"Oh Sh*t Moments...": Episode 3
DOMAIN OF CONFUSION
It's 1 PM and the bouquet in the studio includes remnants from lunch. Our interns are earnest to a fault. I encourage them to take an actual lunch break, but they stare into their computers as plates of leftover curry and deli sandwiches with fresh onions adulterate the oxygen.
"I think I'm descended from beagles," I tell MC as she pulls the torch from her desk to light the candles advertised to add nodes of gardenias, jasmine and other non-offensive organic smells to the air.
We have an important MOB (mother of the bride) stopping by the studio with her newly engaged daughter, Laura, to review photographer portfolios since I am already booked for the wedding date.
Mrs. St. John was not her real name, but the affectionate nickname MC, my assistant, assigned her since she dressed exclusively in the timeless collections of the fashion label St. John. I met Mrs. St. John in 2004 when I photographed Elizabeth's wedding, her first daughter. Two years later I photographed the wedding of her second daugther Jane, but I was already booked for Laura's wedding date and I wanted them to work with another photographer in the studio.
As the fumes from last night's dinner yield to "lightly exotic mountain greens" Laura and Mrs. St. John float through the studio doors. Both possess the southern splendor of a wide-eyed smile and soft voice I failingly imitate as an adolescent.
Immediately, their body and facial cues told me they were nervous about working with another photographer.
MC offers Mrs. St. John and Laura a drink and soon carries a tray of crystal glasses with sparkling water, none of which is consumed throughout the meeting after the initial sips. After all, in polite society, one always accepts the offer of a beverage when a hostess asks.
After the niceties and listening to Laura tell me her vision for the final wedding her parents will host at their home, I present them with the wedding portfolio of my dear friend, Ross Taylor and they adore his photographs. They're completely comfortable with hiring Ross for the wedding after I tell I tell them he photographed my own wedding in 1995.
This, my fellow photographers, is when you shut up. When you've established rapport, listened to a client's needs and presented your ideas and they say yes.... stop talking!!! Did I do this? Of course not. I'm the girl who always adds just "one more dash of salt" to the sauce and spends the entire meal apologizing to my wilting dinner guests.
"Yes, his wedding photographs are beautiful," but you should see his personal work. Ross had just been to India and I was sure his website would have some National Geographic-worthy photographs.
I snagged the wireless keyboard from a bookshelf and directed Mrs. St. John and Laura to the flat screen monitor mounted to the studio wall. I'm really not a fan of showing portfolios online like this, but they needed to see his work from India as big as possible.
I typed in Ross Taylor and added .com. I focused on Mrs. St. John assuming she would be smiling but her mouth dropped to the floor and her eyes looked like a horrified looney toon cartoon.
I'm not kidding when I say, I cannot post what she saw here. It was indeed, not the work of my beloved friend and award-winning photojournalist Ross Taylor. Mrs. St. John was staring at a website where a man, named Ross Taylor, posed for the camera, clad in black leather chaps and spiked susspenders. If you have any doubt, you can see it here: www.rosstaylor.com .
With some regrouping and the proper website address www.rosstaylor.net Mrs. St. John ultimately hired the studio, and Ross Taylor, the award-winning photographer for Laura's wedding. Since that meeting I still over salt my food, but I now vet all websites before presenting them to a client
Afteward:
* in 2009 MC fell in love and moved to Asheville. She now works at an art galley and her current boss does not allow her to eat onions.