Nothing to fix

Emma was turning fifty and had created a slightly urgent wish list for the year ahead. At the top of her short list was a photo shoot with me.

She wanted to have a beautiful and honest record of her body just in case the cancer might take her breast or her life. I was nervous. Not only because of the delicate nature of the job, but because Emma was my very first client.

Right up till that moment, I was photographing friends and friends of friends for practice and content, almost all of them in their mid-twenties. After many years of collaborations, I had finally honed a personal style that women and other photographers were paying attention to. But when Emma came to my gallery, the conversation felt different from the ones I had before. Not because of her age or her illness—she spoke about her cancer with surprising lightness, as if it were nothing more than a runny nose that would clear up by morning—but because, for the first time, I was about to charge for my work. She was sharp and funny. In a different time and situation, I could totally picture her sipping margaritas and having a great time with her friends. She left the gallery with a scheduled date for her shoot and a big smile on her face.

That night, I sat in the gallery and started scrolling through her feed. My photography won’t improve much in just one week, but at least I could learn her favorite angle and how she liked to appear in her own photos. Very quickly, I got lost in her images. The more I looked, the clearer it became that she was the glue and the soul of her circle of friends—always laughing, always doing fun things.

It wasn’t until her more recent albums that I noticed she had started wearing hats and wigs. The smiles were still there, but her eyes told me something different. My shoulders felt tight. Now, I wanted to do my best work with and for her.

Her house has two levels, plenty of windows to play, and an upper deck that faces the backyard. I also noticed there were lots of toys stuffed in the corners. “I have two nephews”, she said with an apologetic tone of voice and a smile.

My plan was simple: to guide her carefully and gradually through the experience, pay close attention to how she feels, and ask her to take off her wig only when I think she’s ready. A little tension started building in my shoulders. I have to be cautious, client or not, fifty or twenty, healthy or with cancer, being in front of my camera is a vulnerable situation for anyone. She knows I don’t pose people, and without a pose, there is almost nowhere to hide.

As we went to her bedroom, she removed her wig right away, without ceremony, and stood next to the bright window completely at ease. My eyes remained fixed on her for a moment, while my mind lagged, trying to catch up. Ok, that's good, I thought quietly. I was aware of the opportunity in front of me. My head slipped for a microsecond to what this kind of portrait could mean for my career. This could take the intimacy of my photography to another level. Stay focused, I remind myself.

In a world full of filters, her shaved head brought a rare element of reality to the portraits. I stared at my camera screen, close, but not quite there yet. The room was filled with a powerful, beautiful beam of sunlight. I adjusted my position and took a few more shots. The light was great, but as I looked at the camera again, I decided to try a different angle. The epic shot I was chasing for was still eluding me.

Taking a small pause to think, I moved the curtains to deepen the shadows and brought her closer to the window, creating a raw, dramatic contrast. I started to sweat a little. For a moment, I regretted not having researched poses for women in their 50s. She seemed to be calmer than I was, which only made me sweat more.

“Fantastic,” I said. “Let’s try the deck now. There’s beautiful light over there, too.” I led the way when she softly asked if she could see a few of the shots we’d taken. I sat beside her, and we went through the pictures together. She gave me a warm, calm smile. “They look beautiful.” Her eyes matched her words; she truly meant it.

I looked back at my camera and reviewed the images again. This time, there was nothing to fix.

Mauricio