*ooof*: Pretty or Vacant?

Considering that we have had some interesting news this last week – a new project for Mr A, and the bloopers from the Anglophile interview – all that is missing now is some new photographic imagery to make Guylty happy. In the absence of new drooling material we turn once again to Ms Dunn’s photographic output. Today’s image was suggested by Armitagebesotted.

What’cha looking at, Armitage?
Richard Armitage in a shot by Sarah Dunn, 2013
TVMoves

Moody, snarky, or just tired? Here we have Mr A posing in an armchair that has popped up again in another of Dunn’s images. Lee Pace almost flows off the chair in this shot . I am quite happy – aesthetically speaking – that Armitage is not. It just makes for a better picture, imho. The armchair (and sitter) are placed at a slight angle to the camera. With his head slightly to his right and his eyes averted, RA is looking downwards. His shoulders and back rest against the back of the armchair. We effectively get a half-profile of the man in what amounts to more or less a head and shoulders portrait of Armitage. The formal attire of our subject – a dark blue jacket and matching waistcoat, light blue knitted tie and crisp white shirt – fits very nicely with the traditional piece of furniture he is moulding his delectable form into. This is a gentleman’s chair – and we can just about imagine our subject sitting in a distinguished gentleman’s club in Central London, reading the Times and sipping languidly on his G&T in between making business deals or discussing world politics with his fellow members. The only thing detracting from that kind of fantasy is the background visible behind the chair – one of those typical photography studio backgrounds.

Do you remember those backdrops from your own school photos or the rare visit to a photographer’s studio? They were ubiquitous in my teens, and I hated them even then. There was something incredibly old-fashioned about those backdrops, no matter which colour they came in. They looked unattractive and dirty to me. The latter comes close to the truth, btw, because that is actually part of the origin of these backdrops. In the early days of photography, photographers were often a travelling enterprise. They went from place to place with their big camera, carrying their “photostudio” with them. This mainly consisted of a large cloth that could be draped and hung-up – usually outside – and in front of which the sitters were then placed and pictured. However, travelling with a large cloth, possibly 10 feet wide, hanging it on dirty walls or on washing lines or between two poles, and countless sitters trudging across the edges of it meant that the photographer could not avoid getting dirt on the thing. The effect that we now call “mottled” was simply the accumulation of dirt on an ex-pristine piece of material. Some photographers saw their backdrop as their characteristic trademark – “only original with the blob of paint in the top right corner”. That is how history explains mottled backdrops. I have worked with a photographer who uses a lot of old processes for his project (wet-plate processing being one of them), and for whom I actually sewed a backdrop made of thick hessian material which we then deliberately dirtied in my studio by emptying the remains of the ash bucket from my fireplace over it. No kidding!

Personal dislike of mottled backdrops aside, this one here fits the colour scheme nicely and matches with the brown leather of the armchair, but I am just not very fond of it here. It situates the scene too clearly in the artificialness of a photo studio. Plus, brown is just not a very attractive colour in my book. However, I must admit that the shade of blue of Armitage’s suit and the mid-brown of armchair and backdrop fit very well together. If we could see more of Armitage’ peeps, it would probably bring out the blue of his iris very nicely.

Compositorially the image is quite interesting: Dunn basically only uses two thirds of the space afforded to her by the frame to picture her sitter. Face and body of Armitage are all in the two thirds on the right. This leaves plenty of space for text, should this image be used by a magazine. I also quite like her direction of the pose: She has made Armitage lean back and slightly downwards to the right. His turned head nicely elongates and exposes (the left side of) his neck to our gaze – a view that is not often shown – and that creates a very nice leading line: The line of where the shirt meets the lapel follows up the neck and then even gets continued along the line of sideburn and headline. Similarly, on the other side, Armitage’s characteristically angular forehead and jaw line continue on down the collar and then along the lapel, creating two parallel lines. This is balanced out by two parallel lines along Armitage’s shoulders and along the back of the chair. In the intersection of all those lines we find… Armitage’s face. Bingo! Nicely arranged, very pleasing to the eye indeed. Oh, and let’s not forget that the turned head also exposes the nape curls… *squees*

The pose itself carries a feeling of vulnerability with it – basically the exposing of a vulnerable part of the body, the neck, where our arteries are. This is a view we do not usually give strangers – but possibly lovers, in front of whom we let our guards down – and hence a feeling of intimacy comes with this pose. This is further enhanced by the facial expression of the sitter, particularly his half-shut eyes carry a suggestive meaning (probably more to do with the act of looking downwards than any other intentional posing). The expression almost looks arrogant – no smile graces his lips, they look very slightly pursed; his left eyebrow looks cocked (but isn’t, it just appears that way because he is looking down and the left eyebrow is higher up in the frame than the right), and his gaze is quite intense and determined. With the hands out of the frame, the viewer inevitably wonders what Armitage is doing. What exactly is he looking at? Why is he leaning back so decidedly? Is he amused or is he annoyed? Is he relaxed or tense? Is he averting his eyes because he is annoyed with *us*, or because there is something much more interesting to be seen on the floor to his right??? The fact that a flurry of questions go through my mind when I look at this image tells me that this is a “good” picture – an image that engages me, that challenges me and that makes me curious. It speaks to me because it leaves me room to interpret and to imagine.

Interestingly, there are two more images available from the same series – a great opportunity to compare the images and scrutinize the effects that are created only by minute differences. Ignoring the monochrome vs. colour (all digital images tend to originate in colour and are only made b/w in post/production) Take this image, for instance, which at first glance seems to be identical with the one that I have just analysed. While the pose is exactly the same, the facial expressions differ. In the b/w version Armitage’s gaze is focussed on something further towards the camera. At the same time, he has knitted his brow, and his expression looks like a frown. Whether it is a frown of anger or of concentration is unclear without having any context here, but for me the colour photograph comes across as less grumpy – even if it is just as ambiguous as the b/w.

– And *yay*, we even have a third shot to compare this with, because another image has surfaced in a Japanese TV magazine that shows Mr A in the same pose, but yet again different. This time he graces us with his gaze, looking right at the camera. He has turned his head slightly back towards the camera (although still not dead-pan), and that means his eyes are now fully open when looking across. While the parallel lines are still the same, and Armitage has virtually not changed his facial expression (apart from opening his peeps), this is my least favourite of the three shots. Armitage’s facial expression looks almost blank to me. It is not closed and he does not look as if he is actively hiding anything, but the look in his eyes is not intense enough to be considered interesting. The absence of a smile does not mean he looks grumpy. Or arrogant. Or annoyed. Or anything, for that matter – it leaves the face strangely vacant. (This, however, could also be due to the lack of strong catch lights in his eyes – possibly caused by a) the fact that this is a scanned image or b) the paper the magazine is printed on. Hard to say without looking at the digital original.) In a way, the empty gaze should be typical for the man who could be described as a “dark horse”. It is just not really flattering, imo, and therefore I prefer even the slightly arrogant look to a vacant look. That way, I know that there is a light on upstairs.

In summary I take a number of interesting insights from this cursory comparison: Considering that there are three versions of virtually the same shot, I find my assumption from last week confirmed – Dunn makes minute adjustments to the pose. That takes a lot of time and care – and much concentration from the sitter as he has to translate direction into the adjusted pose. It may also account for the more “static” feel of her images, as I concluded last week, possibly because it demands a slow, calm way of working. Lastly, I find myself again preferring imagery where RA does *not* look at the camera.

I had a few more things to say on the selection/editing process and work-flow of a photographer, but I’ll leave that for another day in favour of fictionalising the image…

He was tired now, after a long trans-Atlantic flight from New York to London. The porter at  the door was as imposing as ever. “Good evening, Sir. Your room is ready for you. Will you be taking dinner in the Club?” “Yes, Arthur”, he answered, signing his name into the ledger on the mahogany desk in the hall. “Would you like me to take your luggage to your room, Mr Armitage, before you take dinner?” “No, I can take it myself. I think I’ll be retiring to the library before dinner, anyway. Thank you, Arthur.” He turned and headed up the grand staircase to his accustomed room on the second floor.

Fifteen minutes later he was refreshed and correctly attired on his way back down the stairs again. Adjusting his cuffs and waistcoat – this was a tie-only establishment – he walked into the members’ library. He scanned the room. A nice and quiet evening, mid-week,  in the distinguished atmosphere of the grand Victorian mansion. Only a few old codgers were sitting in the comfortable leather armchairs. A couple of past-their-prime politicians were having a hushed conversation by the big bay window out to the street, swaying their whiskies in the cut-glass tumblers. He sighed. Just the right atmosphere to wind down after a day of travelling. A couple of armchairs in the back of the dark, wood-panelled room were empty. He grabbed today’s issue of the Times from a sideboard and headed for the leather fauteuil that was in front of the Velvet-curtained double-door leading to the dining room.

A waiter dressed in black tails appeared out of nowhere and quietly asked for his orders. “A glass of Spätburgunder, please”, he carefully enunciated the vowels of the strange German word, already imagining the rich red wine flowing in luscious sips over his taste buds and down his throat. He sighed contentedly. As anachronistic as a Gentlemen’s Club might seem in the 21st century, the old boys certainly knew what they were doing when they had invented these establishments. And it was so convenient, being a member of a club. Not only could he escape life for a quiet hour at the member’s bar anytime he needed a break from London, the club also provided bedrooms for members who were from out of town and needed a place for the night. Much preferable to the exchangeable sterility of an anonymous hotel. Besides, he did not want to impose on his London friends and oblige them into putting him up for the night.

He wriggled his bum discretely into the soft leather of the armchair and leaned back with closed eyes, exhaling softly. “I say, I know your face, don’t I?”, a raspy, dark voice with an unmistakable Eastern accent dragged him out of his lazy musings. His unamused gaze fell onto a fellow member of roughly his age, tall and darkly handsome, who had carefully folded himself into the empty armchair in front of his. “Good evening. I don’t know we are acquainted?”, he said suppressing his irritation and forcing a polite smile onto his face. “Viktor Sanowitz, entrepreneur”, the stranger mirthlessly smiled at him. Since when did the Club allow bespectacled, unsavoury Russian oligarchs into its midst? The days of the Empire were obviously long gone.

“How do you do?” he forced through clenched teeth. There was his quiet pre-dinner wind-down gone. “Yes. – I know you from the Television. You are Richard Armitage.” There we go. He was going to have to play the actor now. “Indeed.” “Tell me, what do you think of Russia reasserting its right in the Crimea?” He nearly choked on the sip of Spätburgunder that the attentive waiter had served him. “Politics? I am afraid I am not up-to-date on that”, he waved the question aside, “who wants to know my opinion on anything, anyway?” “Very well, a tricky topic, I agree. Well, tell me about your celebrity lifestyle then. You must be invited to many parties.” “I’m afraid not. I am rather boring.” “Don’t actors party all the time?” “Not really my scene.” He tried to be as monosyllabic as possible. “What about all the other celebrities?” “I don’t really go out much.” “Well, what are the perks of being a sought-after actor these days?” He sighed. “I don’t know.” “Do you not get many freebies? Designer clothes? Free holidays? Surely, a free upgrade to Business Class when you travel?” He emphatically shook is head “No. Hasn’t happened to me.”

The business man smiled maliciously. “Your life sounds boring.” His contrariness was finally piqued. His life was far from boring, but he was not willing to share details from neither his professional nor his private life with an offensive stranger. Discretion was his middle name. But he couldn’t help but push it that last little bit. “Oh, I have fans, groupies. Many interested ladies? A whole Army, in fact.” The stranger was literally drooling now. “I am all ears”, the Russian pushed. “Are they all Armitage-besotted?” A chuckle involuntarily escaped Armitage’s lips. Now, there was a topic he had lots to say on… If only the dry Russian knew. He had stories to tell that would make the insufferable twat gag and turn green with envy. He slowly leaned back in his armchair with a satisfied smile on his lips. Nonchalantly  he turned his head to the side and sneakily directed his gaze to the floor. “Yes. But a gentleman never tells…”

~ by Guylty on March 18, 2014.