This is Part 2 of a 2-part essay. If you missed it, you can read Instagram & Me: Part 1 here.
I love this photo. My memory is fuzzy, but this is my version:
As we idle in the courtyard of our Airbnb, I frame this shot on my Nikon for Andrew to take a photo of me. I position him in the doorway, adjust the aperture and the focus, before extending my hand for him to step forward to exactly where I stand. He says something like, Kel, I got it, my cue to assume his previous position before the lens.
We are in Mexico City on our first trip together. My only companion, I gently encourage Andrew to take pictures of me. I’d packed three rolls of film and hoped for some visual record of my travel. Just to calibrate your expectations, in the 133 photos shot on my film camera in Mexico City, the above image is one of six taken of me.
I pose somewhat contrapposto; my weight shifts into my right hip, my left shoulder leans forward. My forearm secures The Empathy Exams against my torso and I dangle our room keys between my open fingers. My teeth reveal the beginning of a smile. The shutter clicks before I’m fully ready.
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