I'd never been in an American highschool until last night. And it was weird. Huge and impersonal. With huge gyms and lots of stadium seating. And janitors who walked wordlessly and unwilling to make eye contact alongside you as you moved towards your destination. It all felt very Carrie to me and I understand where a lot of the isolation you hear about comes from. There was something chilly about the building that said 'facility' rather than school,
Photog' class was taught by a nervous Californian with the pallor of someone in their second Michigan winter. The class, motley. An old guy with a hypnotist's beard and a smart attitude that might have explained his being on crutches. An enthusiastic blonde trying to get in some lessons before her big trip to Africa. An old geezer with a film camera that looked to me as though it was a kodak instamatic that would need flash cubes before it would take a picture in the dark and a bunch of others with digi cams in expensive bags that they never got to open as the instructor rattled on about how exposure was like filling a bucket with water, a rare steak and the Golden Triangle of opiate producing countries (or something)
I loved it. Spotting f-stop patterns. Noting that his depth of field equivalent pics weren't (the sun had come out during the last) and generally loving the dissection of internal prisms. The rest spent their time fingering the zippers on their bags.
Still in two weeks we have a critique session and next week the promise of shots outside if the weather breaks -10c. We shall see.
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