Child Photography

A man at a party was once introduced to me as a world-famous photographer. He was handsome, in his mid-forties, with long dark hair. Later in the evening, I was sitting with him beside a roaring fire. I asked if I could see some of his work. He shrugged his shoulders like he really couldn’t be bothered, but then reached behind him and pulled out a giant black binder, handing it to me. I opened it and found giant glossy photos of a young girl, who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve, sleeping half-naked on a bunk bed. The covers had been pulled off and she wore only a pair of panties. In another picture, the girl had rolled over, and her panties had been pulled down. Another picture was a close up shot, with a flash, of her genitals. I snapped the album shut. The artist was smoking a cigarette now, his eyes fixed to mine. – This is child pornography, I said. – Yes, he said, nodding intently. That is one of the interpretations. Yes.