The Model

I was taking your photograph you see? I didn't mean to look in that direction. You know, down below.

It just happened.

That's the problem with being a photographer. You have to look at the whole scene and sometimes it just happens. You see things that you don't look for. Today was one of those times when it just happened.

I didn't take a photo of that scene, or at least I didn't think that I did.

When I got back to the lab I had a look through the pictures that I took during the shoot and there it was, a glimpse of your pants.

You asked for a portrait. That's exactly what I was trying to get. A lovely picture of you, something that you'd be proud of. I nailed that one early on in the shoot and I guess I should have stopped there.

But I didn't. I thought "Oh we've got plenty of time, I could try a few different things out"

And there it is. The picture of you looking fabulous, looking just like the pictures of Mary that you see in coloured glass in church windows.

Just showing a glimpse of your pants.

I'm not sure why this is an issue at all? Under normal circumstances I'd just delete the picture. It's easy to do with a digital camera. Press a button and away the image goes forever.

It's not like there is a physical negative, part of a roll. Most of which contains the pictures that no-one is really interested in. Maybe on a film this single frame would get overlooked or quickly discarded as "no good".

In the brave new world of digital there is no excuse. Delete and be gone unworthy frame! Never to be rediscovered after we are both gone and printed as part of a retrospective show.

But I can't do that or do I mean that I won't?

I'm the photographer. I'm the responsible one, the person who you can trust absolutely. It's my job to see to it that you get what you asked for. One portrait, from the shoulders up. You trusted me.

"Make me look beautiful", you said.

Your eyes said that you wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

A film star, just like you see in the old films and vintage copies of Vogue magazine.

You have your picture and it's bang on the money.

All the way.

Even Bailey or Duffy couldn't have interpreted the brief better, I'd like to think.

I'm not them. Couldn't hope to be really, but I do my best.

"Don't look at the camera"

"Turn towards the light please"

"Hold it there"

I know all the right things to say to get a good picture.

You join in, gladly, and do what you are asked so that the results can only be fabulous. If the pictures are below par, it won't be for the want of trying, will it?

You are a great model and I am a good photographer. You told me as much in the cafe. I've seen your portfolio and you've seen mine.

We were a mutual fan club for about half an hour, in spite of the sound of the coffee machine.

We agreed a time and a studio was booked.

We were both in accord.

Unsaid Terms and Conditions apply.

You wanted natural, wholesome, and pure. No sexual content please.

"That's not what I want. Don't make me look like a whore", you'd have said if you'd had the confidence.

Now the shoot is done and I have the pictures. I looked through the lot. Chucking out the crap was not at all difficult. Digital means that you tend to grab a lot of "if onlys" during a shoot, mainly because you can.

The camera holds 325 full sized, high resolution pictures you see, so why not? Shoot away with abandon.

And there it is. The shot that isn't destined for the void that is digital deletion. It's not landfill material, but it's not what you asked for either.

I like it. I probably shouldn't, I don't have your permission to do that. But I do.

I own the picture. I own the image. I own all images that I take.

I also take responsibility for the pictures that I capture in a grid of many colours in a computer disguised as a camera.

I delete the rubbish. The ones that you don't like.

But you never saw this one did you?

The clock ticks and the mug of tea steams while I keep coming back to that picture of you and that glimpse of white cotton.