A Barely Acceptable Portrait

“Suppose I don’t like the contrasting idea?”

“Of course, you could withdraw. I would of course not use the first group unless you agreed to pose for the second, also. But that is the risk I would assume. Can we proceed?”

Ellen wondered about the contrasting images, but the idea sounded exciting. She agreed to pose, and they set a day the following week when he would arrive and photograph her for the first set.

He had told her special preparation would be necessary, but Ellen was not one to be careless. The day before he was to come, she had an appointment with her hairdresser. That evening, in anticipation of his visit, she stood looking into her closet, considering the appropriate attire for the coming day. Alistair watched her with interest.

“One would think you were meeting with the Prime Minister”, he noted, “instead of with an artistic photographer who wants to picture you as you always are, and won’t even use your name. Why so particular? You usual gift for style should see you through!”

“It’s not just any photographer. He’ll be using the picture as an exhibit. Who knows, people a generation after may see it in a book. Wouldn’t you want me to be in something that might be remembered?”

“Remembered? You’ll be anonymous. The reason he wants you, you said, is because of the way you always present yourself. Just be natural - that’s what he wants!”

“Be natural? I suppose. But, what really is getting to me is how he will want to do the contrasting picture - I can’t imagine what he will come up with!”

“As I suggested, flopped on a chair in your underwear with your bare feet on the table! That’s the contrast I see!”

“Would you really want me photographed like that?” Ellen asked, rather seriously.

“Ellen, I have no idea what he might invent. He’s an artist - he will think of something. But, if you want him to use the pictures tomorrow, you’ll have to go along with the contrasting views!”

“Even if it means posing in my underwear and bare feet!” Ellen laughed at the thought. “Well, if that’s what he suggests - anyway, he won’t use my name - what difference will it make? No one around here is ever likely to see it!”

Ellen selected an adequately conservative yet stylish business suit, and set it aside for the morning.

The following day, Geoffrey Hunter appeared at her shop in mid morning. He had a younger man with him, apparently an assistant. The assistant carried some equipment, including some lights.

“Mrs. Morrison, you look wonderful - exactly as I thought you would. This is Alex, my assistant!”

Ellen extended her hand to the younger man.

“Good to see you, Mrs. Morrison. You look just as Mr. Hunter described you.” Alex noted, warmly.

Ellen showed them around the shop briefly, then asked where they would prefer to do the photos.

“I don’t want anything in the background that would specifically identify the place or the area, or you personally”, he noted. “My subjects will all be anonymous, as I told you. But, let’s try one in your office, and then one or two of you standing in a part of the shop.”

Ellen noted that Geoffrey was meticulous in his use of lighting and his choice of backgrounds. He posed her several times in each location, then carefully selected the pose he preferred, and made several pictures. He would change the pose slightly, and try again. His patience and obvious striving for perfection impressed her.

After more than an hour, he seemed finished.

“Now, Geoffrey, will tell me what I should do for the contrasting picture?” Ellen asked, then added, “My curiosity is intense. I must know what you have in mind!”

Geoffrey packed up his equipment, then sent Alex to take it to the car. “Alex will go back, now, he has another assignment. Yes, I have given great thought to the contrasting pictures, and I will discuss it with you. It is important you understand why I make my specific suggestions, so I do want to explain it to you. Might I do so over lunch?”

Ellen agreed, smiling, still intensely curious.

They walked to a nearby restaurant, asking for a quiet table in the back, where they might talk. Their order was taken, and Geoffrey began to explain.

“Ellen, if I may, my project will be successful only as it presents subjects in absolute contrasts, one person, two very different views. I carefully consider just what will show the most complete and distinctive contrast for each individual. What I wish to do with you will be to present you in a very, very, different way - as your associates, your employees, your friends never see you. It must be dramatically different.

“In fact, the presentation must show you in such a different and unusual way that I would not expect you to agree to it unless you understood the artistic message which I must convey, and how I do it. I could ask it of you only because you are assured that the pictures will be absolutely anonymous - no names, or even places, will ever be used in the exhibits or the book which follows.

“Geoffrey, you have my attention. Please explain - I really am fascinated!” Ellen urged him.

“First, Ellen, you understand I am an artist. Perhaps, in some ways, I am something of an anthropologist. That is, I like to do photographs which tell a story about the subject I am photographing - the subjects, as you know, are not be shown by name, for that inhibits them. Rather, the completed work should be exhibited and sold in places quite far from where the photographs were made. Now, consider some of what I have done.”

He produced a folder from a briefcase he had been carrying, and began to take several photographs from it.

“Now, you have seen some of my work. See this first photograph, this is Mrs. Harshman; she is known for her gardening. Yes, I made a portrait of her, somewhat formal, but I will also had her dress with the clothes and tools of a gardener. Then - I took her outside, give her an axe, and posed her as though she were cutting a tree.

“The next photo is a town councilman. I have shown him in his proper business attire, wearing his badge of office. But, next, I have shown him as no one would imagine him - as a street sweeper, a volunteer helping to clean rubbish from the roadways.

“Now, Mr. Hill is a bus driver. I portrayed him in his driver’s uniform - but then in jogging clothes, as he runs on his own legs. I saw Mrs. Needham in her nurse’s uniform, attending a patient. Then, we had her placed in a bed where she appears as a patient, being cared for by another nurse. It shows her in the role contrary to her usual self. These are some of what I am seeking to depict.”

“But what of me?” Ellen asked, a little insistently.

“But in your case”, Mr. Hunter went on, “you are such an active, elegant lady, so well dressed, so representative of the best of the community; it would take some very special treatment to show you in the proper contrasting ways.”

“Mr. Hunter, you are an artist. I know you have thought of something.”

“Oh, Mrs. Morrison, I have. I know how the contrast should be done in your case, and it would be beautiful.”

“My husband says you should photograph me in my rather untidy house. I don’t brag of it, but I am really not much of housekeeper. He says that would be the perfect contrast - that is, if I was sufficiently relaxed and informal!”

“My idea for you is so startling, Ellen, that your house would be only a distraction. However, I would want your husband there when I do it, for his idea is not far amiss. It just does not go far enough! Ellen, you are grasping the concept! But, I would not want to show your home, whether it is immaculate or untidy. What I would want to show is you!”

Mr. Hunter hesitated for a moment. Then he explained.

“Mrs. Morrison, when a lady is so elegant, so reflective of the best upbringing, and of such good taste, there is only one way to do her justice. She should be posed showing her elegance, her style, and her good taste, as we did this morning. Then--”

He hesitated again.

“Yes, then what?” Ellen queried him.

“Then, she should be photographed unclad. Completely natural. Showing that which she would never show to her associates, doing that which she would do only privately!”

“Do you mean undressed?” Ellen was a bit shocked.

“Yes. Naked, if you will - it would be the perfect contrast!”

“MISTER Hunter” Ellen exclaimed, drawing herself up indignantly. “I am a lady. I am a married woman, and a grandmother. How can you suggest such a thing?”

“Because, Mrs. Morrison, you are a lady. A wonderful, elegant lady. You would look beautiful. Of course you are a married woman, which is why I would only do it with your husband present. It is your choice, but you would be a magnificent subject!”

Ellen glared at him for a moment.

“I think, Mr. Hunter, you had best seek another subject. Thank you for your offer”. In silence, she began to eat her lunch. She found herself at a loss for the appropriate words. His suggestion was so unthinkable, yet he proposed it in such a polite way, she found it hard to be rude to him. Rudeness did not come naturally to her, but what he proposed was, she thought, nothing any gentleman should suggest to a proper lady.

Geoffrey went on, after some moments of quiet.

“Ellen, I know this sounds most improper. But I ask you to think of me as an artist, which I try to be. Surely you are aware that the human form is often depicted in works of art; and I see you as an art form. I realized that you might refuse, but I took the chance that you might consent, and so I did the photographs this morning. If you do not wish to proceed, I will still offer you prints of the photos we made. But I do ask you to consider my request. We would do the photography in a most private setting, just Alex and me, with your husband present.”

Ellen thought as she ate. This was just unthinkable.

“Perhaps you can create another contrast more suitable for me, Geoffrey!” she suggested.

He thought for a minute.

“I have considered this since we met with Fiona. Ellen, you might consider mine an artistic temperament, but I am something of a perfectionist. I want to do only the best, that which is absolutely the supreme presentation I can conceive. What this is of you, I have tried, in my poor way, to explain. But, do not ask me to do less than I am able to achieve.”

They finished their lunch. Ellen was still in a state of shock.

“Thank you, Geoffrey! You are an artist, I give you that. I appreciate your interest. But what you propose is out of the question. It is not possible with me. Now, I think we must bid each other farewell!”

Geoffrey thanked her for posing that morning. He assured her she would get prints of the photographs, and he offered her his card as he departed.

They had no further exchange of words that day. Ellen avoided contact with him. In her mind, she wrestled with his proposal. How dared he suggest that she pose nude? What decent woman would do such a thing. It was absolutely unthinkable, out of the question.

She could not, however, put the idea from her mind.

For two days she made no mention of it, to anyone. Still, the thought stayed in her brain, and she kept coming back to it.

Then, one evening, she mentioned the subject to her husband.

“Alistair, remember the photographic artist who did my pictures the other day?”

“Indeed I do. You were quick taken with how to dress for him, as I recall. But you never mentioned how it turned out.”

“Oh,” she answered, “the photos in my shop went well. He seemed happy, and I shall be received prints of his work.”

“Did you determine what he will do for the ‘contrasting pictures’ he wanted to do?”

“Yes”.

“And what does he plan to do?”

“Nothing. Unless, of course, I should agree to his rather unusual concept.”

“Unusual?” Alistair raised his eyebrows. “What unusual idea did he develop? Seems to me the whole concept was unusual - that’s why, I suppose, he’s considered an artist.”

“He wants to do some further photos - the contrast concept, but I did not agree to it. Anyway, he wanted you to come along with me if I agreed to what he wanted!”

He indicated”:, Alistair questioned, “that I was to accompany you? Am I to be photographed, too?”

“I am not sure”, Ellen went on. “But it is important that you be with me. He wants to do contrasting photos- he has already done pictures of me in my best dress, as it were, but then he would like to the contrasting ones - without the best dress!”

“Without? What are you implying?” her husband seemed confused.

“Alistair, my dear, this is just between us. You must never discuss this elsewhere. He wants to photograph me in a way I have never been photographed in my life. If you were to witness it, you would need to absolutely breathe not a word of it to anyone around, ever.”

“Just how would this to be done?”

“He took photos of me dressed as I usually am, and now he wants to the others - without my clothes. I know - it shocks you. I was shocked. It is really unthinkable. I have thought about it for days. I simply cannot get the idea out of my mind.”

“It shocks me, too. I should have thought you would have told him off properly, and seen no more of him!” her husband commented.

“I did, really. But I have been thinking about it. I have never, ever, done anything like that!”

“Then, you won’t. Did you tell him so?”

“No. I tried to, but the idea has taken root in my mind. I am thinking that I just might do it!”

“You might?” Alistair exclaimed.

“All right, then. I will!” she answered him decisively.

“Ellen, how could you ever--” he wound up just shaking his head. He well knew his strong willed wife, and he was not going to attempt to dissuade her from that which she had firmly decided to do.

“You must not tell anyone, and I do need you to come with me. I could possibly pose that way alone. It will be hard enough, even with you there. I don‘t really know why, but I just have a urge to do it. It is simply something I must be a part of!”

Alistair knew better than to argue. He held great reservations, but he knew his wife. Clearly, this was her decision. He just hoped no one else ever heard of it.

Ellen had made her decision, however reluctantly. She did not change her mind easily, but she had now to implement that which she had decided. The next day she took out the card Mr. Hunter had given her. She noted the telephone number, and dialled it.

She reached Mr. Hunter. “This is Ellen Morrison, Geoffrey. Perhaps you did not expect to hear from me, but, is your offer of this morning still open?”

“Of course, Mrs. Morrison, but I understand your feelings. I really did not mean to offend you.”

“If I did it, my name would never be used, and it would not be shown near here?”

“Of course, that is my policy,” he replied.

“Then, I will do it. Where will it be done? It will, of course, need to be quite private. I will insist on that!”

“I have in mind, Ellen, a suitable place, though I will need to check on its availability. It is a house, not presently occupied, which I sometimes borrow for special settings. It is perhaps forty or fifty miles from your place. If it is available, and if I give you directions, could you come next Tuesday?”

“Yes, I believe I could.”

“Then, allow me to verify the availability, and I will ring you back.”

Ellen hung up. An hour or so later, Geoffrey called her back at the shop.

“Ellen, Tuesday is fine. Could you manage at three o’clock? I will tell you how to get there!”

She took down the driving instructions as Geoffrey gave them to her.

“Yes, and this will be completely confidential, will it not? I will bring my husband, but no one else. How should I prepare?”

“I am glad three o’clock will be satisfactory. If it is a good day, we may do some poses outside - the area is quite private. Yes, as I have thought it over, a little preparation might help. I would suggest you come dressed casually, as your clothing will not be part of the pictures. Also, it would be well if you rank several tumblers of water before the session - it does have an effect on the model that helps in these situations.”

“As you wish. I am sorry if my earlier response seemed abrasive- you understand, I have never done anything like this before.”

“That is, Mrs. Morrison, exactly why you would be such an excellent model!”

They ended their conversation..

That evening, Ellen greeting Alistair as she arrived home from her shop.

“You were surprised to get my call this afternoon at your office?”

“Well, Ellen, you rarely ring me there. You asked if I could join you Tuesday around three, to have the photographs made? Is this to be what you decided to do?”

“Yes, it is,” Ellen explained. “He has offered a private session to make some pictures of me, as I described, and they will be used in the project he is developing. In a way, it a bit of an honour. After all, how many women my age are asked to be models for an exhibit of artistic photos?”

“An honour? If that is how you see it. Some might see it otherwise!” he seemed a trifle negative.

“I know it shocks you. I have thought about it for days, but I decided as you know. He can make a beautiful display of it!”

“It will be a display, all right! Ellen, how could you ever--” he wound up just shaking his head.

Tuesday, Ellen dressed herself in her usual business attire, a light green suit with a red scarf about her neck, just a bit of jewellery. She took perhaps just a little extra care with her appearance. Mostly, she gave unusually attention to the underwear she selected, something that would nit usually have caused her undue concern.

Ellen worked at her shop in the morning. As the time came for her to depart for their appointment, she recalled Mr. Hunter’s instructions, though she wondered at the purpose. She poured herself a glass of water from a large bottle and drank it down. Soon she followed it with two more. About two, she explained to the staff she would be leaving for the day. She took her car and drove to her husband’s office. He met her in the car park.

“Sure you want to do this, Ellen?” he asked once more.

“I’m not turning back, now. Will you support me?” she turned to him, her hand grasping his arm.

“I cannot understand why. You do have your reasons, I’m sure. I just hope no one around here ever sees the pictures.” He shook his head in resignation.

They arrived at Mr. Hunter’s makeshift studio, a small house on the edge of a small village, with a fenced garden area to the rear. It seemed to be isolated from other houses by distance on one side and a row of trees on the other.

They went in.

Mr. Hunter greeted them. At his side was another man, whom she recognized as Alex.

“Mrs. Morrison - Ellen! Good to have you; too, Mr. Morrison - so good to meet you. Now, this is Alex, my assistant.”

Mr. Hunter was turning on the charm. The atmosphere seemed relaxed. They entered into the room he was using as a studio. One wall was covered with a large cloth backdrop, and lights and camera equipment were positioned about.

“Now, Mrs. Hunter, I think we should start in here and then, I would like to get a few shots of you outdoors in the garden. The light is strong, today, and the effect should be quite good.“

Turning to Alistair, he said, “ Mr. Morrison, you can stand here and watch your wife. You should be proud- she is quite the elegant lady, today - but, then, isn’t she always?”

Alistair found a chair and sat.

To Ellen, Geoffrey asked, “Are you ready to prepare for the contrasting set, as we discussed?”

Nervously, paling a bit, Ellen nodded, “I think so.” She stood, almost shaking, in the studio room.

“Do I prepare myself here?” Ellen asked, a bit shyly.