I hate having my picture taken. I’m awkward, self-critical, twitchy. If James can get a decent shot of me he can photograph anyone.
I don’t know what his secret is, but he captures the best of everyone. I’m always looking over his shoulder when he’s downloaded a shoot and I see a screenful of people I’d swear were models. He’d say no they’d been very nervous at first but look at this one, and this one…
I could claim I’ve trained him to deal with awkward buggers but it’s not true. Years ago when I was the stroppy office girl at the photographic studios where we met, one of the assistants needed a model for practice. I was stuck in front of the camera with an extra slap of eye-shadow and my hair pouffed. In every picture I looked like a stroppy office girl.
James wandered in, started chatting and took a couple of shots and wow. Are these pictures really me?
I still have those Polaroids. Evidence of a miracle.
