Tag Archives: model

The Photogophobic Photographer

He was uncomfortable in front of the camera, which was probably a major factor behind becoming a photographer in the first place. His shyness always clamped his mouth shut whenever someone told him to “say cheese.” For that reason, he hadn’t been captured on film in years. Besides that time he was fiddling with a camera that had a stuck shutter and he accidentally took one of himself, which he burned immediately upon developing the rest of the roll in his small water closet-turned-darkroom.

And now he was dating a fellow photographer. For the first time.

He always found himself with artists or models. Confident women who not only wanted to pose for him, demanded it. And, of course, as per his demeanor, he always complied. Whether he wanted to or not.

His timidity led to a cabinet full of photographs of all kinds of women. Most he’d never seen again, but some he’d come to recognize on the big screen in theaters, in advertisements and posters, even in the press. He sometimes wondered if they remembered him taking the photographs, many of which were nudes. Although taking off her clothing was never his idea. The more confidence a woman had, the sooner she would ask him to take nudes. And his work, well, it spoke for itself. Numerous shows in some of the biggest galleries in London, full page photographs in famous magazines, he had become rather well known for his work.

But now, this girl, all she wanted was a photograph of him. He didn’t know how to avoid it much longer. She adored him from the start; he could see it in her eyes after five minutes of conversation in which he’d probably said a total of fifteen words.

The two of them were loading film before heading out into Paris, ready to photograph La Ville-Lumière, the city of lights, on their first visit to the beautiful and historical city. They were dressed to kill, her in a beautiful black dress and the beret she bought along the Seine that morning, him in a button-down shirt and his favorite brown tie with little green and orange designs. He sat on the uncomfortable hotel room couch with ugly floral print and pulled back the heavy curtain to let in more light.

Something was wrong with his Pentax and the shutter was sticking (again) so he fiddled with it as she loaded film into her Anscoflex II. She giggled and curiosity got the better of him as he looked up and heard the click.

She smiled. “I knew I’d get you eventually. Quite a candid I just captured.” She flashed him her winning smile.

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t angry. And after a while, he had to admit he was anxious to see how it turned out.


A Bad Day

She faced her fear – the big, bad city – on the off chance she would get the job. A cab splashed her as if she were in a movie, so she was waterlogged as she entered the waiting area. The couches were filled by people with portfolios fancier or larger than hers, in some instances both. The room was past the maximum occupancy of confidence, none of it hers. Not to mention during the interview, her potential boss apparently had a cat, so she sneezed her way through most of her answers.

After that tragedy, she decided that her trip to the city shouldn’t be a total waste and stopped at a little café that looked like it was taken right from a French film. She sat at a table outside and ordered a chai latte, watching cars drive by, listening to the constant sounds of city life: horns, passing conversations, even some construction that sounded a block or so away soundtracked her moment, which she was actually starting to enjoy. Maybe the city wasn’t so bad.

That’s when her phone rang and she recognized the number of the place she’d just interviewed. She gasped and fumbled with the phone a bit, excited that they would call so fast.

“Hello, Miss Jason?” a voice on the other line said.

“Oh it’s actually Jansson,” she corrected as she fixed her hair and smiled.

“We just wanted to let you know you left your portfolio here. Please come and get it by the end of the day or it will be discarded.” At that they hung up.

Her eyes glassed up but she refused to let it phase her. After calmly finishing her drink, she headed back to building that already held such miserable memories and rushed up the two flights of stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator. She wanted out of this office, this building, this city as fast as she could.

After snatching her portfolio from the obnoxious receptionist’s hand she rushed the few blocks back to her car only to find her windshield adorned with a parking ticket.

She yanked it out from under the wiper, got into the car, and drove home as fast as she could.

The Reluctant Model

Created with a found photo and a typewriter. Take from it what you will.

Now for sale HERE along with more of my work.

The Wish of the Wooden Man (A Flash Fiction Fantasy)

I sat at my art desk drawing a wooden model man.  I had him posed as if he were frozen, mid-air, while skipping down the road.  One arm flailed towards the heavens, the other reached out as if it would make him land an inch farther, both of his legs stretched as if jumping a hurdle.

That’s when I heard the voice.  “Why?”  It was calm, quiet, mysterious and yet manly.  Almost whispered, with a childlike tone.

I looked around, confused.

“All I want is to be positioned naturally, just once.”

I strained my ears, listening for the source.  It sounded as if it were right in front of me, coming from the wooden man, and yet, it also seemed to come from deep inside of me as well.

“What do you mean?”  I asked, prying more words so as to detect the source.

“You always position me in unnatural poses.  Jumping, dancing, walking, but never how a real person would jump, dance or walk.  Always different from a human.”

It was definitely coming from the wooden man.

“It’s the part you play, my friend,” I said to him, turning the invisible face towards me so I could see if there were any visible changes.

“I just want to look human.  I’m supposed to represent one.  Why make me stand so many ways, and yet none of them make me feel more like you?”

“So what, I should sit you on the couch in front of the tv?  Should I put you to sleep at night, under the covers?”

“You’re mocking me.  All I want is to be like you.  And you mock me.”

I turned him away from me a bit.

“I guess I never thought of you as a sentient being before.  How was I to know this was what you wanted?”

“You should have known.  You should have guessed.”

“Well, I apologize.  How would you like to be posed?  Your wish is granted.  Tell me.”

The wooden statue failed to respond, trying to decide, I assumed.  I picked him up so he knew I was serious.  Finally he responded.

“Sitting in a chair.  That’s what I would like.”

“Should I put you on an actual chair, or just position you as if you were sitting on one.”

“Those chairs are much too big for me.  So I guess just a pretend chair.”

I picked him up and bent his legs, his back, his arms, and granted his wish.