I love taking photographs of the actors in my films.
Peering at them through the lens, using cameras both sophisticated and crude, I find information that I cannot always see with my naked eye. The act of framing an actor’s face seems to activate a narrative, not one that exists in time, but out of time.
A thread, a kind of filament, seems to unite us across the lens as I move about him or her restlessly, searching for the angle, the right light or shadow, the place in which the actor’s face will be most visible, most alive. We start to enter a zone in which we join in an unspoken duet of give and take, based on trust; the actor offering him or herself to my frame. The exterior visible self of the actor seems to hold a barely visible other; perhaps a character that has been subtly worked on, or a hidden quality of being. Sometimes I can time the moment and catch the bare, surprising self that waits there to be seen.
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