To start, I believe the most compelling headshots are the ones in which you see the person in all their uninhibited and uncensored glory. Everyone their specific essence, but it isn't often we see it. Truly and practically, though, the hours of the day are a summation of transactions, and one needs to live by the rules of engagement most of the time. I often think, "That's nice, little missy, but I just need you to keep walking so I can turn left, thank you."
A headshot session, however, is a chance for me to let my guard down, to expose myself, to just relax into my aura. The wish, always, is to end up with a photo which "captures" a part of me ... which, in turn, is hopefully, a commercially viable photo. For tomorrow's session, though, I have a few things polluting my auric tide. First, I feel like the photographer, who has photographed some of the world's most beautiful women, is doing me a favor. Secondly, this man is internationally renowned while I'm barely known in a single zip code.
So what's a gal to do? The pervasive talk of the time is to think myself into a better feeling place. But I chafe at that for a process as exposed as photography. Instead, I feek an urge to twist that into something more personal.
Ah ... perhaps, as one of the casting directors jokes, it's time to "pull out my Meisners."
Instead of trying to feel something different, maybe I'll just show up -- intimidated, bewildered and all. Maybe I'll just give into my fears but this time display them long enough to be photographed. Maybe I'll stop trying to work the session for a product and this time work it for the process. Maybe I'll let myself feel what I feel in the moment, no matter what ... if it's fear, then let it be ... if it's intimidation, then let it be ... whatever it is, tomorrow, I'll let it be.
Even as I write those words, I feel relief wash over me. Trying to feel fierce, trying to feel beautiful, trying to feel anything just feels like trying to hold fistfuls of jello -- feelings and effort just leak out between my fingers, and how does one grasp inherently formless matter?
Instead, perhaps I'll just go with the vibe at hand. Just pull from what's there. Just let myself be intimidated and overwhelmed and overcome by this man's art and reputation and presence. And in doing so, I just might be on the right track. The real me will meet the perceived him ... and thus the Real Me will show up. And, hey, that's all I want to see in those photos, anyway.