Chapter 28: Full Frame

I KIND OF RUSHED through lunch and cleanup on Sunday afternoon so I could get over to the studio. I got the new pictures off the drying rack and took them downstairs to the big sawhorse table. I laid out my portfolio of shots that weren’t on the wall and checked to make sure my studio looked professional and ready for action. I was standing at the third floor door when Mr. Grossman pulled up and parked. He waved and mounted the steps.

“Welcome to Attic Allure,” I said when he entered. We both chuckled a little as we shook hands and I ushered him into the big open space.

“This is beautiful, Nate. You’ve expanded your range of backdrops.”

“I made enough money that I could get a few new lights and the muslin backdrops like your newer ones. But my contact in Chicago had just cleaned out an old theatre and had all these painted backdrops and a bunch of props he sent me. Said he couldn’t get rid of them in Chicago and had a truck headed for Des Moines that he could put them on if I’d take them.”

“Sounds like a good contact to have. And you’ve changed formats. This is an excellent camera,” Mr. Grossman said, looking at the Hasselblad set up on the tripod.

“I sort of have a patron. He saw my photos and arranged for me to have a better camera. I don’t even know who it is.”

“Congratulations. That will help you a lot. As much as this new studio space.”

“Mr. Barkley, who owns the store, said that it was just sitting empty collecting dust and might as well be used. We cleaned forever and then washed and waxed the floors. We just got the drapes up yesterday.”

“We?”

“My two girlfriends and I. They came into your studio Friday afternoon, but were too busy looking at your photo display to be introduced.”

“Oh, yes. Lovely girls. Speaking of displays, this is your gallery now?”

“Yes, sir. I have my portfolio and some newer shots on the table.”

Grossman took his time examining the hanging pictures. Of course, there were still some of the pictures he’d already seen hanging, but the majority were pictures that I’d taken since his last visit. He did a lot of going back to the older prints and then comparing them to newer ones.

“You’ve come a long way in a short time, Nate. I feel bad that I haven’t been more available to help you. This picture,” he said pointing at the first archival print of Lori, “would win a competition in nearly any part of the country except the Midwest. I find it very interesting that you’ve got models in this small town who are willing to pose for this type of photo. I see the artistry involved in the model, the photography, and the processing. I’m afraid most Midwestern judges would only see bare breasts. We just aren’t California.”

“I’ve definitely been lucky. I still only have a couple who are willing to model like this and let me display them. There are a couple of others, but they aren’t eighteen yet.”

“Yes, it’s best to avoid displaying photos of that sort. For all the talk of free love in this country, there are pockets that are becoming more conservative and more critical. So, let’s look at the newest pictures.”

We walked over to the table and he sat to examine what I had. The highlights, of course, were two of Lori with the falling silhouettes, Avery among the mushrooms, and Avery beneath the streetlight. He immediately pulled those four to the front and got out his loupe to examine them closely.

He didn’t say anything for a long time as he examined those photos and then looked through the portfolio.

“These photos would be welcome in any commercial gallery. You could probably sell a limited edition of this print for upwards of a hundred dollars,” he said, pointing to the picture of Avery under the streetlamp.

“A hundred dollars? How limited an edition?”

“A limited edition photograph is not an entirely new concept, but until Ansel Adams started selling his prints, there was little available. At the moment, a limited edition is typically an edition of 25 on fine archival paper, matted, signed by the artist, and bearing a sequential number from one to the number of the edition. You might also print some non-archival photos and sell them unsigned at a significantly reduced price. But what makes an edition limited when you could simply go to your darkroom and print some more?”

“That’s a good point. People pretty much have to believe you, don’t they? If I say there are only 25, then they have to trust me that there are only 25,” I said, nodding.

“But how many people who have never heard of you will trust your word on that? The only way to ensure a photograph is a limited edition is to destroy the negative, just as the newer lithographic prints are pulled and then the plates are destroyed.”

“I just ... I can’t imagine destroying a negative. I did once, because it was pornographic, but even then, my stomach kind of gave a lurch when I cut it up.”

“It’s something to think about, but I wouldn’t say you need to consider it yet.” He pointed at the picture of Lori in front of the wall. “You really pushed the film, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, I took Tri-X 400 and made up a couple of batches of chemicals in ‘push’ formulation to start with,” I said. “I did a comparison and developed one roll pushed two stops and pushed the other three stops. I liked the effect.”

“Indeed. This young woman is a treasure as a model. She could have a career if she can comport herself like this photo indicates. If you just wanted to help her out, you could shoot an entire portfolio of her. And not just nudes. That picture of her on the truck shows as much of her depth as a model as it shows of your photography. If she is interested in modeling, I’ll assemble a list of names she could contact in Chicago. Top modeling agencies. When they see her portfolio, I wouldn’t be surprised if you got calls as well. Good work.”

“Thank you. That’s good advice and I’ll talk to her about it. If she’s interested, I’ll be happy to put together a model portfolio for her.”

Then he shifted his attention to Avery under the streetlight. He held it in his hands and leaned back to look at it. The moment when the truck had provided the needed fill light had allowed me to capture something magical. She was real and yet ethereal. I had printed a couple of other poses to compare them, but this one just jumped out.

“This one. I would want a copy perhaps half again or even twice this size on archival paper to hang on my living room wall. This supersedes ... no, transcends the model, the setting, and the photographer. This is art.”

“I don’t think my enlarger will print anything that big,” I said. “I plan to hang that one in my own home, though.”

“One day, you’ll have what you need. But this image also creates an expectation. Now when a model comes into your studio or you go on location, everyone will expect a photo like this. You and I know it is a one-in-a-million shot. A professional model, seeing this, might understand the combination of factors that went into it. But I’m afraid a typical portrait customer would simply assume that you can make her look like this. And you can’t.”

I nodded. I had other pictures that approached this. Some of Patricia showed the culmination of model, setting, and photography that could establish my reputation. But she wasn’t eighteen. The same was true of the photo of Chris, beckoning to me to approach. I needed to find out when both their birthdays were. I wouldn’t use Chris as a model like that, but Patricia wanted the photos in a portfolio like Mr. Grossman suggested for Lori.

“Can you give me any other advice? I know I’m kind of asking for a lot, but how can I improve my photography?”

“Well, technically, you are moving along at the pace your equipment allows. A new or more advanced enlarger so you can do larger formats and also get better optics would help, but that is something you’ll be able to afford in the future. I’m not sure you could fit one in your current darkroom.”

“I think this one is about fifty years old,” I laughed. “I love it, but I understand what you mean. A lot of times I wish I had some feature or another that would make things easier or allow a different technique. Or even one that didn’t generate as much heat.”

“That will come eventually. The other thing I see as I scan all your photos is that you have an excellent eye for composition, but you are exercising it in the darkroom and possibly not with the camera.”

“What do you mean, sir?” I asked. I thought the composition of my photos was pretty good the way I was printing them.

“This is something that the top photographers in the country do but is very difficult. And they don’t do it with every photo. What you are doing at the moment—and there is nothing wrong with it—is looking at your proof and your negative and cropping it to get the right composition. One of the nice features of your photos for competition was that they weren’t just straight 8x10 portraits or landscapes. You were able to create images that were the size and proportion you wanted. If you get into photojournalism, you won’t even be the one who decides how it’s cropped. The layout artist for the newspaper will look at his board and determine he needs your photo to fit in a two-column wide space that is one and a half inches tall. That’s the space he has and that’s what your picture will be sized and cropped to.”

“That kind of sucks, doesn’t it? I guess I understand. The yearbook portraits I took had to be cropped and presented in a specific size and aspect ratio. Other than that, I’m either printing to the paper, say 8x10, or cropping what I want. I’m creating standalone art. In a newspaper it would be just a part of the whole.”

“Right. Now, for your standalone art, consider composing the whole picture before you snap the shutter. Make sure that everything in the frame contributes to the composition. Then print it full frame, without cropping it. Even with the black border. Yes, that limits you to the proportions of your 2x2 camera or the 35mm. But it will challenge your artistic eye to see the entire composition rather than looking at what you shot and creating the composition by cropping. I’d suggest you print an enlargement of some of your best pieces as full frame images and look at the whole thing to see what your eye saw when you took the picture. You might be surprised,” he said.

I’d never really considered that. I knew that even as far back as my 4-H project years ago, Mr. Harris had cropped out some extraneous stuff, like a telephone pole or a pointing hand. In fact, the shape of the photos was all standard 3.5x5 for display, even though the negatives from the Brownie were square. I was definitely going to try some of this full frame enlarging to see what I could learn.

We chatted for quite a while and Mr. Grossman gave me a few tips on what would improve a particular photo. I thanked him profusely, and when he left, I went straight to the darkroom.

I packaged up a bunch of my newest photos for Uncle Nate and sent them off to him in an envelope conspicuously marked “Do Not Bend!” I was just too pleased with the latest batch to wait for him to come for a visit.

I also broke a cardinal rule and took a nude print to school. It was sealed in an envelope, of course, and I didn’t think Avery would show it around school. But I wanted her to have this print because it was so darn beautiful. I saw her at lunch and thanked her for the session Thursday. I advised her to open the envelope when she was alone and preferably not in school.

Tuesday, Lori and Avery both stopped me in the hall and asked if they could come and see the rest of their photos after school. I agreed to meet them in the studio. Both girls were thrilled with their photos and I asked Lori if she would consider modeling professionally. I offered to do a portfolio for her and she started crying. She looked to Avery.

“Do it, girl! You know I’m not going into this. But Nate’s right. You have a combination of looks and movement that could make you a star. I’ll pose for Nate, just so he can look at my naked body, but in a couple of months, I’m headed to Berkeley. I won’t be having time to take on modeling gigs. That’s not my career choice,” Avery said.

“Would you really do that for me, Nate?” Lori asked.

“Absolutely. My ... mentor says that it’s just as likely that the modeling agencies will call me, too. We might end up working together again sometime,” I said.

“You know, my pussy is always open to you,” she said. “I know you say you don’t mix modeling and sex, but if sometime you just want a raw fuck, I’m offering.”

“And if you want to fuck me,” Avery said, “I’ll offer you Lori, too!”

“You two are just too much. No fucking! But if you want to come around one afternoon and parade around naked while I take more pictures, Avery, I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“Thank you for the pictures you’ve given us,” Lori said. “We have to wait at least a week after prom before either of us start modeling for more pictures. There’s just too much going on right now.”

“Isn’t there, though. I need to focus on my girlfriends this week.”

“That’s for sure. You started a real trend for prom with singles allowed. And triples. I’m taking advantage of it. I needed an escort for the processional and Melanie McMillan offered me her date, Ron Davis. It works out well. He can escort me in the processional and Melanie can fuck him afterward,” Avery said.

“It worked for me, too!” Lori said. “I was worried about getting anyone and kept trying to get in on Nate’s dance card. But when you got us triples, I took the bull by the horns, so to speak, and invited both Jeremy and Lyle to escort me.”

“The brainiac twins?” Avery said.

“The brainiac virgin twins,” Lori clarified. “I wonder if I’ll be able to tell them apart in bed!”

“Do you need an eighteen-year-old to rent you a motel room for after the prom?” Avery asked me. “Ron is taking Melanie to the Hills Motel. It isn’t much but I’ll bet they still have rooms.”

“Um ... That’s okay. I’m not going to spring a motel room on Ronda and Christine. We’ll survive.”

“We’ll talk again after,” Lori said. “Now I’m excited to get started on my portfolio.”

The girls left and I decided to get their photo selections started and to put together an idea file for Lori’s portfolio.

“Mr. Hart, please come to my office. I believe we have a financial matter to settle,” Mrs. Abernathy said when she saw me at lunch on Friday.

I followed her out of the cafeteria and down to the office where she pulled out a list of thirty-one names and set it before me.

“These are the third wheels and singles from whom we have not collected the price of their ticket. I trust that you are as good as your word,” she said.

“Wow! Thirty-one people! I really had no idea so many people would want to participate,” I said.

“I think you informed me that you were good for up to a hundred of your classmates.”

“Oh, yeah. I have to pay for this, don’t I?” I laughed. I dragged my wallet out of my pocket and began sorting out bills. Then I dug in my pocket for fifty cents. “Twenty, forty, sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven, and fifty cents,” I said as I counted the money out on her desk.

“Well, that is very good,” she said, collecting the money. “I must say I was surprised at the number of people who wanted single tickets. But many are coming as a group and said they’d treat getting dances the same as they did at a sock hop. And among these, I count ten triples. A lot of girls who didn’t want to be left behind while their best friend went out to enjoy herself, I think. Nonetheless, my eyes have been opened and we will offer single tickets to prom next year.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mrs. Abernathy. And I’m sorry to have made such a scene about it.”

“All is forgiven. I believe your bravado cost you enough. Enjoy yourself at the prom.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will.”

I left and headed back to the cafeteria. I’d paid her $77.50, but nearly everyone who wanted a ticket had paid me for it, and a couple of guys had given me a five for their two-fifty tickets just to help out. The whole venture ended up costing me $12.50. And I was glad I was providing tickets for those five people who wouldn’t have attended otherwise.

Chris and Ronda wanted to go with me when I went to Huntertown to pick up my tux and flowers Friday. That was good with me. Any time I could spend with them was good with me.

“Hey, are we going out to eat before the prom?” I asked when we settled at Gertie’s for dinner that night. “Is there any place to go?”

“Parents interfere again,” Ronda said. “They have informed me that they are taking us to Rigo’s Greek Steakhouse for dinner. We set it for six o’clock, which is two hours before the prom begins. We’re wearing party dresses and you can wear your sport coat. After dinner, we’ll come back and get dressed for the prom in our formals and your tux. You are going to look so dashing in your white dinner jacket!”

“Will we get to the prom on time?”

“Oh, geez. It goes on for four hours, you know? Doesn’t end until midnight,” Chris said. “Then there’s the after-prom, casual dance, and movie. We don’t even need to think about being there before nine.”

“I’m sure we will be, though,” Ronda said. “It doesn’t take that long for Chris and me to make ourselves beautiful.”

“It doesn’t take any time at all for that!” I said.

“You’re so sweet.”

When I got them home, we spent a little time making out, but we’d agreed that we wouldn’t have a late night right before the all-nighter tomorrow. I headed home and actually got to sleep about ten.

I slept until ten on Saturday!

Actually, Mom woke me up and told me to come to the phone. I groggily pulled on my sweats and went downstairs to find out who was calling me so early in the morning.

“These are great! I’ve shown them to a few people and we’ve got a booking.”

“Huh?” I said, trying to force myself to wake up. “Uncle Nate?”

“Yeah. What are you doing in bed so late on a bright Saturday morning?”

“Um ... It’s cloudy and windy,” I said. “Tonight’s prom, so I was getting some extra sleep before I stay up all night.”

“Ah, the joy of teenage life,” he said. “Now let’s talk about your adult business life.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“That last batch of photos you sent has people talking. The upshot is that we have an appointment for you for a full photoset. I avoided these first couple of weekends of May because I knew you’d be busy with prom and Mothers’ Day coming up. So how does the afternoon of May 21 look for you? Can you do a shoot that day?”

“That’s Sunday in two weeks? Sure. 2:00?”

“That’s the time I gave her. Now here are the details. This is for Sarah Fox. She’s Simon Guzik’s twenty-year-old daughter. Don’t try to put the make on her. She is way out of your class.”

“I don’t mess around with models,” I said firmly.

“Good. But here is better news. She signed the regular model release, so if you can get good usable photos of her, you’ll have permission to show them when you’re ready, not five years out. Of course, Sarah Fox isn’t her real name, but she’s been doing a lot of local theatre with that stage name and has decided it’s time to move to California. She needs a full and comprehensive portfolio—clothed and unclothed.”