Sep 08, 2016 8:54 AM
The subconscious offers up great material in the guise of wish dreams. I stumbled onto the set of a show similar to the bachelorette. I was offered a fitting set of clothes, except my left shoe kept slipping off, exposing my heel. I went to the spa, I went through makeup, I visited dental and mani pedi and waited for a production assistant to out me and call security. I had plenty of opportunities to escape through a fire door and get off set, but I kept telling myself, "I'm collecting great swag. Postpone escape one more hour. Last another day". All the male contestants knew I hadn't gone through the excruciating, exact casting process. But they all came to me between shoots to talk about their attraction and even love for the bachelorette. I simply heard all twenty four men out, little knowing that every conversation on set of a reality television series has a camera watching, rolling tape. I found the bachelorette charming, stunning and hardly my type. I found the production assistants to be overworked, perfectly groomed, always off to the yoga studio when research didn't call, when the clipboard task list had been exhausted, every task checked. "I have to review one thousand product stills", Connie the lead PA said to anyone in earshot as she took her leave from the set. I found the grandmother of the bachelorette to be a great conversationalist, and she took to knocking on my on-set trailer door after the bachelorette had gone to sleep. She patiently waited as I fumbled for mood music on the iPhone 7 and chewed that miracle pill from the urologist and swallowed with Evian water, on an empty stomach. As we waited for the urologist's potion to take effect, I remembered to ask myself quietly, "Is every moment on a reality television show really filmed"? And the thought failed to impact performance because neither of us could see lenses nor film crew and could forget ourselves, abandon our cares in one another's arms.
— at Heritage Landing.
Photography of Sigmund Freud By Max Halberstadt