“You’re the photographer? This is your show then. Oh, it’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, sir, I’m a big fan.”

“The pleasure is all mine. And please, do call me Dorian, there is no need for such formalities, not in this fast and digital age.”

“Wow, you talk like someone from another time, I really like that. I bet you’re an old soul by nature. I mean, if I may be so bold and judge you by your work. Sorry, I’m rambling, but I really am a fan.”

“I’m flattered. Are you merely a fan of my humble self, or of photography in general?”

“Oh, I’m taking a course in photography, yeah. We had to do a seminar paper, too. You know, pick a photographer, write about the prominent subjects in their art, debate what makes them unique, and so on. I picked you!”

“Intriguing. What did you write about me? I’m genuinely curious.”

“Oh, wow, I can’t….I mean, it’s awkward to discuss you like this in your presence, I just, well…. Okay, so, I focused on how you only do portraits, of young people posing in this one room filled with paintings, mostly pantings in the style of the Pre-Raphaelites. The paintings are always the same, but the models change, as do the wilted flowers in the vase on the coffee table. But all of it was conjecture on my part, really, because I couldn’t find a thing about you on the internet, not even one single picture, just your website with the photos and the information on how to buy them.”

“Yes, I prefer to remain anonymous. Mystery sells better, don’t you think think? Hmmm, but do tell me about your conjectures. Don’t be shy.”

“Heh, ah, well, my idea was that maybe you’re not so much a fan of youth and beauty, as you are, maybe, of the idea that beauty transcends time, that it’s made immortal through art, because of the modern models set against the background of old pictures and the dead beauty of wilted flowers, representing old age. But your last collection confused me because your models are all old and the flowers fresh, a total change after years of constantcy, and I … Oh, I’m sorry, I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?”

“Not at all. I’m impressed. Not bad… for a conjecture.”

“Oh, you’re such a tease, haha. I’ll never know if I was right, will I?”

“We may discuss it over dinner after the show.”

“I…I’d love that. I’m Anne, by the way. W-will you allow me to take a picture of you after the show?”

“I have to decline your kind offer, Anne. I’m afraid I enjoy the process of doing photography, but not the reverse. I had my image captured once, and that seemed quite enough for a life time.”

To be different. To be powerful. Is that not a divine gift?