Written portraits
Written portraits was a creative collaboration with photographer tereza nekvasilova, writer christina thatcher and the warden.
Hosted at the annual community arts festival ‘Made In Roath’, the project invited members of the public to sit for a written portrait. Two sitter would be interviewed for 10 minutes whilst writers tried to capture their personality, story and appearance on the page. Tereza would then capture a photo portrait to accompany the finished writing.
below are the two written portraits of tereza and her photo, taken by me at the first event in june 2015
Tereza 1 (by Rebecca roy)
She is well composed, her a fringe a neat accent swept back from her face. Her hair dyed, but not a colour that has been ill-chosen. As if she has corrected nature to what it ought to have been. The varnish on her toenails draws your eye (she’s wearing leather strap sandals, centurion style) – and it seems to match the light peach of her dress, perhaps purposefully.
A tattoo down the edge of her right foot, cursive, though you can’t read the text. Her camera, carried like an infant around her neck, now rests calmly in her lap – an almost obscene protuberance, its lens shuttered. At times she bobs her tattooed foot in time to Bob Marley and the Wailers, echoing around the peaked church hall. The other foot rolls its toes, rested on the coarse carpet. You wonder if she would rather be moving – flitting in and out of the background of this panorama; an empty church hall at 11am on a grey Saturday morning, open and ready for members of the public to come and make us busy.
She does not gaze head on, meeting us, her witnesses – instead purposefully studies the opposite wall, dances her foot some more, something restless creeping. Occasionally raises the camera and photographs us back, aiming a shot at my foot, in battered Docs, legs crossed as hers are – a little vengeful teasing in the act.
Tereza 2 (by steve kenward)
A camera sits comfortably in Tereza’s lap, but I think it would feel heavy in mine. Tereza has alert eyes, darting around the room, commenting, in a way, on the ceiling, examining the light, scrutinising the composition of different scenes. I think sight is a good sense to explore this building with. I am overwhelmed by the smell of old wood – the ‘church smell’ as I know it. But Tereza is focussed on the images ready to be framed. From her Czech accent, I wonder if she doesn’t know this smell the same way as me.
She smiles easily when I look up to try and find details. This is useful for a photographer. She sits naturally, setting a standard for the others who will hopefully arrive and follow her. The shades of her hair, from chestnut to mahogany and golden strands illuminated in the light from the stained glass window, form an autumnal palette. The style is neat, but swift – well practised, but not overthought. A fringe sweeps from right to left, a small parting and a pony tail. There are enough loose strands to suggest confidence, not so many that would show disorder or disinterest.
Tereza’s right leg is folded precisely over the left, and they haven’t moved. But her foot taps along to the reggae playing in the background, swinging with the off-beat. She is committed to Mark’s questions, and out glances, but in tune with the building around us.
