the morning.  It was a fitting setting for what would take place in the elegantly appointed 19th century decor environment throughout the day between Natasha and her friend from their hometown in St. Petersburg, Russia.  Angelina, arrived at the suite with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was new to the city of lights and if memory serves me correctly, I was the first photographer to photograph her nude since she was new to photographers who worked within the erotic milieu.  Angelina was a little timid at first. She felt more confident and at ease with her sensuality when Natasha, an experienced nude model, expertly steered her to the extremes of homoerotic pleasure. 


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Posted in Art, Blog, Diary, Erotica, Fashion, Fetish, Film, Glamour, Lesbians, lingerie, Lipstick Lesbians, Models, Nudes, Obsessions, Photography, Portraits, Travel, Women

Diary: The After Effects of Obsessions




Photography and Text by Tony Ward, Copyright 2017




During the course of publishing Obsessions, my first book of erotic photography, I occasionally heard stories from women that were the subjects of my work  that their boyfriends, husbands or significant others became incensed by their cooperation in modeling nude as one of my subjects. Initially, or at least before the sitting took place their significant others often felt complimented in knowing that their lover was selected to be featured in an international photography publication. However, the reality in some cases was an emotional disaster for some men once their girlfriends pictures were seen in print.  Here is an excerpt from a letter that I received from a jealous boyfriend who went to great lengths to explain his feelings about such a discomforting experience.   


To Tony,

Despite my age or experience, the following feelings which will be described as genuine, from deep inside of me.  


I am in love with a beautiful woman who you have come to know.  I haven’t been in love for four years, which I find to be a long time despite my young age (24). This woman that I worship is an admirer of your work and was familiar with your photography long before I met her.  I only met her three months ago, but she’s next to the virgin Mary in my heart as far as I’m concerned. 

She had a dream to capture her sensuality and eroticism through your eye’s and she’s seen your work long before I met her, so who am I to ignore her dream?  I feel for her because of who she is, wants and does to make her happy.  I love her.  My primary response – which I tried to hide – to your arrival in our fairytale was anger and jealousy.  I recognized the feeling and it was much heavier that I could anticipate.  I became mental over it.

The shoot happened as planned.  I got over it with quite an emotional hangover.  Life went on.  Now, even though time has passed, I see your book again and your inscription and realized she was going to be in your next book as well.  We talked things over and I looked at your book again and its hard to explain what I felt when I looked at your pictures again.  My anger and jealousy reappeared.  My head hurts. 

Every picture showed some sort of excitement: weird, hard, play, darkness.  Imagining that she was going to be in one of your new series of pictures admittedly excited me in ways I never felt.  I am sure you have met a lot of jealous boy/girl friends in your line of work.  I know I wanted to confront you when I met you, now I don’t. It takes time to remove the filtered image one can have when you’re in love.  When she told me about the shoot and described all of the aspects, I could only here words that made me think of her having sex with another person, even though emotionally she wasn’t.  I am slowly understanding her and you and I would like to thank you for giving her this experience.  I also want to thank you for opening a chamber inside of my head which enables me to understand her better and even thinking of being in a series of erotic pictures with my lover.  I hope you will take care of this letter.  I will tell her myself that I wrote you.  I hope you had a nice meal with her and your colleagues at Pasta e Basta, Amsterdam.


John Doe


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Posted in Art, Blog, Diary, Erotica, Glamour, Men, Models, Nudes, Obsessions, Photography, Women