The Look

I'm working for a "look" with John Minnicks' Liberator camera, the Graflex 4x5 SLR with the Aero Ektar f2.5 lens attached.  It is a beast to work with, all mechanical.  There are a series of steps that I have to learn to do automatically so that I am not floundering around.  Take a light reading with the meter, slip in the film holder, set the mirror, set the f stop, set the tension for the shutter with a crank, set the shutter speed with a crank, focus, play with the tilt/shift lens, refocus, then shoot.  Once that enters into my nerve endings, it should not be too cumbersome.

So two days ago in the late dusk, I stepped out the front door of my studio to try the Fuji Instant 3000 B&W film.  No one was around, so I shot this shopping cart just to practice.  When I got home and played with the image--BAM!--I was knocked out.  I can live with this look, so nice and moody.  I overdid the shift on this, but I will learn.  Now it is just a matter of getting out and shooting.

Over at 591 Photography, they posted the picture, too (link).  Great privilege to be shown there again.  Thank you!

Last night, I shot with a model I shot with some time ago.  She contacted me and asked "When?"  She brought a make up artist with her.  They spent an hour getting ready which for me was. . . well, I'm not shooting like that.  The MUA was a real nice girl, though, and we drank wine and chatted, me lying on the famous red couch falling into shallow sleep listening to the music.  The MUA kept telling me how much she loved my pictures (there are many 32"x 25.5" framed images sitting around the studio now) and how much she had looked forward to working with me.  The model, too, raved about my work and the photo of her that was used in the "Lonesomeville" show.  Her friends all loved it, too, and love my work. I don't take compliments well at all, so I tried to deflect them, make light of them without seeming mean, but what interested me about this most of all was that she is a lesbian and her friends are lesbians and she is very much part of the lesbian culture.  It made me very happy to think that my work was popular there for you know what sort of criticisms I face with that project.

"You're the only photographer I've ever shot nude with," she told me.  "I don't think I would do it with another photographer.  I've had lots of offers, but it just doesn't feel right."

"Really?  Well,  everyone wants to make naked pictures, especially when they are young and beautiful.  And you couldn't ask for a better fellow," I demurred.

I'm not bragging (maybe I am a little), just reporting (I like to think).  But the conversation got me to thinking, and I couldn't help but ask questions later on.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"In high school."

"When did you know you were gay?"

"Oh, I always knew.  I came out in the seventh grade.  Had a girlfriend.  But in high school, I started dating a guy and we went out for two years.  He was the last guy I dated.  That was five years ago.  We're still best friends."

"Are you dating now?"

"I just met a girl over on the coast.  I met her online.  Crazy, embarrassing.  We met for dinner last week."

"How was that?"

"It was odd.  I mean, we'd been chatting online and knew all about one another.  We went to dinner and then to a little dive of a club."

"Did you hold hands on the first date," I asked cryptically?

"No.  I stayed over at her house, but nothing happened.  I woke up in the morning and thought, 'Oh, no. . . what did I do?'  I liked her. . . like her, I guess. . . but I don't think it's going to work out.  She's got her life and we live in different towns, so. . . I don't know.  I would like to see her again."

She had told me before about the relationship she had ended.  She was fourteen years younger than the woman she lived with.  The woman was very critical of her, she said, and it got to be such an energy suck that she finally had to end it.

"I was young, you know, and instead of going out and exploring my craziness, I was married.  My friends kept telling me to ditch her."

The shoot was over and we were just sitting and chatting and drinking up the last of the wine.  I was staring at her the way I tend to do after a shoot.  I'd just spent two hours looking at her, but it is completely different.  I don't see a person when I'm shooting, just a shape, just geometry and light.  That sounds awful and isn't quite right, but it is different than looking at a person at ease.  And the crazy thing is that sitting across from her where she sat upon the couch talking, staring inward and outward as she told me her life, drinking wine and moving about, I was looking at the curve of her leg and the slight swell of her breast inside her silk chemise with that sort of want you experience when looking at someone desirable.

Then the unexpected.

"It's crazy, but I have a crush on a guy I just met.  I can't believe it, but he's really cute.  I'm not like a lot of lesbians I know who hate just everything about men.  I'm not afraid to say he's cute."

"You mean you felt something like desire?"

"Yes.  It's crazy.  I told my friends 'I think I have a crush on a boy,' and they were all like 'What?'"

"You think you like him physically?" I asked, always ready to dive into someone else's psyche.

She looked me in the eye and laughed.  "Well, that's the problem.  I don't know if I could do that again.  I think about it and. . . I don't know if it would be any good, and I don't want to do that to him, so. . . I don't know."

"It wouldn't be any good," I pronounced.  "I'm sure it wouldn't.  It would be awful."

She laughed.  "I know.  That's what I think, too."

"So what do you see yourself doing ten years from now.  I mean emotionally, you know, with someone."

She just shook her head back and forth, back and forth.  "I don't know, really."

The wine bottle was empty now, and so were our wine glasses.  It was late and she had to work in the morning.  We had followed the natural arc of a good conversation to its denouement.  And so we made our emotional adjustments, changed our intonations, stood up, moved around, and prepared for the leaving.  When we were sure we had everything, I carried her bag to the car, put it into the back seat, and we stood for a while in the darkness.

"It's cool tonight," she said with a little shudder.

"Yes, it is cool," I said.

"It was great to see you again.  I can't wait to see the pictures."

"Oh, yes, there will be many."

Then we hugged for longer than was necessary.  Perhaps she was taking warmth, shielding herself from the night's air.  Her frame was small and light against my tired heaviness.  Then ending the embrace, we said goodbye.

It doesn't matter who you are or what you are.  The world is just a jumble for everyone.  And then I thought, no, maybe it is not.  I considered my friends who had married, had two children, carried on up the ladder, and lived traditional lives.  I remembered the birthday party from Saturday night, remembered all those couples chatting away about children and vacations.  I thought about them and not about me.  There would be plenty of time for that later, I knew.  And maybe I could put that off, too.  I could put that off if I held onto this.  And in the morning, with the light, I could write it.