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As we say in my art, we’re always wearing masks. The master always projects exactly what he intends, and conceals that which is inappropriate, counter-productive, or extraneous. He (or she) is never lying or being otherwise insincere, he just lets various aspects of himself. Like altering the angle of a prism to project a different color of light on the target, he’s still the same white light, you’re only seeing the portion of it he desires. Although I’m no master, I certainly recognize it when I see it, at least most of the time. You get to be reasonable adept at recognizing those surprisingly common tell-tale mannerisms that give away people’s intent, that make their mask transparent to the emotions behind it, matching or otherwise.

A few night ago at The Pub, I shot some stick with a Cabo San Lucas transplant with magnificent brown eyes and a delightful Spanish accent. I’d get lost in her eyes as she’d hold my arm when talking to me, asking me about this or that. Ooh, those were nice eyes, and what an accent! I’d put my hand at her lower back when leaning in to talk, and she’d lean her body into mine when asking what her next shot should be.

But I didn’t catch the transfer until too late. The pawn off onto her friend, the one that was a little too drunk and garrulous, at the stage of the evening when the phrase “I have a hat” would instigate a legion of questions about as to why I would “hide a bat.” Damn, I missed it. Missed that mask. Intentionally. I blinded myself, choosing not to acknowledge the little sideways glances to her friend, the inquisitive “what do you think?”, the “I approve” and so on.

So I got pegged in a conversation that made no sense and was grinding away at my patience. I think her friend eventually caught on to my non-interest, and produced the “well, nice to meet you, we’re going to get going now,” and pulled the inebriate lass to the bar. (They didn’t leave, but I went back to my post on the other side of the bar and there was no more conversation, a situation I was perfectly comfortable with.)

Most of the time I read the masks with some degree of accuracy, and usually present just about what I want. You might be surprised how many times I’m “allowing” surprise, annoyance, or excited-ness to show – but it’s more for your benefit than mine; I’ve made the decision to show it or not. It doesn’t make the feeling any less genuine, although the expression of it is up to me. You know when you’re sitting outside at a cafe and a car backfires, and everyone jumps except me? Yeah, I was surprised as well, I just decided not to show it. Or, maybe I did. Or, maybe I was surprised beyond my capability to control, and jumped ‘cause I really was a scared-ass pansy. The important distinction here is that there’s a ginormous distinction between the existence and expression of things.[1] Got that? Cool. That’s really the point of this post, but I want to toot my own horn a bit more and I’ll tie it in with this theme. (Tell ‘em what you’re gonna tell ‘em, tell ‘em, tell ‘em what you told ‘em.)

These personas worked out quite well for my photography recently. A friend of mine, whose art I’ve shot for digital display as well as worked with on some other projects, included me on correspondence with a local alt-rag that’s doing an up-and-coming San Diego Fashion Designers special. She’s a local designer, and when emailing back and forth with the editors, she strapped on her mask and went straight business on my ass, referring to me as “her photographer.” The context made me sound professional (which I am, in terms of service and attitude, but not in terms of “photography pays the rent”); it sounds as if I’m on retainer. Ok, I know where to roll with this; I know what mask to wear. I respond professionally, requesting deadline information, reproduction guidelines, and shoot dates and times that would provide the best light, time for post-processing, etc. All told, I’ll be shooting her models for the print mag this weekend, and for that, I’m grateful for the cognizance of masks. You may find it common sense, but as Frank Lloyd Wright said, “There is nothing more uncommon than common sense.”

[1] There’s also the falsification of things, which for the purposes of this post don’t exist. Heh. Negating false things. Does that make them exist, even though they’re fabricated? I’m pretty sure I’m getting paradoxical here. Too deep in the loops. Anyway, I’m not talking about being disingenuous. Saying there’s no music in a room when the stereo’s on is a fabrication. Closing the window so no sound escapes is not. Likewise, opening it yields a different view of the same situation.