Write four lines of prose about: the cameraman. Or camerawoman. It matters not to me.
Today's prompt inspired by a little photo expedition I took to the orchard to capture this year's apricot blossoms. More specifically, by my assistant:
I let Max take shots on my iPhone while I used my camera. I ended up taking 14 pictures, while he tallied 70. Oh, right - it was 68 pictures and 2 short, accidental videos. Some of them were actually pretty cool, in my opinion. Like this one:
I've got a couple more pictures of Max, and one in particular is just... I love it. I'll share it tomorrow, but for now I want to treasure it and indulge my greediness by keeping it to myself (and Kat).
Mine:
He captures history with a serenity that belies the turmoil seething within him. His camera holds steady, whether it is focused on a rare piece of art in a silent museum in New York or a firefight in the chaotic streets of a remote Eastern European village.
The reporters he works with admire his courage and professionalism and technical expertise.
And have not even the slightest suspicion that he plans to create some history of his own... one day.
5 comments:
He is there at every event, yet remembered by none.Every wedding, every adventure, every walk and every party.
For though he is everywhere he is never in any of the pictures that capture those memories.
He is behind the lens, he works the mechanisms and makes the device go click- he is the cameraman.
Max does look quite the little cameraman in that first picture! And I do like the picture of the orchard coming back to life as well, that's very nicely done. A little bleak because of that sky, possibly, but I think that might be what gives it strength.
Heh, I like how all of your narrators are always intending to become part of the story themselves, even when they're apparantly just observing!
The cameraman
Helga breezed through customs barely even glancing at the security folk stood around checking cases or frisking teenagers and pop stars. Behind her, her husband Henrik had stopped at the conveyor belt and was starting to unload into the grey cases that would pass through the security scanners.
"Oh no," Helga heard a soft whisper behind her, "it's the camera man again."
Helga breezed off in search of a champagne bar, leaving her husband and his eighteen bags worth of camera equipment to navigate customs by himself.
The cameraman:
Although his face was almost wholly hidden by the camera and his dark, thick glasses, it didn't take me long to realize his identity.
So he hadn't given up the business (just as I'd thought), and was posing as a cameraman at this gathering. I don't think he recognized me, but even if he did, it wouldn't matter.
Encountering a rival spy on a mission just made it all the more exciting, and Jason Henson was one of the best, too.
The camera man clicked away. 575 victims. He stole their souls. And kept their scalps.
Lakshmi - that is a very good summation of a man who lives his life behind the lens.
Greg - sounds to me like Helga has the better side of things :)
Nikhil - ooh, a potential spy vs spy situation in development! Those are always entertaining :)
David - good to hear from you again! It never fails to impress me how good you are at using the bare minimum number of words to convey things. This entry, obviously, is no different.
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