MRS. NEWQUIST:
Exactly what sort of work do you do?
Oh, it's very complicated. You don't really want to know.
PATSY
You may as well....
ALFRED
Well, I began as a commercial photographer.
PATSY
He began as a painter.
ALFRED
Oh, I was a bad painter.
PATSY
Says you!
MR. NEWQUIST
Jesus Christ, would you let the boy finish? (Looking at his wife.) Well?
ALFRED
I began as a commercial photographer and was doing sort of well at it.
PATSY
Sort of well? You should see his portfolio. He has work in Holiday, Esquire, The New Yorker, Vogue...
MR. NEWQUIST
Vogue?
KENNY NEWQUIST (with mock excitement)
Woo! Woo!
ALFRED
It's an overrated business. But after a couple of years of doing sort of well at it, things began to go wrong. I began losing my people. Somehow I got my heads chopped off. Or out of focus. Or terrible expressions on my models. I'd have them examining a client's product like this.
Like that. A face would be really ... The agencies began to wonder if I didn't have some editorial motive in mind.
Which was not true, but once they planted the idea.
The lights in the apartment go out.
Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt, dear. How far better it is to strike a match than curse the darkness -- my mother always told us that ... Go on, dear.
Well, my career suffered but there was nothing I could do about it. You see, the harder I tried to straighten out, the fuzzier my people got, and the clearer my objects. Soon my people disappeared entirely. They just somehow never came out. But the objects I was shooting ...
The lights come on again.
Pictures of medical instruments -- things like that. It was boring but it kept me alive. (Takes a deep breath.) I suppose the real break came with the SEM show. They had me shoot thirty of their new models. They hired a gallery and put on a computer show. One hundred and twenty color pictures of computers! It got some very strange notices, the upshot of which was that the advertising business went thing crazy and I became commercial again.
MRS. NEWQUIST
You must be extremely talented.
ALBERT
I got sick of it. Where the hell are standards? That's what I kept asking myself. I mean those people will take anything. Hell, if I give them a picture of shit, they'll probably give me an award for it.
MRS. NEWQUIST
Language, young man.
ALBERT
So that's what I do now.
(Silence.)
MR. NEWQUIST
What?
ALBERT
Take pictures of shit.