Such Beautiful Things

Originally Posted Sunday, January 6, 2013

It is as if the Life Force had been drained from me.  I don't lack muscle strength.  It is something else.  Will.  Drive.  Something.  I lack. . . what is it called. . . Élan Vital.  Some vampire draining me at night while I sleep.  Or, perhaps, during the day as I work.  It is as mysterious as a movie, perhaps an old Sherlock Holmes with Basil Rathbone set in that perpetually foggy England. 

I was to meet with a woman in my studio at four yesterday.  I didn't think I could.  There was nothing wrong with me other than what I've described.  I wanted to stay in my house, in my bed.  I wanted to weep away the remainder of the day mourning my own passing life. 

But I went.  And then. . . .

I am always nervous before and during a shoot.  She walked in wearing some strange dress I couldn't figure out.  She was tallish and blondish and pretty-ish, but not stunning.  Twenty, a college student who was shooting for med school.  She was an athlete, of sorts, had danced, played volleyball, went to the gym, did mud runs.  She had been modeling since she was fifteen, she said, but had given that up when she started college.  She was just doing a few shoots for fun now. 

Creamy, perfect skin, clear eyes. 

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I'm only twenty." 

Uh-oh. 

"Well. . . . " 

I showed her some of the pictures around the studio.  She showed me the clothing that she brought.  She put on makeup, a full slip.  I was going through the motions.  "She is a nice girl," I told myself.  "She is pleasant and smart and something else, too.  It doesn't matter.  No expectations.  Just make some nice pictures."  I wasn't expecting much.  I wanted to finish and go home. 

When she was ready, I put the camera to my eye and shot a few preliminary frames to make sure everything was right.  They were simple, but they were perfect.  Holy smokes, she photographed as a completely different person.  I wanted to photograph her badly now.  Desire. 

"Jesus, look at you!  Turn your back to me.  Can you drop your straps?  Areyoukiddingohmygod." 

We were listening to her music, I forget who, some woman who sounded like Mazzy Star.  We talked.  She was a neo-hippy without drugs.  She liked simple things, a simple life.  She worked as a nanny, went to school, worked out, hung out with her boyfriend.  He was her first, she said.  Her father had been very strict and had never let her date in high school.  There had been no time.  He took her everywhere.  It was all school and sports and modeling.  She didn't mind.  She was a loner, she said.  Had few friends.  All of it was hard to believe.  Her newest passion was Tom Waits. 

She was shy, then confident.  I just couldn't believe what the camera saw.  She was like muscles under cream.  Something was returning, some enthusiasm, some élan.  She moved about as in a dream. 

"You've never done that before, have you?"

"No." 

She is coming back to shoot again.  And again and again, I hope.  It is not the way she looks.  It is her.  She is complete, whole. 

I'm changing the way I live.  It is true.  There are still such beautiful things that live and walk and talk and breathe.