Giovanna Montalbetti and photographer Sherif Sonbol describe the fashion experience, from the often forgotten perspective of the photographer The Goethe Institute's elegantly worded invitation to attend its fashion workshop seemed an excellent opportunity to socialise. For the last five years assignments have meant working alone, moving silently from one venue to the next, as a lone wolf would. That's the way life is sometimes, it seems. Certainly, fellow writers and journalists provide good company, and work in the field means it's likely one will meet interesting people quite often, but every now and then you just miss your own kind. As such, the Goethe Institute's invitation seemed to be just what was needed: an excuse to dive back into an atmosphere dominated by photographers. Even wolves move in packs, after all. It is a curious life, that of the photographer. As a photographer, you look at the world through your lens. You cut yourself off from the environment, for you dissect and analyse it according to light, sharpness or composition. Usually photographers at work don't socialise much with those around them, unless it is to issue some order: "Don't move! Look up! Remove that chair -- it is interfering with my picture!" You are caught in the intensity of your shot, and for an outsider, it may seem as though you are trapped inside a world of clicks and flashes. So why would you ever miss your fellow photographers, if you are so accustomed to isolation? Well, when young people go to mega-concerts, it is often because they just need to feel the energy of those who share their passion. Even if you remain focussed on your own little world, you do need to know that, if you reach out, you will find others that understand and feel the same way you do. You may reach out just for a fraction of a second, but sometimes that is all it takes to feel you belong. So it was that the decision was made to go along and meet the others. Not long ago, fashion photography was reserved for established professionals alone. The digital revolution has changed this: photographers of all categories and ages, of all walks of life, levels of technique and equipment, are equally capable of shooting and getting their work published. One of my colleagues was even sitting beneath the catwalk, apparently untroubled by whether the models' feet would appear in his pictures or not. Such a choice would have been unthinkable a few years back. But apparently there are new angles, just like there are new magazines. I couldn't help but smile at the irony of this new shooting trend. After all, we were in a fashion show, and fashion is ephemeral. Maybe these shooting styles are too. Not long ago, light was the main topic of discussion among photographers. Also, we used to avidly exchange tips on how to get rid of orange cast on our pictures. Nowadays, there are different concerns, "How many megapixels does your camera have?" Some new professionals make a common layman's mistake. They proudly sustain their cameras produce 20 megapixel-shots, when in reality it is their camera sensors that consist of 20 megapixels. But who cares? This is just technical jargon. Modern magazines and newspapers might publish models without feet. Times have definitively changed. Art has become industry, and Photoshop is a lifesaver for many. No one can deny technology allows almost anyone to take cool shots, but a cool shot is not necessarily a good photograph. And the old-school photographer in me wonders whether coolness will condemn real photography to oblivion. Still, the belief that one should try to master all sides of a craft persists. Could it be that such ideas are simply out of date? Ten years ago Reuters' Mona Sharaf was known as our only professional female photographer in Egypt. Today, scores of girls and boys swarm around everywhere, shooting, some with professional cameras, and others with mobile phones. It is interesting to see what strange angles they use. What we are witnessing is creativity without limits. Young photographers work with such close close-ups that it no doubt becomes difficult to make out the style of a given piece of clothing, or even to figure out whether it is a dress or a blouse. On the other hand, such techniques render gripping sights for sure. Some photographers insist on jumping on the catwalk in order to get a bird's eye view of the attending crowd, while others shoot each other. Nobody keeps to his place in the centre. I feel the show is not only on the catwalk but all around me. The whole room bursts with life and movement, even before the fashion show begins. Just a few more minutes to go before the first models step on the catwalk. Suddenly video cameras and tripods surround me, invading the territory, simply trying to remove this lone photographer, who nevertheless holds tight to his position. "He is just a photographer," someone says. Some things never change, though. As the show begins, photographers start getting in each others' way. Despite this I hold tight to my original position in the middle -- for I haven't moved one inch -- and it turns out that I am blocking everyone else. So the old teachings were right after all, and the spot at the centre is still a good one! Everyone pulls, fights, screams and pushes. Arms are stretched out in front of other colleagues' lenses. Since I am not yielding my vantage point, someone tries to shoot from under my arm. Without a second thought he lifts my elbow, regardless of the fact that I am trying to take a photograph too. Was this what I missed: the harshness, the feral competition? Could it be that, in the midst of this crowd, a feeling of solitude is taking hold of me? "Ah! Don't push!" screams a young woman photographer, outraged by the inconsideration and barely able to withstand the heat. Heads turn to look at her. Everyone else's eyes give away the sense that she has expressed just what everyone else felt like voicing, but hadn't. We understand exactly how she feels. The only reason for our silence is that we have come to accept this as one of the darker sides to our profession. Meanwhile, above us models walk rhythmically, taking no notice of what goes on beneath. They have their own stories, so they leave us to struggle below. We keep shooting, we keep getting in the middle of each others' field of vision, we all act deaf and numb to each others' complaints and to their physical resistance to be moved from their spots. Even the outraged woman has resumed her routine. I smile. I see I am not alone after all.
