I’ve haunted this studio for a few years now since I’d picked up the camera - since I’d figured out how to muck around with my f stops and ISOs. I’ve come a long way from nervously messing around with one light and being terrified to direct the model. Now I’m happy to take charge instantly – the studio and the classroom are probably the only places where I feel pretty confident. After all, in the studio setting, I’m the artist. The model is merely a canvas for me. I have no reason to be nervous in my own turf.
Coffee Bean Studio is on the ninth floor of an old apartment block in Glasgow city centre. From the outside, the building looks like fuck all twice - sad, black windows gaze out from the dark alley into the bright lights of the street before it and dark green moss frames most of the decaying bricks. If I hadn’t learned about the studio’s existence thanks to the internet I’d honestly have forever walked past it, oblivious. Even the first four floors of the building are grimy and graffiti clad. The fifth floor marks the transition from decrepit backdrop for a hip-hop video to a bright, respectable set of businesses. I continue past the large wooden doors that guard each floor’s secrets and head on up to the studio, Saffron a few steps behind me.
“Gavin?” a shaky old voice drifts through in to the foyer as I open the doors on the ninth floor. An audible gasp escapes Saffron as I usher him in, closing the doors behind him. His eyes wander around the blood red carpets and the gold gilt sofas. The place is like a boudoir - all lavish furnishings and scarlet curtains draped over the dark windows.
“This is crazy,” Saffron tells me quietly, his attention turning to the small portraits lining the walls along the foyer towards the studio itself and the office. “So gorgeous.”
I smile at him and begin to head down towards the office.
“Yeah it’s me, Mr McClintock!” I announce, rapping my knuckles twice on the white painted door. It‘s already slightly ajar but it’s incredibly rude to just walk in so I wait a few moments for a response. Suddenly the door swings open as a computer chair flies into view - in it, a small red faced man with wispy blonde hair sits with his knees hunched up to his chest. Mr McClintock is dressed in his usual suit and tie - you might find that a bit weird given the relaxed nature of the studio but he’s super serious about his business. That’s why the foyer is so lavish yet the studio area itself is so…well, open and bare. He gives me a toothy smile as he reaches out for my hand and we exchange pleasantries while Saffron plonks himself on one of the French style sofas, swinging his legs softly off the carpet. Once I have the items I need from him, including our chosen backdrop - white - I motion to Saffron to follow me as we head into the door on the left.
The studio space itself is huge and open plan; a brick-lined room with laminate floors and a rustic, cosy feel to it, despite being so large. Apart from the various studio lights, the backdrops and another one of those red French couches, it’s empty. I tell Saffron where the changing room is while I give Mr McClintock a hand to change the backdrops. When that’s done, he wishes me luck with the shoot and ushers himself out the door, closing it behind him. I quickly set up my lights – it’s second nature to me at this point. I opt for a basic four-point light set up and attend to the open blackout curtains, making sure there’s no ambient light in the room. The only light is the studio bulbs now - they illuminate enough of the area for Saffron to see where he’s going when he comes out. With a stretch and a crack of the old knuckles, I settle down on the sofa and ponder the coming photographs. Saffron is gonna look incredible. I just know it.
The click of a door tells me Saffron is ready - he sweeps out of the changing room gracefully in a flurry of white feathers and black lace coupled with that beautiful waistcoat he’d made from old curtains. He’s attended to the hairstyling - backcombing and teasing it. As he approaches me, I realise he has no issues walking in those huge platform boots we’d chosen earlier – he’d explained on the train that he’d taken a lot of inspiration for this project from Japanese goth fashions and again, platform boots with artistocratic garments further pushed the old and new theme.. He joins me on the sofa, tilting his head as I turn to face him.
“You look great!” I exclaim, scanning over his appearance. I can’t see myself having to do very much model editing on him – he obviously takes good care of himself.
“I don’t know what you want me to do for makeup,” he says.
“Do you need makeup?” I frown. He begins to chuckle.
“You’ve never done a shoot like this before, have you?” he asks me. I confess that most of my work has been with women so I’ve never even considered a guy needing makeup. “Good thing I brought this then,” he motions to the smaller metal case he’s been travelling with. “It’s my makeup. That might sound weird to you but trust me, even a tiny layer of foundation can make your models look fantastic and save you time when you’re editing.” Okay, sure – anything that cuts down my workload is fine by me. He leans over and unclips the lid of the case, revealing a few different products - tubes and bottles, pencils and palettes.
“So, for this entire theme, you guys wanted to portray old and new so we can push it further by going for darkness through light, right?” he asks. I nod. “So I’m thinking couple a dark vampire look with this elegance.”
“Gothic makeup?” I’m a little dubious – I’m not used to seeing men with makeup.
“Trust me.” He pushes the container towards me with his leather clad boot then leans into me, tilting his head back so his face is entirely exposed. His skin is literally porcelain and his eyes are even more beautiful up close. He’s the type of guy that a younger me would have wished I could look like, before I started feeling comfortable in my own skin. “Use me as a canvas. Whatever you scribble onto me, I’ll wipe off and do properly.” Wait, what? Sensing my confusion, he laughs again. “I figure the whole process’ll be more organic if you choose the colours and what not. Slap them on me so I have something to work with, yeah?”
I cast a confused look at the box of products. I have no fucking idea what is what and what they do so I reach over and take out a handful of items, glancing at them in confusion. Primer? Foundation? They both look the same…
“Primer is basically to prep your face for the foundation,” Saffron tells me. “It’s like a base - fills out any pores, gives you an even surface to work with. You don’t need to worry about that kinda stuff. Look,” he reaches down and grabs one of the palettes, opening it and handing it to me. The colours are all monotone from bright whites to jet blacks. “Choose one colours or two, maybe even three, and go for it.”
So I do. I go for heavy black eyeshadow and lean in to him, focusing intently. I’m nervous as fuck doing this – what if I end up poking him in the eye or something? Shit. This black is making his eyes look even more intense. Okay, stop getting distracted, idiot. Just a few more strokes here and -
As I’m almost done, I move the eyeshadow brush away from his face for a few seconds and squint at my handy work. It looks okay, I guess. I think he sense my uncertainty - he tilts his head, winter eyes locked on mine and for a moment, I honestly feel like he’s reading my soul, navigating the depths of my darkness, penetrating the fibres of my being like a demon.
“Okay, okay,” Saffy nods as soon as I’m finished scribbling all over his face, “so you want me to just focus on heavy blacks, right?”
I nod.
“Consider it done, Gavin.” A pale hand reaches into the container and he pulls out some wipes, cleansing my scribbles from his face. He takes the eyeliner and does the makeup properly and I find myself watching him, almost in a trance like state, as he quickly paints his eyes with confident precision. Once he’s done, he takes the monochrome palette and begins working the black powder in. His icy eyes stand out beautifully against the harsh black. He’s gonna look amazing as a model! I find myself becoming exciting as I realise he’s the first person I’ve ever photographed that has that model look to him. You know what I mean - he looks like someone from a modelling agency rather than someone who’s found my Facebook page and requested some new profile photos. I can’t wait to work my magic on him.
With that, he rises like the dead and takes centre stage in the middle of the backdrop.
“Direct me,” he commands, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
“Raise your right hand towards the camera,” I tell him. The painted black claws will look perfect. “I’ll edit in a bird on your hand if you look at your fingers.” He does as I say. I quickly discover that he’s like plasticine in front of a camera - I can mould and shape him however I want and he doesn’t question it.
Two hours later and fifteen hundred shots logged on my memory card and we head back to the train station. In Kilmarnock, he thanks me for the fun day out and is about to walk off when I offer him a ride home. He obliges and I drop him off before heading back to my flat to start working on these images.
He’s beautiful on the screen of my laptop as I load up the images and have a browse through them. Holy shit. I’m amazed at how much of a difference it makes working with someone who has professional experience. I need to work with him again. Any time I have a college project, if he’s okay with it, I want to focus on him. Even the whole experience felt more organic as he wasn’t wooden like all of the other nervous people I’d photographed.
I load up my Facebook and go into my messages, clicking on Ryan’s profile picture.
“Give me ur thoughts,” I type in to the chat box, “I’ve boosted the contrast to accentuate the sharp blacks and added an ice blue filter, 10% opacity and –"
None of this digital jargon will make any sense to Ryan, probably, but I’m too excited. Once I’ve described every edit I’ve done to the image set, I attach six of the images, including close ups, full body shots and waist ups.
“Gavin…” a pause as he types. I feel a little bit nervous as I recall that Saffy never showed him the clothing. Success though as the words appear on the screen; “That is fucking amazing holy shit!!!”
“He said he never showed u the outfit so I dunno what u think of it”
“I designed the damn thing, lol, its not the colors I would have picked but it still looks gr8”
College is uneventful for a few days as Ryan and I put all our work together, combining our two separate sketchbooks into one A3 one, both of us scribbling our thoughts and notes on the printed out images and cut outs of the sketches. I print out another copy of Charlie’s logo, laminate it at the local library and slap it on the front with double sided sticky tape.
Re:Style. A Metamorphosis of Recycled Fabrics. Gavin Ashmore and Ryan Speirs, HND.
As I’m sticking in the final print outs of the photoshoot with Saffron, I smooth them in with my hand and begin to flick through the final book. It’s organised, organic, looks good. Ryan’s even stuck in some fabric samples from those old curtains and a few other bits of old materials and feathers. Most of the book is his sketches and samples but my photography at the end just ties it all together. I’m proud. We’ve done well together.
Monday comes and I’m heading up the tree lined path to enter the college building, sketchbook in hand. I’m gonna meet up with Ryan at lunch today and we’re gonna go over our progress with Adriano to get his thoughts. We still have a week before the final presentation but we just want some final feedback while we still have time to alter the small things.
As I’m wandering up, head full of daydreams about future possible projects with Ryan and Saffy, I catch sight of Ryan up ahead at the college doors with a kid I’ve seen around college - he’s pretty recognisable with his black and purple hair. His hair matches his galaxy printed jeans. Not really surprised they’re friends, if I’m honest. I’m about to give Ryan a shout to get his attention when he leans into the purple kid, kissing him shyly before the pair head indoors.
My heart stops. I don’t know why. I feel sick, so very sick. I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath. What am I feeling? I’ve never been upset or offended in the slightest by gay couples before, male or female but now I’m feeling…something and I don’t understand it. I shake my head and proceed up the path to college. The quicker the morning class goes by, the quicker I can talk to Ryan.
