Over glasses of wine (mine a lush merlot) at the bar, I showed Kate and Jenn the take from the last two days (another note for next time--get a dedicated image viewer. Photoshop File Browser is a lousy way to view a collection of images). It is such a treat to get instant response from the client, especially one so supportive of my work as this one is. I also learn what works for them and what doesn't. When I'm casting on the fly, I'm picking up on the energy of the person, sensing (not judging--this isn't rational) if the chemistry is going to work with the instant group of people I'm mixing together. They're looking instead at the combination of clothing. "Black-white-black. Doesn't work for me."
Speaking of non rational photography: I’ve gotten into a bit of a bad habit of saying out loud what is on my mind when planning a picture. To a lesser client it might be alarming. What do you want to do next, someone would ask. "I haven't a clue", is my usual response. People think I have a plan. Let me reveal to you the dirty secret of my creativity: I am clueless much of the time. I have to gather it from what is happening around me, from the bodily sensations I’m having, the emotional energy around me, and whatever woo-woo vibes are out there. There’s no rhyme or reason. But I put something together and it unfolds fine, most of the time.
Larry the cherry picker driver wanted to know where I wanted the truck. "I haven't a clue!" I tried and failed to imagine the perspective from 30 feet up. "Let's go up and take a look." I wrapped myself in a tangle of straps and clasps, with a clip that attached to the end of the boom. If I fell out, it would bungee me to some approximation of safety. As I rose over the central green of campus above the trees, I felt no anxiety, only wonder. What a cool perspective! "Left! Up!" I ordered, and like a small god I rose through space to contemplate my world from on high.
The first position I wanted was fairly low, 20 feet up, to capture the class change on a V-shaped pathway. An hour later I was at the full extension of the boom, 55 feet high, and I abstracted the sidewalks and sculptures and shadows of passing students. Very Kertesz. In between I left the harness on. I think the webbing has embedded testosterone in it. Wearing the rigging, I swaggered. I felt supremely manly. I was equipped for rare, dangerous tasks.
Photography of this sort is a highly physical activity. Grouping models by a statue, which I'm photographing with a 300mm, I'm running back and forth, up and down stairs, to suggest positions and rearrange. I teeter on rocks in streams, I hike back and forth across campus bearing a heavy bag (another solution is required here--the shoulder bag for both gear and laptop is too much).
The women were again practicing their rugby moves. "No one ever pays attention to us," they said, and they let me join the scrum. I ran up and down the field with them a dozen times, understanding the sequence of moves so I could predict where I needed to be over the course of the repetitions. I was gratified that I was not breathing any harder than they were. Not bad for a 50 year old geezer.
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