“Oh, that huge theatrical photo? We’ve been wondering about it all day. Where’d you get it?”
I told the print shop manager I’d taken the photo myself a year or two ago, over at the high school.
“Brunswick High School? They have this sort of thing at Brunswick High School? I had nothing like this when I was in high school.”
I am used to making friends with my camera. A flattering image of someone moving the ball down field, or putting the puck in the net and it’s a short step before they begin to make eye contact with you on another day from the starting blocks, the foul line, or the flute section. Always with a touch of, “hey watch this!”
But this was a little different. The guy in question had always been—not exactly sharp with me—but had definitely treated me in a business like manner during past visits to the shop.
But this time he wanted to chat. He explained why the shop felt they should redo the job for me—the tiniest crease when the photo had been mounted to the foam board left a little wrinkle—but mainly he asked about the show.
“Just look at these costumes,” he said, “I would wear that right now,’ as he placed his index finger squarely on the chest of the quasi-military get-up worn by Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny in Phantom of the Opera. The number the cast was performing in the photo was Masquerade, a costume party within a costume fantasy—flashy get-ups and stunning masks by the score. The epitome of Broadway Showmanship. Raoul’s fit was drippy for sure but I wasn’t so sure about wearing it around in daily life.
The print is three feet wide and two feet high. It sat on an easel in the theatre lobby during the run of the Brunswick High Player’s fall show and will land anywhere else I might find for it. It’s the sort of thing you might glance at during intermission. Only a perfectionist would have noticed the crease. Evidently the tech who had printed and mounted the photo is such a perfectionist. She insisted it had to be done again. In the meantime I would take the first one, no charge, and have it in the lobby for the Thursday show. A crisp new perfect one would be ready next morning for the Friday show.
The intent is to promote my photo business with something that affirms the value of arts programming in our schools but more particularly affirms the work of the students and adults who bring it all together.
I knew the actors would like it. I knew their parents would like it. I just didn’t think a busy crew at the print shop would give it any thought.
“These are my people,” said the manager after inspecting and bagging the second copy the following day.
