Peter joined- in the spirit!

Heart and Sole

 

I'd heard the rumours, I'd never believed them.

For over 20 years I've walked, staggered and driven past this place- my dry-cleaners is next door. I thought it had been evacuated in a panic; leaving behind a dust encapsulated flash-frame from the 50's. I had to do a double-take, but for sure there he was, fixated, gazing over the barricade of post-war posters. Rooted to the spot with a Gerry can of glue in one hand and brush in the other, stood the Myth of Merchiston - Jock the Cobbler.

 I made my move, entering his world before he evaporated. It was as if I'd fallen into a nail-bar trash can. Classical music squeezed out of tin speakers like Camembert through a cheese-grater. When my eyes had done flushing I stood over him like Chewbacca towering above Yoda. I introduced myself like someone who'd come from the future. Jock craned his head and looked at me as though I was the curiosity!
 He's "been here the whole time. Fifty year an' mare". He only ever ventures into in the shop-front to deal with the customers. The magic happens in the back; where he guards his secret of longevity. Further investigation revealed that Jock turns 90 in two days time. He stuck his glinting eye on me and demanded to know where I'd got my information. I wasn't going to grass-up my source - Jean from the cleaners next door is a woman not to cross.

 Jock tells me being 90 has it's drawbacks: when trying to buy travel insurance the broker hung up when he told her his D.O.B was 1919. "My kid's didnae gae me a party when I turned 80" he rued, "so I dinnae see 'em fussin' o'er 90." I tried to envisage his kids! "Still," I irk him "he's got a letter from the Queen to look forward to in his old age". He rose to the bait and took great delight in beheading my jibe.
 

  When I asked him to be photographed he held my wrist like he was taking my pulse. I think he was checking if I was for real.

Big Issue

  The Big Issue magazine had seen the ActionAid poster, checked out my site and wanted to run an article. Instead of rolling out more of the 'infamous' portraits, The Big Issue took me up on my proposal to photograph the vendors. This was an opportunity to develop 'touch' and shirk the 'Celebrity Photographer' moniker from my back.
 

Big Issue vendor 'Lonewolf'

 In a recent edition I read of a self-made Celebrity photographer; a mock-star and his £2.75m creative home. For a moment I thought I'd wandered onto the pages of Vanity Fair, then I remembered my vendor, Lonewolf (pictured). People presume that, because I've incidentally shot some celebrities, I too am a closet narcissist with all the trappings. They confuse me with someone whose freedom to explore and scrutinise is impugned by fashion. I am as much a 'Celebrity Photographer' as Katie 'Jordan' Price is a 'Literary Genius'. My subjects are not measured by star quality, each is treated with the same deference and respect. My impediment is my stubborn inability to suffer fools- or conform. 
 The Celebrity Photographer made the distinction clear, defining his process as neither; thoughtful, considerate or intelligent. Sandy Hotchkiss puts it nicely; those who provide narcissistic supply to the narcissist will be treated as if they are part of the narcissist and be expected to live up to those expectations. In the mind of a narcissist there is no boundary between self and other. If I must be labeled, how about (for now) 'Independent'? It compensates for my dilettante tendencies! 
 The Big Issue have flagged the upcoming shoot with the caption: 'Poster Boy...Celebrity Photographer!' I can tell it's gonna be a long climb.