I’d had time to think on the events of last Saturday, mulling them over and over in my mind. Having managed to complete my project, thanks to the help of a very courteous Taylor, I was now presented with a young man who was trying to pave a way to a friendship and his first creative plateau.
His questions were provoking to say the least, his assumptions as to my social life were no doubt random stabs in the dark that happen to be way off line, requiring me to let him catch a short glimpse of my single life in putting him straight on the subjects. It was all true though, life was me and me alone and I liked it that way, I didn’t need the companionship or support of others, I could look after myself, no one need do anything for me, I don’t ask of them, they don’t ask of me-I’m internally selfish in that respect.
When he started off his conversation I was instantly alarmed at the speed in which he let some of the most intimate feelings and fears about his personality, come out. His need to be known more as just a musical wiz kid who was playing piano in the womb and be individual, as well as part of a well oiled threesome unit. Maybe knowing nothing of him he felt some sort of need to pad out the silence, acquaint himself better by filling in a few details so I wouldn’t be totally clueless should our paths cross again.
Despite my understanding that he would probably return no more than a few times after I’d used his services I didn’t think that he may actually want to know me more than just the girl who paints at the chine every Saturday- I didn’t think he’d be around long enough, I remember him telling me that the mid-west is always home, more specifically Tulsa, Oklahoma. Again, I suppose if he hadn’t returned with the handful of pictures he took of me as he was leaving the chine on his first visit, I wouldn’t have asked him to help me and in turn, he wouldn’t have asked me to act as a muse for him so he could offload some creative energy snapping away with variable length lenses to his hearts content-and not a keyboard in sight.
But I would be just a plain old stick in the mud if I didn’t waver the rules once or twice in my lifestyle made for one, so here I am, sat in the reference library looking through some photography books, hoping to gather some inspiration of my own to make my return favour as imaginative as possible, just so he can clutch the finished article in his spindly fingers and say that he was a creative whole, instead of one third for a change.
I was in complete and utter wonder, my mind being provoked with all sorts of questions, query’s and wonderings thanks to the miniscule glimpse of a life made for one. Season was a total melting pot of individual imagination, her hands saying more words than her mouth ever could, her naked eye spotting more features of design than any microscope and to top it off, she didn’t need anyone or anything helping her to achieve this. I’ve come across this type before but not an artist-the high-powered businesswoman who has time for no one but the people she comes into contact with purely on a work basis, is the only type of anti social woman I’ve ever met that chooses to live that way. But it was different with Season, it was more than not wanting a girls night out or a girlfriend to take shopping one Friday afternoon, there was more behind it, more thought put into it than just the fact she didn’t want the hassle of remembering birthdays and getting calls at 3am when her friends just been dumped, again, by the so-called man of her dreams.
She seemed hostile, reluctant to make me understand that wasn’t how her life was, maybe it’s because she’s not used to explaining herself, or maybe that’s because it was me. It was okay to tell me about her family, her age and why art meant so much to her that very first week, but ask her about how she lived her life and then that was a whole new ball-game. And that ball game was one I wanted to be picked to be on the team for, I couldn’t let the opportunity to know such an inspirational person slip me by, there was never a better time for it, especially with my need to be understood as more than a singer in a band.
I knew I’d shocked her somewhat, probing her for an on the spot decision when I told her I wanted, in return for use of my eyes, a muse in the shape and form of Season Mally. She’d not flat out rejected me, but I could tell that she was hesitant, not because she doubted my trust, but because I wanted to befriend her. When she said she would oblige my request I felt a pang of happiness in being given the opportunity to prove my worth as a proper bona fide photographer. After all, there’s only so much creative scope birds on branches and cats on brick walls can give to you.
She’d promise to look into finding some artwork or other photographers work for inspiration, rather than have her just look out wistfully at the chine’s luscious expanse of redwoods and conifers, posing in your everyday perspective snaps. I was looking forward to this coming Saturday, her insistence that nightfall was the best time, the illuminated waters and whole chine area making for a much more serene backing. Already I knew I could trust her to come up with something eye catching that would forever be a positive memory for me, even if after Saturday I was never able to pick up a camera again-I’d always have one memorable time that everything about me was put into a set of 24 black and white stills.
It was and still is very much a secret, my career as a musician will always be first and foremost, but I see it just like a hobby writer, who writes their tales to get away from reality of their life, of their career, regardless weather they love or loath the direction of their life. So this Saturday couldn’t come soon enough for me, my intrigue at it’s peak to see what this independent woman would surprise me with to photograph.