crazybobbles

Here’s a lovely story for you photographers, and if you’re not a photographer, read anyway because it’s fun. This story originated from a random blog comment I made to someone, I somehow went slightly over top witih the reply and made an entire side story with it. Slightly commical but nonetheless CHILLING haha:

I was at a Lykke Li gig in a venue called Scala, located near Kings Cross London. Inside the venue I had spent the first 30 minutes sat on the surprisingly short stage finishing off Nineteen Eighty Four, angling myself here and there in the dim blue venue lights trying to achieve maximum illumination. It wasn’t the best place to read a book but I was near the end and things just got exciting. There weren’t many people at the front at first but eventually 3 rather annoying people stood by me, one of which was trying to budge me away so they could sit on the stage too. They were rather loud and obnoxious, the type who listen to Kaiser Chief (yes, come get me Kaiser Chief fans) and brag about the number of parties they went to this week. Fortunately I had my lovely earphones on so it was easy to drown their conversation with music.

It was a sold out show so slowly the venue became more and more packed, professional photographers slowly began to sliver to the front. Tonight the stage was set up so there was no barrier to separate the fans from the artists (close enough that Lykke Li could give you a private dance), this also meant that there wasn’t a photo pit available for those gig photographers to swoop in for the perfect position and view. They had to slowly barge in front, plead front row fans to surrender their spot so they can take their amazing shots or just take it from afar. Among the 3 or 4 photographers, wielding their huge massive digital cameras was a man who we shall call Mark, he was probably the best photographer out of the other 2-3. The 3 annoying people glared at him in spite, eyes focused on his gear, it wasn’t a friendly glare, they’d most likely wanted to push him out of the front so he couldn’t take photos.

“He was no amateur, and even if his face didn’t show it, his f**k off lens did.”

Mark was bearing a Canon EOS 1d (the flagship DSLR cameras produced by Canon), he was a tall man with long greasy hair combed back, his face had a slight stubble and it looked like he had long taken notice on the way he looked. He wore a long beige overcoat and carried two camera bags, one to store his Canon 1d camera and the other to store his collection of lenses, he was fully armed for the event, every piece of equipment he owned was of the highest quality man could buy (at a camera shop), carefully calibrated and tuned to perfection. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a tripod hidden inside his massive overcoat either. His face was painted with years of experience and operating the camera during a gig to him was as easy and instinctive as solving 2 + 2 (“Four! Five! Four! I don’t know”). He was no amateur, and even if his face didn’t show it, his f**k off lens did.

However hidden within that bottomless experience I realised a sadness in his eyes, he was alone, then I became aware of the other professional gig photographers i’ve met in the past, they all carry a certain sadness in them (his was more obvious probably because he was at the top of the photography gear field, he couldn’t possibly go any further). They all tried to keep it inside, tell themselves and the people around them that they were fine, that once their photos were published it would be worth it, worth the alienation and sadness. But no matter how much they tried to hide it, they were inextricably alone.

“Their cameras were cheap back then but they were happy.”

They had forgotten who they really were, they had forgotten their sweet innocent memories as an ameture photographer, how when they were young they were all arty and happy with photography, how they’d do mini projects and roam around the countryside taking creative and beautiful nature shots, of animals, or insects, of things that inspired them and those around them. Their cameras were cheap back then but they were happy. They yearned for a better camera but their happiness and enthusiasm was always still there to support them and their goals.

Now it was a stark reality, it had sucked all their life in them, photos became a service or a product that they produced. They want to stop but it was too late, it was their life, without it they would need to find other means of survival. The 3 annoying folks continued to give Mark evils and even spoke about him quietly enough that it was suppose to be for their ears only but loud enough for Mark to hear, this wasn’t something Mark was new to, he was numb from all the stuff he’s heard in the past, all the unsubtle bitching and badmouthing, he’s heard it all before. Every sigh Mark made felt heavy and empty, he wish this could end, he wish he could be part of the audience instead, enjoying the show, wishing he could see the real beauty of photography but it was too late. He noticed me holding my dslr camera but smiling as I took random shots of this and that (think I was chirpy because I was wearing green converse to work), how it reminded him of himself when he was younger, if only he remembered what it was like again, all he could think of were focal lengths and aperture.

“If the number of shots I made at the gig were the actually gun shots, I think the entire audience would be dead”

I stood quite near him but was separated from him by the 3 annoying people, they took out their compact camera, already fully loaded with photos from their previous party they went to, meaning that they had to delete some photos (common sense wasn’t their forté). They slowly navigated through their photos, 3 heads crammed into one focusing point, looking at the small 2.5 inch telescreen, laughing at the ridiculous shots and poses they were doing. I took notice of Mark when they were looking at their photos, he sneakily was peering at their photos, muting and holding back his criticisms to how poorly shot the photos were he saw the simple happiness they were in, he briefly smiled at the funny poses they made but the 3 people took no notice of him, it was like smiling to a brick wall, the notion and meaning was lost instantly as it crashed head first into the cold red bricks of ignorance. He noticed me looking at him and I gave him a quick smile, perhaps one that suggested that I knew what he was thinking, telling him “it’s alright, I understand” in a soothing Morgan Freeman voice. Sadly there wasn’t much I could do, I would have talked to him about camera gear but those 3 people were in front of us. Some moments for him was unbearable as all he could do was sit and wait.

He began thinking again. He neglected all his close friends and loved ones in order to focus on his photography career. His mind was swarmed with past memories that every now and then haunted him in his slumber. The time where he refused to go out because he was saving up to buy his next new camera, or the time when he punched his best friend because he had taken tried to take a photo using his new camera and lens he had spent months saving up for (with the lenscap still on). He became selfish and felt his friends were unworthy of company and portrait shots, to him they had become an unfocused crowd he no longer recognised, a dull glitter of bokeh, whilst his gear was his tack sharp possession. His day and night, his life. Gradually he became distant and alienated, he would only leave his apartment when he had to shoot for a gig or when he needed to get his camera professionally calibrated.

He left the one he loved for all of this too, she was a photographer too but he was never interested in her works, he thought they were immature and silly, they haven’t spoken for 3 years. Would she call? would she still see him? who knows, he was too ashamed to go back to her, talk to her, tell her he’s sorry, tell her that he was wrong and that he shouldn’t have left her, he wished and wished he could turn back time and start over, to grab her by the arms, tell her that he loved her with all his heart, that he was sorry he had neglected her and that she was always number 1, to hold her in his arms and show her that he would never leave her ever again. He wanted to feel her soft gentle face pressed against his chest whilst he slowly caressed her hair, deeply inhaling her dark hair and smelling the coconut essence she used to wash her hair with. Should he call? Should he leave the venue and see her right now? He knew his answer already, he was ashamed.

Anyway, he seemed pretty happy when the band went on so maybe he was actually happy and it was just me giving him a lovely sidestory :p