"Oh Sh*t Moments...": Episode 3

Istock_000015434638xsmall

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.

 

"Oh Sh*t Moments...": Episode 1

 
Img_05
The Key Problem.

This is dangerous.

Just thinking about the close-calls, snafus and freaky accidents from 15 years of photographing weddings tempts fate. And whatever force (as in photographer fairies, intuition, organization or maybe string theory) keeps me from double-booking a date, breaking an appendage or losing an eye, I thank it in advance. 

This one happened pretty early on, I think it was 1997. The wedding was Orange United Methodist Church and the reception was at The Carolina Inn, both in Chapel Hill. I photographed the preparations, ceremony and blazed through the shot list after the ceremony. Within 20 minutes everyone, including the newly betrothed couple, had left the church and were in route to the reception. 

These were the years I rarely used an assistant and although it took less than 10 minutes to prostrate and pack up the lights, everyone vacated the church before I finished.  And not just the sanctuary, the entire premises. The church lady, the maintenance man, all gone.

My Volkswagen was the only car in the parking lot, and I was the only human inside. Looking back I'm sure God was there, seeing as (*spoiler alert) he soon found me in peril and sent an angel (foreshadowing) to my rescue. 

Dripping with cameras and bags I walked to my car and plunged my hands into one of the bags to retrieve my keys. I moved swiftly, but I still had at least 20-30 minutes before the bride and groom made their entrance into the reception and the Carolina Inn was less than 5 miles away.

"not in that bag (inner monologue) ...or that one...or...shit, where are they....and if I can't find them what-in-all-that-is-holy am I going to do?"

"oh, THAT'S RIGHT."  I set them down in the parlor during the preparations for some weird reason.

I dashed back inside he church, up the sanctuary aisle and into the parlor. "I remember setting the keys down on the side table next to the couch that, considering it's fabric, was older than me.  "ugh...they GONE!!

"How am I going to get to the reception?"

"What if I can't get there!!"

Much in the way, I expect the mind scans vignettes of your life when you're about to die, my brain sifted through dozens of options. "Schelp to the highway and flag down a car? Or maybe I should phone Rod, my husband, who, by this time, was at home in Raleigh downing his third or fourth beer with his buddy Clay.  All of these options, however, had some serious downsides, least of which was missing the entrance, first dances, speeches and, "oh my God, what if I miss the entire reception!!"

Adrenalin shot to my brain, my knees buckled and my hands began to fold in prayer....and just then...

He heard me and within seconds, my angel appeared, holding a vacuum cleaner and speaking little English.

Istock_000016422170xsmall

"HALLELUJIAH!!" He may not have wings, but he had a car. Apparently, God sends angels to clean his houses and to rescue stranded wedding photographers.

"Please, please, if you drive me to the Carolina Inn right now, with no questions, I'll pay you $30 dolores!!"

And for the first, and I assume last time in my career, I was chauffeured to the reception, not in a limousine along with the bride and groom by a professional driver, but in a lo-rider Nissan blasting mariachi music driven by an angel.

*later that night my keys returend by a well-meaning uncle who collected them thinking someone had left them. Please, if you find yourself in a church, at a wedding and you see keys, LEAVE THEM THERE, most likely someone will need them there and not in your tuxedo!

photograph i: John Caserta | adjunct professor | RISD | John is available for assignments through the MISSY MCLAMB AGENCY. To view and purchase more of John's photographs, products and artwork visit www.johncaserta.com. He's a helluva a friend, designer and teacher. His key photograph was part of his project while on the Fulbright Scholarhship and was photographed in Montenero, Italy

photograh ii: Andrea Zanchi. I don't know Andrea personally but her work is lovely and you can see more at http://www.sullastrada.net/.

P.S. Much in the way an experienced carpenter outlines his tools on a cork board and he returns them to their proper spot after each use, since that day, I too have only one place where my keys are stowed while photographing a wedding. Always, always in the right front pouch of my Billingham camera bag (only themost beautifully functional camera bags on the planet: http://www.billingham.co.uk/pages/index.php

And much like feeding Gremlins after midnight, this rule is NEVER to be broken.