My head is full as I leave photography, but that is nothing new.
Landry has, once again, given me something to think about.
Worse, he has given me something correct to think about, and the more I turn it over, the more irritating it becomes that he was right about the images of Owen.
It is not that they are wrong.
That would be easier.
Technically, they work. Owen is steady in every frame, calm where I asked him to be calm, centred where I asked him to stand. He understood the assignment and gave me exactly what I thought I wanted.
I thought he was balanced.
Legitimate, even, while choreographed.
And yet the photographs sit on the page like something arranged rather than discovered, which is the nature of staging a shoot rather than allowing life to happen in front of me.
Owen did
