Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Few words fill a photog's heart with more dread than "This way to the conference room". Sure, that cradle of organization may seem like sacred ground to your CEO, but it makes for a lousy backdrop. White walls, low ceiling, that forklift safety award - it just doesn't work. Throw in one big-ass table plus a dozen leatherette rollaway thrones and you got thirteen oversized reasons why I don't even want to see your executive think-tank. Take me instead to the factory floor, your company kiln, even the old boneyard out back. There we'll surely find a corner where we can communicate unencumbered, provided the boiler doesn't begin oozing that goo you don't want me to know about. Chances are I'd ignore it anyway, as no amount of hazardous waste can erase that deadline looming over me.
Deadlines. They're the reasons I'll nix any cinematic intentions and find a few ferns to molest if you insist we broach the subject in full view of your firm's mission statement. I can't help this box ain't got no soul. Speaking of no soul, that's me in the corner, humming an old REM tune as I try to decide which ceiling tile to bounce my light off. That one - with the pencil stub buried in it. I think I'll stare at THAT while you good people talk amongst yourselves. Chance are I'll still be conscious when the conversation dries up, but only because I can't think of a half decent status update to encapsulate just how it feels to work the curtains on someone else's very special episode....
Maybe I'll do it in a blog post.