Page 9 of The Nanny and the Hothead
The woman nodded. “Parties give a photographer time to absorb the environment and observe. Start there.”
Charlotte cocked her head to the side. “Start by absorbing?”
“Look beyond what’s right in front of you and capture the heart of what’s there. A party, a rock, a leaf fluttering to the ground—it’s the photographer’s job to tell that story through her lens,” Professor Tran explained.
Charlotte nodded.
“Now, did you have a question for me? My assistant said you’d like my opinion for a submission.”
Charlotte swallowed hard—which was some feat, with a mouth devoid of liquid. “I’d like to apply for a workshop at the Royal College of Art. I was hoping you could help me choose a submission photograph,” she finished, handing over her portfolio. “I think the first two photographs are the strongest, but I’d appreciate your insight.”
Professor Tran opened the book and examined the images. “Do you have any more?”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. That wasn’t a good sign! Plus, she was sure those shots of the city were two of her best. “Yes, I’ve got more images on my iPad.”
“Could I see them?” the professor prompted.
She slid the device from her bag, opened it to her digital portfolio, then handed it over.
Janine Tran scanned photo after photo as frown lines pulled at the corners of her mouth. Charlotte steadied herself, wobbling a fraction thanks to her precarious shoe predicament. Now she was the one who must look as if she’d eaten eight-day-old egg salad.
“When is the submission due for the workshop?” the professor asked.
“It’s a few days away,” she rasped, working to keep her voice steady, when a car stopped in front of the gallery.
Time was up!
Professor Tran nodded to the driver, then handed back the iPad.
Charlotte couldn’t speak as she observed the woman whose opinion she valued above all else.
“When I look at your work, it’s sound photography. Perspective is good. You understand how to work with the light,” the professor began.
“Thank you,” Charlotte answered. Okay, this wasn’t as bad as she thought.
“But I don’t see you,” the professor finished.
The hope in Charlotte’s heart withered away. “I don’t like to have my picture taken,” she confessed.
Janine Tran shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. What do you want? What’s your vision?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “My vision?” she parroted back.
“Yes.”
Vision?
Charlotte shifted her stance. Did the woman mean the visual components of a composition or something else?
“I’m not sure I understand the question. When I take a picture, I’m mindful of what the client wants—what shots they’ll be expecting. How is that wrong?” she replied, and not a second had passed before she knew her answer wasn’t the answer Janine Tran was looking for.
“Anyone can point a camera at something,” the woman began, reaching for the door. “When you call yourself a photographer, you become part of the equation. Think of the shot like it’s your family. You’re a part of it even if you’re not in the frame.”
Charlotte mustered a weak smile. While she understood the analogy, not every family fit the bill. When it came to her family, she wasn’t included in the frame. “I see,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.
“I suggest you go back to the beginning, Charlotte.”
The beginning?
