In an Empty Field

In an empty field she dances with a litheness in her limbs that’s almost contagious. I press the shutter button, once, twice, and once again. I had asked her earlier that day to model for my photos. She’d caught my eye months ago, but only today had I gotten up the nerve to make my request. She probably finds me very strange, as most do, but then again she’s never seen my photos so it’s no surprise that to her I make no sense. My goal: to capture human essence through portraits of movement, without portraying my subjects’ faces. As a child I admired photographers like Dorothea Lange for her candidness. I realized, however, that by only shooting photos where faces were prominent, Lange didn’t fully capture the truth that is conveyed in body language. This girl, Emilie, is an interesting subject. Her movement is languid but her face shows tension, and for some reason I can’t get a picture of only he body. Even getting down to the ground isn’t helping. It seems my camera has a mind of its own. She tosses her hair around as she turns, and I snap the shot again, and though my compositions seem to be gradually improving, I’m still catching bits and pieces of that face. Though I can definitely crop her head out, I want to keep the trees in the background. I don’t understand why I keep moving my hands. It’s like my mind is slipping away from the photos. “Emilie, lift your chin as high as you can and let your hair fall back while you move.” That should help. No. Wait, that looks stiff. “Never mind go back to what you started doing.” She grunted. The grass was right in my lens as I snapped another and another. It complements the blood red color of her hair, and accentuates her bare feet. If only I could get that all without any of the face. She really does have a beautiful face, when she doesn’t contort it in such overwrought expressions. But her face doesn’t need to be beautiful, only her body does. Which it is. Goddamn, I need to focus. But how can I focus when the bottom of her dress is inching up her thigh as she moves around. It isn’t exactly a modest outfit. Stop. “Okay, Emilie. Take a break and we’ll start up again in a couple of minutes.” I begin walking to the other side of the field. She catches up to me and asked why we were stopping. “I need to regain my focus.” As if this were preposterous she bursts into laughter. She asks what could possibly be distracting me; I’m only taking pictures after all. “I can’t capture you right. I need to get back on target, so if you would...” She continues to laugh. Why I would want to capture her, she asks. “I don’t mean capture you.” No, she knows what I mean; she is wondering why she is such an important part of the portrait. Why couldn’t I just pretend I wasn’t portraying her? “Because, Emilie, the point is to portray you.” Why her, she asked. “Because you’re beautiful in this incredibly annoying and distracting way” She stopped walking, but as I continue she runs up to me and held me back. Suddenly, her lips are on mine and I can feel her hands bringing me in. I break away and ask “What the heck? Emilie what was that?” She smiles coquettishly, it’s because I called her beautiful.