Chapter 5

Monday Mr. Nordstrom posted a schedule for the project that showed Tuesday as an introductory session for everyone involved.

"Well, Thomas, are you ready to work?" Mr. Grossfeldt asked as I walked into the photography studio for the meeting Tuesday afternoon. What was he doing here? Since I wasn't his student anymore, and after our discussion over coffee last spring, I'd lost my immediate fear of being in his presence, but still...

"Yes, sir."

"I see you brought your camera; you realize we cannot allow any strobe lights, do you not?"

"Of course. The ultraviolet component in the flash wouldn't do the paintings any good. Oh, not that a single flash would cause an immediate effect, but better safe than sorry. Isn't that the same reason only incandescent lighting is used in the galleries?"

"Very good! You obviously are aware of the protocol for fine art. It is unfortunate so many visitors ignore the posted signs.

"Do you have any experience with incandescent lighting?" he asked.

"Yes, I have. Mainly for photographing small items. I used nothing but incandescent lights until I could afford a good set of strobes, and still use them when it seems appropriate."

"Thomas, you continue to challenge my opinion of photographers." High praise from a man I originally thought would never say a good thing about anyone with a camera in his hand.

As the rest of the group filtered in I saw some familiar faces—Anse David and a couple of others from Photography, and several more I recognized. In a small school like the Institute, it doesn't take too long before you recognize almost everyone on campus, even if you don't share any classes with them. I did notice Frank Fowler wasn't there. Surprise, surprise. With his who-gives-a-shit attitude I doubt he'd have wanted to be involved even if Mr. Nordstrom had asked. Not that there'd been much chance of that!

Speaking of our instructor...

"Good afternoon, everybody. We'll keep this session short, just a quick introduction and some time for you to ask questions.

"As you know, the purpose of this project is to document some of the Institute's lesser-known pieces in a catalog that will be published and available for purchase in the gift shop. We'll be working with both flat art as well as sculptures and other three-dimensional pieces. I'd like each of you to get some exposure to photographing all types of art. After all, this is supposed to be a learning experience, too." That got chuckles from everybody.

"Since no one can be an expert with every type of art—not even me—we'll have several additional staff members available to assist. For instance, I'm sure you all recognize Mr. Grossfeldt." Several nervous mumbles were the only reaction. Everyone in the room had been exposed to Grossfeldt since his courses were a required part of the curriculum for all majors, and it was obvious I wasn't the only one who'd experienced his, um... unique style of instruction.

"We'll be starting next Monday and I'd like all of you to sign up for at least one afternoon or evening a week for the next month. At that time we'll determine if additional time is needed.

"Oh, and before I forget, in addition to the extra credit, the Institute has agreed to offer each of you a stipend for your work. It will be available either as a check at the end of the program or as credit against tuition or purchases at the bookstore. Just don't expect it to cover too much!" That got a laugh from everyone.

"Any questions?" He looked around the room.

"Um, you said they were going to print a catalog? Does that mean the Institute is going to sell those pieces?" one of the guys asked.

"No, in this case it's a book that shows the work, not something like the old Sears catalog."

After answering a few more questions that came up, he passed around a sign-up sheet and we were done for the day.

That night Beth and I visited my parents for dinner. Kev was at Gail's so it was just the four of us. I had almost expected Beth's folks to be there until I remembered they were out of town on a business trip of some sort. For parents from such different social strata, our folks seemed to be pretty close. At times it almost seemed as if they had formed a unified front to make sure we stayed together. I'd even kidded Beth that Kev was lucky she didn't have a sister his age. Otherwise Gail wouldn't have had a chance.

"So, how's school going for the two of you?" Mom asked as we sat at the table after the meal.

We spent an hour talking about school and life in general. I thought Dad was going to laugh himself off his chair when Beth talked about our fuzzy new housemate. Eventually Mom got up and started clearing the table. We all got up, intending to help, until we male-types ended up getting booted out of the kitchen. Apparently Mom wanted some girl time with my lady. Dad and I settled in the family room.

"So how's your photo business doing?" Dad asked.

"Great! I've been getting a bunch of commercial work, including a lot of repeat business. It's the way the hardware stuff's been selling that's amazed me. I mean, my little idea for a tripod add-on has really taken off."

"That's great, Tommy! How about school?"

What was this—Pump the Kid Day?

"Well, it's a little early to say. I mean we've only been back in class for a week. I'll be starting that special project I told you about so that'll take care of any spare time."

"Just don't over-extend yourself. Don't forget to get plenty of sleep," he said with a quick glance toward the kitchen.

"Dad! Jeez!" My dad was a dirty old man! Thinking that's all Beth and I did.

"Tommy, I remember what it was like to be your age.

"By the way, I just got our bank statement yesterday and I see you didn't withdraw anything from your college account. You DID remember to pay your tuition, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. I earned enough to cover it. This quarter anyway."

"Well, just don't forget the money's there if you need it." Did I hear just a touch of pride in his voice? Was it that I was doing well enough on my own to handle school expenses myself, or was it because he and Mom had been able to stash away enough over the years to help if I needed it? Or maybe a little of both?

Our ladies came in about then and we talked for another hour before Beth and I could escape.

Once in the car, Beth let out a huge sigh.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Normally Beth and my mom got along pretty well. We'd both been very lucky in that department. Between my folks and Beth's, it seemed almost a conspiracy to make sure we were happy, not like some of the stories we'd heard from friends about parents trying to keep their kids from making any permanent attachments.

"Oh, it's nothing. Your mom just sounded like she was impatient to be a grandmother. I told her again we both want to finish school before we get married or have kids. She agreed, but I still got the feeling she wished we'd hurry."

What was with my mother? I mean, any normal parent would be thrilled to hear we were in no hurry to have kids. So what was going on with her?

Wednesday morning I woke up before the alarm went off for a change. I rolled over and saw my lady, stretched out on her tummy with Pye draped over her ankles ... sound asleep. I think he finally got the hint that trying to squeeze between us in bed wasn't appreciated and had taken up residence on our feet at night. I got up and stumbled to the bathroom, then grabbed my camera. The two of them snoozing away was just too tempting. As I walked back in the bedroom Pye looked up at me and emitted something that sounded entirely too much like Beth's "Oh, God, he's got the camera ... again" groan.

It was obvious when Beth finally got up, as Pye padded into the kitchen to give me his morning tale of woe. Such a pitiful wailing and gnashing of teeth you never heard. Not that I was going to buy it. I gave him his usual bowl of cat food and selfishly kept my breakfast to myself. At least until I got up to get myself a second cup of coffee and found when I turned back to the table that our felonious feline had hopped onto the table and was helping himself to my eggs and toast.

When my lady walked into the kitchen the performance was repeated. We'd have been hung by our thumbs if the PETA folks ever heard him howl at his mistreatment and miserable life. I just shook my head and grinned when Beth folded and fed him bits off her plate.

Once I got to school, the day took forever. I was anxious to start on the project and every class session—well, maybe with the exception of Photography—seemed to last at least three hours.

When I walked into the room set aside for the project, I saw Mr. Nordstrom had the view camera set up with the digital back already mounted and a table full of statues ready for their close-ups.

"Hello, again, Tommy," he said. "Are you ready to get to work?"

"I sure am! So we're starting with statues first?"

He just chuckled. "Better not hear you call these statues within earshot of Mr. Grossfeldt. According to him, these are sculptures. Statues are images of dead generals and politicians." Something to remember.

"How do you want these photographed? I mean, do you want just plain images with flat lighting or something with a little—I don't know—drama? You know, higher contrast lighting, colored gels, or what?"

"Mug shots or mag shots, huh?" Mr. Nordstrom chuckled. "Why don't we do some of each. After all, the Institute spends a lot of time and money designing and arranging their displays, so I guess we should do the same for the catalog. Or at least give them some choices.

"Let's start with this one," he said, picking up a piece about a foot tall.

I put it on a short draped pedestal that was sitting on the work table. The pedestal gave me just enough separation from the background so I could light the sculpture without a lot of unwanted shadows.

It seemed like a day later when Mr. Nordstrom decided we'd done enough for one session. "Tommy, why don't we take a look at what we've got so far, then we can call and have one of the staff people come down to return these pieces to storage."

Sounded good to me. It took a lot of concentration to get exactly the right image, especially with a view camera—so many possible adjustments made for too many choices.

We loaded the files onto the lab's computer. With its twenty-four inch monitor we should be able to check every detail.

I plopped myself on one of the high stools and started going through the day's work. I was a little surprised at the small number of images we'd gotten for two hour's work.

I kept a note pad next to the monitor as I went through the individual shots. As careful as I thought I'd been, there were some that would require little adjustments to get the final image I had envisioned. I was sure Mr. Grossfeldt and the rest of the staff would want some changes along with the suggestions Mr. Nordstrom offered.

I stopped when one shot came up. We'd been working with a nude done in white marble and, as an experiment, I'd lit the background in blue and put an orange gel on the main light. The result gave the appearance of a sunset. As I was looking at it, Mr. Nordstrom chuckled.

"Bring back some memories, Tommy?"

As a matter of fact, seeing it on the screen reminded me of the sunset picture I'd gotten of Beth, all oiled up, glistening as if she'd just risen from the waves.

Had I subconsciously done that?

"Y-yeah, it does," I stammered.

"Couldn't be your special lady, could it? The one whose drawing got you in so much trouble when it was in our magazine?"

"Um ... yeah, that would be her."

"Well, think on the bright side—if we use this one, I don't think the subject will complain," he laughed.

"Tommy, I'm going to have to leave for an appointment for about an hour. Do you want to keep working or shall we lock up?"