chloe - an editorial shoot
I’ve always enjoyed the smell of fresh linen,
light reflecting —
anywhere, everywhere,
blue.
As overplayed as this idea may be, that exact imagery was how I imagined heaven.
As I got older and deconstructed the culture of religion, I found peace in bringing this heaven to life in the form of a photo.
The power suddenly in my hands, my artistic vision, my technical abilities, to create a world, a refuge, to weave together musings: a prison of nostalgia, a beacon of hope.
This energy, for the most part, is what I model my work after today.
Drawing close with colors, a shrine to light, a texture of comfort, a freshness in the shades of verdant.
It’s familiar, at times simple, but not without intention.
So naturally, as I pulled up beside Chloe—
clothes overflowing from her Bronco,
cars parked along a tree-lined coast,
sea haze filtering the light—
I was met with a feeling of completeness, knowing we could bring this vision to life.
A few years (and several haircuts ago), I met Chloe. She came into my home in a small mountain town where we both went to school, seemingly quiet yet possessing an aura of gentle confidence that awed me.
We met again once more to take modeling digitals in an era where she was starting her modeling career.
It was only as I was taking my luggage from baggage claim that I would see her again. This time, she was frozen in a large advertisement greeting me in Korea.
HEY…..I know her!
There’s nothing quite like watching someone you know dream a dream — then realize it. Internationally. It’s also a gracious reminder that the world is miraculously small.
What stands out about Chloe is that she doesn’t beg to be seen, but you can’t help but see her. She’s elusive at first but then entirely relatable as you draw closer to hear her voice.
As we shoot, we talk about life — shooting in Los Angeles, New York, upcoming goals, etc. She entertains and expands every idea I throw at her, and I see she’s refined the vision she’s always had within artistry. She contributes.
I think as professionals, it’s easy to forget that the people you’re working with have their own egos, pride, insecurities. One of my good friends opened up about meeting big name CEOs as he rose into the corporate world, remarking (as we may already know), that —
They're just ordinary people.
It can be hard to imagine your intelligent surgeon at a comedy club or getting drinks at a bar. Or the classic “seeing-your-highschool-teacher-at-the-grocery-store.”
What are you doing here, you live at the school.
We distance ourselves from humanity without thinking, see people in their positions and AS their positions, and I’m aware of that.
I think what puts people at ease is extending a branch of humanity, a reminder that I’m not just open to your ideas, but excited that you feel safe enough to share.
Chloe grabs a bottle of water from her car, opens it, and throws it on her head without hesitation.
“You wanted it slicked back, right?” Yes.
“I really don’t care about my appearance, I’m willing to do anything, It’s just hair”
she remarks, as I ask her what it was like transitioning to a pixie-esque look.
“At times, it was hard, feeling feminine with short hair, I already dress a little boyish—“
She continues,
“It’s really great though, I wish people would stop making assumptions based on appearances”
We laugh. And, it’s true.
There’s something ritualistic about cutting your hair—it's an unspoken rebellion, a visual representation of transformation. But having someone else dictate this feels like a purge of control, (a beast that most won’t have to lock eyes with). Relinquishing that control feels like a sort of exposure therapy, one I seek and envy.
Hair always felt significant to women for a few reasons. Within it lies the opportunity to attract, to detract, to confuse, to elude. It communicates, at times, our mental state. It hangs close to our identity, at the intersection of femininity and autonomy. Sometimes it means nothing at all. And that’s where we fall.
It means nothing at all.
