The beauty game

I love summer, especially summer in Capri.

The sky was blue, and the water even bluer. And I could see as far as Cairo.

I was lying in a deckchair on the roofsteps of Villa Malaparte, waiting for my model, Linda Evangelista.

Say it aloud: Linda Evangelista. Then say Villa Malaparte. Hear that? They even rhyme.

The shoot was for La Perla, the famed lingerie brand and choice attire for the rich, famous and tasteful. For the next season, they had decided to go with skin tone, for everything ranging from thongs to micro-thongs.

Linda was late but I was not bothered. She is a modern-day Goddess and it was only right that I waited patiently.

My three assistants, who had accompanied me from Napoli, to Positano, to Almafi, had been perfect angels. Young, nubile and voluptuous, they were handpicked not just for their looks, but also for their expertise in photography. Before, in between and after shoots, they gave me massages and served me lemoncello gelato.

The lyrics of Summertime, so beautifully written by Ira Gershwin, played repeatedly in my head.

“Summertime, and the women are easy … Summertime, and the clothes are skimpy …”

Finally, Linda showed up and stepped right in front of me. She disrobed and revealed…

Alas, all dreams have to end.

Wouldn’t that be an ideal life? Get paid to shoot the world’s most beautiful women while enjoying escapades to all the lovely places.

Imagine how my life would have been different, if the book that caught my attention 20 years ago, was David Bailey’s The Lady is a Tramp, and not Don McCullin’s Hearts of Darkness.

In all my years in photography, I can count the number of fashion shoots assigned to me on one hand, and still manage to dig my nose.

Some of my bosses actually thought it would be dangerous to let the models near me, thus relegating me to the last on the waiting list for such glamorous jobs.

When I finally got my first break in fashion, it was to shoot a range of ‘auntie’ clothes, with a 40-something model who was actually a businesswoman. In my desperate attempt to inject some fun into the shoot, I instructed the stylist to use a strong tape to tighten her top. Needless to say, my first fashion shoot was also my last.

I waited till I became the head of the photography department to take my ‘revenge’. Using new powers bestowed on me, I assigned myself to be assistant on some of the better fashion shoots.

Once, my job was to hold the hand of a beautiful actress while she tried to balance herself. The photographer had to lie that I worked for him.

Who cares about rank, power or ego, when I could be up close and personal with these darlings?

Seriously, I will be the first to admit that I am not cut out to be a fashion photographer and this has nothing to do with the fact that I have devious motivations.

It has more to do with that fact that I prefer the naturalistic look over scenes that are manufactured, and that I have no patience for dilly-dallying.

In a recent public talk, a well-established fashion photographer told the audience that he sometimes dramatises a straightforward shoot into a day-long elaborate affair, just to make the client feel that his high fee was justified.

Another photographer told me there were occasions when she insisted on re-shooting, just to make her clients think that she is an exacting professional who has higher standards than everyone.

Since becoming a freelance photographer five years ago, I have insisted on not accepting any jobs that required me to work under an art director. I have also rejected all jobs that required me to present Polariods to art directors sitting in deck chairs, under coconut trees. Neither will I do jobs that require me to hook up my camera directly to a computer.

Often, all I need to get started is a very good brief, and the freedom to shoot my way.

But artistic freedom comes at a high price. I have been ruled out of many well-paying jobs because I was depriving some people of the opportunities to look important.

On at least one occasion, I encountered clients who loved my personal reportage work but thought that the only way I could achieve them was if they peered through my viewfinder for every take.

Sometimes, to the shock of my clients, I told them that I would cut my fee if I could be left alone to do my work.

Get it right: I don’t hate art directors, creative directors or account directors. Neither do I hate any of my clients.

What I believe is that not everyone is cut out for the same thing and if one has a special strength, one should exploit it to the fullest. It is perfectly ok to shine in one genre and avoid things that we don’t do well.

Pele was a great striker but Rooney is only OK. Beckham should just stick to being Mrs Spice.

I work best without assistants or art direction, and that is how I should work.

A few months ago, on a hot sunny afternoon, I boarded a cab with my bag of lights, tripod and cameras. The cabdriver was so happy to see me that I wondered why.

“Wow, you photographer ah? Got one Singaporean in New York make sixty thousand dollars a day you know. Photography very ‘ho dan’ (make good money) is it?”

I could not be bothered to respond or make some talk. I was on my way to shoot a very important subject - my only nephew - and the job was pro-bono. I don’t make even $60 in some months, but I love what I do.

It is also myths like ‘photographers get lots of girls’ and that ‘England will win Euro 2004’ that make the world fun.

Now if you would allow me, I would like to go back to Linda.

The column first appeared in Grain Magazine.