Ode to Cleo

When I first met Cleo she reminded me of someone you would see in a film, or the main character of a book. Her ‘free-spirit’ energy was almost intimidating; here was a girl I could sense had had life experiences I still only dream of having. I instantly knew (or hoped) we would be friends. We met at the start of our Masters of Photography in London, and before too long we were as close as I am with some people I’ve known for many, many years. I remember thinking that she’d be a wonderful subject for a photo story; with so many quirks and charms and simply the way she lives her life, which I am still envious of to this day. But somehow time slipped on by and the opportunity to document her day-to-day life never seemed to appear. Eight months after meeting Cleo, we moved to Paris together to complete the business component of our degree. For one of our early assignments, Cleo offered to let me practice and develop my portraiture on her. Luckily, I recognised the opportunity this time, and together we turned it into a two-month portrait project. It very quickly became a collaboration, as she wanted to push me to develop the way I approach my photography, which has always been predominantly non-posed, candid documentation of people. Some of the photographs were her idea, some of the poses her own and others were guided and directed by me. Most of them, however, were brief moments that exposed Cleo in her element, by simply being - I only needed to reach for my camera fast enough and the photo was there. Soon the project became far more complex than I’d initially anticipated. It was about Cleo, it was about me, it was about photography and it was about our friendship. By training my eye to be sensitive to her movements, her display of emotions and her position within a scene, I became all the more aware of how many details make up a person. I thought I knew Cleo well before we’d moved to Paris, but it turned out I’d only scraped the surface. We are very different people, and though our values always align, our minds have very different ways of interpreting or responding to a situation. And so, the development of these portraits accompanied the quick and intense development of our friendship. There were misunderstandings, there were tears, but with each passing day, there was a growing understanding of each other’s hearts. This project was perhaps the most constructive thing I could have done for my photography at the time. Faced with the very harsh realities of the industry, which were constantly reinforced to us by the experts we were meeting in our daily classes, I went through waves of self-doubt and despair. I was most certainly going to have to give this passion of mine up - who on earth would need my photography, in the midst of millions-upon-millions of others? But Cleo’s portraits kept me hopeful; a project I could completely engage myself with, to help me reassess my relationship with photography and why I’d hoped to pursue it in the first place. I like to think of myself as a story-teller, or at least a story-teller in the making. For the past year I’ve learnt so much about the many great photographers who have documented individuals, communities and our ever-changing political, environmental and social climates. So, a question I constantly ask myself is, “what makes a good story?” Whilst I believe in the monumental, I have always seen great value in smaller stories, that demonstrate the power of individuals, or merely the beauty in the everyday, which, when recognised, can change or even save a life. Simply put, every story, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, is worth telling – and so too, this photo story of a young photographer living in Paris. Cleo taught me the power of honesty and vulnerability, and so I hope these photographs capture an honest portrait of her. This is my Ode to Cleo.