We're driving up into the Blue Mountains for the post-ceremony couple shoot, I'm on video, the photographer is in the passenger seat, and the couple is kind of young, unafraid, and drunk on happiness.
We park, we walk up to the top, we take a few shots with that gorgeous backdrop, and then the couple sees something. They see a group of teenagers sitting on the edge, dangling their feet over -- and they want to try it too.
We have a quick pow-wow. The photographer says to them, "I'm not asking you to do it, but I'll take a photo if you do."
Meanwhile, I say nothing. I just start to sweat.
In 1980, Marina Abramović performed "Rest Energy". Her partner Ulay held a bow, and Marina held the arrow -- pointed right at her heart. And then, for four minutes, they lean away from each other, perfectly posed, creating tension in the bowstring, one slip away from death.
A microphone recorded their heartbeats.
Decades later, we have Angela Nikolau, a stunning Russian model, wearing disguises and breaking into skyscrapers, in order to do handstands in a bikini on building cranes and on the edge of the roof. Angela's art is relatively repetitive (same concept, different bikini), and unashamedly commercial and promotional (she sells each photo for thousands as an NFT), but, hey, so is a Warhol soup can. It's still art. The images are intentional, beautiful, striking, and there's all sorts of interesting contrasts, like colour or shape contrasts, like individual vs massive city, or casualness vs seriousness, or joy and life vs death.
The proximity of death creates tension. You can't not feel it.
In the same way, if you've seen "Free Solo", about Alex Honnold climbing El Capitan ropeless, there's constant suspense -- even though you know he survived the ascent.
So, I knew it would be an amazing and probably once-in-a-lifetime moment.
The couple are keen. They remove their shoes, and sit a little away from the edge, then inch forward until their legs are dangling. In my mind, I think about the fragility of the rock, the smoothness of its surface, how slippery the material of her dress is, and how easy it would be for their outfits to get caught on the rock and for something to happen.
Onlookers near me exclaim, "That's so scary."
My hands are sweating and shaking now as well. The couple are up there, and I have to get something.
I stuff up the first attempt -- I miss the focus. I tell the couple, "Just a little bit longer."
The second time, I rush through the shot, and my brain is saying, "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up," but the focus is okay, and I know that what's in the camera is good enough.
I could go for a third take, slow it down, but at this point all I want to do is get them away from the edge, away from that gorgeous, beautiful abyss, away from dying on their wedding day for the sake of Instagram.
