Kathleen Jones' Ordeal by Photograph

Every now and then, if you’re a writer, looms that awful thing - the author photograph.   They’re stuck on the back of your books and are supposed to seduce the reader into believing that you’d be an interesting, friendly, wildly creative, spell-bindingly addictive person to spend time with.  Ageism has crept into publishing, as with everything else, so you’re also expected to look as though you have reasonable mileage still left in the tank. Gone are the times when wrinkles, turkey wattles, fag hanging out of the mouth, professorial spectacles and bad hair were considered a vital part of the creative persona.  Alas.

W H Auden could get away with it!

Some authors cheat - they carry on using a shot that’s decades old.  I recently went to a literature festival to hear an author talking about her books - the photo in the programme showed a dark-haired, slim-line beauty, but on stage was a plump, grey-haired lady I would never have recognised as the same person.

Ageing disgracefully - the glorious Alda Merini

It made me think about my own author photograph, which hadn’t been updated for about five years. Was I cheating?  Perhaps, but e-books aren’t exactly a get-rich quick scheme and paying for professional photographers is out of the question.  Some authors can just get someone to hold up an i-pad and click, producing something wonderful.  But ....... ?

Agatha Christie.  Airbrushed?

But I have a confession to make - I’m not photogenic, not one little bit.  In fact, the reverse.  I can be feeling quite attractive until someone takes my photograph and then this ugly, grimacing woman  - think wicked witch in Snow White - stares back at me and I don’t recognise her.   Over the years it’s made me totally phobic about having my photograph taken and, as I’ve got older, it’s got worse - youth after all has a certain bloom.  I’m either pulling a face, girning, or I have my eyes shut. It’s become so bad that I fall into a catatonic trance of self-consciousness the moment someone so much as points a camera in my direction.

Aldous Huxley, clearly not enjoying himself.

Recently I’ve become involved in an exciting publishing project with a group of other women writers. It’s absolutely top-secret, so I can’t even give you a hint, but the call went out for a photograph.  And it had to be special, a formal pose so that we were all in sync.  I went into panic mode.  Far worse than going to the dentist.  My partner tried, but it was no good - I looked weird even to him.  My grand-daughter tried, but the i-pad shot proved to be too blurred to use (very flattering on the lines though!). The deadline loomed.  I took a deep breath and put out a call on Facebook for friends to recommend a photographer.  And then something magical happened.

Romano Cagnoni in his studio

Romano Cagnoni is Italy’s greatest living photographer - one of the world’s best, up there with Cartier Bresson, Robert Capa, Eugene Smith and Bill Brandt.  I’ve been to several of his exhibitions and reviewed a couple of them.  He is a documentary photographer, famous for his war coverage in Vietnam and Cambodia, Bosnia and Croatia - recently in Chechnya.  He definitely doesn’t do snaps for book jackets.  But his wife, who is also a photographer, saw my post on Facebook, contacted me and said that Romano would like to do it for me.  How could I say anything but yes, please!  And then I worried all night about letting him down.

The next day, gathering up my courage, I put on the obligatory black top and some make up and went round to his studio and confessed my photo-phobia.  Romano and Patti work in a very modern studio - all white walls and stainless steel, which has a kind of minimalist beauty.  I sat on a wooden stool in front of one of the walls with strong natural light falling all around me from the skylights above. Two Chechen rebels, more than double life-size, stared down at me from the wall - so gloriously photo-genic with their stainless steel teeth and AK47s I almost went home then and there.

One of Romano's Chechens

But Romano was charming and patient as he prowled round me with the camera while Patti chatted to me as she held the reflectors and their dog Chico danced round and distracted me.  How could I let such a wonderful photographer down, I kept thinking, trying not to look as though I was sitting on hot coals.

Me, trying to be good!

Finally it was over.  ‘I can do something with these,’ Romano said, looking quickly at the thumbnails and filling me with relief.  ‘Just a little post-production.’  He laughed.  ‘How far back do you want me to take you?’
Air-brushing? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to cheat. Surely the point of updating your author shot was honesty?  In the end I left any softening of the image up to his judgement and Patti’s. There isn’t much difference between the raw shot and the finished result. Not a fag in sight, but you can see the wrinkles if you look closely!

Me, through Romano's lens

This is something I never imagined, being snapped by a world-famous photographer.  It’s something that never happens unless you’re a celebrity or a model and I’m neither. It’s something I’ll never forget.  Not so much of an ordeal this time!


Kathleen Jones is a poet, novelist and biographer, currently Royal Literary Fund Fellow in the Creative Writing department at Lancaster University.  You can find her blog at 'A Writer's Life'
She has a website at www.kathleenjones.co.uk
This is her Amazon Author page
You can find her on Pinterest
and on Twitter at @kathyferber