The bitter gales whip all around the dark coastline, waves smashing into the pier with the ferocity of a furious titan, air saturated with salt as the gulls cry out, circling me as I haunt the pier, like vultures waiting for the reaper. Rain slices through the air like icy needles, soaking all in the dull indigo evening. Black clouds hang low over frustrated waters, cloaking the moon from wandering eyes and the twinkling lights of the nearby town are a comforting reminder that warmth is only a five minute walk away. I wander the concrete, lonely as a dead man's secret, snapping the turmoil below me, click after click. I grimace as a splash of brine blows up over the ledge, hitting me hard but I keep my resolve. This night will not pass me by.
The moon begins to peer cautiously from behind the clouds as though it's curious who I am and why I'm out on a night like this. I snap a few photos of it but as I review them quickly, my lips purse together and I begin to chew on my lip stud. No good. The photos are nice but they don't capture what I'm after: the chaos of the storm.
A gust of wind blows my hood down and I press my frozen knuckles to my lips in response. There's hardly any point in pulling it back up - after all, I'm already soaked to the bone, chocolate brown hair hanging limp in the rain. Shower-proof jackets are perhaps good in other countries but they can't stand up to Scotland's raw storms, especially in October when the temperature plummets like this. Not that I've really noticed a change in temperature this year - the summer barely made an appearance. I shrug off my frustrations, closing my eyes for a moment to let the icy water run down over my face and for a moment, I almost enjoy this experience, despite my red ears, numb nose, stiff knuckles. It's refreshing.
"The things I do for my art," I sigh to myself, barely audible under the seething winds. I let the camera go and it falls to my chest, protected in its waterproof housing, with a wet slap. Tattooed fingers spread out towards the horizon, SAOR ALBA script grabbing at the distant islands, bones cracking quietly, painfully. I roll my wrists and resume my task.
While bracing the October tempest would seem extreme for some, this is honestly nothing new for me, Gavin Ashmore, eighteen year old HND Photography at Dean College, Kilmarnock. If getting the right shots means I have to suffer a little, so be it. It's all worth it in the end anyway. The actual shooting part is easy. The hard bit is when I'll have to explain how I ended up in the middle of a maelstrom when it came crashing down on the coastal town of Ayr when all I was asked to photograph was daily life. I mean, to me it's simple - daily life is chaotic and what's more chaotic than a ferocious ocean? It's just trying to get the rest of the class to see it from my perspective which is hard. Then again, I've already got it all planned out - I'd searched chaos on the internet and decided to take a mythological spin on it after stumbling across a few pages about fairies and their ties to chaos. One trip to the college library later and I had all the arty-farty justification I needed. My photos will seem oh so esoteric. Hopefully... It's one of those things that probably sounds better in your head than it does when it comes out of your mouth.
"Come on storm," I murmur to myself, "gimme the goods. Just a little more chaos is all I need. Don't let me down."
This is my last chance to get the shots I need. Three weeks have already passed with the assessment creeping closer and closer but I couldn't give in to the temptation to go and photograph a busy street or a workplace. It's too easy. No, I had to be patient. I had to wait for the storm to come rolling in. Now, with only two days left until the deadline, my wait has paid off. With the tempest hammering down on me as if punishing me for trying to capture it, I'm quietly confident that I'll nail this assessment.
I close my tired hazel eyes for a moment, enjoying the cold rain as it batters down on my eyelids. A few moments later and I'm squelching down to the end of the pier, eyes darting to and fro trying to find something - anything - that stands out but everything is being drowned in grey waves and frothy wrath. Another wall of brine slaps down on me and a burst of laughter ripples into the darkness. What's the point in getting frustrated over my physical condition? No, I tell myself, just keep smiling. For a moment, I recall the weather forecast from the morning earlier - light rain. Another belly laugh blossoms in the gloom - the rain's practically horizontal...
Moments like this prove that it's good to be alive. A pale hand sweeps over my face, rubbing the salty water and rain out of my lashes. I'll find something - I just have to keep looking. Time passes and the waves keep rolling in, crashing against the concrete pier, splashing me, trying to weather my resolve and beat me down but I'm too determined to falter. After all, what's the common cold save for a few wet tissues and a sore throat? Nothing some lozenges can't solve.
Two hours later and nothing save for over a thousand shots saved on the camera's SD card but nothing stands out. My earlier confidence is beginning to wane as I cast a glance at the time on the camera's menu. Shit. The last bus back to my town is in less in an hour and I curse my stupid last minute decision to not bring the car. I'd swapped my wheels for my small flask of cheap supermarket whisky. Time's ticking. My throat seems to tighten as I chew on my single lip stud. All these shots and nothing appeals to me... I lean lazily against the rusted metal railings that line the pier, lowering my eyes to the dark concrete at my feet - sprinkles of spat out and stamped in chewing gum dot the cement like snowflakes. Would that count as daily life? I curse myself for even considering it.
With fifteen minutes to get to Ayr bus station, I shake my head, my body feeling clammy and cold, stomach clenching. I don't want to photograph the cliched busy street scene - no doubt that's what most of the class will have gone for - but time's ran out. Defeated, I turn my back to the raging ocean, casting my hazel eyes to the horizon. The pretty lights of the town glitter like stardust, bathing the sky in an ethereal orange glow. I pause for a moment, absorbing the beauty and then it hits me. I've been facing the wrong way all this time.
Quickly, I roll the sleeves of my jacket up, cringing at the feel of the icy wet plastic against my skin, and glance out towards the ocean one final time. How could I not have noticed the light before? The copper shimmer fades into the leaden deep like blood spatter on a concrete floor - it comes in strong, flowing bright, purposefully, then slowly becomes lost in the iron skies. Remarkable how the light holds its ground in defiance of the shroud of darkness. Ayr is a monolith of order, standing tall against the chaos of mother earth.
It's perfect.
Hands numb, face burning cold and dripping wet, soaked to the core, I've found it - the calm serenity of a sleeping town fighting the wrath of nature. A couple of test shots later, some fiddling with the camera settings and I begin to capture it in all its raw beauty. I snap it a few times, making sure I had plenty of copies to work it and as I review the shots on the screen, I shake my head, brown hair falling into my eyes as beads of rain glided down, dripping onto the camera case. How could it have taken so long to find the perfect shot? I've been here for almost four hours, wandering and snapping. I rub my eyes a final time, hoping the cold will wake me up a little but it's been a long night and the weather started taking its toll a while ago. I need to get back to my flat and warm up. Still, the red, swollen hands, the tired eyes, the inevitable cold that'll ensnare me in a few days - all worth it. My eyes wander to the storm one last time as I mouth a silent thank you to the tempest.
Darting through the empty streets of Ayr, racing for the last bus, my heart dances with excitement. I can't wait to see what my lecturer thinks of this fresh angle. Even if I don't get the response I want from Adriano, I know I'll get the response from my classmates - the usual groans and rolling eyes. The classroom's jealousy is a driving force for my art.
#
Monday comes with a nip in the air that rides alongside the fresh sunshine to greet me as I throw open my flat door and dance down the quiet close, footsteps echoing through the morning. I close my eyes, inhaling the sharp air, letting it chill my lungs - today's gonna be a good day. The final photo is loaded onto my USB stick, dangling securely around my neck on a silver chain and that Celtic library book is tucked away in my old raggedy red backpack. I'm feeling pretty positive today and it shows – as I glance at my reflection in each passing shop window, the tall, skinny guy, well groomed and styled, reeking of Ultraviolet, oozes confidence - I manage to resist the urge to chew on my lip stud. That's a sure fire way of people knowing I'm actually kinda scared inside. Though I'm pale the October nip gives my cheeks a healthy glow and with a chuckle I notice the 40mm black plugs poking out through spiky hair are practically dancing as I walk. Clasping my hands together, I rub the palms in the hope that it'll dispel my hidden nerves about Adriano's reaction. At the back of my mind, a fear that I've gone a little too off tangent pingpongs off my skull. I don't even know why I'm feeling so anxious about it - at least I'd gone out there and tried something a bit different. Anyway, if the worst case scenario happens and Adriano hates my photos, all I need to do is go and photograph that cheesy street scene and resubmit.
College greets the students with an array of fresh posters advertising their annual Halloween party. I glance at them as I pass but my brain doesn't really want to register the black and pink mess of multiple fonts and bog standard clip art. I sail past them towards the elevator. My classroom is on the third floor.
Seems like I'm the only one with some energy today - I waltz into the class with a horde of shuffling zombies at my heel. As I slide into my seat comfortably, I cast a glance around the room to see if my self-appointed 'rival' was here. He...wasn't? I don't know whether to feel overjoyed that my only competition was absent or disappointed that I won't get to see Alexander's work to quietly compare it to my own.
Time passes, each second ticking away on the clock. The class register is taken and Alexander is marked as an unauthorised absence.
Class begins with Adriano Alcheri, a tall dark haired man who smells like a strangely pleasant concoction of aftershave and coffee, instructing the students to choose a photographer from any field of work, research them and do a 3000 word essay on their work. I have no idea who to write about but I'm already thinking of a few different fields after some Google handiwork: astrophotography or medical photography. It's entirely different from my usual photojournalism essays but something entirely new will be more fun to write about.
Deadlines hit at 10am. The usual routine happens - everyone sits about nervously waiting their turn to be called up to plug their USB sticks into the projector linked Macbook to show the class their work and talk for about five minutes. Today Adriano decides to start in reverse, calling the surnames from the end of the alphabet first, working his way up to A and, me being Mr Ashmore, I'm safe until the end of the class. Or rather, the rest of the class is safe from me going first and setting the bar way too high.
My grin widens. I'm right about the class and their mundane shots - everyone's gone for the basic shit. A shot of some offices, a busy takeaway. Boring. Don't get me wrong, they're really nice shots on their own but that's just it - they're nice. They don't evoke any emotion in me at all, or Adriano either - I can tell by the blank expression on his face as he nods, making ticks on a clipboard. The only one who's tried to push the boat out a little bit has photographed some old rusted chains but she trips over herself when Adriano asks her to explain her thinking. The usual stuttering and mumbling. Why even bother if you can't justify it? This is why I wonder if half of these students really want to be here. It's always the same response; I photographed it because I thought it looked cool/nice/awesome. No real substance to their words or their thought process.
Finally it's my turn. I leap to my feet, fix my grey sweater and dust down my black skinnies and dance up to the front of the class. I know I'm peacocking but the class set me up for it. They always do. No wonder none of them really like me. I don't blame them. Seriously though - out of sixteen people, I'm the only one who's tried something different and can justify it. How can you expect me not to be proud of myself? I work hard, I deserve it.
The USB stick slots in and a few clicks later my shot is up on the wall, received with a few familiar grumbles from the lazier class members. I'd be lying if I tried to say I don't love this.
"Interesting," Adriano nods in approval, his Italian accent drifting across the room, "so how did you take daily life and end up here, Gavin?"
"Well," Fuck, there's the nerves. I automatically bite my lip stud as that familiar anxiety tries to rattle my confidence. I can't let it. I need to be a lion in a flock of sheep. I'm the one in control. I'm the one in control. Breathe. Easy, boy. "You told me to look at daily life and the very essence of life itself is chaos." A hand runs through my short, spiked fringe to ensure the fauxhawk style is still in place. Ah, fuck. My accent is too thick. I sound too common. Time for the newsreader accent, the Glasgow Uni. "Even in folklore, earth is associated with chaos - you just need to look at the Celtic fey mythology and the Unseelie Court to see this." What the fuck am I talking about? This sounded so much better in my head... "One of the fairie mottos was apparently change is good and they believed firmly that life was a whirlwind of uncertainty. This is what makes us humans so appealing and interesting to them." Not surprisingly, my words are met with a few rolling eyes but I stand strong, knowing that those little extra bits of research while sometimes pretentious sounding (always pretentious sounding to be honest) will always show them up. "Chaos is the ruling force in the universe." Sounding confident, Gavin. You got this. "Uncertainty drives us. It's our lifeblood. So," I raise a tattooed hand, saor alba streaking through the air as I point to the town in the image, "here we see chaos at its finest. A small coastal town still lies in midnight slumber as the approaching storm ravishes the beaches, yet life goes on." I cast a glance at Adriano and as our eyes meet he nods in approval of the explanation. Score. Turning my attention back to the image, I continue, "we as humans are able to ignore the wrath of nature because it's just part of life to us. Daily life. And thus, this is my interpretation of daily life - pure chaos." Deep breath.
The class is in silence as they absorb the photograph for a few minutes - a sea of confused faces stare up at the crashing waves and the twinkling lights. Some of those faces are focused on me though, their expressions less than friendly. The thing is though, I know all too well that I can be a pretentious prick but damn it feels good.
The silence is broken by a solo set of palms embracing each other as Adriano begins to clap. I turn back to face him and my cheeks begin to burn hotly. He's smiling, nodding in approval. Once more, I set to work on that lip stud, trying to hide the smug grin that's fighting to take over my face. I thank the class. As I'm about to close the image and pull the USB drive out, Adriano begins talking to the class;
"How wonderful a little research is. I have never heard of this Unseelie Court. Interesting to make a link to fairies, no?"
I nod to him, that smile bursting through. That last-minute decision to grab something from the college library's spiritual section has paid off. And then, without thinking, I say the most cringe-worthy thing ever.
"Well, Adriano, you always say I'm away with the fairies." Oh fucking god, why? Luckily it's received well by his deep laughter and the groans of the class. I've been rewarded with his approval again. I chuckle quietly to myself, revelling in the attention as I finally unplug the USB drive and make my way back to my seat, feeling eyes upon me.
The rest of the morning is spent feigning interest in everyone's shots as Adriano gives them all in-depth and sometimes painfully harsh criticism. His only fault with my image is that I've gone a little heavy on the HDR editing. While the others are being smacked down though, I'm too busy wondering what Alexander had photographed and planning out my essay.
At 11:30am the class breaks up for a fifteen minute break. I grab my 5D Mark III camera and leave the room, making my way downstairs to the library, head full of ideas for my upcoming astrophotography essay. I don't have a clue who the famous photographers are or what equipment is used but that's half the fun of learning. I've always enjoyed space - as a kid, I'd had big dreams of joining NASA and becoming the youngest astronaut ever (because seven year olds were regularly considered for outer space, right?). The research for this essay is yanking that inner kid out, dragging him out by the ankles. Sure, he'll grump and groan now but when he actually gets into the research, he'll love it. I'll nail the essay again as always.
With my head full of total shite from the day's praise, I'm too busy gloating to even register the crescendo of footsteps hammering down the hall in my direction. I reach the end of the corridor and turn straight into something hard.
#
My heart almost leaps from my body as a sudden surge of numbness flashes over me. I don't even register the pain until a few seconds later as it shoots through me like ice shattering. Fucking hell. I've just walked into an 18 wheeler. A crash echoes through the corridor followed by the loud bangs of shit crashing to the floor. Whatever the fuck just hit me has hit me hard. I manage to keep my footing even though I'm seeing stars - a cracking start to that astrophotography research! Reality sinks and I blink as I regain my senses. What the fuck? Shit! My camera! I grab it, checking it over for damage as quickly as I can, my heart back in my mouth. Please don't be damaged. I don't need this shit right now. If that camera is fucked then I'm fucked. I have a flat and a Corsa to run with a shitty student loan as my only source of income - I can't fucking afford another three grand or waste another three years saving up again. I'm not fucking downgrading after using this baby. No way - it's like going from a Ferrari to a cartie. No way. Thank god, my camera is fine. Deep breath, Gavin. What hit me anyway?
I lower my eyes to see a guy about my age sitting in the midst of a confetti of books, rubbing his nose, eyes crushed shut. His caramel cheeks are flushed with either pain or embarrassment - probably both. How can a skinny guy like this have hit me so hard? Kid must be packing solid muscle under that baggy hoody. His hair is jet black, streaks of blonde spread through his long fringe and his jeans are way too tight to be socially acceptable. A pair of bright blue eyes glance up at me in confusion and a snow white yet false grin spreads across his face as he leaps to his feet, hastily grabbing all the book he's dropped. He shuffles them into a neat pile before speaking, "Oh my gosh, I'm so freaking sorry!" he flusters, his nose red with a little blood peeking out. He's American. "I didn't even know you were there. I'm so damn sorry!" He wipes at his nose again, this time with his bare hand. He notices the spot of blood, emits a hollow laugh and bites his lip. "Well, I'm bleeding. That's a great way to make a first impression, isn't it?" Certainly memorable, kid. "First I come at you like a freight train then I bleed all over you. How rude!"
This falseness is on par with those talent show judges who've just broken someone's heart but are pretending they care. Everything from his smile to his laugh is just...fake. He looks like he's about to burst into tears. Poor prick's probably just mortified. I feel kinda bad for him. I offer him my hand and tell him not to worry about it. An audible sigh of relief dances into the quiet corridor as he goes to accept my hand, realises it's the bloodied one he's reached out with and shifts his books into that arm. He takes my hand with his left, holding me in an iron grip. Jesus christ - he's stronger than he looks.
"Oh, praise the lord. I was so scared I'd really offended you," he says, shaking my hand quickly. I watch as his shoulders relax and another sigh escapes him. He lets go of me and composes himself. "I'm Ryan," he explains.
"Gavin."
"Nice to meet you, Gavin," he grins again but this time, his eyes smile too. "Is..." he pauses, lowering his bright eyes to the camera for a moment. His smile fades. "Is your camera okay?" My gaze joins his as we both glance down at the heavy camera around my neck.
"It's fine," I assure him.
"So, you're uh...a photography student, right?" Ryan shifts the weight of his books back to the original arm as he reaches around, shoving his hand in his hoodie pocket. I nod. "I'm surprised I haven't seen you around then. I'm an art student." He lowers the books a little, as if expecting me to look at what they are - I oblige and notice the top book - The Glasgow Girls. I have no idea what it's about or how it's even related to art but then again I don't know jack shit about the subject anyway. I'm only interested in photography when it comes to being creative. I nod, making an ohhh noise, pretending I know what it is and change the subject by asking him what level he's studying.
"HND," he tells me proudly.
"Same as me," I explain. Has Ryan only recently started here at Dean College? Or has he been a student from the NC and I've just never noticed him? I know I've never seen him before and I'm pretty sure I'd have heard his accent even if it was just passing him on the art floor. He must be a new student. Why would you come from America and all those unis and colleges to choose from and come here to Dean College? Kid must be insane.
Before I can ask him how long he's been a student here, Ryan takes that hoodie hidden hand from the pocket, holding a mobile phone. He glances at the screen before hiding it again.
"Look, I'd better get going - I'm already running a little late. It was really nice to meet you, Gavin, even if I did totally mess our first encounter up!" He grabs my hand again, shaking it enthusiastically and then squeezes past me in the narrow corridor, before darting off around the corner in the direction I'd came from.
What a weird kid. He'd said his first meeting had been terrible yet he'd made an impression nonetheless. With a shrug, I turn back towards the library and head off.
