(no subject)
The problem with taking as many pictures as Liz does is that eventually, you run out of space for them all.
And when you do, you need a big, flat space to spread them all out and study them, decide what you're doing with them; someplace that isn't a floor, and where a couple dozen cats aren't going to be constantly knocking them out of order.
Liz has pulled two tables together and taken them over, blanketing both with Polaroids. The subject matter varies, though the invisible hand on the camera is sure throughout, and the shots are well-composed. There are close-ups of flowers and leaves, several pictures of the Milliways lake and mountains, crowd shots of Milliways where no one is looking at the camera; a little girl on a park bench, a rusting fire escape, a rooftop, a pile of boxes in a dark room, a cat's tail, a row of books on a shelf; a good-looking young guy in a suit blinking at the camera or smiling, a blue fish-man in a tank with a hand raised in a graceful wave, a number of candid shots of a big red guy not paying any mind to the camera, laughing at something or lifting a kitten up in front of his eyes.
The photographer -- dressed in functional all black, as ever, with an empty holster at her hip and the BPRD logo on her belt -- sits in front of the organized chaos, elbow on the table and chin in her hand; her eyes narrowed in thought. Every once in a while, she picks up a Polaroid and puts it in one of three stacks on the chair next to her. (Every once in a while, she almost laughs at a picture.)
If she keeps going at this pace, she's going to be here a while.
[tiny tag: BLU medic]
And when you do, you need a big, flat space to spread them all out and study them, decide what you're doing with them; someplace that isn't a floor, and where a couple dozen cats aren't going to be constantly knocking them out of order.
Liz has pulled two tables together and taken them over, blanketing both with Polaroids. The subject matter varies, though the invisible hand on the camera is sure throughout, and the shots are well-composed. There are close-ups of flowers and leaves, several pictures of the Milliways lake and mountains, crowd shots of Milliways where no one is looking at the camera; a little girl on a park bench, a rusting fire escape, a rooftop, a pile of boxes in a dark room, a cat's tail, a row of books on a shelf; a good-looking young guy in a suit blinking at the camera or smiling, a blue fish-man in a tank with a hand raised in a graceful wave, a number of candid shots of a big red guy not paying any mind to the camera, laughing at something or lifting a kitten up in front of his eyes.
The photographer -- dressed in functional all black, as ever, with an empty holster at her hip and the BPRD logo on her belt -- sits in front of the organized chaos, elbow on the table and chin in her hand; her eyes narrowed in thought. Every once in a while, she picks up a Polaroid and puts it in one of three stacks on the chair next to her. (Every once in a while, she almost laughs at a picture.)
If she keeps going at this pace, she's going to be here a while.
[tiny tag: BLU medic]