I didn't have enough of Camille, I had to go down again, as if I was caressing her body, her entire body because there's no greater pleasure than the one that is shared. I understood that early on, when it was always give and take. Perhaps she felt the electronic touch of the lens, inches away from her body and yet intensely attached to it.

In my early work as a very young photographer at CBS in New York, I had the job to make publicity shots for their tv programming. I just had finished college and was giving my first tentative baby steps in the proffessional world. My heart was in the movies, but at this early stage I was happy to be a photographer. At the time there was a distance, a chiasm between my camera in the subject. I couldn't break that wide gap.

I went down on my knees again, passing Camille's belly down to her legs, enjoying the sight of the rags covering her while revealing her. I was adoring her, not just her body, but her presence in my life. I didn't know if she was going to be there for a day, a week, a month, a year... It didn't matter to me. What was important is that she was here and I was willing to make this moment last forever.

I was crouching, not kneeling, my knees never touched the floor. They never do, that's something I can never do. When I had Margot with the patibulum over her shoulders, back in NY, I asked her to go on her knees and move on, on her knees, from one end of the room to the other. The room had a carpet, so it wasn't so hard. But she refused. "Why don't you show me how first" she demanded. I couldn't. I could not ask her to do something that I could not do myself.

Before my careful study of Camille's body in pain, I made a mark on her forehead, a bloody cross. This was an element of the scene, when just before the girl is killed, the killer marks her with a cross cut into her forehead. She was wearing her mark during my lenghty exploration of her body.

Camille was anticipating the moment where I would end her ordeal. Perhaps she was getting impatient with her torturer. I thougth I could read her mind as she demanded I get it over with. But I wasn't ready. I was still testing her capacity, acessing her resistance. She didn't say anything, she didn't complain, she waited .. and suffered.

I stood for a moment in front of Camille, staring at her through the inquiring lens, reading in her expression what she was thinking, at least trying to read what she was thinking.

During my brief summer stint at CBS where I was involved in preparing the promo material for an Elvis concert that was taped in Las Vegas a few weeks before, I heard that The King had died. Stunned, I looked at the promo I was doing and for some odd reason, I had chosen "My Way" as the song for the promo... soon after that my son was born and I went to work in an advertising company where I could finally break the gap between the camera and the subject. I started as an assistant, but soon I was taking pictures and getting close to the models. I began to learn how to explore their bodies, their faces, to capture the moment, the expression, that would become eternal.

I was doing that to Camille, I was in front of her, capturing that moment, that expression that in that instant was becoming eternal, like the face of the models that were selling clothes or the face of Elvis singing My Way for the very last time.