Commercial Print Work (first)

A while ago, though NYCasting I think, I submitted myself for commercial print work, an area of work of which I was only marginally familiar . . . until now.

Last fall, I was briefly (very briefly) a member of Explore Talent, and they offered members a free professional photo shoot with the purpose of developing a "comp" card that one could use to pursue commercial print and modeling work. The only cost was the CD and the comp card (which is where they really made their money) . . .

. . . unemployed, broke, for some reason a glamorous fall fashion shoot in a steel and glass building on West 23rd on a slate-gray NYC Saturday afternoon seemed like the right thing to do.

Télépopmusik, Thievery Corporation, fans, lights, gauzy shear curtains, it was all that one would expect . . . and babes, babes, lots of babes, baaaaaaaabes everywhere. Of course, I was not one of them, and in getting ready for this thing, I managed, that morning, in an instance, to shave off 80% of my right eyebrow with my new motorized groomer/trimmer. Fortunately there were expert make-up artists on scene to repair the damage as best they could.

Anyway, I did not put any stock in actually getting any work with a comp card, and I had determined that I would only purchase the CD of images to perhaps use for further headshots. However, the pictures seemed ok, so I also purchased, for a small amount, a small number of comp cards because I thought -- what the hell, if I see a call for print work, I'll just send one out. I then went home, with my expertly painted on right eyebrow, to look for a job.

Over the next few months, I sent in a headshot and a comp card (that I really paid too much for) to any commercial print casting call I happened to see -- I had resolved to get rid of these things somehow.

On the 14th, Danelle from a production company in the city called and asked me to attend a "look-see" in SoHo between 9am and 11am. Because this was a "look-see" for paid work, I didn't want to wait in the inevitable long line, so arrived 9am sharp. The photographer, Darryl, gave me a number to hold at chest level, snapped a picture, stepped back, started to take another picture but then lowered his camera and said "uh . . . your zipper," I corrected that problem, and he snapped another picture. 5 minutes -- in and out.

. . . zippers and eyebrows -- I was on roll, apparently.

However, on Thursday, Danelle called back and said she wanted to book me for a stock photograhy photo shoot on the 22nd with a call time of 11:30am. The call would be for all day.

Today, I took the A to Canal and Broadway and then a cab to the west side, 23rd and the West Side Highway, Chelsea Piers, Studio Pier 59, Studio 1. Studio Pier 59, a beautiful river front facility, houses studios for state-of-the-art digital photography and production, an increasingly important medium in the 21st century.

I arrived very early, like 45 minutes early, because this was really the first "professional" job I've ever 'booked.' I was not going to be late.

I was taken aback by the huge professional studios. Danelle meet me and ask me to wait and relax in the holding area, and when I walked into the area, I saw 'doctors,' 'workmen,' corporate executives,' 'office workers,' i.e., casting models who were outfitted for various roles and stock character types.

It was shockingly realistic -- if one of these people were walking down the street, one would think they were exactly what they appeared to be, and I really saw the power of 'type,' and how that drives the industry: they picked just the right people to be expertly dressed as these 'types' and these 'types' looked more real that the 'real' people they represented. So this is exactly how you're cast for parts: your unique qualities + costume and makeup = this highly convincing representation of what's out there in the real world.

So, with the right costume, what part of 'reality' do I reflect back? What's my 'type?' They cast me a 'character' rather than a 'role,' i.e., I was a Skater Boy-Hacker: jeans, sneakers, black t-shirt, casual club-boy jacket, stuff I'd wear all the time, if I was 20 years younger. True, I don't look (act?) my age, but I think it was my hair that really got me cast.

The shoot didn't start until later in the afternoon, and I was nervous before it started, but once I was on my feet and Darryl started giving me direction, e.g., 'ok, act like this,' or 'do such and such,' all things that a goofy, anti-social skater boy would do, I just threw myself into it -- again, an early lesson: if I start to feel shy or worried about embarrassing myself, then the thing to do is commit to the 'choice' or 'goal' or 'objective' even more (see Shrdlu, Rehearsal, The Adding Machine: 2004.06.15). Darryl seemed very happy with my work and said I really brought a lot to the shoot. Danelle also complemented me.

So -- that's great! Over-the-top acting, and I got paid (!)