Friday, 13 February 2015

Enough now

I have made almost 200 of these. The abstinence (scheduled until the first day of spring) is eating away at me and I am freaking out. I berated a boy today, one I like a lot, until he got upset, questioning his photography, provoking him into defending himself, although he had absolutely no reason to. And I had no reason to. I explained my motive is to get him off the chains and get some passion back into him, as he feels asleep at the wheel. Not that that is my place, but he has two of the things I want and isn't making anything with them. I could still kill him with his own camera. Like I said. I am freaking out. Canon launched two new pieces, as beautiful as can be. My heart goes straight for that model, I cannot relate to any other. Not the majesty of Leika, not the monumental power of Hasselblad, nothing produced by Mamiya. This is not an empty obsession, it is simply the fact I know where I want to stand to shoot the world. We speak for hours, aroused to the point of being distracted for the rest of the day, and all we ever talk about is things I believe in and he does not: taking exceptional photographs. I have spoken to this boy once, before we were properly introduced, in a cafe, and we talked a lot. But I do not remember the boy nor do I remember the conversation. He didn't have the camera on him. I simply did not register a random stranger who engaged me in a debate. He didn't have the camera on him. I like him now and I want him, because he reminds me, with every thought of him I entertain, of what I am doing wrong.

The portrait is not a polite thing. You can hate people and still make for an excellent portraitist. You can hate them, you just have to be aroused by them. Or the possibility of them you find under twenty layers of false, civilized skin. If he were to take off his clothes now, he would worry I will be disappointed as oppose to worrying I will no longer be able to resist jumping him, no matter how much of an ethical woman I am. That would register in his face and it would no longer be a fun, intense and the only acceptable experience. You cannot take a photo of a man you deem as hot in a lackluster attempt. You get a bad photo. Or worse. An average one. 

Okay, here are the last of the climbers picture, I have milked that folder of every last drop. I am starved. And it shows. But I am not ready yet. I control neither the light nor the sitters. I am still afraid of talking to people. I am still afraid of opinions. I am still afraid of math. Until that changes into rage, I've no business pursuing this ambition. I cannot become an amateur now.