LIke a continuously black & white film: from photographs after put in side leather album, at bride's white dress and counterpart groom's black, to all around, simple dresses belonging to little girls.
U ritrattor' è arrivat'...
A wedding day of farmers, yes, but wealthy ones, on the outskirts of the capital city a town in southern Italy at the end of the 1960s. The sky is in a good mood with its warm rays and an atmosphere of euphoria and apprehension spreads at the same time, while around the bride's house, the center of the day, people come and go. And the “capera” (hairdresser, hair stylist ante litteram) is late in arriving, but here she is, breathless, entering the bride's house. The women, above all, breathe a sigh of relief, also at the sight of the person who will take care of the entire wedding lunch (the chef, or a man of many talents): yes, there are no reception halls yet, and everything is done within the family, in the farmhouse, under white tents where a few more chairs and tables can be set up, en plein air.
And we, city dwellers (a sort of never-ending antagonism between urbs and pagus) in suits and ties, are welcomed with the festive cry “E' arrivato u ritrattor' ” (the portraitist has arrived), the guttural dialect for the so-called ceremonial portraitist, photographer in the broad sense. There are three of us: the boss of the photo lab, whom the bride and groom had approached a few days earlier, ‘directed’ by the matchmaker friend, obviously, of the aforementioned boss, who in due course will receive his ‘share’ as thanks for bringing another customer to ‘fleece’.
ContinueThe boss, with his ample waistline and Clark Gable-style moustache, slick and sly, now chats with one and then another of the bystanders, the bride's parents, to whom he solemnly (!) presents the bridal bouquet specially made by the florist that morning, whose shop is right next to the photo studio. It is a custom of our studio.
The camera bag belonging to the boss, who will be responsible for taking the most important shots, contains the legendary Rollei f 2.8, accompanied by two other f.3.5 versions, which serve as backups. There are also two flashes with round reflectors, made by Braun in black with white buttons on the battery (carried on the shoulder) for switching on, mains recharging, and halving the light output. All this is filled with 120 Agfapan 100 film rolls in their elegant semi-gloss silver box. These rolls of film will then be developed by yours truly with great responsibility and finally passed on to the Durst 659, the turret enlarger for 135 Leica format lenses and 80 mm for the Rollei format seipersei: we are not yet talking about the Hasselblad format, which is the preserve of certain studios in Milan.
Everything goes smoothly and predictably as I hand the Rolleis to the boss, already reloaded with the standard twelve shots. Leaving the parish church, the tension for us ceremonialists dissipates as a volley of confetti rains down like a shower of good wishes on the bride and groom, who shield themselves with their hands from the arrival of the auspicious rice but above all from the mixed confetti, veritable stray bullets...
It is time for the toast under the white marquee erected on shiny poles, there in the well-kept corner of the farm; tables of unique whiteness with tablecloths, plates, and glasses. And wine to make Bacchus jealous. Hours pass amid applause, good wishes to the newlyweds, and meat to devour. Finally, the newlyweds go around a basket and throw confetti wrapped in scalloped handkerchiefs as good luck charms for the guests. And to quiet the many children in short pants, the two newlyweds throw confetti into the air, which falls to the ground and is eagerly gathered up by little hands
Ps. The album usually featured cm 18 x 24 black and white photos, with smaller copies given as gifts to those attending the event. It was only later, in the early 1970s, that the first 13 x 18 color images opened the album: the exchange of rings and the exit from the church.
