This studio is where I spent last Sunday afternoon.
Larry Graham is a local, noted photographer who has become my friend and mentor. It was Larry who encouraged me to bring my pictures out of the cupboard and into the light of day where they have been met with surprising favor. His website shows his work to its best advantage.
But it doesn't show what he is doing now. And that is a remarkable story.
Although he is fine now, a while back Larry endured some health issues, some serious health issues. The kind that make you want to turn your life in a different direction and ensure that you leave behind something really worthwhile.
He began to study the paintings of Caravaggio. He decided to embark on a series of photographs of certain of the Caravaggio paintings. He found a model who embodied his personal conception of a Christ figure. And he discovered color.
Not Kodachrome. Color. In shades of darkness and light. Deep, rich color. Dark reds and golds, glowing flesh tones.
And he surrounded his Jesus figure with faces that speak of sin, unendurable sadness, and ultimate salvation.
So there I was last Sunday, dressed as an apostle along with 20 or so other faces, who would move into and out of the tableau he was creating. He didn't use me early in the shoot. This left me free to watch what he was doing.
What a master class that was. Larry controlling 13 people at a time, adjusting their glances, the placements of their hands, the degrees of their leaning towards or away from Jesus, all by speaking to them, never handling them.
By the time he was ready for me to step into the picture, I was too caught up in his process. I could no longer step across his proscenium and into that other world. I had to ask his forgiveness and his allowance to continue to watch and observe and learn.
The afternoon was passing fast now. Everyone was tired. He lined up the remaining people who had all been waiting for their turn. Some of the earlier ones he called back. Some stepped in for the first time.
The rest of us stood and waited.
Soon the room became quiet. The posers were certainly tired and hot. They no longer acted the parts of this apostle or that one. Even Jesus seemed ready to blow the joint.
But those of us behind the camera saw what had happened. A
Last Supper had jelled before our eyes. It had taken only two hours, but it was certainly there. Everyone in the studio became very quiet. Larry shot once, twice, a third time.
It was done.
It seems Caravaggio may have never painted a Last Supper.
Larry Graham photographed one last week.
God bless you, big guy.
