THE GREY PLANE

By Emily Vigor

Photography has always been something I’ve enjoyed more behind the lens. An awkward recluse of a kid, I felt most uncomfortable when I knew the slice of round glass was on me. Growing up with a snap-happy father, I quickly became adverse to having a picture taken, creating an unconscious tic, a tensing of the body whenever I heard the wind up of the film, the popping of the flash, the inevitable “click” which meant whatever I just did was captured permanently.

I was not a girl who grew into herself easily. Friends around me were able to automatically create a persona in front of the camera, resulting in pictures that captured their burgeoning beauty, and yet were contrived, posed. The ability to morph oneself, to pretend to be happy, or sexy, or innocent…these were not skills I possessed. Appearing awkward, with a look of surprise or fear in my eyes, was the only way I knew how to take a photo that wasn’t candid. Today, I’ve been able to alter my tactic to just looking angry or making some ridiculous face. And yet I’ve always been fascinated by photography. In high school, I got my first black and white 35mm and had a love affair with a darkroom. I worked after school at a commercial photography studio, assisting in portrait sessions of families, high school seniors, and newlyweds. Watching the way people changed themselves once a lens was on them was fascinating. The shift in body position, the sucking in of certain parts, the jutting out of others, the lowering of the chin, the carefully placed smile (can’t look maniacal), I took it all in as though I were an anthropologist. Why was it we had to pretend to be the things we want to be? Most of these photo shoots ended in frustrated parents, crying children, and arguing couples. It seemed as though the option to just take candid shots of people didn’t exist. But the camera can be an unforgiving tool, and often exposes us to the sides of ourselves we don’t want to see. No matter how much we try to compose ourselves, the camera is relentless in its blatant attempt to make you look as ridiculously human as possible.

There has to be a middle ground though, a way of capturing a true image of a person that isn’t completely contrived. On a Saturday in August, two friends and myself set out to create our own “fashion shoot”, to play with our cameras in the sun, and see what we could create. I was already dubious about the notion that I would have photos taken of me, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have two willing subjects. Having watched more than my fair share of America’s Next Top Model, I knew that the fashion industry had been selling the idea that the best pictures were the ugliest pictures. Awkward angles, limbs akimbo, snarled faces (but not too snarled….Tyra would have a fit!). Our attempt to do this, while fascinating, felt contrived. Some images came out looking interesting, most felt too plotted, awkward, as though we were too aware of the lens in our poses. Midway through the shoot, I accidentally discovered a ridiculously exciting feature on my camera: the ability to take a lightning fast sequence of pictures by holding down the shutter button for an extended period of time. While still trying to capture “high end” shots, I wanted to capture all these little moments in between. There were plenty of images that were throw-aways, but this new feature had offered up a series of shots that played like a flipbook. One such series of a friend captured a truly genuine moment. Tali had modeled before, and was far more comfortable falling into a persona in front of a lens than the rest of us, making it look easy and effortless. However, we were all a little jittery, apprehensive to expose such vulnerable parts of ourselves in front of each other. What if we looked silly, or worse, like egotistical narcissists who thought they were hot stuff?

And so, as her eyes met mine through the black box, she began to smile, and as she did, I held that button down. The result is a series of shots that are beautiful forme in their honesty. An incredibly beautiful woman in her own right whoknows how to take a striking picture, this series captures the subtleties in movement, the shift in her eyes from posed to honest. Playing though them

at a quick pace is watching the progression from a contrived to a real moment. Which begs the question, can candid photographs compete with “high art” photography (aka contrived)? So much of what is on gallery walls or art and fashion magazines these days are photographs that are attempting to appear candid. Fashion lines such as American Apparel and Marc Jacobs are playing up these caught in the moment images, and yet are obviously extremely thought out, despite the seemingly carelessly thrown pricey bag across the emaciated chest of a model who will never make enough money to buy that item in a year.

American Apparel "captures" an image for their ad campaign

An ad for Marc Jabob's clothes?

These images, while creating a certain cracked out aesthetic, are not saying much more than “buy me and be miserable.” .” I’m not trying to purport that photos cannot be worthwhile, or art, if they are too candid or contrived. Artist’s such as Gregory Crewdson and Cindy Sherman are able to find a fine balance between the contrived and the candid, what one might call “candidly contrived”. Both artists have a knack for formulating images that are captivating and yet supposed to look instantaneous. Their images often require more time setting up the shot than actually taking a picture.

Sherman dressed as a B-movie actress in her series "Complete Untitled Film Stills"

An image from Crewdson's project "Beneath the Roses"

And yet, their images cannot be completely scripted. There will always be an element of chance, an unexpected shift in the atmosphere around them that the camera and photographer will capture. In playing in the area between reality and imagination, the photography of Crewdson and Sherman offers a notion of how the world could be seen instead of how we should see it. Their images acknowledge the cameras presence and use it as a tool to create their art. It is an obvious and integral member in their images.

The sequence of accidental photos that the fast shutter tool captured opened my eyes to a new way of approaching photography. I wasn’t trying to fool the sitter into thinking the camera wasn’t there, that it was just the two of us. Instead, there was a certain dance between myself, the camera, and the sitter as we all acknowledged each other. While a mistake, this series of images forced me to look at photography differently. Images do not have to be forced, and the camera should not be ignored. Even when a moment is scripted, the image can still appear candid and intriguing. By accepting the presence of the little black box, we can begin to see a new version of our world.