Solicitude By Carl Scharwath

​SOLICITUDE                                                                                                                                        
(Dedicated to Jennifer Link)


   “I am so sorry; I just don’t think I can do this”  said Clare that late morning day. Photography became my passion, growing from an enjoyment oil painting I had long ago in college. Many years would pass before I would ever think of any visual arts again, until the camera first filled my hands. The smooth skin of this beautiful machine, cold and new just felt right. I held it gently, admired it and marveled at the balanced feel. The awareness of my fingers evoked a memory of the first time I ever held a girl’s hand.
    “You will do fine; I just want to explore taking a photo with a model and you would be perfect.”
    “All I ask is for you  to wear something in black and have your hair down.”
    On the way to her house I passed this set of old buildings. There were two structures which I thought was abandoned until I saw workers inside. The fading sign said Hall’s Machine Shop, and this was like a journey to forgotten times and a moment frozen in history on a hustling street. The building was perfect, stains from water, metal walls rusting and all to cast an unequaled  patina of colors for photography. 
Clare continued, “Are you sure? I know I am not pretty, and do not know how to pose, but I will 
go with you and watch you take your photos.”
   Clare was a special friend who was a caring, sweet, delicate woman that anyone would be honored to know. She was honest and giving but did lack confidence and had trouble believing in herself. Some days dysphoria and anxiety apprehended her personality, and this was sad for me to see. I knew I had to be there for her today, and this was our chance to do something different together.
   “Clare you look beautiful and we will have a good time. This will be our first art collaboration and I know it will turn out perfect for us,” I reassured her.
    The time passed slowly as she got ready and I was filled with excitement and anticipation. This 
was just the beginning of my photography journey and I hoped everything would turn out right? I had only photographed landscapes, buildings and storefront window displays. Adding a model to the mix would pressure me to be even more creative; how would she stand, what was I trying to convey emotionally and philosophically in the picture?
    Clare came out of her room and looked amazing with her hair down and a veiled smile on her 
face, as if her mask was removed  from her past emotional problems.  
    “ I guess I am ready but give me one more sec. as I want to get one of my scarves out of the closet.” 
    “That is a great idea, it will be a good contrast with your black outfit,” I said.  I now knew she was willing to work with me on our art and seemed excited to participate.
    The bright colors of her scarf were beautiful, and the material flowed in the late summer zephyr breeze as we descended the stairs. I though of that first autumn leaf descending, golden and delicate finding its way from home when I saw the scarf trailing behind her. In the car, I gazed upon her next to me and although the sunlight danced in her  blonde hair, she looked sad and questioning.
    Clare in a soft voice said. “I never told you why I always wear my hair up. When I was in college, I waited for a train after class and out of nowhere this man came towards me. He grabbed my arm and then my hair and sexually abused me. I have never worn my hair down since that day when I go out—so
    I am doing this just for you.”
    I was shocked when she told me this and took her hand wanting only to comfort her.  I felt this human connection would be the most supportive as I fumbled in my mind for the words to express. Looking at her with sensitive eyes and still without saying what she had known would be said, I began “Thank you for confiding in me this part of your life, I am sorry for what happened to you and I am here 
if you want to talk about this with me.”
    “No, lets talk about this another time, I do not want to ruin our photo shoot. It happened long 
ago, and I will never forget that night, but I am happy you are here to support me.”
    This black hole on her timeline I knew would never leave her psyche and upon arriving I hoped the distraction of our work would ease her memories. The first photographs took place at the second building, we were experimenting with various poses and backgrounds. Photos of her holding the scarf, wrapping it around her body and using it as a head-dress. We looked together at most of the photos and she did not seem totally pleased with the results and I agreed. 
    “Please remove the ones I do not like; we can try some more. I told you I am not a good model 
and you have never asked me to face you and the camera. That tells me you do not think I am pretty enough.” 
    “Clare you are beautiful, I am just trying to capture the mystery of you.”  I thought of her like a winter landscape fearful or revealing what lies underneath.
    We took a few more  photos and I could tell she was  tired. We started to walk to the car across the street when I noticed a door on the 2nd building which was vacant. There was a dirty window looking into a dark void of a building breathing out its history from within. At the time I did not know this was the canvas; this was the exact spot to capture her innocent beauty.
    “Clare, hold on, look at that cool door over there, this will be the final photo and all I want you to do is stand in front of the window and look in. “ I had faith our last photo would be our best and was ready to take it straight on. A memory from the days when I use to paint told me otherwise.  I positioned myself at a slight angle and like magic she raised her arms and held up her scarf. Her hair a beautiful mess in the back, the scarf added a splash of color and I only pushed the button one time. I felt like a subtle but strange force was  
guiding my hands and somehow knew just one photo would be all that was essential.
    “Ok, we are done’” I said, and Clare was still standing in her pose almost transfixed for a few seconds before turning.
    “You don’t want to take more photos? I thought you said this spot was perfect.”
    “Yes, it is, but I only needed one photo and I just have this feeling it will be our best.”
     Clare ran over in excitement and said, “Let me see! let me see,” As she reached for my camera.
    “The sun is too bright to view, lets get something to eat and we can look at everything in the restaurant.”
     We could not wait, once we got to the car, we started the engine and turned on the AC to shield us from the hot Florida sun. Clare of course wanted to see our last photo first. Once I saw her look, her face took on a warm glow of contentment and a smile formed, as beautiful as a mother holding her baby for the first time.
    “This photo is beautiful; I look so vulnerable and my thoughts seemed to impart they were only for me.” My shoulders look like a child’s and the scarf was perfect. I was just ready to say something and she continued, “Look inside the window, the reflection of the tree is framed around another window inside and there is an old ladder as well. You are an amazing photographer.”
    “Thank you, was all I could say just then but added quickly, “You are the perfect model and you are not only a beautiful model, but a special person.” 
    Yes, the last photo of the day was special. The way she looked into that window would perplex any viewer into questioning what her thoughts might have been. The ladder would be our bridge as I was climbing to her and doing all I could to save her from her depression. The other window became a new day of hope and would not reflect back a faithless face. No, it would reflect back a new beautiful,  confident and loving woman. This brief moment of happiness had freed her for now and brought us closer together than ever.
    “Please let me look at the photo one more time before we go,” and then she said “Mark my words, one day you will be famous.”
     I laughed and rolled my eyes before saying. “ Famous? I will never be famous; I just enjoy creating art and photography is fun-- especially with you.”
    There would be another 2 years of taking photos with Clare and working on our art together, until the evening she passed in her sleep.  I knew she will always be there with me, as her photos bring back in just one instant her loving presence.
    I thought of her words again on that special day we shared, and they stayed with me like the  summer dreams of childhood.  I reflected in melancholy-- all I truly ever wanted was to be famous for Clare and I did not fail us in our artistic endeavors. I failed this remarkable friend by not saving her.

                                                                                                    Model: Jennifer Link

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Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 150+ journals selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, plays or art photography (His photography was featured on the cover of 6 literary journals.) Two poetry books 'Journey To Become Forgotten' (Kind of a Hurricane Press).and 'Abandoned' (ScarsTv) have been published. His first photography book was recently published by Praxis. Carl is the art editor for Minute Magazine, a dedicated runner and 2nd degree black- belt in Taekwondo.

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