Old friends
The next week was going to be jam-packed. I had the week-long class in fashion photography and the three day class in set design basics. In the morning I set out for the college theater. The class would only skim the surface of set design, since working designers all seemed to have a master's degree. But it sounded so interesting. On day one, we learned how to do a scenic analysis, from the very basic information of the title of the play and who wrote it, when it was written, and when and where it was first produced, and researched notes on the playwright. It also included learning what other works the individual had written and finding the set descriptions, answering questions of geography, time and place, physical surroundings, elements necessary for the action, like entrances and exits, and what was excitingly termed "abuse of set." How to determine what the motivational units and essential properties were, and what the lighting requirements were. Then how to condense the notes into an explicit list of requirements that included information about the play's themes, core conflicts, style, mood, and atmosphere. The play had to be analyzed and the director and others in the production team consulted in order to address all facets of the production. I reeled out of there, got a quick lunch, and went on to fashion photography, twenty minutes away.
This course would be more hands on, and we would be working with students in an intro to fashion design class that was in its second week. In our first afternoon, we learned the three types of fashion photography: editorial, advertising, and beauty, and how approaches to each differed and were similar. We went over techniques for strobe and natural lights, and were turned loose after some practice setting up artificial lighting systems. I was glad to go back to the residence hall for the pizza party.
"You could have both kinds," a voice suggested as I hesitated between veggie pizza and pepperoni. I snagged a slice of each and turned, only to be taken utterly aback. A tall, black-haired boy managed to suggest lounging against a wall without a wall actually being present. He grinned at me.
"John?" He sketched a bow.
"The one and only," he said grandly, and I laughed, consolidating my choices on a plate and hugging him.
"Aren't you supposed to be at Eton?" I asked as he returned the hug. He grabbed a couple of slices for himself and we moved over to a table to eat.
"We've got a week's vacation during this half," he explained, then rolled his eyes. "There are three halves to the school year. For such a highly rated institution, they can't do maths for shit." He'd acquired the gloss of an English accent like his father Alfred had. "I'm going to be a butler as well, so I'm squirrelling away all sorts of potentially useful information. I'm taking an art appreciation class this time. You never know what your employer will be into, but art is a good bet."
"It's good to see you again," I said, beaming at him. We'd grown up together until he went to Eton, and I missed my friend. "How funny that you're taking a class here at the same time I am."
"Not especially," he mumbled around pizza. "Dad told me your plans, and I checked it against the school schedule. I wanted to surprise you." I should have known.
"Mission accomplished. So how's school going? Your emails are uninformative."
"Oh, god," he complained. "The uniform--I feel like I'm a butler already. Black pants, waistcoat, coat, white shirt, tie. Every damned day. The only variation is pajamas, sports uniforms, weekends. And now we're narrowing down the subjects we study, the exact opposite of what I want to do. The more subjects the merrier. And it's an all-boys' school." His eyeroll was epic. "Quality of education is excellent, I'm bored. And Mum and Dad expect me to stick it out. Dari graduated last month, Z is going to graduate early, and she'll join Dari in college. She doesn't want to hang out in high school longer than she has to." I'd sent Darius a congratulatory card but hadn't known about Zahra. I'd have to keep an eye on that.
"Where's Darius going to study?" I asked.
"Sorbonne, then he's for the butler's school in the Netherlands that Mum and Dad went to. Z wants to be a history professor." He shook his head. "Always the black sheep." I laughed. "I think she's considering Oxbridge for undergrad, then somewhere back in the States for her PhD."
"What about you?"
"College somewhere, I don't really care as long as it's interesting, then to butler's school. Then find an employer, start small, work myself up to someplace really interesting, like the parents. What about you?"
"No idea," I said, feeling shiftless in the light of the Pennyworth offspring's life plans. "I did a lot of work with the guidance counselor on careers, but unfortunately my interests are like a puddle." He snorted a laugh.
"Care to elaborate?"
"Broad but shallow," I sighed. "So I'm hoping to get some inspiration here, find a path somewhere."
"You've got a lot of time," he pointed out. "Lots of ability, Lys. What classes are you taking?" So we compared our classes. His class was only the one week, but it was an all-day class, not near either of mine. Well, we could still hang out in the evenings, do homework together. He wanted to see my photos, so we started down the hall to my room.
"You two!" the monitor shouted. "Leave the door open if you're going to be in one of the rooms!"
"They guard our chastity quite effectively," John said as we entered my room... leaving the door open.
"Mom and Dad probably wouldn't have let me come without some form of supervision on the premises," I muttered. While I was taking a break from therapy while I was here, and I was doing a session a month anyway, I think they were still concerned about my mental stability. We sat on the bed and I showed him the homework I'd done for photojournalism--I'd figured out why my series of photos hadn't been more successful; they showed a string of events rather than telling an actual story, but I had the other photos to show plus ones still on my camera from home. I identified my friends and sent him a few pictures I'd caught of his parents around the estate. He seemed interested in my school and laughed when I told him what my schedule was.
"Why, what do you do?" I asked. "You're a really crappy correspondent."
"Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are called whole schooldays, where we have five schools--they're class periods, but they call them schools instead--during the morning, some kind of activity or sport after lunch, then a shower and tea followed by two more schools. Tutorials take place during Quiet Hour on whole schooldays after dinner. Tuesdays and Thursdays are called Half Holidays, because we have schools in the mornings like for whole schooldays, but games in the afternoon, followed by other activities, like community service, theater and music rehearsals and a considerable array of less important sports. And after supper, you can go to plays or concerts or perform in them, attend society meetings, which are school clubs, listen to speakers, do homework, or just slack off. Saturday mornings, we have four schools, then lunch and school sport. I've done some plays, and I was in the Lower Chapel Choir one year."
"Geeze," I said, dismayed. "I do virtually nothing by comparison. What kinds of subjects have you studied?"
"Well, Eton's a five-year sentence, with three years being non-specialist and the last two being specialist. For the first three years, you have two modern languages and can decide to continue or pick up Classical Greek, English, maths, Latin, science, divinity, geography and history, and music, art, drama, PE, computer science, and design are studied in rotation. And then we have tutors, we're assigned one for our first three years, then get a say in the tutor for the specialist years. Our tutor is supposed to be an adult we can go to for guidance, but they primarily monitor our academic performance. We do once-a-week sessions where we learn study skills, have the occasional outing to the bowling alley or paint ball, and get PSHE, a course of study that's more individualized, moral, social, and health issues, and topics the tutor chooses. Next half, I choose my specialist tutor, and four subjects, leading to A-level qualifications, from English literature, theatre studies, maths, sciences, Latin, Greek, the modern languages of French, German, Italian, Japanese, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, or Chinese (Mandarin), history--modern or early modern or medieval, history of art, geography, divinity, economics, government and politics, art, or design. Then in the last year, three or four subjects, and we take our A levels. Why, what are you taking next year?"
"Um, English, calculus, environmental science, history, photography, and another class I haven't decided on yet. I'll be taking the college boards tests at the end of the year."
"Don't you have to do a language?"
"I got credit for ancient Greek, it's all they speak on the island, I'm terrible with languages anyway. Um, what sports do you do?" I asked, feeling like my education was decidedly substandard. Last time he'd written about sports, he'd been flailing through golf.
"Oh, god," he said, flopping back. "They call them games there, there's almost thirty of the damned things, from house teams to elite competition teams. They say games are important because we learning to win and lose, to lead and be led, to push to and perhaps beyond one's limits, to think as part of a team, to know when to strive for more and when to acknowledge defeat, so we're all forced to play and learn games. There's football, rugby, cricket, tennis, golf, field hockey, badminton, basketball, martial arts, as well as peculiarly Etonian sports like the Wall and Field games. Coaches are school masters or professionals. They do like you to play the sports that are traditional for networking--tennis, golf, that sort of thing that's both collegial and allows you to beat the pants off your opponent. I personally do swimming to a high enough level where I can get out of a lot of other games, and rowing." His eyes glittered. "I'll be on my House Eight, and I have my eye on making the VIII, the best of the best. Eton turns out a lot of the world's best rowers. What are you doing?"
"Well, rehab on the leg," I said awkwardly, feeling like an utter slacker. "I need to find something to replace dance." His face softened.
"That's really quite a loss," he said sincerely. "I was looking forward to bragging about my friend, the ballerina. Still, you've got all kinds of options, Lys." I nodded.
"And I work, too, that's fun." And as soon as the words left my mouth I felt stupid, doing things just for fun.
"And you got those Queen concert tickets," he said enviously. "My mates were green with jealousy when they heard. So was I, for that matter. And back-stage passes, all because you know your stock and how to relate to your customers." It sounded so much better when he put it like that.
We caught up a bit more, then we had homework to do. I recognized a couple of people from set design and went out to work with them. We'd been assigned a new play called "Local" and we had to do as much of a scenic analysis as possible. We'd been each emailed notes from a 'production team,' different for everybody, and had to show a rough plan for our individual specific variations, but we could work on the basic information together. That part went a lot faster, mainly because it was set in modern London and this was the first work by the playwright. We talked about the approaches we'd been assigned and got some ideas about how to approach the challenge, then I returned to my room to do the reading. I learned about the three types of scenic design, scenic, costume or lighting design, and what designers in each could expect to do.
Then it was on to fashion photography, where I read more about lighting, and how to select locations and backgrounds. There was an introduction to how to produce a shoot, which we would be talking more about in class. Tomorrow we would be learning how to set up the location, how to select equipment and work with support staff. Our assignment would be to go out on our own and find an interesting location to shoot someone in natural light. Thoughtfully, I found John's room and asked if he'd model for me the next night. He's pretty handsome, taking after his mom in facial structure and skin tone, but he has Alfred's eyes and a rangy build, must be due to all the games he plays. He grinned and agreed, especially after I said I'd print them when I got home and give copies to his parents. Then I went back to my syllabi to continue to plan ahead. Wednesday, we'd be exploring the relationships between photographer, model, art director, and client, and how to work with makeup artists and hair stylists, models, and stylists. Our homework would be to write a short reflection on the material covered to date. Thursday, we would focus on the business side, how to develop a strong portfolio, figure out market strategy, and brand our talent was to be discussed along with work opportunities. Friday was to be an actual fashion shoot, featuring the work of students in the fashion design classes, in which everything would come together. It would be all day, and if you could, you were encouraged to come in the morning as well as the afternoon. Each designer would have up to three models, there would be makeup artists, and we would be working in artificial lighting, which we would help set up. Then we would photograph the models, sharing the photographs with the designers.
Set design was easier, simply because it was shorter. I sent my preliminary analysis in, and read ahead a little. Tomorrow we'd receive our analysis back with some comments, and in class go over each type of design and what specialized tools were used. Homework would be to continue work on the analysis to flesh it out in terms of specific costuming, lighting, and sets/props that would be needed, with an emphasis on one of the three areas, our choice. The final class would be hands on, getting a little experience with lighting, touring the costumer's domain, looking at the shop where props were made and modified and sets built.
Whew. Lots of work. Lots of interesting.