A long time ago, in another life. In my hometown, I existed. I went by a few names; never my own. After all, to give someone your name is to give someone power over you. Not just that but people talk and circles I moved in, had no true idea of who I was. I became whomever I wanted or needed to be.
And I lived. Ferociously. And to ask me of the time will always elicit the same response: I do not remember. So when I do. It’s a sweet story. ;)
So; here I was. Late-teens with an email from a world renowned photographer stating he would like to hire me as a subject for his photography. Well-paid. No face shown. No nothing - just me, sitting for shots. Nothing dodgy.
Ever the adventurer, I said yes.
Yes gets me into a lot of trouble but some of the best adventures are the ones where you close your eyes and fall head first into a “yes”. Every new day was a yes day.
He had seen me - I was very - how shall we say this? - out and about. I didn’t drink much except Verve Cliquiot but every day and night, I was somewhere. Like a shadow; I flitted between worlds… in one day, I might be in Brixton - hanging out with street musicians in the back of an Afro hair salon or at an exclusive 20k a seat event. It was my weird life. Not to mention the travelling.
The things I worked; again, flitting between worlds.
Invisible enough but noticed by someone with an eye for something. Enough to track me down and pop me an email.
I went to this quaint house with a studio in a white stucco building in a very posh leafy green neighbourhood; right by a famous park - a mere short walk to the Queen’s house.
He was shorter, surprisingly young! With a camera already in hand. Nervous, barely meeting my questioning gaze but was kind. Paid immediately in cash.
I wore a white pinstripe skirt suit with white vest - lingerie was cheap and matching at least (I was young and always out; they were always black and simple) I had shorter hair to my chin and very layered. If I remember rightly, I was blonde.
And my reader, I’ll remind you - it was another life so do not judge this now very alternative girl on the old appearances.
I was ushered straight to the studio where he reiterated the contents of the email:
nude
gimp mask
poses
Easy as that.
He used different mediums of camera - Polaroid to medium format to dslr (only the best Canon at the time) and as I sat in his studio, mask on but body bared, he snapped away.
Very professional- I was simply a mannequin.
Watching him adjust light, angle, simple commands. I fulfilled my duty.
I was not an object of lust but an object of art.
The look in someone’s eyes when you are transformed was an interesting sight to behold. You see the clockwork going in their brain. You are here now and they need to get everything they need. Your job is to follow orders and make it look good.
My body was bent in so many ways, light from a window and the ring lights (whatever they are called) were used… the gimp mask never came off.
After, I dressed. He gave me a Polaroid (long gone - no idea where that is)
And that was that.
Until I was told my portrait was in the National Portrait Gallery. I saw it. Gimp mask and all.
You may not realise it but you see this photographers work everywhere. Adverts, magazines, portraits etc
He’s worked with ALL of the biggest brands and superstars and is highly respected.
And out there, somewhere, are portraits of me; body bared, gimp mask and all. They actually might be sitting in some collectors house whilst they masturbate to it, who knows?!
Random adventures and only one of many.
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