Over Exposure
24
Afternoon of a Faun
“Rachel” by Kiselev Andrey Valerevich, ID264836234, licensed from Shutterstock.com
I MANAGED TO GET Rachel squeaky clean—at least she squeaked when I cleaned her—but I didn’t fuck her. By the time she was scrubbed, the tub was such a mess that I spent the next half hour cleaning it. I’d learned with Min’s makeup not to let it sit in the tub. What we needed was an industrial shower and I was glad the next rehearsal was in the theatre.
I rushed to get ready for dinner and the theatre and we took Kat and Julie out for a celebratory burger at the pub up the street from us. It was their choice as it had become their favorite place to go out. Melinda came in to sit with Toni for the evening so we could all go. Toni thought Melinda was basically part of the family, since she saw her in the store almost every day.
After the show we went out to the bar where the cast often gathered and everyone got to wish Kat and Julie safe travels. By this time, Kat and Rachel had exchanged contact information and even had a phone call to Rachel’s parents Saturday morning.
We didn’t stay out too late because the girls had to drive early in the morning, but we had a good time and they were invited back to do more paintings next year.
We decided to do the rehearsal Sunday without the base coat, which would speed things up and would simplify cleanup a little. This was the first time the musicians would be with us and John would be assessing what scenery would be best.
Not having the base coat certainly sped things up, but the stark contrast between the painting and Rachel’s pale skin color really skewed the whole design. Nothing looked right.
“This is obviously a bacchanalia setting,” John said as he spent a few minutes just appreciating Rachel’s body in the quickly arranged lights. “Her skin is really going to glow, though. Do you want me to tone it down with some amber and rose gel in the lights?”
“We need to keep that as an option,” Kathleen said, “but we are definitely going to use the base coat for the show. Do you guys know how long it takes just to have her ready for the painting you did today? It was still a little long.”
“I think we’ll speed up the painting,” Leanne said. “We’re going to rehearse just the paint and costume again on Thursday. We’ll time the base coat process so we know how much time to allow before the show to get her ready. There are a couple of places I think we can speed things up in the makeup if Judy can pick up some of the lower body work as I do the face makeup. I believe we’ll cut another fifteen minutes off the performance time.”
“How about having her enter through the shrubbery,” John suggested. “I’ll build a little gateway where it looks like she just emerges from the bushes. It will be like she’s just being born.”
“I like that,” I said. “The whole idea of entering in a robe seemed to disrupt the continuity. And then we had to figure out what to do with the robe.”
“Then I’ll just walk on stage naked?” Rachel asked.
“The base coat covers you almost as well as clothing,” Leanne said. “But basically, yes. It makes it look less like a striptease.”
“I guess I get that. What time does the pub open in the morning? I might need to start drinking early,” Rachel laughed.
“We’ll work out some things to ease your discomfort.”
“How about easing me out of this makeup now?”
“I’m leaving you to Leanne and Judy today,” I said. “I need to talk to Kathleen and John.”
The girls headed to the showers and I turned to the director and scene designer.
“Do you guys know anything about this Carmen Knight? I have her scheduled for a studio session on Tuesday. I don’t have much information other than portrait and Attic Allure,” I said.
“Carmen is actually going to do it?” Kathleen asked. “She asked around the theatre a lot after she saw the photos you’ve taken. That’s going to be a real challenge.”
“What gives?”
“Carmen is a stage manager. She’s not an actress,” John said. “And… um… I’d guess she weighs 200 or 220 pounds. She carries it well, but she’s a really big girl.”
“Don’t assume that’s all just fat,” Kathleen said. “She’s six feet tall. I think your big challenge is not to make a caricature out of her. She deserves as glamorous a photo as any actress.”
“Wow. Any suggestions for setting?” I asked.
“She’s a real Amazon. Wonder if she’d go for a warrior look. It suits her personality,” John said.
“I’ll talk to her,” Kathleen said. “She manages There’s One in Every Marriage.”
Monday afternoon, John arrived with a couple of backdrops and some props and costumes.
“Kathleen talked to Carmen,” he said. “I guess it was quite an emotional purging. Carmen said she just wanted someone to see her as beautiful and strong and capable. When Kathleen suggested the Amazon warrior, her eyes just lit up. I believe Carmen is a powder keg ready to go off if you light her fuse.”
I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. It sounded a little dangerous and I hoped, as Olivia put it, it didn’t get messy. I decided to play it by ear and that I’d work alone on this one. I wanted to protect the family from any explosions if that was what John meant.
“Hello, Carmen. Welcome to Attic Allure,” I said when she arrived Tuesday at noon.
“Hey.” She looked around and saw the props and costumes, walking over to touch them. “You work alone?”
“Unless you’d prefer there be someone with us,” I said.
“No. I’d prefer no one else was around. I… uh… am a little body shy around other people. Fewer the better.”
“Okay. I’ll try to be as discreet as I can be and we’ll get some great photos of you.”
“Kathleen and Leanne said I could let my inner fantasies out here,” Carmen said. I raised an eyebrow.
“Uh… Mostly that’s true. Did they also mention there’s no sex in the studio?”
“Intercourse. They specifically said there was no intercourse allowed. I’m glad. I’m pretty picky about who I allow that liberty to. But… Well, I’m picky about everything, but maybe not quite as picky.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Carmen. I’m sure we can get exactly what you want today.”
“I have a beautiful face, since Leanne spent an hour making it up this morning. But if we do the Amazon thing, she suggested you might want to change the makeup a little.”
“Why don’t we focus on a great portrait first and then think about what we’ll do with the Amazon setting. John brought over some costumes and props and a couple of backdrops to try out, but I don’t want to overwhelm the image with a lot of background stuff. Thank you for the release. Come over here and have a seat on the stool for a nice new portrait. This will be suitable to send to a friend or family, or to use as a publicity portrait in a playbill.”
Carmen was really quite lovely. Unfortunately, she was the kind of girl who had probably heard ‘Oh, you’ve got such a pretty face,’ as a way of complimenting her without mentioning her size. I was pretty sure she never wore high heels. She was dressed for the theatre, which meant she wore black slacks and a black turtleneck. It was the usual outfit for stage crew. She probably had a dozen identical outfits.
“This is going to be interesting,” I said. “I’m going to shoot a red background first and then pull a black background. The red will give just a modest contrast between your clothes and the background when we do black and white shots. The black would make you disappear, except that I’m going to backlight you to put a highlight all around your head and shoulders so you stand out of the background. I’m going to try lighting it in blue. We’ll do both black and white and if I get the effect I want, I’ll shoot a nice color portrait, too.”
“You sound like John explaining the subtleties of the lighting on one of his sets,” Carmen laughed. It was good that she was loosening up.
“Techies all have to explain what they’re doing to make it seem like we know what we’re doing,” I said. “Now lift your chin a little. Over here.”
I guided her pose and we used different expressions. She did have a nice smile, too. I got exactly the pose I wanted with the black drop and the blue backlight. She was heavenly.
“Now join me over here at the gallery and tell me what jumps out that you really like,” I said.
“I like that they’re all so beautiful, but it makes me insanely jealous. Can you make me just a little beautiful?”
“Carmen, from everything I’ve heard, you are an extraordinary woman. Damien said he could never have done either Macbeth or There’s One in Every Marriage without you. John thinks you walk on water.”
“Fat floats.”
“Carmen, look at me. I’m going to tell you you’re beautiful and by the time I’m done with you today, you will absolutely believe it. And when you see our photos, you’ll know it is all true. Can you trust me to do that?” I asked.
“Kathleen, Leanne, Olivia, Rebecca… They all told me I need to just put myself in your hands. I’m afraid you won’t find a svelte beauty when you undress me like you found with Rebecca. But you can mold this body into any shape you think it will hold. And if I tense up a little when you touch me… in uh… certain places, it’s just because I’m not used to being touched there, not because I don’t want you to.”
“Be very clear with me anytime you want me to back off or not do something. I want you to enjoy this experience, even though we’re going to do a lot of work this afternoon. Now let’s give you a little stronger makeup job instead of one so glamorous.”
“Just don’t make me look like a freak, okay?”
“Spoil the look of this beautiful face? Not on your life,” I said.
I led her into the dressing room and had her take a seat while I fixed her makeup. It didn’t take too long. If Leanne had really worked on her for an hour this morning, she’d think I was a novice. Which, I guess, I am. I’m getting better all the time, though. When I had the makeup finished, I brushed out her hair and tied a leather headband around her head. Then I turned her toward the mirror.
“Wow! I look almost innocent,” she giggled.
“Now, Carmen, I’m going to ask you a very important question. I have several costume pieces I want to put you in. Do you want me to lay them out and then leave so you can do it yourself, or do you want me to dress you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and then looked up at me in the mirror.
“I knew it would come to this. Please… dress me. And I guess that means undress me, too,” she said.
I kissed her on the forehead and went to get the costume pieces I’d chosen. I had her just stay sitting so I could reach everything and then pulled on her turtleneck. She raised her arms so I could pull it over her head, then I quickly adjusted her hair back where I wanted it. She sat there in a fairly heavy bra, which I’m sure was necessary just to provide support for her chest. She had a chest as large as one of my first models in Tenbrook. Maggie had complained that it was a pain to lug her breasts around and she planned to have reduction surgery after she turned eighteen. I wondered how that went. I unfastened the bra and slipped it off Carmen’s shoulders. She sighed.
“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” I said as I massaged the marks from the shoulder straps. “We’ll hope the rest of these marks fade before we get into a position where we’ll see any of them. Now, I hate to see them go, but this is a leather vest that will be your armor. In true fantasy art mode, though, it’s only going to cover what’s necessary and leave a lot of cleavage on display.”
“Will it fit?”
“Cleverly designed with an elastic expansion in the back,” I said.
I pulled it around her and laced the front together between her breasts. Then I stepped behind her and reached into the vest to position her breasts correctly for maximum exposure.
Next, I removed her shoes and socks and spent a minute massaging her feet as her eyes drifted closed. I had her stand and unzipped her slacks. I decided not to make her suffer through multiple rounds of reveal and just slipped my hands inside the waistband of her panties and took them down with her slacks.
“The next piece is a loincloth,” I said, fastening a leather belt around her waist. Then I pulled a strip of fabric through the belt, passed it between her legs, and through the belt at her back.
“You didn’t just dive in and grab my pussy, like you did my breasts,” she sighed.
“It wasn’t necessary to position your pussy correctly,” I laughed. “But don’t worry, there’s still time.”
She caught her breath in a little gasp that let me know she was open to the possibility. I smoothed the loincloth over her generous ass and then straightened it down the front. I had a feeling this whole outfit might have been worn by a man in a show like some Greek drama.
“Have a seat again. It’s legs next,” I said.
There was a wrap that went around her calf and was fastened in place with leather greaves. Pretty ingenious design and it looked very realistic. When I had both legs done, I had her stand again.
“Okay, shoulder armor next. Did you ever think how ridiculous women’s armor looks in comic books? Maybe you never look at comic books, but Leanne brought me a whole selection of comics with art by Frank Frazetta and Boris Vallejo. Granted, even their men usually have a bare torso with more muscles in their abs than I have in my entire body. But they have good shields, sometimes leggings. Metal plates like some world champion wrestler’s belt. The women, though, are considered well armored if they have a couple coin-sized bits to cover their nipples and a bikini bottom that is held up by faith.”
Carmen started laughing. And it was good to see as I fastened the shoulder plate to her.
“Is that how you imagine me?” she asked. “If I wore a bikini like that you wouldn’t see it at all. I’d suck it right up inside. And it would take more than a coin to cover these nips.”
“I think your nips are luscious, and when it comes time, I won’t want anything covering them at all,” I said, giving her breasts a squeeze. “Now, gauntlets.” I fastened the leather wrist-guards to her arms and handed her a shield and sword. Magnificent! I turned her to the mirror.
Her breath started coming faster and was in little gasps by the time I got her seated and she started relaxing.
“I… don’t look fat in this outfit!” she said. “I look ferocious.”
“Strong, capable, and beautiful,” I said. “Let’s get some pictures.”
I worked with her for quite a while, mostly in black and white, but eventually I changed to color in the 4x5. I had some ideas of how to really change this picture up using a color filter, even though I’d never done it before. And eventually, I did let one breast out of her armor. She looked magnificent!
I took her back into the dressing room and began removing her armor.
“Will it really show me the way you described?” she asked as I massaged her breasts and she panted with the exertion of our posing time.
“Carmen, this picture will be held up as the very image of what a stage manager needs to be. We got the beauty, strength, and capability, but we also uncovered the fierceness and determination it takes to hold a show together. Honey, you are wonderful.”
“Keep doing that a little before I have to put my other armor on. Please?” she said. I pulled her over to the couch and stretched out with her so I could appropriately love her breasts. We didn’t go further than that. She pushed me back. “Thank you. I can get dressed from here.”
I gave her a little kiss and left the dressing room.
Part of the slow-down in getting Rachel ready for performance was that we only had one spray brush. So, Thursday morning, Rachel and I went to the studio and she stripped so I could start painting her before Judy and Leanne got there. Rachel threatened to delay things a bit at the beginning. As soon as she was naked, she wanted some loving and kisses. I sucked her nips a little and dragged my fingers through her wet pussy, but I really needed to get the base coat on her before my partners arrived.
“You never try to get your dick in me,” she sighed. “Even when we showered together, you got me off but never gave me time to even suck you. Are you ever going to make love to me?”
“Rachel, you know the rules. I don’t have sex in the studio and I don’t fuck models.”
I was sure I would go to hell for the number of times I’d broken those rules, but I always started there. Would I like to fuck Rachel? Well, she was female. I enjoyed teasing her nipples and her clit. I’d made her come several times. Her pussy was always wet when I went exploring. But I’d noticed I wasn’t automatically hardening as soon as she undressed. In fact, I was often less aroused with models than I used to get—even when I played with them. I couldn’t even count the number of nipples I’d sucked or the number of wet pussies I’d put my fingers in. Pam had told me years ago that I was getting jaded, and maybe she was right.
“I know when we shower, you get hard,” Rachel continued. “I feel you bumping against me. What difference would it make if you bumped up in me a little? And you know, I’m not just suggesting it out of a perceived obligation. I really enjoy sex and I like you. I don’t sleep around that much, but we’ve been so intimate. You’ve touched me like no one else.”
I ran my finger through her butt crack and pressed against her asshole out of some perverse impulse to torment her.
“Like there!” she gasped. “Judy says it’s really a treat to have you fuck her butt. Is it different? I mean for you? I know it’s sensitive, but the idea of having a whole cock up in my butt makes me shake. I don’t think I could do it, but I’d take you in my vagina any day. You could do it right now if you wanted. I’d just bend over a little and you could slide right in.”
I finished her ankles and turned her around so I could do the front of her legs.
“You like my breasts, don’t you? You’ve been very careful to paint all my body except my breasts so far. Are you saving them for a little snack before you paint them? Come ahead, baby. Suck on my little nipples while you play with my clitty some more.”
I was expecting Leanne and Judy shortly, but I actually had saved her breasts for last so I could suck on them a little before I sprayed them. I bit down on a nipple as I pushed a finger into her wet channel and she gasped out a mini orgasm.
“It would be so nice with your cock,” she sighed.
I circled her clit a few times with my wet finger and she moaned out another orgasm before I withdrew and sprayed her breasts with paint. That’s when Judy and Leanne got there. We set straight to work doing the painting and costuming. Rachel quit her narration.
We got the time down to an hour and ten minutes by having all the base work done before we started. We carefully examined our work, turning Rachel around. I put her in front of a plain backdrop and took an entire series of 35mm color slides from every angle, just to record the project in a way that would not be possible during the performance.
When we were finished, Leanne and Judy removed all the pieces of her costume that were not painted on, including the jewels on her forehead, the horns and ears, the vines and the leatherwork. I took Rachel upstairs to shower and scrub her.
“Nate, you need to call Professor Hyatt in Chicago,” Ronda said as soon as we walked into the apartment.
“Okay. I’ll call as soon as I get Rachel cleaned up,” I said.
“No. You need to call right away. He said it was very important and I promised to have you call as soon as you got in. Rachel, I’ll take care of you. I know you like to have Nate do it, but this is really important.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “You know, as long as I get clean.”
“I know,” Ronda said, taking the painted girl into the bathroom. “I’ll get you really clean, and oil your skin afterward, too. I have a new body lotion that is just to die for.”
I headed to the kitchen to make my call.
“Nate, I’m glad you got back to me. I’ll get right to the point. We need you in Chicago for a symposium the thirtieth of the month through the first of September. This is important. It has to do with the ID system we use and whether we should continue.”
“Um… Thanks, Professor, but you know I’m not able to continue working with the system this year. My class schedule is just too heavy. The upper level classes are all three hours long. I have one Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Then I have a lower level costuming class on Monday and Wednesday afternoons,” I said.
“I’m aware of that and we’ll miss you for the work study, but this is more important than that. The equipment we use, you know, is from Polaroid.”
“Yes, it’s a pretty good system. And I’m behind the ID program. It really makes simple tasks easier—like cashing a check.”
“Well, we weren’t following the news closely enough when we installed it and started the ID system last fall. There is a group of workers at Polaroid who have called for a boycott on the company because of their involvement in South Africa.”
“South Africa? I don’t get it.”
“Did you read Cry, the Beloved Country?”
“No. I think it’s on the reading list for my Media and Social Justice class this fall.”
“It should be required reading in high school. South Africa is ruled by a system of apartheid. That means that only the white minority is considered citizenry. The black majority are held under a thumb only slightly removed from slavery. They can’t vote. They have no real civil rights. They earn about ten percent what their white counterparts do.”
“And Polaroid is helping them?” I asked in disbelief. I had a lot of respect for that company and it was hard to believe they were supporting a segregationist system.
“That’s part of the issue. A couple of Polaroid employees uncovered the use of the same camera we use for IDs in South Africa for the creation of passbooks for blacks in South Africa. Without a passbook, blacks can’t move around in the country, can’t enter white areas for their jobs, can’t even buy food. The contention is that the ID2 system we use was built with a boost button to make it possible for the South African government to get better instant ID photos of blacks.”
“That’s the one that makes the flash brighter, right? I’ve used it to get better pictures of black students for their IDs. But they developed it for this passbook feature in South Africa? That sucks,” I said.
“Polaroid has denied that they developed it for South Africa. And through the pressure of their employees, they’ve instituted what they call an experimental program in South Africa. They no longer do business with the government and they’ve pressured their distributor to raise the wages of black employees. But the demand of the boycott is that they divest themselves of all their South African business connections and stop doing business there entirely.”
“So, I get there’s a problem. I don’t get why I should be there to discuss it in a symposium,” I said.
“Nate, our school has been a pioneer in the area of student photo IDs. The Illinois legislature is considering making photos a part of drivers’ licenses, like they do in California. The US Government is being pressured as well and has considered a Polaroid system for passports. Civil rights groups, of which I know you’ve been a supporter, are calling for a boycott of Polaroid. And you are the only person we have available who actually has hands-on experience using the technology on a regular basis. Participation in this symposium is not only something you can do for your school, it could have a major impact on your employment prospects in the future. Influential people will be there and you should be, too,” Professor Hyatt finished his pitch.
“I’ll have to rearrange my schedule,” I said. “I’m supposed to be in LA that week to work on the sequel to the movie they released last spring.”
“That was a little disturbing,” Hyatt said. “Good movie, but disturbing. If there is any way you can be here, I’d have to say this is more important than anything Hollywood can do. Unless they do a remake of Cry, the Beloved Country and get more black actors in major roles than just Sidney Poitier.”
“I’m pretty sure Over Exposure 2 won’t have a great impact on black actors in the movies. I’ll make a plug for it, though. Um… I’ll call out to LA and see if I can delay the trip to Friday and just work Labor Day weekend with them. For all I know, they all go to the Bahamas over Labor Day. I’ll let you know later today,” I said.
“I’ll talk to you later then.”
I sat in the kitchen a few minutes and made a cup of coffee before I made the next call. I was going to need to educate myself pretty fast if I participated in this symposium. I’d spoken up on issues of racial justice, marched with the gangs after Dr. King was killed, called out the racist constable turned draft board manipulator, and considered myself to be anti-racist in all aspects. But I’d completely ignored racism in the rest of the world. That there was an entire country ruled by a white minority who didn’t even consider the black natives of the country to be citizens was terrible. To think that a highly respected American company was supporting the system, even while saying they opposed it, was staggering.
Finally, I got my fingers working and called Adrienne.
“Nate! You called me! I love you!”
“I love you, too, Adrienne. Hope the trip home was uneventful.”
“Smooth flying. I have your flight schedule for you for the thirtieth. Are you sure you can’t come out on Sunday instead of Monday? I would make things very special for you,” Adrienne said.
“Honey, seeing you is always special. I’m calling for the opposite reason. I need to cancel or reschedule the trip.”
“Oh no! You can’t!” I’d never heard Adrienne sound panicked—certainly not about the movie. And she’d never told me I couldn’t do something.
“Fifi?” I said.
“I’m sorry, master. Fifi didn’t mean to tell you what you have to do, but it is very important that you be in Los Angeles that week. It’s not from me, Nate. Our sponsor…”
“You know I don’t just follow orders given by patrons,” I said firmly.
“This is different, Nate. He has created a special opportunity for you and it’s important to your career and prospects as a photographer to be here.”
“Argh! That’s pretty much the same words that were used to tell me I needed to be in Chicago that week. My commitment here involves a lot of people and it won’t happen again. Certainly, whatever I need to do for this stupid movie can wait until the weekend.”
That was the beginning of a lengthy conversation and the nearest thing to an argument I’d ever had with Adrienne. She was sworn to secrecy regarding the exact nature of why I needed to be there, but emphasized that it was not just the movie, but a huge photography opportunity with a star. I would need all my equipment and she would provide the darkroom for me.
I told her about the issue we were dealing with at school and the symposium that would involve some very influential people in the photography world.
In the end, she said she would talk to our sponsor and see if we could put it off until the weekend. I was exhausted by the time I hung up. I needed to spank that girl!
When all was said and done, I’d changed my flight to early Friday morning the third and would be going directly to the script meeting at the production company office. Adrienne’s sponsor, who she referred to as our sponsor, had agreed that the photo session could be put off until the weekend, but I was going to miss my first day of classes getting back to town. Class. I only had one class on Tuesday, but it was three hours long and was the class that it sounded like would be hinging on the symposium—at least a little.
Adrienne said our sponsor was highly sympathetic and approved of my participation in the symposium. But he wanted me available for an ‘unparalleled opportunity’ that weekend.
Professor Hyatt said he’d send me some materials to help me prep for the symposium, including the 30-page manifesto that started the campaign against Polaroid with the slogan “Polaroid imprisons black people in sixty seconds.”
I went to the local bookstore and they said they could order me a copy of Cry, the Beloved Country and it should get here before we had to leave Stratford. It was going to be an intense week ahead of me.
It started with our final dress rehearsal with Rachel, the scenery, the musicians, and Kathleen on Saturday morning. I’d sprayed Rachel in the studio, then wrapped her in a robe to take to the theatre. John had prepared a great set and had some interesting lighting effects to use as well.
I’d spent Friday morning, after the overnight processing arrived from London, working on printing a few of the images from our practice on Thursday, so Anna would have samples to show in the lobby as she tried to sell prints. The rehearsal went well and I joined Judy, Leanne, and Rachel in the theatre shower afterward to get all the makeup off. I was surprised when Kathleen joined us and reached around me to massage my cock to a very satisfying come as Rachel was worked on by Leanne and Judy. I made sure to return the favor to Kathleen before we dried and left the shower.
Sunday, we repeated the process, only this time we had around sixty in the audience to watch the transformation of a beautiful nude into a female satyr as our flute and drum accompaniment played selections from Debussy, including Syrinx and Prelude to Afternoon of a Faun. I took the photos I thought would be a capstone to our summer project and then met audience members in the lobby as Judy and Leanne took Rachel to the showers. When they emerged, Rachel said she was spending the rest of the day and night with the two. I guess she gave up on me fucking her.
Monday, I took Rachel to Toronto for her flight back home to Seattle.
“Yes, I’m disappointed that you didn’t make love to me,” she said as we got near the airport. “But I also realize it’s better this way. I’ll still fantasize about what it would be like to have you pounding into me as I had one of those delicious climaxes you provided. But it seems likely at the moment that I’ll be living in the same house as your sister next year. If that happens, I don’t want her looking at me as being another girl her brother had sex with. I’ll feel guilty enough about what we did do.”
“I hope you don’t feel guilty about it,” I said. “But I agree that it’s better this way. I like you and would like to work with you again. I don’t want to paint any unrealistic expectations.”
“Thank you, Nate. I hope we do get to work together again. I auditioned while I was here. There’s a marginal chance that I might get cast in something next season. If so, we can do some more photography. I hope we sell a lot of pictures from the performance. I can’t wait to show people what I did in Stratford this year!”
I dropped her off with her suitcase after checking that she had her ID and ticket, then headed back to Stratford to get started cleaning up the studio and apartment to leave for the winter.
Leaving at the end of the season was a drag. We had dinner one evening with Damien and Kathleen. Damien said he’d contacted a musical group to write the music and lyrics for The Bacchae and was shopping the concept to various regional theatres to launch his rock opera. He was convinced that the Who’s rock opera, Tommy, would get produced on stage as a full opera and said there was a rock opera about Jesus announced for Broadway this fall. That would be interesting. Regardless, he was convinced that with Hair and Oh! Calcutta! leading the way, there was a new era of musical about to begin on the English and American stages.
“And I haven’t forgotten the idea of a new stage play about King Arthur,” he said. “Camelot was fine, but it was all about the romance and not about the tragedy. Why Shakespeare didn’t write the play is beyond me!”
“I’m sure you’ll do it justice,” I said. “If you need photos, give me a call.”
“I think you’re the only one Damien would trust to photograph the Weird Sisters’ tits,” Kathleen laughed.
“I know they would be too much for an ordinary man to resist,” Damien sighed, shaking his head. “I couldn’t even resist them, and I am not ordinary!”
“I hope you’ll find a way to visit us in Chicago this winter,” Anna said. “I’m going to miss all the excitement here in Stratford. We’ve made so many friends in this area.”
“If nothing else, we’ll see you next summer,” Kathleen said.
Saturday morning, we said our goodbyes and headed back to Chicago ourselves.
Our summer in Stratford had been busy, but well-structured. A theatre festival doesn’t cast and rehearse seven shows in three theatres in repertory, with eighteen weeks of Sunday performances by small groups and musicians, without being extremely well-organized. It had been going over twenty years and a lot of the founders were still active in the Festival and in the community.
Getting back to Chicago was like stepping into a maelstrom of emergencies. I had a call from Professor Hyatt Saturday as soon as I got home, asking me to please come to the college first thing Sunday and help get things ready for our guests. I’d read the material and still didn’t know where I stood on the issues. It sounded like Polaroid was making forward strides, but the question asked by the Polaroid Revolutionary Workers Movement (PRWM) was whether it was enough. What they really wanted was a full withdrawal of all American businesses from South Africa.
But the issue of the symposium wasn’t the only problem I faced when I got to the college Sunday morning. Professor Hyatt had failed to mention to me that I was to be one of the hosts of the event. Apparently, that meant I’d be greeting attendees and registering people Monday morning, as well as moderating some panels. My professors wanted me to speak on an artist’s perspective of the technology. My experience with the student ID program and my use of a Polaroid film back for my Linhof camera were all the qualifications they felt were needed.
And my stellar personality. Well, I wasn’t going to talk anyone out of her clothes during the symposium.
“It wasn’t intended to get this big,” Hyatt said to me. “A member of the school’s Board of Trustees became aware of the issue when he was at a conference in Boston. He brought it up at a Trustees’ meeting here in Chicago and President Weems referred the matter to Dr. Ranger to pursue. I believe you know the Provost and it was he who suggested your participation. He considers you to be a social activist, an artist, and an experienced professional when using the equipment that started the discussion.”
“I can’t believe anyone actually wants to hear from me,” I said. “I’m not even a graduate.”
“It’s not about your degrees. It’s about the faith people have in you,” Hyatt said. “And we didn’t expect you to be addressing a hundred people when this got rolling. As people found out about it, they wanted to be involved—some simply as observers and others as presenters. There will be a representative from Polaroid and one from the PRWM. There will be a person from the US State Department, representatives from the State Department of Motor Vehicles—not only from Illinois, but from Iowa, Wisconsin, and Indiana, where all the groups are poised to initiate congressionally legislated changes to their licenses—and representatives of all the local colleges and universities.”
“So, what is my responsibility?”
“Your first responsibility will be to photograph all the attendees.”
“What?”
“We—being the provost and his select committee to organize the event—decided that the best way to get people started with the issue would be to create a Symposium ID Badge for each attendee, using the equipment that started this whole discussion. What better way for people to know and understand the exact nature of what we are talking about.”
“But we’re expecting a hundred people? That could take me all morning to generate badges.”
“I don’t think so. Your work last year showed that during peak times you could turn out a hundred IDs in an hour. We have advised all attendees that they would be photographed prior to their admittance and to please allow time for their arrival well in advance of our announced ten-thirty start time. In reality, of course, I don’t expect everyone will allow an adequate amount of time. So, our ten-thirty session will be all about welcoming attendees and telling a little bit about Columbia College Chicago. We won’t actually have the opening keynote until eleven o’clock.”
“You did not give me adequate warning and information about all this when you asked me to be here this week,” I grumbled.
“Did you prepare a presentation?”
“Yes, but I anticipate that I’ll revise it after I attend the first day’s sessions. I hope, at least, that I’ll learn something that will help me focus what I’m saying,” I said.
“Well, there is one other thing,” Hyatt said. I admit, I rolled my eyes. “You should get here early. You might want to take some pictures outside before you come in. I don’t expect it will be at the scale of the May Day protests, but I expect there to be pickets at the doors.”
“Oh, my gosh! How do they even know about this?”
“People talk,” was all he answered.
I got to the college at nine. After she heard about what was happening, Ronda made a couple of calls Sunday night and a University of Chicago Professor of International Affairs got her registered to attend with him as his assistant. So, she was with me when we got to the college. Some protesters had begun arriving already and were displaying signs. Most either read “Boycott Polaroid” or some variant of the sixty second slogan, or “Boycott South Africa.” That included variants of “Down with Apartheid,” “Divest from South Africa,” and a more general “Power to the People.”
I took pictures and then went inside. Ronda handed me the Hasselblad when I wanted a black and white photo that I might be able to take to the newspaper later. I had the Nikon loaded with Kodachrome so I could rush it to Pro Color for overnight processing and have slides for my presentation Tuesday.
Once I was inside, I had a photo station set up with the ID system and there was a line of registration stations where the ID information would be typed up. The ID frame would be given to me and I would focus on the attendee and take the picture. As soon as it was through the processing and laminating stage, I’d hand it on to another registrar who would put the badge on a lanyard and hand it to the attendee.
It was as efficient as we could make it, which didn’t mean there wasn’t a line of people waiting for their photographs by ten o’clock. A couple of people objected to being photographed and badged, but were told without variance that they would not be admitted to the symposium without an ID badge. And I did use the boost function on the camera when I had a dark-skinned attendee, of which there were several. That pleased me. It didn’t seem like a symposium fundamentally about civil rights should be attended by all white men.
Of course, I had to photograph and create badges for all the staff who were working, too. That was done before any of the attendees were admitted so they could see that we were all abiding by the rules ourselves. Professor Hyatt clicked my picture for me. And there were different color backgrounds. We used blue for regular attendees, orange for staff, and red for speakers. We didn’t tell anyone what the colors meant. For all they knew, it had to do with the color of their skin or clothing or hair. I figured that by the end of the first session, they’d all figure it out.
By eleven o’clock, there was no one left to come in, so I slipped inside the recital hall being used as the site for the symposium to listen to the keynote. I was called out to the lobby half a dozen times in the next hour to take photos of late-comers.
“Last year, Columbia College Chicago began a program of issuing student photo IDs to all students, staff, and faculty. We considered the program to be a resounding success and both Roosevelt College and DePaul University have followed suit, even using our equipment and personnel to start their student ID program,” Dr. Ranger said in his keynote address to the symposium.
“Columbia prides itself in being a progressive arts institution that deals with social issues on an equal basis with artistic issues. We challenge our students to think of the impact of their art on the society in which we live. And sometimes that means making hard decisions.
“A year and a half ago, following the tragic events at Kent State University, we were the first college in the metro area to declare that we would not return to classes for the rest of the semester. We heeded the words of the protesters and immediately divested ourselves of all investments in the military industrial complex. And believe me that is an ongoing process, as we are continually made aware of the involvement of other corporations in supporting the war in Vietnam and the military draft. A recent Harris poll found over sixty percent of Americans oppose the war in Vietnam, yet the United States government continues to draft and send our young men to Southeast Asia. We will not relent in our divestiture of those industries. We have found many fine American investments that do not supply intelligence or materiel to the war effort.
“It is that which first brought an issue to our attention that we deemed merited intense examination. At a conference in Boston, one of our trustees discovered an ongoing protest that paralleled our implementation of the photo ID system. That protest was against one of our most trusted corporate allies, the Polaroid Corporation. As we investigated the issue, it was first to ascertain whether this was technology being used to support the war in Vietnam. But the subject matter soon expanded. Polaroid, Columbia College, the majority of the institutions of higher learning in the Chicagoland area, have all made public our commitments to the civil rights movement, to equal access to education, to affirmative action in employment of minorities. We could not, we realized, consider this strictly a domestic matter.
“In 1966, Robert Kennedy was invited to South Africa at a time of deep despair there, because it seemed that the movement for freedom had been crushed and all its leaders imprisoned. It was also a time when some in the US, including Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., recognized a disturbing similarity between the US struggle for Black equality and the South African struggle against racism. Kennedy began his talk this way
I came here because of my deep interest and affection for a land settled by the Dutch in the mid-seventeenth century, then taken over by the British, and at last independent; a land in which the native inhabitants were at first subdued, but relations with whom remain a problem to this day; a land which defined itself on a hostile frontier; a land which has tamed rich natural resources through the energetic application of modern technology; a land which once imported slaves, and now must struggle to wipe out the last traces of that former bondage—I refer, of course, to the United States of America.
He paused and looked at the gathered attendees. I was impressed that he was bringing South Africa’s problem with racism home to America’s problems.
“We at Columbia College Chicago believe we must find a way to address an international crisis and we must act on a local basis to do it. That is why we have invited you to attend this symposium. We hope and pray that the words spoken during this meeting are inspirational, but also that they will lead us to practical answers to our dilemma. How can our little college—and by extension, how can our corporations and how can our State and National Governments appropriately respond to the reality of apartheid and racism within the scope of our influence?”
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
