Charlie, my youngest son, formed a rock group “Bad Lesson” when he was ten years old, and until the members went their different ways two years later, they enjoyed a certain amount of success.
This doorman was outside a rock venue in the city centre were Bad Lesson was hired to play. It was one of those studenty places, worn, and smelly, and up some dirty stairs. In other words, terribly shabby chic.
With the doorman’s permisson, I took two snapshots of him before hurrying in to listen to a deafening, cacophonic rock din. Technically and pixel-wise, this is not a good photo - the quality of digital has advanced light years since then. Nor did I have a tripod and it was very dark, and yet, the visible detail says it all.
Look carefully and you can see our outlines reflected in the mirror in the distance. The little bit of light there is focuses on the doorman’s lived-in face and hands. The lens was a fisheye that I got terribly bored with after an initial honeymoon. But here it works well.
I often wonder where this person is now, and what kind of life he has. His demeanor leads you to speculation. Sometimes I imagine he will tap me on the shoulder, one night when I am out and about, and say, hello, it’s me.
