The Great Shoot Saga, (Part one of two)

Typically, I’m responsible for ten photo shoots a year. All this is in addition to a full workload as an Art Director. Or rather, part of it.

Months before the shoot, I interview and recruit models, who, depending on the product needs, will be from six to sixty six, according to the product need. In terms of ethnicity, they are a mix of Hispanic, Caucasian, Asian and African American, again (repeat in unison, now) according to the product need. I confirm the models about a month in advance, and send out a full package with the details of the shoot, I call to confirm at two weeks to review the package, and clarify details. And I call again the week of the shoot to confirm that it hasn’t slipped the models minds, or that none has been hit by a car or anything.

Days before the shoot, I schedule the photographer, arrange the food and supplies for the talent, and coordinate the creation of the storyboard that will be used for the shoot. On the day of the shoot, I oversee the entire process. Of all the members of the design team (of which there are seven) rotate on and off the photo shoot team (which numbers five), as their schedules allow. So, of all the multiple variations of photo shoot teams, I’m the only constant. Lucky me.

Often, a shoot will be reliant on a very specific balance, and one model being a no-show means a lot of wasted time and expense for all the other models, the photographer, and the photo shoot team. And it’s part of my job to ensure that doesn’t happen. More than once I’ve scrambled in the days before a shoot to find a replacement for a last minute cancellation. Not fun, but a necessary part of the job. Lucky me, again.

At the photo shoot, sometimes I will directly art direct, and other times I’ll coordinate others to direct the shoot, stepping in to assist and ensure we get the shots we need for the product purpose of the shoot. But not today. Today I was on the phone, in panic mode.

All models for the morning session are scheduled to be there at 9 AM, though we often need only one at that time, typically running through the shots needed one-model-at-a-time. This buys us a little time and allows some warm up of the models before we get into the group shots, which is the core of the shoot. Today, at 8:55, all the models were there except one. She was the one I had spoken to last Friday to confirm one last time, that she was all set. Some premonition caused me to call her again this Wednesday. Her cell number is one of those which allow you to select a changeable ringtone to play for callers. Between this week and last, she had changed the ringtone to a holiday song I didn’t recognize at first, but now could quote word-for-word. I left a message, requesting a callback to confirm a new detail/wrinkle. I called again on Wednesday, and again three times on Thursday. As we ended the day last night, I started to get worried that I had not heard from her. But my mind raced back to the confidence that she’d given me last week, certain that she was all set, certain that she’d call if anything was amiss.

The little voice inside my head was screaming, Suckeeeeer.

This morning at 9:05, I called again, and listened again to the delightful jingle. In three minutes, I called and left a pager number. In five minutes, again. From there I called again every five minutes until 9:30. Every time, I listened to the Christmas music with growing anxiety, cum disgust, becoming frustration, Not since the Grinch’s grudge against the famous Whoville hymn had a Christmas song been the source of more consternation. I started to think “I must find a way to stop Christmas from coming…”, and fitting the photographer’s dog with an antler.

Then, I finally got a response—the phone was picked up by the model’s daughter. As if she hadn’t heard the phone ringing every five minutes for the past hour, she sounded surprised, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. She informed me with distress that her mother was sick with the flu, and had been for the last three days. No, really. Nice news to find out at the eleventh hour. Except it wasn’t the eleventh hour, it was after midnight. And the shoot had begun. (Does that sound callous, unfeeling? Good. Because they make Dayquil so that, if for no other reason, you can manage the strength to get on the phone and call in sick. If you've got the energy to change your ringtone, you've got the energy to send a heads-up.) I had a studio of five models, five designers, a photographer and a photographer's assistant, a clock that seemed to be ticking directly into my temples, and flashing bulbs illuminating a deadline that couldn’t come without the final model in place. I had a house of cards due for completion for Monday morning. And I was one queen short of a full deck.

To be continued.