I thought I would never have a chance to tell this to anyone but I have a story. About 20 years ago, I had to take a couple fine arts classes to get out of college. I took a jazz study and photography. The instructor gave all of us a day to use a very nice Horseman 4" by 4" bellows camera. I brought it into the woods and took pictures of ceramic eggs my friend made. He was an artist and a glass blower and such, and they were gorgeous things and I'd sit them in a bird's nest on a log and take a picture. Put them in a hole in a tree and take a picture... They were beautiful, like magazine covers. I was so pleased with myself, that I could take such gorgeous pictures.
The other students... One guy took pictures of his girlfriend laying nude on a piano. A girl took pictures of herself and her girlfriend flashing their butts. The teacher (a woman) marveled at the talent they exhibited. They were encouraged to take the camera and work on extra projects. I was bummed. The girls were developing their nudes one day, and they took my pictures out of the dryer while they were still wet so they could put theirs in. Of course, mine were all stuck together and ruined. I confronted them and they told me that my pictures sucked and I shouldn't be using the equipment while they were working on such important female studies. I didn't know what art was. Well, I may not know what art is, but I know what it isn't. I'm also Italian and it's in my blood to seek a little payback when I'm insulted.
The next time I was home, I got my camera, my 400 pound friend, and headed down to the pond. I told him to strip, go out into the water, dive down, do a hand stand and stick his cheeks half way out of the water. I got down to water level and took my picture so that it looked like an offshore island with a couple of mountains sitting there. You couldn't see anything below the water. It was perfect. Click.
The next day, I'm developing my pictures and I take care of my "special" roll. I managed to print the photo, dry it, and slide it into my folio. The next time we had to exhibit our work for critique, I walked over to the girl's frame, and slid my picture in over theirs and joined the class. Five minutes go by and there's quite a few people staring at the girl's photo. It's not her taking cheesecake pictures of her self absorbed little self again. No, it took a minute for them to figure it out but when they did, there were a few gasps, a few chuckles and a few glances over at little miss perfect. I was certainly studying her face closely. When she saw it and her eyes opened wide, and her mouth opened wide, and her lips moved but no words came out, I think she knew that someone just took her to school. I had to try hard to keep a straight face. She walked over and slid my pic out revealing hers below. Class resumed as though it never happened but I was full of heart, beaming with pride at my accomplishment. From then on, she was fully clothed in every picture she took. I never told her. Maybe I never needed to. My buddy and I have laughed ourselves to tears over it a few times. We're both still certifiable.
