In the former context I am of course, referring to the “Guy with
Camera”. This acronym is oft used within semi/professional and modelling
circles to describe a certain grade of sleazy, lecherous individual who poses a
threat to women and genuine photographers.
Once upon a time, these would’ve been seen perving with their
Polaroids but they have become better equipped to catch the unwary as
“Professional looking” equipment tumbles in price.
Parallels between scratcher and tattooist spring to mind here.
One will operate from unlicensed premises with no accreditation, using basic equipment bought online and won’t have registered with the local health authority, let alone possess public liability cover.
Sit in their chair asking for Pegasus and you’ll get my little pony with wings, possibly a nasty infection into the bargain.
The GWC will offer to shoot modelling port-folios with dubious
results, not to mention intentions. No model release forms, liability cover,
proper studio, assistant and insistence upon chaperones? Smile a lot and walk
away very quickly.
With these distinctions firmly established, I was busily indulging in some industrial imagery last Wednesday afternoon; though specifically this Triumph TR3 shell awaiting blasting and related prep.
Having narrowly avoided a close, head-first encounter with the methyl chloride tank, it was a successful mission. Packing away my SLR and lenses, I was approached by a grubby looking man in his thirties who attempted to strike up a conversation.
“Been busy?” “Yes”; I replied politely.
“What have you been photographing?” he continued
“All sorts”; came my guarded response.
“Women?; bought myself a Nikon..” his return serve; I could almost feel the steady trickle of saliva cascading from his mouth as he pursued this line of unwelcome enquiry-oblivious to my brusque and reproving replies.
“Yes, I shoot all manner of portrait and makeover commissions”.
He took this to mean, naked...”So where do you go to shoot these naked birds; a venue or do you just drop round their houses?”
His closing comments swept me back to a cold December night in
Amsterdam’s red light district.
City dwellers passing smartly as crowds of male tourists pointed
and gawped at women posing provocatively in the neon lit windows. This was
twenty years ago when prostitution was decriminalised and tolerated but at this
level, mafia controlled.
One group from Streatham discovered this first hand when their
leader aimed a disposable 35mm point n’ shoot at the neon saturated terrace. Contrary
to popular misconception, prostitution was tolerated and decriminalised during
this era but only legalised proper in 2000. (This presented another distinct
problem for trafficked women as their status changed to illegal immigrant).
Seconds later they were chased away by a man brandishing a very large, serrated knife. Many of the women serving this market were trapped, trafficked by Russian and Turkish mafia from Africa, former Soviet states, South America. Others served even darker masters most notably drug dependency mental illness.
Ending on a far lighter, happier note, I’ve recruited a talented and enthusiastic illustrator to collaborate on my series of children’s stories-he liked their concept and is busily bringing the characters to life as I type this.
Suffice to say I’m delighted and will reveal more another time. Right, time I popped the camera batteries on charge, threw a leg over the Univega’s top tube and went for a blast along the back roads.
