Cross-cultural spectrum in the darkroom

Chen Mo squatted under a palm tree on Miami’s South Beach, sweat dripping from her forehead and rolling down her chin onto the camera strap. This was the third mechanical failure this month. She kicked the shells at her feet in annoyance, and the metal body flashed dazzling spots of light under the refraction of the sun.
 
“Do you need help?”
 
The hoarse female voice startled her and almost dropped the tripod. The woman walking in the backlight stepped on the fine sand, her tortoise-shell sunglasses covering half of her face, and her flaxen hair was blown into flowing waves by the sea breeze. Chen Mo noticed that the third button of her white linen shirt was not fastened, and the butterfly tattoo on her collarbone was looming with her breathing.
 
“My light meter… seems to be damp.” When Chen Mo raised the camera, he smelled the faint scent of tequila on the other person.
 
The woman took off her sunglasses, revealing her amber eyes: “Gabriela, Brazilian.” The silver bracelet on her wrist jingled as she reached out, “What are you shooting?”
 
“City series,” Chen Mo suddenly realized that there was sunscreen on his T-shirt, “I want to use film to record the changes in the levels of different skin colors under the sun.”
 
Gabriela leaned closer to the viewfinder, and her warm breath swept across her earlobe: “This angle will make the palm trees look like giraffes.” She pointed her fingertips at the edge of the lens, “Try to lower the elevation angle by ten degrees.”
 
When Chen Mo adjusted her posture, Gabriela had already taken off her linen trousers, revealing her long wheat-colored legs and walking towards the waves. The sunset stretched her shadow very long, outlining a smooth curve on the beach. Chen Mo pressed the shutter button for some reason, and the click of the film was drowned in the sound of the tide.
 
When the neon lights of the cafe first lit up, Gabriela handed over an iced mojito: “I noticed that you are using a Hasselblad medium format.” She twisted the straw with her fingertips, and the broken diamonds on her nails reflected tiny spots of light. “I saw the same model of camera in Sao Paulo last month.”
 
Chen Mo choked on the mint liquor: “That’s my father’s legacy.” She took out the worn camera bag from the canvas bag, “He always said that digital images will make humans lose their respect for light and shadow.”
 
Gabriela suddenly grabbed her wrist, and her nails gently scratched the calluses on her palm: “There is a private art exhibition tonight, and the curator is my ex-boyfriend.” When she pulled her hand back, a gold-stamped invitation slipped into the coffee stain, “Are you going?”
 
Chen Mo stared at the name on the invitation, his Adam’s apple rolled: “This is the preview of Jean-Paul Gautier’s new series…”
 
“He always said that my body is a breathing sculpture.” Gabriela suddenly leaned close to her ear, “But people who really understand art should be like you——” Her fingers brushed across Chen Mo’s sweaty neck, “Feel the weight of the light with your skin.”
 
When the rainstorm suddenly hit, they were setting up photography lights on the rooftop. Gabriella took off her soaked shirt, revealing a deep-V burgundy swimsuit, and raindrops slid down her cleavage, splashing tiny water on the tiles. Chen Mo’s camera was shaking, and the woman in the frame sometimes turned into a Greek statue, and sometimes turned into flowing lava.
 
“Zoom in a little closer.” Gabriella tiptoed to pull off the silk scarf, and her bronze skin flickered in the lightning, “Let the audience see the rainbow reflected by each water drop.”
 
When the last lightning illuminated the sky, Chen Mo finally pressed the shutter. The rain mixed with mascara flowed into the corners of his mouth, and the saltiness was mixed with the spiciness of tequila. Gabriella suddenly hugged her, her wet hair sticking to her hot forehead: “You know? Jean-Paul said my bone structure is a perfect golden ratio.” Her lips brushed Chen Mo’s earlobe, “But you made me realize that light is the sharpest chisel.”
 
At dawn, Chen Mo was developing film on the balcony of the hotel. In the last photo, Gabriella’s silhouette was split in half by lightning, the left half was shrouded in a halo, and the right half was hidden in the darkness. She took out the spare film and suddenly found Gabriella’s name printed on the box – international supermodel, emerging designer, Jean-Paul Gautier’s muse.
 
Time difference in development
Three months later, Chen Mo ran wildly on the platform of Paris North Station, and his camera bag hit his hips with a dull sound. She clutched her phone, and the screen flashed with a message from Gabriella three hours ago: “Bring your Hasselblad, tonight at nine o’clock, Eiffel Tower observation deck.”
 
When she panted and boarded the elevator, the steel forest outside the glass curtain wall was lighting up with star-like lights in the twilight. Gabriella leaned on the railing with her back to her, her Chanel haute couture dress outlined a thrilling curve, and the golden embroidery glowed like scales in the sunset.
 
“Thirty-seven minutes late.” When the woman turned around, the Tiffany diamond necklace around her neck reflected a cold light, “Jet lag is indeed the natural enemy of photographers.”
 
Chen Mo noticed that she had a faded red rope wrapped around her left wrist – it was the one she tore off on a rainy night in Miami. “How did you know I would come?” She raised the camera, and the lens captured the fine lines at the end of Gabriella’s eyes.
 
“Because…” Gabriella suddenly pulled off her dress straps, revealing the butterfly tattoo on her left chest, “It still smells like your film developer.”
 
When the shutter sound echoed on the metal viewing platform, Chen Mo finally saw the details of the tattoo: microfilm gears were embedded in the butterfly wings, and on the edge of the wings was a line of tiny English: “The moment of underexposure is the beginning of eternity.”
 
“Jean-Paul said this is the most expensive tattoo in art history.” Gabriella walked barefoot on the cold ground, “What he didn’t know is ——” Her fingers brushed across Chen Mo’s trembling lips, “True eternity is always in the darkroom developer.”
 
When the bells of Notre Dame rang for the ninth time, Chen Mo’s lens suddenly lost focus. Gabriella’s figure gradually became transparent in the twilight, leaving only the dress straps still wrapped around her wrist. She looked down, and the only thing left in the frame was the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower and the Kodak Gold 200 film wrapper slowly falling from the sky.