Most of us have some story that, somehow, became a turning point, or a starting point, on their activities. This is one of mine.
I was quite young. My experience with photography was very brief and I guess I did it more like a hobby or a fashion thing than anything else.
One night, a friend call me. Her husband was an actor, his play would end next Sunday, and he hasn’t any pictures of it. Could I do some? I said yes, sure!
Next Saturday I was among the audience, in the afternoon, seeing the performance and taking notes in the dark. At dinner, with my friend, we review them, analysing the story and how it was told on stage.
That evening I took the first set of photos, 3 rolls. Next day, in the afternoon, I took another set of 3 rolls, using other perspectives and moments to shoot. And the show ended.
I took care of those rolls as if they were babies. My experience in lab was almost none, the light on the stage was as dim as if it was a funeral and I only had 3 lenses: a 28mm f/2.8, a 50mm f/1.7 and a 75-150mm f/4.
When, a few days after, I return there, with my contacts sheets, I was afraid of his reaction. Technically, it wasn’t such a good job, neither was under an aesthetical point of view.
The actor saw them, the others actors also, as well as the director of the company. And I leave the theatre with the huge number of over 600 copies to print. They loved it.
One week after, when I went there to deliver the prints, the director call me, saw them and invite me to be their permanent photographer, with their exclusive. My ego became bigger than the building, but my surprise wasn’t smaller. Why?
Why did they like so much of my work? What did I so different from other photographers? I talked with other actors and directors, I watch very carefully what was being done then in Lisboa, and I came up with an answer, a strange answer: I hadn’t photographed the actors!
My concerning, while looking at the stage through the viewfinder, was the story, the characters, how they interacted, the props, the scenery, the light, the moods. I didn’t care about their best angle, I forgot about their wrinkles and body shapes, sensual or not. In some photos, their weren’t even pretty, but the story could be seen there.
Through the next three years working with them, I attend their rehearsals, either readings or stage ones. I saw how Mrs Luisa Maria Martins, the director, lead the actors on their performance, how she helped them creating all the background needed so hat the characters could be there with a story behind. And I learned how important the implicit story can be, even more than the explicit one.
I always shoot twice the shows: on the final rehearsal, when everything was ready, from light to wardrobe, from lines known by heart to music and so. And at the premier. I knew the play almost as well as they did, knowing exactly when to photograph. But, much more important, I knew exactly why and what I was photographing.
I still miss Mrs Luzia Maria Martins, that old, very wise and very demanding lady. I still miss the way she make us understand the “whys” so that we knew the “whats” and “hows”.
But, most of all, I became richer, then and now, with the knowledge about the importance of each story on each photograph. Even if it is just “It’s beautiful – or ugly!”
Even today, when looking at something or situation and wanting to photograph it, if I don’t know why I want it, I create for my self some reason, it doesn’t matter witch, so that I can understand what and how I’m doing it. And everything became easier to do.
I had some other turning points in my life, concerning photography. But this experience belongs to the three or four major ones.
Texto e imagem: by me
I was quite young. My experience with photography was very brief and I guess I did it more like a hobby or a fashion thing than anything else.
One night, a friend call me. Her husband was an actor, his play would end next Sunday, and he hasn’t any pictures of it. Could I do some? I said yes, sure!
Next Saturday I was among the audience, in the afternoon, seeing the performance and taking notes in the dark. At dinner, with my friend, we review them, analysing the story and how it was told on stage.
That evening I took the first set of photos, 3 rolls. Next day, in the afternoon, I took another set of 3 rolls, using other perspectives and moments to shoot. And the show ended.
I took care of those rolls as if they were babies. My experience in lab was almost none, the light on the stage was as dim as if it was a funeral and I only had 3 lenses: a 28mm f/2.8, a 50mm f/1.7 and a 75-150mm f/4.
When, a few days after, I return there, with my contacts sheets, I was afraid of his reaction. Technically, it wasn’t such a good job, neither was under an aesthetical point of view.
The actor saw them, the others actors also, as well as the director of the company. And I leave the theatre with the huge number of over 600 copies to print. They loved it.
One week after, when I went there to deliver the prints, the director call me, saw them and invite me to be their permanent photographer, with their exclusive. My ego became bigger than the building, but my surprise wasn’t smaller. Why?
Why did they like so much of my work? What did I so different from other photographers? I talked with other actors and directors, I watch very carefully what was being done then in Lisboa, and I came up with an answer, a strange answer: I hadn’t photographed the actors!
My concerning, while looking at the stage through the viewfinder, was the story, the characters, how they interacted, the props, the scenery, the light, the moods. I didn’t care about their best angle, I forgot about their wrinkles and body shapes, sensual or not. In some photos, their weren’t even pretty, but the story could be seen there.
Through the next three years working with them, I attend their rehearsals, either readings or stage ones. I saw how Mrs Luisa Maria Martins, the director, lead the actors on their performance, how she helped them creating all the background needed so hat the characters could be there with a story behind. And I learned how important the implicit story can be, even more than the explicit one.
I always shoot twice the shows: on the final rehearsal, when everything was ready, from light to wardrobe, from lines known by heart to music and so. And at the premier. I knew the play almost as well as they did, knowing exactly when to photograph. But, much more important, I knew exactly why and what I was photographing.
I still miss Mrs Luzia Maria Martins, that old, very wise and very demanding lady. I still miss the way she make us understand the “whys” so that we knew the “whats” and “hows”.
But, most of all, I became richer, then and now, with the knowledge about the importance of each story on each photograph. Even if it is just “It’s beautiful – or ugly!”
Even today, when looking at something or situation and wanting to photograph it, if I don’t know why I want it, I create for my self some reason, it doesn’t matter witch, so that I can understand what and how I’m doing it. And everything became easier to do.
I had some other turning points in my life, concerning photography. But this experience belongs to the three or four major ones.
Texto e imagem: by me
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário