I’m never sure what to make of compliments for my composition. Not that I can’t accept them (hardly) but that it’s not something I’m entirely conscious of anymore. During the show I’m shooting on a weird kind of creative autopilot, running on experience more than thought. It’s only when I look at the pictures later that I think about the hows and the whys of the photo.
So from the bottom of my unconscious, thank you.
Tassels & Emeralds 2, originally uploaded by Chris Blakeley.
The second issue of Tassels & Emeralds is in my grubby little paws and for sale online!
Wow.
I’m pleased. Which may be one of the grosser understatements ever uttered, but it’ll do for now. I’m still processing.
Now I’m trying to figure out what I want to do next because it keeps shifting when I think of it. I mean, it started as a 24-page “annual” that I’d put together to highlight my photography. As I worked on it and talked it out with my friends, they convinced me to expand it and so it doubled into two separate issues of 24-pages each.
As an annual, as a “program”, it’s grand but I’m thinking that I want to do more. When I started this, I couldn’t think of it as a magazine because then I’d just compare and contrast it with what you can get on a newsstand and fall apart at the thought. Now I think it’s easier to conceive of it as a magazine. Articles? Interviews? Hell, I don’t know, but I like the idea.
So the first two issues got that first “annual” out of my system and I already have the third issue mostly completed thanks to all the nervous energy from when I lost my job. Now I want to tear it down and fit in more.
Man, that’s exciting. And it’s not like I lack for free time, right?
I think the most embarrassing moment in burlesque is when I forget someone’s name in conversation.
I’m bad with names at the best of times. Even with people I’ve known for years, I’ll find myself offering vague “hellos” because I can’t for the life of me remember that was… Ross? Yeah, Ross!
But that’s normal, everyday life. Burlesque is different, right? Well, yeah, it’s hard to forget something like Inga Ingenue or Violet Tendencies, but I’ve known them for a while and may even know some of their offstage, out of drag names to boot. The newest performers, though, tend to skip off the surface of my memory simply because I’ve only seem them once or twice.
“This is [Alexandra] but she performs as [Boadicea Bazongas]!”
“Have you met [Vivian]? She’s with [Coastal Cuties], performs as [The Teak Temptress].”
TILT!
All the more embarrassing when they know my photography and greet me with with familiarity. It’s one thing to forget John from game night. Quite another to forget the woman in an outfit that riffs off a bird of paradise and leaves very little to the imagination.
“Chris, HI! Are you here to shoot the show?
“Great to see you, yeah…ummm…”
OK, not the greatest bit of drama I ever have to deal with, but after an Academy of Burlesque recital, I can’t help but feel like I’m happy to remember even one new name at the end of the night. It’s a point of pride. Or something.
And you are…?
This makes me want to grab my camera and stop people in the street asking for impromptu portraits.
Maybe that’ll be next week’s project?
The weekend was lovely for all that last week ended badly and today promises to be something of a roller coaster, but I’m going to do my best to keep this bit of simple joy near.
Wish me luck. I’ll write more later.
And sometimes my favorite shots are the simplest and (relatively) quietest.
A Facebook link to a blog to an aggregator to a blog later, I find this quote that leaped off the screen:
No, I think the more significant – and unique – sacrifice arts workers make is that we lose the capacity for full, innocent and glorious enjoyment of the very art that our passion for drove us to make our life’s work in the first place. What do I mean by this? Think about your earliest experiences with the arts, your first encounter with Matisse, or Chuck Close; your first time in the audience for Sondheim, or Verdi; that time you first saw Baryshnikov on stage, or Judith Jamison. Remember that childlike joy – even if you were not a child – that total immersion in the art where the whole world disappeared and you were unaware of time, of the person chewing gum next to you? Now tell, me when was the last time you felt that? Sure, you are still passionate about the art form or all art forms, you still go to museums, or opera, or theatre, but something has been lost. Admit it. — Arts, Culture & Creativity
You can get an amen from this photographer. Because I hate the moments when the crowd goes wild for a performance that left me nonplussed.
Which isn’t to say that I approach every show with a clinical critical mindset or that I’m incapable of having fun when I’m shooting a show. I do and I have and I will see amazing performers and phenomenal shows. Hell, I’m eager for it. But I’ve seen so much burlesque that I find myself analyzing things unconsciously, idly noting the music and the themes. I watch and realize that I saw that same stocking move the other night or this is the third time that I’ve seen someone do a burlesque with a particular theme (bored housewife, anyone?).
For good and for ill, my experience flavors my appreciation for the form. Sure, that means there are nights that I find myself checking off boxes on a mental list but also nights where I have no choice but to cheer from the heart and laugh like a fool. Those are the shows that energize me and keep me coming back for more, when I can’t wait to see what I captured and share the results.
Which brings me back to those awkward nights of silence, the ones that have lead some of my friends to ask me why I still do this after five years. If I can’t switch my brain off and just enjoy a show, what makes me do it?
It’s because I’m still a fan of burlesque. I still love it. I’m just not in love with it the same way I was when I saw the Bombshells first perform at the Mirabeau. And I never will be, not really. But that doesn’t mean it’s not fun. It’s just different and it’s exploring that difference in my own unique orbit that makes me want to stay.
Shine, originally uploaded by Chris Blakeley.
Musicals are different than burlesque, even when they’re musicals about burlesque.
Yeah, you’re shocked. I can tell.
The producer of Shine (A Burlesque Musical) wanted shots from the show’s closing weekend and the word came through the grapevine and was I interested and was I free? I was interested, I had time and suddenly I had a seat, which is not a bad way to spend a Sunday evening. It was truly a phenomenal show. There were some catchy numbers (oh for a soundtrack), strong performances and if some of the plot points weren’t the most original, they were carried so well that I went along for the ride and found myself cheering and gasping with the rest of the audience.
And then there was shooting it, which was just as much fun. Because, like I said, it was different.
A burlesque show tends to be relatively fast paced. The acts may have different tempos and feeling, but it’s one after another in a steady stream of performers. This had quiet moments, dialogue, stretches of time when nothing much happened.
Which funnily enough gave me even more chances to play through a wonderful variety of stagings and moods that kept me on my toes. In a strange way, it was like shooting a candid scene, even if it was obviously staged.
And the lighting really forced me to pay attention. I couldn’t just relax into a spotlight or sit patiently as the stage went from blue to red. From a spotlit performer to a big, bold group number to a stage lit conversation and back again. It may seem obvious, but it was so striking I couldn’t help but appreciate it. When I wasn’t muttering under my breath, that is.
Which may be another post in the future.
Either way, I was probably gushing like a fanboy on my way out the door, but it was such a treat to see and photograph something so different. Check out the shots, I think it’s some damned strong work.
Someone e-mailed me a couple weeks ago asking if I had any tips for shooting burlesque. I wanted to respond but I honestly didn’t know where to start. Gear? Etiquette?  Drink specials?
I think he wanted to ask the same questions I got at a show last night when my neighbor looked over during the intermission and started to ask about the shutter speed and ISO and the technical minutiae of the work. She was fascinated by it, really wanted to explore shooting events, but I really wanted to correct her, tell her that this really is the most boring aspect of the gig. It’s important, but well nigh impossible to teach. I remembered an online discussion I read where a pro responded to a similar question: “What ISO did I use? Whatever ISO the scene indicated.”
Which is the trouble with tips: I used whatever five years experience told me to and I can’t teach that.
But if you wanted to get started, say, and wanted the vague foundations without relying on reading Step One, I think I can help. Here are my very vague notes on how to go about shooting burlesque staring with what you should do before you even pick up a camera.
1) Ask
Specifically ask the producer. If you don’t know them, find a performer or find the venue manager or find someone to see what the situation is.
Why? Because you are essentially taking pictures of scantily clad women and men and if anyone should have control over their image and where it’s posted, it should be them.
So I ask every time, even if I have an agreement or an understanding that I’m welcome to come shoot whenever. I do this to make sure our schedules are in sync as well as to make sure there’s a seat reserved for me. Or, in some cases, room for me at all. It happens.
2) Be flexible.
Sometimes I get a great seat. Sometimes I have to stand by the wall. Sometimes I crouch at the lip of the stage. Be ready for anything and be courteous about wherever you wind up.
3) No flash.
Never mind aesthetics, never mind choice, the simple fact is that I can’t think of a venue in Seattle that allows flash photography. In fact, most of them forbid it outright. Leave it at home.
Besides, it’s kind of obnoxious when done badly.
I shot a show a couple years back where the producer made a deal with a bunch of photographers for free publicity: if they did glamor shots for the performers, they could all come shoot the show. That night, there were five or six photographers stationed around the theater, all of them with high powered flash guns and stands shooting madly making sure each act was liberally peppered with their light. When one performer came out and asked for no flash photos, the audience gave her a rousing ovation.
That’s stayed with me. And with most of the performers there, probably.
4) Think wide
You’ll want a lens that’s good in low light. Thinking of the venues here, I’d say you can do great work with an f/2.8 in the well lit clubs (Triple Door, Jewel Box on a good night) but an f/2 will work damn near anywhere under some extreme lighting conditions (the Can Can when I started there, bad nights at the Jewel Box).
5) Think fast
This is a matter of personal preference, but I love stopping the action in a shot. If the performer is in mid spin or the discarded costume is mid flight, I’m a happy man. I’ll start at 1/100 and work my way down to 1/200 if the lighting is good. And don’t worry too much about ISO. Digital noise can be annoying, yeah, but the technology is getting better and, really, unless you print at some ridiculous room size poster, it’s hardly noticeable.
6) Share your work
When you go home and finish the shots, post them somewhere if you can (I am occasionally asked not to post my shots to Flickr, but that’s pretty rare) but be sure the performers and producers get to see what you shot. It’s the best way to make friends in the scene as well as expand your range.
And that’s it! Everything else is hands on time with the camera or learning how to network and chat and get into different shows. Be ready to fail the first five shows. Be ready to stare at a white blur that you could have sworn was a cute blonde doing a fan dance and figure out how to improve on that.
Be ready to have a lot of fun.
Good luck.
