Unless the world comes to an end, I am likely to be in the Family section of The Guardian this coming Saturday. They sent a photographer to take my picture a couple of days ago. He was very friendly and I liked him. But whenever a photographer visits, I remember poor Sally Howe in Plotting for Beginners, who was always disappointed with her photographs in the paper...
"There is something that comes over me when a photographer points his equipment at me. I am too easily persuaded. I have this ridiculous unfounded childlike trust that as they are in the business of visual impact, they know what they are doing image-wise, and that no matter how ridiculous or tasteless or yukhy I feel that I look, the end result will be stylish and beautiful. Why do they let me down?
Now I know that no matter how personable and friendly a photographers is, he just doesn't care whether or not a fifty-something female looks her best."
So, bearing that in mind, I asked the photographer if he could do his best to make me look MY best, just as Mario Testino does with all his subjects. Fabio took it on the chin. There followed an hour of posing this way and that, mostly perched on the very edge of the garden bench - and when I say edge I mean edge. He kindly sent me the pictures today and guess what? Perching on the edge of a bench makes your denim legs look thinner. Thank you, Fabio. I may remember you in my will. He sent 9 shots to the editor and I don't know which one she will pick - I hope it's one where I'm smiling. I don't like the ones where he wanted me to look serious/wistful, as I actually look as if I might be constipated.
No comments:
Post a Comment