And so here we are. 6th March 2004.
I have been visiting Elmfield House for just over a month now. Leonard
and I began our work together with a few basic photography sessions so that he
could experiment with positioning for the pastel portrait and lay down some
‘explorative work’ - which is not as perverted or painful as it sounds, I can
assure you! The idea seemed straightforward at first; I was instructed to bring
photographs of myself - taken alone or with family or friends - to our sessions
so that we could discuss our favourite aspects of each picture, but, when I
revealed that I was camera-shy and made the pitiful excuse that my camera is
too cumbersome to carry in my tiny handbag on nights out with friends, Leonard
decided that he would take one or two photographs of me himself, ‘to break you
of your sense of self’ as he would repeatedly tell me.
The phone conversation on the night before our first photo session was
truly bizarre to say the least. Leonard insisted that I had bare shoulders and wore
nothing around my neck as detail in that area would ‘busy the picture’ and the entire
conversation had the uneasy feel of a punter dictating to a prostitute the
specifics of a uniform that he would like her to wear for the evening. Upon
arriving at Elmfield House the following morning I apologised profusely for my
apparent inability to obey direction as the temperature that day was particularly
chilly and I was forced to wear multiple layers of clothing in order to keep
warm during the bus journey. I explained to Leonard that I was wearing a vest
top beneath my jumper that I hoped would be suitable but I had brought along a
few alternative tops that I would be more than happy to change into. Leonard
was amused by my flustered apology and he assured me that what I was wearing was
perfectly acceptable, but nevertheless I took out my selection of clothes and
laid them out on the chairs in the workroom like a market trader displaying her
stock.
The taking of the photograph
was much more involved than a simple point-and-click affair. An elaborate
ritual ensued during which I was precisely positioned and repositioned until
Leonard was satisfied that the light from the window was falling correctly on
my face and my eye line was at precisely the right angle. Mercifully the
position was only held for only a few seconds before the shutter clicked and I
was allowed to move freely once again. Leonard then asked if I would allow him
to take a second photograph and for this one I would wear a black top that was
much tighter fitting and lower cut than the top that I was wearing. I was unsure
about this second photograph at first but Leonard assured me that the photo
would be in black and white, adding somewhat cheekily that ‘monochrome is
flattering to even the most grotesque sitter’. I quickly changed my clothes in
his bathroom while scrutinising the light-fitting and shampoo bottles for
hidden cameras.
I was pleasantly surprised by
the final results when I visited Elmfield House the next day after lectures.
Initially the first photograph appeared to be as basic as a passport photo, but
under closer examination I could see that my positioning, the soft lighting and
the deliberately minimalistic composition had brought out elements of purity
and serenity in my appearance that were particularly striking. It was quite a
surprise to see myself portrayed in such a serious light! The second photograph
was much darker and moodier and the harsh contrast of black and white brought
out the shine of my dark hair and bleached my skin as white as bone.
The wait between the
photography session and seeing the finished result can be very frustrating, but
I am learning to be patient. This delay is due to the fact that Leonard does
not own a computer and so at the end of each session he passes his digital
camera to a young man named Luke who kindly prints the images for him. Leonard
and Luke clearly have a close friendship and Leonard speaks affectionately about
Luke as though he has known him for some time. I understand that Luke is a ballet
student and Leonard introduced himself to Luke after attending one of his
performances in the city centre because he had been impressed by his
gracefulness during the performance and he believed that the elegance of his
movements would translate easily from stage to canvas. The two men struck up a
friendship and they started working together straight away and now Luke visits the
house whenever Leonard’s work requires a male sitter. Luke sounds like quite an
elusive character, but Leonard assures me that he will arrange for us to meet very
soon.
Leonard and I have recently
progressed from our photographic work to the first preliminary sketches for the
portrait. Our conversation is still somewhat formal and we occasionally
struggle for subjects to talk about, but when our discussions finally gain
momentum I can close my eyes and easily be speaking to a man not many years
older than myself. Only faint intrusions of age cause his voice to falter
slightly. Most of the time we talk about theological issues and topics that I am
currently studying in my classes but sometimes Leonard will tell me about his
life or I will formulate questions about interesting objects in the workroom or
paintings that I have spotted around the house - there is, for example, a large
framed print of Nicolas Poussin’s Et in
Arcadia Ego in the hallway, a brass rubbing of the knight Sir John
D’Abernon stands guard at the foot of the stairs and a print of Francisco Goya’s
Group on a Balcony is situated next
to the window in the kitchen (for some reason I find the Goya picture very
disconcerting indeed).
Leonard is an extremely complex
and fascinating character and I enjoy hearing the tales that he tells me about
his life; for instance, he trained as a mathematician in his youth and he has a
particular interest in geometry, he sleeps for approximately three hours each
night, he is highly skilled at carpentry and he built most of the shelving and
some of the furniture in the workroom and his nearest relatives live in London but
most of his extended family are spread across Europe. When I enquire about the
identity of the sitters in the portraits stacked against the shelving in the
workroom, he speaks enthusiastically about a Chinese man that he met at a nearby
college, an Indian woman who works in the local supermarket and a young mother who
once visited him with her daughter for a family portrait. Although he speaks
fondly of his family in London, I suspect that the individuals in the portraits
that are displayed around the house constitute Leonard’s immediate and everyday
family and, although this may sound terribly sad and depressing to you and I, I
suspect that Leonard would have it no other way.
