The problem with photographing anything back stage at the Hippodrome is the dancers.
Sometimes I’m struggling to find a subject, a composition, anything that captures the imagination. And then the dancers arrive in the corridor, and I no longer have a problem.
They always look fabulous, the costumes stunning. Even when they are lounging around waiting to go into the arena they manage to fall into elegant forms on the settees or chairs or simply as they stand talking to other dancers.
The men are different, when they relax something in the brain switches off and they slump. Is it the age-old artfulness of women? A predatory awareness of their power?
Whatever it is, for me, it’s fatal.