Introducing myself, you too can partake in my also rans career. A face pulls away from the camera’s eyepiece, Lautrell looked utterly disinterested. He cameraman at a station. Any takers in my boring day job?
The apartment. He at home holds a much smaller camera with all the reverence of a Stradivarius.
The fellow is outdoors filming indoors. Camcorder in hand has its lens focused on a house’s interior ahead of him while he on the government road.
Behaviour grows and grows. At a Marli street brothel is a woman before him. Didn’t matter if the night woman were pretty or not. As though affirming his beliefs a john is with her and ropes him in. He didn’t want getting it on just so. The john caresses her: ran a finger down the centre of her back, hands strokes her shoulders, down her legs. Slowly very slowly undoes what sartorial she wore. All under his direction.
Flesh didn’t carry weight from Lautrell in a carnal way.
As far as he permits, no intercourse – merely a camera’s subject.
Feeling cramped I was by normal video work. I elect to cast off shackles of social norms and film the secret lives of people.
The apartment. Eyes snap open. His phone alarm long stopped going off, he was in for a late arrival to work. Listless eyes prompt a worker to ask of his well-being. Lautrell says he can’t express in a way they’ll grasp. In the end doesn’t gave them conclusive answer.
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Digital cameras…too new, unrefined, fiddling with memory cards is for the work-shy. Lacking the pureness of old. Older mini VHS-C tape cameras – subjects more real. The unappreciative call it ‘obsolete.’ Inert people at work can hardly be expected to fathom.
A home owner raises their back from the bed and yawns, rise and shine time, they glanced something a brief moment out the corner of the eye and looked away but looked back moments later - the good gentleman is videoing them, they scream and make ruckus in their own bedroom.
Lautrell requests mannerly in tone their essence would better caught with a normal disposition.
Whatever they had me shoot at ‘work’ can’t compare.
Tries continuing in spite of the shocked response. But after capturing this subject some more, eventually leaves without violence or police. Home invasion what?
This one must realize a master on display.
The apartment. In front a laptop fantasizes posting online. Make the world tremble acknowledging my real work. Majesty. But defers. Fear was no deterrent, but a will that settled on all the treasure kept to themselves, more precious it becomes. He closes its lid.
Likes anime Speed Grapher – its star a photographer has nothing to do it with his bias.
He finds himself spending less and less physical presence at his official job – taking time off or late arrival. What financial compensation from that could compare to my passion?
He roams around outdoors.
Trinidad police would lock me in remand people would tell me if they knew about me – no surprise anyone without appreciation feel that would get between my lens and subjects.
His face took on a righteous assertion.
Art is what those of remote perception would call my work. ‘Art’ is too subdued a superlative. May fate not let me express words.
A woman comes under his lens. She is uncomfortable with this stranger filming. Nothing she says gets this stranger to stop. Without any shred of pretence for social respect, in public no less.
Her male companion emerges out a DQ ice cream store. Lautrell doesn’t stop in spite his request. The lensman is certainly motivated.
He is roughed up by him.
The matter seems closed as the couple take their leave - captured in it are they, the lens, upper corner the red lettered REC.
Breaking barriers or his behaviour at new heights, he is like before filming from the government road. Followed home were they.