Portrait By Greg Evans
It's always essentially uncomfortable to be photographed. The panes of perspective are layered thick - what I look like to him as he puts my blue chair against the only empty white wall in my studio - how I'll look sitting in it. How I sit in the chair, what I am thinking about as he awkwardly adjust the lighting, focuses his lense, looking at me as I look at him and try to understand what I might look like; Nervousness is a complicated build of thoughts.
I had a house guest and his clothes were piled up against the wall where I sat. They were burning in my periphial vision, just left of the lense upon which my eyes were fixed. I could feel them beside me, interupting the stillness of the chair and me on it. I thought for a second that they might not be in the shot - one can never know how closely and on what the lens is focused. 'Maybe it's just on my left eye. I could feel my eye twitch. Or was that the shutter of the lense? And it was over.
