I felt a little like one… Of course my mission was completely different -and I wasn't Deckard, although she looked a lot like Rachael… I had to follow her from Paris to the little island of Giudeca, in Venice. She was beautiful and she looked slightly sad and very innocent, but I didn't feel guilty. After all, my mission was not only to investigate her but to protect her as well. This time I had to use the help of two of my associates -the Fox and the Mister. They were old subjects of mine that became good friends and valuable colleagues. Both male and very attractive, they were the perfect decoy… Beautiful women rarely say no to handsome male photographers who offer to make their portraits. I called, they responded, and so we proceeded. It was a complete success. Although in my shots it seems like she is sometimes looking at my lens, the truth is that she didn't even glance at me. I don't think she saw me at all. Of course the fact that I was equipped only with my faithful Ricoh GR, helped a lot. Big lenses have a strong impact on beautiful subjects. I felt invisible, totally absent and powerful. Something you couldn't say about Deckard…
It was the name of an art bar in Athens. My photographic investigation was surrounded by mystery because, this time, I had to find out for myself who my subjects were. My employer could not disclose that information and although it might seem unusual, I knew it was for safety reasons -my safety. It was one of those times when conceptual projections could not only mislead you, but kill you. So, I entered the bar without expectations and preconceptions, without clinging to thoughts. I was late for the reading of erotic poetry. But I knew instantaneously that my subjects would come to me. I went to the garden. The name of the bar clearly suggested that after the poetry reading some sort of crime would take place. Without expectations of an Agatha Christie plot -but secretly hoping for it, I must admit- I waited. My connection, Dorian loaded a roll of film in his camera. That was the signal. I got up, approached his table and tripped. Four arms reached out for me. The two belonged to a beautiful male creature, the Dandy. In his vintage diamond cufflinks I could read the word "Poems" in cryptic writing. The other two belonged to a sparkling female creature, the Therapist. In her necklace the word "Crimes" was featuring in the same cryptic manner. I knew then that Poems and Crimes were the names of two families of people whose role though, remained to be discovered. One thing I knew with certainty: I had to shoot them both. Since the beginning of my career as a photographic investigator, it was always clear to me that each investigation could be my last one. My intuition told me that this time the possibilities were greater. I took out my camera and when the luminosity of these magnificent beings shone upon me I recognised it as the inner radiance of my own mind.
It was Valentines Day and for some unknown reason, all the heroes were out of town. Some said it was because of an unscheduled hero meeting. It wasn't a pretty sight. My subject had a hero date that afternoon and she was disappointed. But that worked well for me. Disappointment is more eloquent as far as a photographic investigation goes. My subject tried to be open minded about it and check out the non-hero population. But the disappointment escalated and it got to a point were it woke up her sense of humour. That date could be rescheduled, after all…
Bathed in the illusory light of the afternoon and helpless under a sky beautifully painted by chem trails, watching fellow photographic investigators investigating something that I could see but I knew it does not exist, I felt the need to capture this moment -although I knew this was impossible- as I reminded myself: "All phenomena are selfless, empty, free from conceptual elaboration. In their dynamic they resemble an illusion, mirage, dream or reflected image. A celestial city, an echo, a reflection of the moon in water, a bubble, an optical illusion, or an intangible emanation".
That's what her brand of cigarettes was called. They were triggering her ability to disappear whenever she wanted to. That was her special gift. And that's why she had escaped the attention of other photographic investigators for so long. Not mine of course. The task was simple. Shoot her the moment she disappears and wait to see her reappear… because disappearing is understood, it's the reappearing that puzzled me. The mission was a success, but, then, you will never know if I am telling the truth. And I hope that you will also find it hard to believe that I have stolen some of her cigarettes while she was gone…
She was the woman with no face. Simply because nobody was able to take a shot at it. Nobody knew what exactly happened to those who did, but everybody knew that they ended up in "Casablanca". Whether Casablanca was a night club, a dungeon or a concept, remained to be discovered. All I had to do was follow her and try to take that shot. I was feeling fearless that morning. Suddenly, I realised that The Fox was walking next to me. He had probably the same intention. I decided to let him take the first shot. Then, by simply following him, I would find out about Casablanca. It wasn't a bad plan. Not bad at all. But I will talk more about what happened to The Fox in a future post…
Her job was to inspire strong and photographically very dangerous men. She was the Muse. In many ways, investigating only her would be like investigating at least five of my most challenging cases. I did it for myself. Sometimes a photographic investigator must go one step beyond to make her life easier. So I befriended her and did my usual thing… She was very cool and relaxed and although everything was going well, there was something alarming in her behaviour. She was too friendly. She was talking constantly on the phone saying the word "Ammmooore" and pronouncing it in this particular way. I thought she was inspiring someone. One of my subjects. But still, I could not shake off the feeling that something was wrong. I went to my hotel room and called one of my collections to check it out. I found out that Amore was a code name for a major investigative operation with the objective to locate all the wandering photographic investigators -like me- and put a constant watch over them. The headquarters were in Monaco. And it seemed that the Muse was the Boss. I found this information very intriguing. We were getting along very well. Perhaps I could offer her my services. But I had the feeling that the Muse was herself one step beyond me. Well… All I knew was that "Ammmmoore" sounded very cool.
The Fox was late. My partner was convinced that he was hidden somewhere shooting us. I accepted the possibility and started to act nonchalantly, photographically investigating the crowd in Piazza San Marco. Conclusion: when someone is late, it always turns out for the best.
Photographically investigating fellow investigators is not easy. But it's something every photographic investigator must do, sooner or later… I have discovered, after many trials and fails, that the method that works best for me is to make them think they are investigating… me. And in the meantime, it's a great opportunity to investigate a more about myself. A little more self investigation can never come too late and can never be too much.
He was one of my most dangerous assignments. That's why I got payed 3 times my usual fee to investigate him -and in advance… After all, I had to think of Juanita and Lupe, my faithful helpers. He was known to secret, underground circles of Venice as "Mr Blue Sky" because whenever he appeared the clouds had a tendency to disappear. And a photographic investigator always knows that a man who can scare the clouds in Venice is extremely dangerous. So, I had to take double caution. Mr Blue Sky was getting around under the facade of a photographer, but he was really the drummer of a jazz band called "Dangerous People". A job very well picked, I might add, because no one ever notices the drummer… Of course, this was yet another facade. Mr Blue Sky was a man on a secret mission. Not violent by nature, but prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect his cover. His mission was to discover the secret biscotti recipe of the legendary Rossela. Her biscotti had miraculous antidepressant, uplifting and sometimes hallusinogenic powers -and Mr Blue Sky's employer had already spend a fortune to get his hands on it. As soon as he had the recipe, an underground factory would prepare the biscotti only for his personal delight. Of course, I knew all about even before Mr Blue got his assignment. You see, I knew Rossela. And I had the recipe. I have tasted the biscotti. So I knew I should never let him get near her. And that's how this photographic investigation begun… It hasn't ended yet… Mr Blue Sky is not easy to fool. The only thing that is certain is that I will take the recipe to my grave -Rossela is already in a safe place. Let's hope that that day will delay a little more.
She was more than that, of course. I wouldn't be investigating her otherwise… She made jewels with mystic materials that nobody knew where they came from. They were very personal and very protective. Protective against everyone's fears. They were working as a trigger to remind to their bearers that the their fear existed only in their mind and in a way that it made them stop treating something that did not exist as something real. She managed to conceal her special gifts but everyone seemed to get what they needed, when they needed it. I was sitting next to her in a coffee shop and I haven't realised what she really did until I wore the jewel that appeared mysteriously in my jacket pocket as I was entering my car.
She drove a bright red 1969 Ford Cortina GT with white leather seats. She wore a bindi between her eyes and she ordered cold coffee. I knew she was a time machine malfunction visitor when I saw her taking out of her purse a bright yellow plastic toy film camera and started taking photos of everyone around. I stole that camera from her, the moment she handed the DJ a vinyl record with the soundtrack of Henry Mancini's Pink Panther asking him to play "Cortina" -if he wouldn't mind. She dissapeared in a flash, the moment Super Mario, the DJ, touched the record. And this was probably the reason why the record hadn't disappear as well. But when I reached for the vintage film camera in my bag, it wasn't there. "Maybe I am not here either", I thought.
It's funny how the lyrics of a song that you randomly hear on the radio or at the end of an episode of your favourite TV series sum up your understanding of a situation, of a day, even of your life. Or gives you a pretty good idea of how you would like things to be from now-on. "May the good Lord shine a light on you. Make every song (you sing) your favourite tune. May the good Lord shine a light on you. Warm like the evening sun", sung the Rolling Stones. And that was it for me... It's true there was already a connection between us, of course. You know, since "Angie"...
Everybody knows about the meaning of Christmas or the Christmas spirit... And while a photographic investigator relies heavily on these great values -obviously for attracting minimum hostility during her festive photographic investigations- what gives her the greatest joy and sense of accomplishment, is, what in the photographic investigation dialect is called the spinning of Christmas or the Christmas spinning. Which is a kind of spinning energy around people or situations that are apparently without interest and which can only be detected by the lens. The sense of satisfaction comes from the fact that while the photographic investigator was submitted to a sometimes slow torture trying to pretend that she relates or that she is interested in her subjects -who most of the time feel equally weird about her too- the Christmas spinning comes to give a different Christmas meaning to what would otherwise be a waste of time.
It was the day before the solstice and the day was happy because she wasn't the smallest. Her super small sister was expected tomorrow, the 21st of December and that was celebrated because it's a cool thing to know that you can't possibly get less light. And if you can't get less, you'll get more… I like to think that that's what subconsciously made the people around me so happy in that "bleak midwinter" Sunday. Or could it be the waiting for the longest night?
Looking at old shots while listening to Bill Evans seemed like a fine way to pass a Sunday afternoon. The music gave them a completely different dimension. And here they are...
It is amazing how some of my subjects naturally glow with that light. I love them, not only because they make me happy, but also because this warm, natural christmas light is perfect for photos. No flash needed, ever!
