Little Pieces of My Flesh
He was meeting William for the first time and I was nervous, though there was really no reason to be. William wasn't going to be my boss after next week, when I moved to an office down the hall. William has this peculiar way of looking at people from underneath his glasses, like he's behind an impenetrable screen, making an analyzation that you will never know, but that will follow you forever. It makes me uncomfortable. He mumbles his words a lot, and that makes me uncomfortable too. I end up answering questions that he didn't even ask, and then feeling awkward mid-sentence when I realize he was trying to find out who made the collage hanging on the wall, and not where I went to college.
"Very pleased to meet you," he said giving Ryan that now-I-know-what-you're-about look, hand outstretched. Ryan hates to shake hands because he's a germophobe. He looked at that big, open hand for a second, and I knew what he was thinking, but what can you do?
"Same," Ryan kept the eye contact and shook the hand. I wondered about William's summation of him. Druggie? Punk? Partier? Ryan always wears a hat because he's balding, and I think he secretly is self-conscious about it. He looked like an irresponsible 20 something, with his frayed-edge shorts and snowboard company hat and flip-flops and thick band ankle tattoo.
"So are you an Oberlin Alum?" William was making small talk and I could tell he wanted to get back to his work. Ryan probably did, too. They were duty-bound to meet each other because Larry, my other boss, had made a big deal about greeting Ryan when he came in to see me, and since William's arrival one week ago he has busily been trying to establish himself as being at least one better than Larry. Ryan couldn't be rude and abrupt because, for the time being, this was my boss.
"Are you an alum of OHS?" William repeated the question, probably used to people not understanding his garbled dialect. I was pretty sure that Ryan hadn't answered because he didn't know what the word alum meant or stood for, and there was something horrible about that realization. Something really sad. He looked over at me and I interjected.
"You ended up graduating from Georgia, right? They moved all over the place when he was in high school." I didn't know if William had caught the look to me, if this would change the slot he was sticking Ryan into in his mind.
"Yeah, yeah. Georgia. I was born here, though." After another minute of friendly and half-conscious banter, the lull that they were both striving for appeared.
"Well, nice meeting you, I'd better get back to that mound of work I've got waiting for me..."
All of a sudden it became clear to me why Ryan and I don't have a definable or constant peer-group. We are worlds apart from anyone I know. I don't say that as a valued statement; in fact, it's depressing more often than anything else. Someone like William is in the game. He's acheiving. Setting goals and making them. Wanting money and getting it. He hob-knobs well, he bullshits, he makes people feel the way they want to feel; he knows how to read them to figure out how they want to feel. I should envy William, but I don't. This is not to say that I detest him or people like him (the ones with posters in their office with great, sprawling pictures of eagles on them, and some motivational phrase underneath), but there is precisely no way that I could ever walk among them. Ryan is the same way, but I don't think that Ryan thinks about it with all of the long-term implications like I have been doing lately. Where do we fit?
Photography, I'm finding out, is a business that requires hob-knobbing. That is to say, if you want to make it as a successful studio owner, which is really the only way to support yourself via the craft. We've done seniors and loved it because they've been pretty much just Oberlin seniors and their moms, who I already have a relationship with. We've done OC students which has been wonderful because they've relished our casual environment and screw-ball way of getting people to loosen up in front of the camera. To quit our day jobs and really launch a full-time operation, we'd have to draw new borders and try to solicit clients from all over the county. How the hell would I work with an Amherst mom who would judge Ryan and my work by the low prices we charge? I've cherished this work so far because of how personalized and meaningful we have made it for our clients. If we went large scale, there simply wouldn't be enough time to have that relationship with each client. And I probably wouldn't want it with each client anymore.
The lady from the pet spa called a couple of weeks ago about doing a family portrait shoot similar to what we did with them for Christmas. I remember the couple of phone calls we got back after that shoot, the rudeness, the lady from some suburb who actually made me cry. It was just two people out of 65, but it was enough to make me question my ability, even my desire to continue taking pictures for money. I haven't called the lady from this spa back yet. I don't think I will. Doing a job that you know will be joyless just for the money changes things. There is a line emerging that I'm not willing to cross; one that would ask me to proceed regardless of how I felt personally, one that waves bills in my face, one that keeps shouting exposure, exposure. If I crossed that line I think I'd lose something in regard to seeing photography as an artform. More than that, though, I feel that I'd lose something in regard to seeing life as an artform. I made my decision about a year ago; Ann Fuller in her life always let money be the end-all be-all. And what more can you possibly need to say?
"Very pleased to meet you," he said giving Ryan that now-I-know-what-you're-about look, hand outstretched. Ryan hates to shake hands because he's a germophobe. He looked at that big, open hand for a second, and I knew what he was thinking, but what can you do?
"Same," Ryan kept the eye contact and shook the hand. I wondered about William's summation of him. Druggie? Punk? Partier? Ryan always wears a hat because he's balding, and I think he secretly is self-conscious about it. He looked like an irresponsible 20 something, with his frayed-edge shorts and snowboard company hat and flip-flops and thick band ankle tattoo.
"So are you an Oberlin Alum?" William was making small talk and I could tell he wanted to get back to his work. Ryan probably did, too. They were duty-bound to meet each other because Larry, my other boss, had made a big deal about greeting Ryan when he came in to see me, and since William's arrival one week ago he has busily been trying to establish himself as being at least one better than Larry. Ryan couldn't be rude and abrupt because, for the time being, this was my boss.
"Are you an alum of OHS?" William repeated the question, probably used to people not understanding his garbled dialect. I was pretty sure that Ryan hadn't answered because he didn't know what the word alum meant or stood for, and there was something horrible about that realization. Something really sad. He looked over at me and I interjected.
"You ended up graduating from Georgia, right? They moved all over the place when he was in high school." I didn't know if William had caught the look to me, if this would change the slot he was sticking Ryan into in his mind.
"Yeah, yeah. Georgia. I was born here, though." After another minute of friendly and half-conscious banter, the lull that they were both striving for appeared.
"Well, nice meeting you, I'd better get back to that mound of work I've got waiting for me..."
All of a sudden it became clear to me why Ryan and I don't have a definable or constant peer-group. We are worlds apart from anyone I know. I don't say that as a valued statement; in fact, it's depressing more often than anything else. Someone like William is in the game. He's acheiving. Setting goals and making them. Wanting money and getting it. He hob-knobs well, he bullshits, he makes people feel the way they want to feel; he knows how to read them to figure out how they want to feel. I should envy William, but I don't. This is not to say that I detest him or people like him (the ones with posters in their office with great, sprawling pictures of eagles on them, and some motivational phrase underneath), but there is precisely no way that I could ever walk among them. Ryan is the same way, but I don't think that Ryan thinks about it with all of the long-term implications like I have been doing lately. Where do we fit?
Photography, I'm finding out, is a business that requires hob-knobbing. That is to say, if you want to make it as a successful studio owner, which is really the only way to support yourself via the craft. We've done seniors and loved it because they've been pretty much just Oberlin seniors and their moms, who I already have a relationship with. We've done OC students which has been wonderful because they've relished our casual environment and screw-ball way of getting people to loosen up in front of the camera. To quit our day jobs and really launch a full-time operation, we'd have to draw new borders and try to solicit clients from all over the county. How the hell would I work with an Amherst mom who would judge Ryan and my work by the low prices we charge? I've cherished this work so far because of how personalized and meaningful we have made it for our clients. If we went large scale, there simply wouldn't be enough time to have that relationship with each client. And I probably wouldn't want it with each client anymore.
The lady from the pet spa called a couple of weeks ago about doing a family portrait shoot similar to what we did with them for Christmas. I remember the couple of phone calls we got back after that shoot, the rudeness, the lady from some suburb who actually made me cry. It was just two people out of 65, but it was enough to make me question my ability, even my desire to continue taking pictures for money. I haven't called the lady from this spa back yet. I don't think I will. Doing a job that you know will be joyless just for the money changes things. There is a line emerging that I'm not willing to cross; one that would ask me to proceed regardless of how I felt personally, one that waves bills in my face, one that keeps shouting exposure, exposure. If I crossed that line I think I'd lose something in regard to seeing photography as an artform. More than that, though, I feel that I'd lose something in regard to seeing life as an artform. I made my decision about a year ago; Ann Fuller in her life always let money be the end-all be-all. And what more can you possibly need to say?
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