A muse on her mentor Jun de Leon Uptown Downtown
July 7, 2002 | 12:00am
It is impossible to forget fashion photographer Jun de Leon once you have met him. It only takes a few seconds to realize that there is a strangely endearing madness and genius to the man.
As a 17-year-old, I was one of the 10 girls doing a Shoemart makeup ad. Naïve moi had no idea why everyone in the room was tense until the photographer entered the room. Like a painter in the midst of delirium, he would order each model about, curtly dismissing her after a few shots. Each girl was anxious to comply. Somehow I was neither intimidated nor uncertain about the man. I sat in front of the camera, listened to his instructions. The curtness in his voice was slowly replaced by quiet but keen encouragement. After a few minutes, he lifted his head from the viewfinder and said, "You stay."
In a way it can be said that professionally "I stayed" with the master photographer for many years as his muse. I was also his friend and eventually an apprentice. There were many inspirations in Jun’s life– Tina Maristela, Tweety de Leon during the glamorous ’80s; earlier on there were Ping Fideris and Franz Dionisio, among others. Jun lived for beauty, art and the privilege of capturing on film their je n’ais c’est quoi that a glance, a smirk, a smile or a glare would give him. To Jun, muses were not sexual objects but visions of a higher calling; they were "goddesses" who enhanced the genre of fashion photography.
For years I had heard horror stories about this enfant terrible: how he would scream at models who came unprepared, how he would enter the studio, look through the viewfinder and demand a pack-up if he did not like what he saw. There was even a time when, in a rage, he literally threw a well-known designer out the door. In the decades that I have known Jun, he has not once demonstrated any of these characteristics. Then again I would not have given him reason to.
Although modeling was not my bread and butter, once a modeling assignment was accepted, I would demand of myself the highest degree of professionalism–which Jun sensed. A week before a shoot, I would eat sensibly, have a facial, a manicure, prepare the proper shoes, stockings and arrive on time. We collaborated on what look to give each outfit presented. For what seemed ages, I had worked with the man and had given him neither reason to raise his voice nor to furrow his brows. The display of total professionalism would render the lion de-clawed; in its place his innate brilliance would emerge. Through the years, our collaboration would enable him to realize his vision on photographic paper and in turn, my own sense of artistry was nurtured.
Jun’s skill not only lies in his understanding of emotions, angles, the play of light and shade but mostly in his ability to motivate models to give their best. He fueled their motivation and guided them through the characters that they were to portray. June knew that I worked well with background music, that I could go from ingénue to sophisticate in half a minute given the proper cues. He knew I had a tendency to deliver images through rapid and fluid poses–that I rarely stood still and he adjusted accordingly by going on motor drive or giving me set-point cues. We would work for hours, concentrated on our craft and all the while he would coax, instruct, encourage–the same way he transformed every model into an astute actress. Fashion photography became no longer about money–it was about joining talents in creating art from both sides of the camera.
Unlike the relaxed poses seen in fashion glossies today, Jun would, during those days, demand that I contort my body in painful angles to achieve what was then considered the varied looks of glamour. "You want a good photo, you have to strain to achieve it," he would declare. "But they will come out great. Don’t worry!" Strangely enough, the photographs would have a very relaxed and languid end result.
Individualistic and idiosyncratic, Jun would oftentimes speak in a cryptic, almost Vreeland-like language. "Stare at the camera as though you have awakened from a dream and expect me to know what it is through your eyes!" he would instruct. And damn it! Odd as it may sound, I understood and complied. At that point in his artistic journey, I could predict his thoughts. We both knew when a shot would end up on the cover of a magazine immediately after the shutter had blinked.
Many years later, I took up formal lessons in photography, and was not surprised to learn I had already known much of what the lecturer would introduce.
The last time Jun shot my photograph was for a Bench jeans ad. I was three months pregnant with my first child. After two hours of work, I left his studio not knowing that it would be years till we would see each other again.
The auspicious reunion happened in the halls of Malacañang on a Palace visit. I was unexpectedly asked to art direct the newly-installed President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo on a photo feature. Jun had been commissioned to undertake the shoot.
Experiences brought about by time, a very happy marriage to former model and beauty queen Abbygale Arenas and the birth of son Irijah de Leon have mellowed and grounded the once angst-ridden Jun. Though he still engages in his artistic flights of fantasy and can still be annoyingly cryptic in answering simple questions, he has, using his exact words, "gone full circle" and is to a great extent– content.
As for myself, I shall always be grateful for having had the chance to discover and hone my own talents through Jun’s tutelage and encouragement. I had the privilege of seeing the world through his eyes and of riding the almost psychedelic-like roller coaster of his mind. He gave me access to discovering the endless possibilities of what could be achieved in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection. In so doing I had oddly discovered beauty and talent in myself–proof positive that it is impossible to work with a maverick for centuries and not have some of his endearing peculiarities rub off on you.
As a 17-year-old, I was one of the 10 girls doing a Shoemart makeup ad. Naïve moi had no idea why everyone in the room was tense until the photographer entered the room. Like a painter in the midst of delirium, he would order each model about, curtly dismissing her after a few shots. Each girl was anxious to comply. Somehow I was neither intimidated nor uncertain about the man. I sat in front of the camera, listened to his instructions. The curtness in his voice was slowly replaced by quiet but keen encouragement. After a few minutes, he lifted his head from the viewfinder and said, "You stay."
In a way it can be said that professionally "I stayed" with the master photographer for many years as his muse. I was also his friend and eventually an apprentice. There were many inspirations in Jun’s life– Tina Maristela, Tweety de Leon during the glamorous ’80s; earlier on there were Ping Fideris and Franz Dionisio, among others. Jun lived for beauty, art and the privilege of capturing on film their je n’ais c’est quoi that a glance, a smirk, a smile or a glare would give him. To Jun, muses were not sexual objects but visions of a higher calling; they were "goddesses" who enhanced the genre of fashion photography.
For years I had heard horror stories about this enfant terrible: how he would scream at models who came unprepared, how he would enter the studio, look through the viewfinder and demand a pack-up if he did not like what he saw. There was even a time when, in a rage, he literally threw a well-known designer out the door. In the decades that I have known Jun, he has not once demonstrated any of these characteristics. Then again I would not have given him reason to.
Although modeling was not my bread and butter, once a modeling assignment was accepted, I would demand of myself the highest degree of professionalism–which Jun sensed. A week before a shoot, I would eat sensibly, have a facial, a manicure, prepare the proper shoes, stockings and arrive on time. We collaborated on what look to give each outfit presented. For what seemed ages, I had worked with the man and had given him neither reason to raise his voice nor to furrow his brows. The display of total professionalism would render the lion de-clawed; in its place his innate brilliance would emerge. Through the years, our collaboration would enable him to realize his vision on photographic paper and in turn, my own sense of artistry was nurtured.
Jun’s skill not only lies in his understanding of emotions, angles, the play of light and shade but mostly in his ability to motivate models to give their best. He fueled their motivation and guided them through the characters that they were to portray. June knew that I worked well with background music, that I could go from ingénue to sophisticate in half a minute given the proper cues. He knew I had a tendency to deliver images through rapid and fluid poses–that I rarely stood still and he adjusted accordingly by going on motor drive or giving me set-point cues. We would work for hours, concentrated on our craft and all the while he would coax, instruct, encourage–the same way he transformed every model into an astute actress. Fashion photography became no longer about money–it was about joining talents in creating art from both sides of the camera.
Unlike the relaxed poses seen in fashion glossies today, Jun would, during those days, demand that I contort my body in painful angles to achieve what was then considered the varied looks of glamour. "You want a good photo, you have to strain to achieve it," he would declare. "But they will come out great. Don’t worry!" Strangely enough, the photographs would have a very relaxed and languid end result.
Individualistic and idiosyncratic, Jun would oftentimes speak in a cryptic, almost Vreeland-like language. "Stare at the camera as though you have awakened from a dream and expect me to know what it is through your eyes!" he would instruct. And damn it! Odd as it may sound, I understood and complied. At that point in his artistic journey, I could predict his thoughts. We both knew when a shot would end up on the cover of a magazine immediately after the shutter had blinked.
Many years later, I took up formal lessons in photography, and was not surprised to learn I had already known much of what the lecturer would introduce.
The last time Jun shot my photograph was for a Bench jeans ad. I was three months pregnant with my first child. After two hours of work, I left his studio not knowing that it would be years till we would see each other again.
The auspicious reunion happened in the halls of Malacañang on a Palace visit. I was unexpectedly asked to art direct the newly-installed President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo on a photo feature. Jun had been commissioned to undertake the shoot.
Experiences brought about by time, a very happy marriage to former model and beauty queen Abbygale Arenas and the birth of son Irijah de Leon have mellowed and grounded the once angst-ridden Jun. Though he still engages in his artistic flights of fantasy and can still be annoyingly cryptic in answering simple questions, he has, using his exact words, "gone full circle" and is to a great extent– content.
As for myself, I shall always be grateful for having had the chance to discover and hone my own talents through Jun’s tutelage and encouragement. I had the privilege of seeing the world through his eyes and of riding the almost psychedelic-like roller coaster of his mind. He gave me access to discovering the endless possibilities of what could be achieved in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection. In so doing I had oddly discovered beauty and talent in myself–proof positive that it is impossible to work with a maverick for centuries and not have some of his endearing peculiarities rub off on you.
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