I was assigned to photograph the archivist by a local magazine doing a piece on her. These types of shoots are a real deviation from my typical approach, in that they often involve showing up at the person’s place of work, taking only a few shots and then very quickly leaving. It’s always a challenge for me to walk away when I want to photograph more thoughtfully and pursue a bit more depth. But that’s not what these sessions (if you could even call them that) are about, and in a way this has been a good discipline for me.

It’s possible that the archivist dislikes being photographed more than I do, and though she was polite and kind she clearly wanted the “procedure” over with as quickly as possible. It was obvious that she felt about me much the way I feel about dentists…..no matter how pleasant I intended to make the experience she preferred to not spend a moment’s time in my company. I tried to not take this personally.

I, however, wanted to spend more time with her. I thought she was beautiful, with a demure elegance that was hauntingly familiar and compelling. As I walked out of the building I was already imagining how I might contact her again and suggest a family shoot. But I knew this would make her uncomfortable, and the truth was I only wanted to observe her again, which of course would make her *really* uncomfortable.

As I drove away I questioned why she’d affected me in such a way. And then it hit me……she’s near the same age that my mother would be if she were still alive, her appearance and style strikingly similar, her mannerisms one and the same, even her fragrance reminiscently aromatic. I hadn’t really wanted to photograph her as much as I wanted to rush into her arms, bury my face against her, and breathe her in. (Pretty good call on my part not to act on those instincts.)

For a good five minutes though, maybe seven, I was able to be with and photograph a woman who transported my mother into the physical world for just a few frames. I would have liked more time--with my mom.



~Cynthia