TATER

I earned my living today shooting gourmet caramel apples.  These aren’t your average joe, taffy apples, but a division of  a  taffy apple company, which sells to high flying brick and mortar establishments such as Neiman Marcus.  I have worked often for these clients, and as far as I know, am the only photographer for their website, catalogue, and sell sheets.  I suspect they have also used my work in print ads, but since they haven’t paid for that usage, I turn a blind eye.  There is a copyright law to protect me from such theft, but it comes with a cost as you may suspect;  the cost of losing them as a client if I were to raise a fuss.  $10,000 dollars for violating my copyright, less legal fees and time would net me a paltry sum.  The cost involved in losing the client?    Well my day rate X 15 days a year, approximately $25,000.  My math skills being rudimentary at best, still slap me in the face every time my mouth opens to complain.

The women that grace my studio are all twenty and thirty somethings, and they trust me to do right by them, which I always do.  They like to play a game called torment the shooter, in which they insist on arguing every shot amongst themselves, then with me.  I play along, but rarely put my foot down, and  turn a deaf ear to their internal bickering.  I wait by my camera like a drone on Nembutal, awaiting their decision on which props to include or strike, which angle best fits their layout, how much bleed they need for the layout, what colors they believe set off their product best, yada, yada, yada.  Today is unusual, in that the company sent the new head of marketing (male, republican, Ken Doll), and he didn’t quite agree with the direction we were heading for their new catalogue.

“I would like warmer tones!”

This is a shoot for Easter and valentine’s day.  Pastels, pinks, reds.  He wants earth tones.  We eventually settle on lots of whites with “color indicators” to suggest season.

“I want an extreme overhead shot, to you know, focus on the product, not the props!”

Overhead shots of caramel apples are nothing but apple tops as bullseyes.  I softly refuse.  I explain that a close up shot of the chocolate, caramel, and nuts of their beautiful apples would have the most taste appeal. 

It’s what I do;  tantalize.  I want people to drool, and lick a page of a magazine showcasing my food.  I want them daydreaming about biting into a gooey, sweet, apple, and having to wipe the sugary juice off their chins,  I do food porn, I don’t do eagle eye down shots as gimmick, I do it if it makes the food irresistible.  I don’t argue, I show people the difference, and if they don’t come around, its not exactly the end of the world.  I do what they want.

I build a rapport over time with people, and they come to trust me.  I try to lead them to the tastiest water, and offer them a drink.  My taffy apple women like to flirt and argue with me, they like me to explain and defend my vision.  I’m okay with that game, as it alleviates them the fear of making the wrong decision, by taking responsibility for it myself.  Marketing guy was a monkey wrench in our usual dance routine, and bodies were tripping everywhere today.  Too many compromises were made, too much time was consumed, and I became hopelessly mired in average looking photography.  I wasn’t at all pleased.  I stood my ground to a point, then let go to their demands.  I smiled, I joked, I explained, and I shrugged it off best I could.  Tomorrow and Friday, more of the same.

I left work today feeling that I failed them somehow, failed to grasp the moment which could turn the tide of bad decision making back to beauty.  I have a need to find art in what I do, and strive to create it within the confines of commercialism.  The art was in the argument today, and I lost miserably.  I walked away from the studio feeling wasted and sad.

The walk to the Metra Train is a good mile and a half. It is good cardio, and great stress relief.  I walk straight down Randolph Street, passing produce warehouses, meatpackers, wholesale florists, and Harpo Studios.  The area is being gentrified from Fulton Market, to condo lofts and restaurants.  I walked past the wholesalers, and into the restaurant section, and noticed the same homeless man I see each night.  He was busy constructing shelter from a myriad collection of old clothes, a sleeping bag, and some cardboard.  He saw me and smiled, and I asked him if he was hungry.  I buy him food at the gyro diner on the corner when he asks, but tonight he is set. 

He said to me:  “You look like you had a tough day!”

What do you say to that?

Gratefulness sometimes lies between the lines and in the shadows, waiting patiently for us to recognize it.  Sometimes it leaps out from a battered lump of cloth and cardboard and knocks us to our knees.  I know the rest of the shoot is going to be what it is, and that’s just fine.