dimanche 7 novembre 2004

Alphabet Soup... And a faux Gibson image The bar of the Hôtel l'Espérance, a slightly run-down establishment here in town, is my regular venue for a morning coffee with a few friends... or whoever happens to be there. There are no strangers here... even a first-time visitor will go through the handshaking routine as if he was the long-time neighbour of the person he has just met for the very first time. You talk the talk if you want to... I mostly listen as the conversation can be fast at times and thus hard to follow after a few minutes even though the accent of this region is perfect French... that spoken by the Kings and Queens because they chose to live in their chateaux along the Loire and its tributaries, rather than in Paris, during the hot summers. When I was introduced to an estate agent here in France a few years ago the beautiful petite assistant shook my hand so vigourously my arm felt as though it would fall off at the shoulder. "How English," I blurted politely at her enthusiastic welcome... the grip tightened as she retorted, "Monsieur, you will find that the 'andshake is much more of a French tradition!" She was right... and a once gentlemanly custom that was commonplace in England of old but largely ignored nowadays is absolutely upheld here and in most of Europe at all times. I probably shake hands with more than two dozen people every day... and exchange four kisses with hopefully another dozen women in the street and behind shop counters... although some slightly more reserved ladies of a certain age exchange only deux bissous... mind you, some others of that certain age (which is also around my age) are very enthusiastic! You can't pass the road-sweeper doing his job without a cordial greeting - you wouldn't want to anyway - he and anyone from the boulanger to the garagiste similarly engaged in a hands-dirty trade will offer their elbow which you simply touch in greeting whilst exchanging the time of day and a ça va... or "How goes it?" Anyone with both hands full of shopping will struggle to proffer one of their little fingers which you lightly pinch between your forefinger and thumb. The only awkward occurances happen when you are a spectacles wearer and greet a woman similarly equipped... kisses on the cheeks can become a clash and rattle of glasses or a poke in the eye if you're not careful. I avoided such embarrassments today with my coffee and sat in listening rather than talking mode... for I was observing with my camera at my side. Sometimes, often actually, you know when the curious thoughts you have about taking a few quick and perhaps unnoticed candid photographs are not going to be reciprocated with anything memorable... perhaps there's a tiredness or a sadness in the air, or maybe it was the end of the working week and everyone wanted Sunday to be unnoticed rather than caught on camera... so I just listened, smiled, offered a few comments now and again when a question was directed towards me. Most customers drifted through to the dining tables at the rear of the bar to have lunch... the price and menu, as is so common throughout France in smaller towns and villages, is fixed... here for only 10 euros you get plenty of food spread over several courses with wine topped up in your glass without having to ask. Weekdays see a mélange of builders, decorators, businessmen, shopkeepers, a Notaire perhaps seated comfortably around round tables with no class barriers and enjoying their tales, problems, jokes and other conversation... whoever enters the room sits at the table with a chair to spare... when that table's seating arrangement is complete another table starts to be occupied... and another day produces another mix. I wasn't eating - as I said just watching - but today the starter looked like Alphabet Soup (ugh, it couldn't have been... that comes out of a tin!) and it reminded me of the shadows of the sign-written lettering on the hôtel window being cast onto the curtains which had been drawn to cut out the low Winter sun's glare. The breeze rippled the curtains now and again as the bar door opened and closed... and the letters became mixed up like I thought those in the imaginary soup could have been... as if it was an animated Alphabet Soup. This was one of those times when you know the light is so good you have to make a creative statement of some sort - not simply a representative one - and I wanted to make one more like the shapes and tones and graphics of a typical Ralph Gibson image. And it was there, staring me in the face... pure Gibson... well, faux Gibson. A few clicks of the shutter release, the odd quizzical look from a half-interested diner... but I was left to my own amusement - for that is what it was. Amusement and pleasure too because there was some "hope it comes out" in my mind! My meterless Nikon F2 was fitted with a 30-year old standard 50mm f/2 Nikkor lens I recently bought mint for 40 euros (about $50 or £25) in a shop a few doors away up the street... plus I was using the East-European / French repackaged Bergger 200, a new film for me... so a new lens, a new film, contrasty light from inside looking out and outside looking in, and no meter... the name of the location Hôtel l'Espérence was apt... and I enjoyed my own purely visual photographic alphabet soup at the Hope Hôtel... the experience came out better than expected. 9:18:12 PM    comment []