The Portrait Photographer

“Ethel? Well, that’s a nice name — old as wood,” Said Rebecca.

“My parents wanted a daughter with a woody sounding name, I suppose.” said Ethel.

Rebecca placed a tripod at one end of the room, then attached her camera to the top plate. She looked through the viewfinder at an empty chair. The chair had a soft seat with a flowery pattern woven into it. She stopped twisting the lens when the flowers looked sharp and colourful. Then she stepped back, turned to her client and asked her to sit in the chair.

“Oh, already?” Asked Ethel. She stood up, flapped the chiffon shawl around her neck and marched five paces towards the chair, she twisted her body as she attempted a graceful turn in front of the seat. Instead of delicate grace, a dull thud rattled some glass objects on a shelf as her backside hit the chair.

“I thought you would first talk to me. You know, get to know your portraitee before deciding on poses, and so on,” Ethel rearranged her shawl. Rebecca noticed the small holes in the material, and decided it was probably as old as Ethel herself.

Rebecca looked up from her camera lens, “We can talk a little, but I get my best ideas in action. When you sit in the chair, we’ll be halfway there — just act naturally, can you stop doing that with the shawl…