A Birthday Suitable
Flinders Street station platforms can be lovely spot for photography when the soft evening light reflects from the tracks in golden beams which arc and mesh into a sleepy horizon, so of course I was feeling all arty and clever (and slightly hammered from an afternoon’s cider consumption) when a nice chap; Chinese, balding, portly and about forty, approaches me and tells gently me I have a nice camera. Now, I do have a nice camera, so I accepted the compliment with good grace, understanding as I do that with such a camera I am cool through my association with it. So I’m feeling all chummy towards this chap when in soft but serviceable English he tells me he’d like someone to photograph him the way “Jennifer Hawkins had been” photographed recently. Which is to say nude. He went on to ask if I could be the one to take the photos. Nothing overly unusual about a fella wanting some vanity shots, I guess, but I explained that in lacking studio space I wasn’t really set up to take that kind of portrait. That was the point when the cider started making suggestions. It was great light after all, and we were both there and I did have my awesome camera, so I suggested that the only time I could do a nude portrait of him was right there and then on platform five while we waited for a delayed Werribee train. “Here?” he asked, looking around doubtfully but clearly not rejecting the idea. Now I started getting excited. I mean, if shooting a 45 year old Chinese bloke posing artfully in the buff in the subtle light of Flinders Street platform five during a commuter crush isn’t going to make me some kind of famous, well I really don’t know what will. It just ticks all boxes, right? So there’s me, dreaming dreams of portrait prizes and er, canasta nights at Bill Henson’s place, when the loudspeaker announces the impending arrival of my train. The gent is still there considering the offer, nervously fingering his shirt button, but now I’m torn between getting arrested for taking (arguably) the world’s greatest photograph or jumping on the train and heading home to dinner. Perhaps it’s in my nature to reject the cloak of greatness when the hour of opportunity arises, for I’m ashamed and relieved to report that dinner was excellent and on time. Besides I only had black and white film, and really, it had to be done in colour. Next time, for sure.
