The bone kept sliding out of my hand. I had picked it up at Ottomanelli & Sons on Bleecker Street, overloaded and teetering at the counter, balancing my cameras, my tripod bag, while I explained to the guy what I needed.The moment I walked out of the butcher shop I realized how slippery and wide the bone was. I could have splurged for a taxi, or asked for an assistant to meet me, but I was still in the business of proving myself to the world by trying to do it all myself.
There are two parts to a photo shoot. The Before. And the During. Before the subject arrives at the studio, we are in a frenzy of anticipation. Tony was early, as expected, with a hippie-like drawstring bag slung over his oversized black leather jacket. I bounded over to hug him and he nodded a hello to the assistants.
We walked next door to Tortilla Flats, heralded home of Tuesday-night bingo so lively it always led to at least a second pitcher of frozen margaritas. Tony and I met on a shoot for a men’s adventure-fitness magazine, an admittedly unlikely scenario in which to find either of us. I had heard his name but hadn’t crackedyet. As he entered the studio, our first time shooting at Industria, he was like a daddy longlegs, slim and lanky. All business, we went straight into the changing room and he pulled out his two items of clothing for the shoot.
I handed the camera to an assistant and asked Tony to change into his black shirt and follow me around to the back side of the backdrop. There was always some soft, natural light streaming through those windows. He hopped up on the silver metal table and sat cross-legged. Boyish, informal, sweet, smart, handsome, this felt almost right. But still not perfect.We crossed the West Side Highway. The path had an unkempt, unwieldy, overgrown look to it.
When I turned around, Tony was wrapped in a colorful sarong, lighting a cigarette. I showed him the tape markedI unwrapped the bloody bone and used a paper towel to dry it. My assistant held it while Tony adjusted himself and I grabbed the camera.I knelt on the floor with a wide-angle lens and shot up. The bone looked huge and his head looked tiny. I moved out to get a full-length shot. I focused on trying to keep the brick wall level in the camera’s frame.
We had endless bottles of champagne, all bedazzled with the words “My Last Supper” in clear white rhinestones; six-liter methuselahs for the waiters to pour and plenty of mini bottles to cheers with. It was a champagne extravaganza. The ice people almost let me down when they told me it was a sacrilege to make da Vinci’sWe set the restaurant up so that all the guests had to enter through the loading dock instead of the usual door.
melaniedunea A lovely remembrance. ❤️
melaniedunea I thought you guys were writers at VF. That syntax in that tweet is awful. It’s a real struggle to read.
melaniedunea 👌🏾👌🏾👌🏾👌🏾
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