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In His Own Image

The idea for a new photograph struck him awake. The location would be utopian. Photographers are solitary by nature - their privacy makes for more successful public consumption. He sped breakneck and sea-bound before dawn. Even his eyes felt the blood of his pulse thump static against the vision of a dark sea-canvas. It could have been excitement or exercise. Imagination rushing over the waters like the sharp-tasting seams of wind, he paused: Should he photograph the waters or the skies? No, dull. Capture both and where they part; as a rule he layered compositions. Walking backwards he weaves a thick twist of shoreline into the shot. A tad to the left and sandy wisps of grass bluster and bow into captivity also. Monochrome sea and sky give birth to the sun, charging the shot with colours. Sunrise: the best time of day to shoot. He stumbles backwards over a damn grass-tuft, with an instinctive but odd, ‘who put that there?’ He did. At least, in the frame eventually anyway. Further back he went, incorporating shiny limpets in frothy rock-pools. Almost finished, but it’s too impersonal, he wanted people reading the magazine to choose to come here. An early burly twenty-something fisherman, that’ll more than do: the man in the centre, grinning, oblivious to his photographer’s ambition. The photo is taken. Perfect. The photographer goes back to bed, pleased. It was the one window of paradise on the entire seafront. People believed it. Outside the frame nothing was beautiful.

Story by:

Alexander Sharp

submitted at 6:15am

22 May 2009