Mirada fija, a fixed gaze. Straight down the barrel, daring the shutter to blink first.

We shot this on the sand with the city stacked up hazy behind her, that pale strip of beach going on forever. The wind would not quit, which I usually hate, except here it kept lifting her hair off to one side and doing half my job for me. One arm up over her head, the other hand on her hip, and that swimsuit cutting these bright stripes across all the soft light, hot pink and a band of green like somebody turned the saturation up just on her.

She has this jaw she sets when she’s done warming up, and the second I saw it I knew the easy frames were over and the good ones were starting. No smile. None coming. Just that flat, level stare that makes you feel like you’re the one being photographed.

I barely directed her. You don’t conduct weather. You just keep the lens clean and try to stay out of its way.