milliways_bar | (no subject)

Has anyone ever told Lucifer that he is terribly photogenic? Like... really photogenic. Even aside from the amazing ability to look comfortable and relaxed in a fancy-as-hell three-piece suit.

There may be a smol teen with a retro instamatic camera in the bar room, trying to inconspicuously find an angle from which to take a photo.

Oh, he knows.

And he knows what she is up to.

"So - candid, or posed?" he asks with a smile, without looking at her.

The young photog freezes.

Then, hesitant, peers over the top of her camera.

"Um. Candid, for preference," she replies, her voice unsure.

"I mean, I like posed photographs fine." Nope, there's the blush, despite her best efforts. "But they don't capture the moment in the same way."

Lucifer shoots her a wink and a grin.
"Candid, it is then," he says and then he goes back to shipping his drink, pretending he doesn't know she's there.

He is actually rather good at that.

The small photog wavers for a moment. Posed shots posing as candid shots always feel a little disingenuous, but he doesn't look like he's posing, any more than he was posed before. Just naturally poised, perhaps.

"Mrs. Grant says that the act of observing always changes the behavior of the one being observed," she murmurs, moving to find the angle she wants. The firelight reflects light interestingly through the whiskey, and she wants to catch that. "Even if we think we're acting normally, the fact that we know someone is watching us affects our behavior."

The science teacher had mainly been talking about changes in behavior and how it can change the results of scientific experimentation, but - being a teacher interested in the intersectionality of subjects - didn't hesitate to note the significance of the idea of being observed in social, societal, or religious contexts. It made a great segue into talking about her petition against surveillance cameras being installed on campus.

"That sounds like dear, old Dad," Lucifer replies. "Always snooping in everyone else's business. Well, dance like nobody's watching, I always say. Our like you've got an audience. Doesn't matter as long as you do you."

Maze once suggested he should start a business find those inspirational posters.
In retrospect, she might have been sarcastic.

Edited 2020-02-03 15:38 (UTC)

"Some parents have difficulty seeing their kids as anything more than an extension of themselves, not separate individuals with their own lives and wants," she murmurs. Max was lucky there. Her parents supported their daughter's weird hobby with enthusiasm.

She couldn't have come to Blackwell Academy without their help, even with the scholarship.

"Professor Wendy Steiner recently published an interesting essay on the effect observation has on art," she rambles conversationally as she seeks her shot. "Whether a posed photograph of a person becomes more about creating a visually appealing image and less about creating a portrait of a person because it was posed, as opposed to a candid shots catching a moment in the time of a person's life. She thinks people are posing more, with the increased use of social media. Just assuming they are always being observed, and altering their behavior to craft the image they want to project."

She isn't sure why she is reminded of that essay now.

"Isn't that the truth!" Lucifer says with emphasis and takes a sip of his drink.

"And I suppose that some people do that. Put up a facade. Must be exhausting."

He is friendly and chatty - and not terribly burdened with introspection.

The camera flashes as he takes a drink, the moment of unconscious emotion in reaction to talk of parents and their respect (or lack thereof) for their children.

The girl smiles, taking the Poloroid that ejects from the camera and giving it a light shake.

"Even if it's not a façade, everybody curates the person they want to be seen as, when people are looking."

She does it too, to an extent, even if the 'waifish hipster look' (as Victoria so charmingly called it) comes pretty naturally to her.

"Thank you for letting me take your photo. I'm trying to get more practice in."

He looks at her, with a small pout.
"Done already?"

He likes being the centre of attention.

Edited 2020-02-03 19:36 (UTC)

The girl laughs lightly at the pout.

"Done in a flash," she grins at him. "Though we can take a moment to see what develops."

Instant film is faster than traditional film, but still much slower than digital. And definitely not actually instant.

"I don't... often take more than one photo of a subject. Instant film isn't easy to find these days, and I can't just delete the shots that don't work."

"Hmm. Artists. Always making arbitrary rules," he says, good-naturedly, as he gets up and makes his way over.

He's talk, but to elegant to be really imposing. Even if he does stand quite close.

"Artists have been doing that since day one," she chuckles, her voice slightly shaky. "And I'm just an aspiring artist, so far. I've still got a ways to go."

Max knows she is small for her age, but only times like this is she really reminded of the fact. She can't quite hide the tension that she holds, as he gets closer. Her grip on her camera is pethaps a little tighter than is strictly necessary. But then, she has never been quite at ease with people in her personal space, without the safety of distance the camera offers. Even people not quite so... much.

"Let's see how it turned out," she offers, holding up the little square of instant film, edged in white.

The shine of golden firelight upon the tilted glass of scotch is what first catches one's eye, looking at the photo. In the captured moment, Lucifer's eyes have briefly closed as he drinks, as though to shut out what isn't wanted and focus on what is. He otherwise looks at ease in his very fine clothes, suit and look both finely tailored. Blurred by distance and the camera's narrow depth of field, the raised lid of the white-lacquered baby grand piano on the far side of the room can be seen rising from behind his right shoulder. If one really wants to see it, its curved shape looks somewhat like the curved joint of a folded wing.

Up close, he looks smooth and polished and intentionel, as he smiles and looks at the photo.

And then there's a crack in that smooth surface. Tiny, almost unnoticeable.
A brief flash of something else.
Cracked. Torn.
Pained.

And gone again.

"You're good. Good eye for composition."

This close, he's practically overwhelming. That blush isn't going away any time soon. Max distracts herself by wondering just how much a really very fine suit like that costs in comparison to her tuition.

She is concentrating so hard on being okay with someone being in her personal space that she almost misses the minute reaction. The tiny crack in the polished surface. She is almost sorry to cause it, not knowing it's nature or cause, but some part of her - the artist-self that stands a little ways apart, always behind the camera, for whom all the world's beauty and terror are potential subjects - is glad of it. That is what real art is supposed to do, right? Call up unconscious emotion... even if it is not always a positive emotion.

"Thank you," she says, genuine. "That means a lot. Mr. Jefferson says I have a gift, but most of the time I just feel like... a kid playing with a toy."

"There's nothing wrong with playing," he says. "When I play an instrument, like the piano, that's that kind of playing too, you know? No rules, just joy."

Total freedom. At least as long as the song lasts.

Edited 2020-02-04 07:11 (UTC)

"Oh, no, there's nothing wrong with playing," she shakes her head quickly. "I love taking photos. But... I also want to be a professional photographer someday, like Mr. Jefferson, and that means practicing."

Like with any instrument, enjoyment can turn practice into play. But imposter syndrome is a thing that is hard to suppress, sometimes.

"Mostly it means practicing letting people see my photos," she admits, rubbing at her still-pink cheek. Max will have to get used to opening her work up to potential criticism. One can't be a professional photographer without letting people see one's work.