Sometimes things are more exciting when you don’t have permission.
I’m talking, of course, about the second part of Praveena’s and my
engagement photo shoot with Impressions
by Anuj. Segment one manifested back in March as an ice rink shoot at
Nathan Phillips Square, and it went just about as well as could be expected. We
even got the teenaged rink guardians to keep everyone off the ice for a couple
minutes after the Zamboni cleaned the surface, so we could do a
couple shots in front of the Toronto sign with the ice to ourselves. People
even cheered when we kissed. It felt like our five minutes of fame.
This time around, we wanted something a bit more intellectual. In particular,
Praveena had suggested a Harry Potter type of library, with rich, stained woods
and a dark, mystical ambience. An internet search brought us to Emmanuel College Library,
where Tears For Fears filmed their “Head
Over Heels” music video in the 1980’s, long before Harry Potter was even a
seed in JK’s fertile mind garden. In pictures, ECL seemed perfect, with high, arching
window frames, dark wooden shelves and huge, intricately designed chandeliers.
We met Annuj and his assistant, Peter, at Queen’s Park Circle just after
ten in the morning and walked to our destination. As we grew closer, a feeling
of excitement or anxiety commandeered my belly—in anticipation of our photo
shoot, but also of any potential confrontation we might have
with the library staff. I should mention that I’d emailed the library seeking
permission to do a photo shoot there, but had received no response. So we went
figuring we’d deal with the issue of permission if-slash-when it arose.
From the outside, Emmanuel College Library is an old, stone, multi-storeyed
building that fits right into the University of Toronto’s quaint but impressive
(as in making an impression on the observer), two-centuries-removed
architectural scheme. We entered the building and started out with some cherry-picked
shots on the stairs leading up to the library section. Our worry level about
being challenged by library staff here was very low.
Only when we got up to the main library floor did we become furtive and
secretive, creeping past the front desk one at a time. Annuj and Peter were fairly
inconspicuous. All they had to do was hide their cameras and lighting gear, which
wasn’t too difficult. Then I in my blue suit went past, a bit more conspicuous
but still pretty okay. Had I been questioned on what I was doing there, I’d’ve
delivered this rehearsed excuse: I was performing a study on the effects of
over-dressing on scholastic work.
Then it was Praveena’s turn to get past the front desk. Her appearance would
be the most difficult to explain. What was she, resplendent in a blue and
orange sari, doing in the library? The best I’d been able to come up with was
that she was a volunteer for my study on studying. But never fear, the
librarian was nose-deep in paperwork and never saw us pass.
We found an area and got to work, following Annuj’s posing instructions.
Watching him pick spots and consider his options was an exercise in fascination
as he assessed potential backdrops and considered how best to position us to
maximize light (from windows, ceiling fixtures, Peter’s hand-held rig, etc.). At
one point, he stood us against a shelf, each of us holding a book open as
though reading it. He went behind another shelf and started moving books out of
the way so as to shoot us through the shelf. Then he piled several books, on
which he rested his camera.
He gave us plenty of direction. “Look out the window…Look down at
Praveena…Look down at her shoulder…Look up at Jody…Make as if to kiss her on
the cheek…Move a bit to your left…Move back into the sunlight.” In this way he thoughtfully
went about getting the shots he wanted.
Even though we may have been doing something against the rules, the fact
that we were in a library didn’t escape us. Annuj’s camera was on silent mode. Every
time he took a shot, all we heard was a series of faint clicks. The only thing I
questioned in terms of disturbing other library patrons was Peter’s light. As he
frequently shone it upon us from various angles, I wondered how far it
penetrated into the dusty, bookish dimness. Was it distracting to those
studying?
Adjacent to the little shelf-filled cubby we were shooting in was a long
desk spanning the width of the library. At the far end of the desk sat a man staring
at a laptop and occasionally reaching for a thermos that I presumed was filled
with coffee. When, at Annuj’s direction, Praveena and I sat down at the near end
of the desk and pretended to read our books, and Peter placed his light in
front of us, the fellow at the far end got up and walked away, leaving behind his
computer and thermos.
We thought our jig was up, that he was going to complain. For as long as
we could, we continued taking photos. Annuj was shooting us from a balconied
upper level accessible only from a set of stairs located beside the front desk.
(We’d formulated an intricate plan to ascend the stairs one at a time, in
staggered fashion, Annuj first and Praveena last, to shoot up there as our
final location of the day.) When the man returned to his seat at the far end of
the desk with no one in tow, we all expelled a long, relieved breath. We were
okay for the moment.
But a few minutes later, our guerilla shoot seemed about to go off the
rails. Praveena and I were still sitting at the long desk, illuminated by the
light positioned on the desk in front of us, Annuj shooting us from above, when
the gentleman who’d been sitting at the front desk appeared on the upper
balcony, approaching Annuj. He looked down over the railing and, spying us,
seemed to know immediately what we were doing.
I’ll mention again that while we may have been taking photos without
permission, we were being rather quiet about it. Yet the man called down to us in a voice louder and more disturbing of the quiet than any noise we’d made: “Do
you have permission to do this?”
“I sent an email,” I began.
The man turned and walked out of sight. For a moment I thought maybe we
were good. But several seconds later he reappeared on the first floor, heading
toward us.
“Do you have a permit to do what you’re doing? You’re supposed to have a
permit, you know. You can’t just come in here and do what you’re doing without
a permit.”
He was shaking with rage and adrenaline, his fists clenched as though
we’d just coloured outside the lines, or perhaps shat on his mother’s grave. I
told him I’d emailed the library several months ago to ask if we needed permission,
but no one had responded. So we figured we were free to come and take pictures
in here.
“No,” he said in a tone oozing sanctimony, “you most certainly do need a
permit.”
I got the feeling he was releasing months—years, perhaps—of pent-up
anger, all the frustrations of enduring countless indignities of college kids
snapping gum and talking above a whisper in his domain.
“How do I go about getting one of those?” I asked.
“You’ll have to talk to Valerie.”
“And where would I find her?” I asked.
“Her office is out there, about half way down the hall on the left.” And
he turned and stomped away, still visibly shaking and clenching his fists.
Praveena and I went to find Valerie and explain our situation. Her
office was indeed halfway down the hall. We knocked on her heavy, slightly ajar
door. A weary or perhaps frustrated voice bid us to enter.
Behind a desk piled high with paperwork sat Valerie. It looked like we’d
caught her in the middle of a dozen things. Praveena and I repeated our
explanation, that we’d emailed without a reply and figured we were good to take
photos. No, she said, you need permission. Praveena asked how we could get it. She
added that we were both alumni (half a lie; only she is) and we really wanted
to do this shoot in this place that held a great deal of meaning for us. And,
she added, we’re almost finished.
Valerie was silent for a moment. Then she said, cryptically, “I’d rather
not involve Bob, so just, why don’t you be quick about it and finish up.”
We thanked her profusely and suggested she call the gentleman at the
desk to let him know her decision. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll call Fred to let him
know.”
We returned to the library. As we passed the front desk, another
gentleman picked up the ringing phone. “I’ll go get Fred,” he said into the
phone, and I felt a special satisfaction knowing who was on the other end and
how the conversation with Fred would go.
Fred was in the area where we’d done most of our shooting, re-shelving
the books we’d unshelved to create space and use as props and platforms for
Annuj’s camera. (Peter later told us he’d offered to put the books back in
their places but Fred had said to just leave them, that he’d do it. I could
imagine Fred delivering these words in a haughty huff.) Fred’s colleague said
the phone was for him, and Fred left. We never saw him again.
So we completed our photo session and got tons of amazing shots. Annuj
and Peter did a great job. Praveena was ecstatic that everything worked out,
and that in turn made me happy.
And Fred? He revealed—or perhaps learned—the extent of his real power,
which is decidedly un-Harry Potter-esque. Which is to say, he’s not quite the authoritarian
wizard he thought he was. When the photos are ready, we’re thinking of emailing
him one to remember us by.
