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The Studio Bride

20 August 2009 One Comment

When the girl sat down to be photographed, Herman knew immediately his day was to be miserable–the studio was boiling hot due to his furnace overheating and the girl was mousy and unkempt and sure to photograph terribly. She might as well have been a wet dog that was lugged into from the sea by its owner; damp and disheveled and loved only for its temperament.

She had come to the studio at the request of her father, he was about to set her out in society and he wanted her to look glamorous but proper, thus the pearls and frilly blouse. Herman didn’t have the heart to tell the man, his daughter’s hair was like a horse’s tail, her skin the texture of walnuts. But the moment he draped the black cloth over his head and looked into the lens–an angel appeared. He hair changed from a lump of seaweed to a billowy gathering of spun gold.

Her dress became less of a maid’s uniform and instead grew wings, blossoming into white goodness. Her eyes, that before bore the weight of a thousand drowned sailors, now appeared smoky and seductive beyond her years and Herman imagined them following his naked form as he strutted around the bedroom. She had an ethereal beauty and he feared if he coughed or raised his voice, she would vaporize and he would be left with an ordinary girl sitting on a stool.

He fiddled with the glass plates and thought; this girl could very well be my bride! How does it matter that he was already married, had six children, had a financial tie in with his in-laws and was forty years older then girl! This was of no concern now, as his loins were on fire and he must have her, he must. He tore the black cloth from his face and strode over to the girl. He would kiss her, caress her, but instead looked down.

Her white cotton shirt was soaked at her armpits from the heat in the studio. Her hair had turned into a swallow’s nest and her skin had an overall glossy sheen like that of a recently washed floor. He smelled a repugnant odor of old mushrooms in the studio and at once felt sick and ran to the window for air. He saw the father approaching the studio’s steps and wasn’t sure what he would tell the fellow. He turned around and looked at her again and she sat still, smiling across the room at him in her homely aura. He quickly placed the black cloth over his head and once again looked into the viewfinder. Ah, there she was, a creature beneath a specimen glass, still, lovely and perfectly posed. He could possibly marry the image behind the glass. He imaged it wouldn’t be too difficult to lead life beneath a black cloth, hold the hand of the girl and see beauty through his lens. Yes, quite a possibility.

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One Comment »

  • Ghina said:

    Vanessa – These pictures of my dear fernid and her new husband are truly amazing, they have brought tears to my eyes. You did an absolutley gorgeous job, I can’t wait to see the rest. They really look like they are out of an anthropologie or jcrew magazine Amazing thanks for sharing

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