Just as a motorbike is sometimes a motorcycle or tunes are music, in shooting there are also moments, when shooting seems more like photographing. By this I mean moments that are bound not to occur again in the near future and thus mere words do not suffice. True, I am primarily a fashion and commercial photographer but I just could not say no to this photography boon.

It all started a few years ago somewhere on the island of Ibiza during a work conversation with the owner of the once very successful travel agency Václav Fischer; I ran across a photograph that no airline should lack—an airplane in the clouds, real ones, unretouched by computers. Such a photograph is as symbolic for an airline as a photograph of a shiny car standing on the edge of a cliff at sunset is for any car manufacturer. I had this realization immediately upon my return and I wasn’t sure which way to go. After many emails amongst FISCHER AIR, Aero Vodochody, various air authorities and Mr. Fischer, the whole production was ready to start less than a month after the idea was born. But let’s get back to the beginning.

Before I start though, I will answer one question in advance. Many people have asked why we didn’t hire a specialist photographer. Yes, we could have, there even is one such photographer here and perhaps he doesn’t like me now, but try to step into my shoes. Models, supermodels, topmodels or submodels, wouldn’t you feel like getting away for a while, especially into the clouds? As Fischer’s main photographer at the time, I decided that I would assign this task to myself and that I would prepare for it personally.

The first question was how, where, and from what vantage point can such a photograph be taken. My first idea, which involved a second Boeing, was very naïve. Not only for the difficulties with maneuvering such a huge aircraft, the price of fuel, and limited outward visibility, but mainly because a much more professional method existed, indeed more interesting for the photographer, though a little uncomfortable. This method is called an air fighter, or more precisely, an Albatros L 59 training air fighter. This proved the most ideal companion for this type of photography. Whereas negotiations took place between Fischer Air and Aero Vodochody–the company that offered the most professional solutions–I attended a special course to try to understand why it isn’t a good idea to fire off the cabin cover while in the air, or, for that matter, to look at anything, even dare to touch anything.

The training took place two weeks before the production itself, and essentially it was sufficient, unlike elementary school, for me to finally comprehend that what you learn at the bottom, you’ll appreciate knowing twice as much once in the air. But I could not have imagined that I would HAVE to look for anything. Just to illustrate, ejection takes four tenths of a second and the g-force that you experience is very similar to the pressure that Mr. Bean sometimes exerts on his face as well as the faces of many of his television viewers.

But let’s get back to the preparations. I don’t have to remind you that we still photographed on film back then; after all it’s only been ten years. The biggest problem was how to mount the second reserve camera body using a bracket made specifically for this occasion, one which I insisted on having on board. In the end, we found a spot in the dashboard, through which I partially saw the pilot, who was sitting in front of me in place of the test pilot. Yes, the danger the whole flight was that for my better outward view, the pilot was sitting in the front position, which is assigned to the test pilot during training. This implies that if I touched anything in the back, we would both laugh till we dropped; literally.

Two weeks before the actual date, all the conditions for the concerned parties, including rewards and insurance, were agreed upon. The length and direction of the route were devised and the essential permits from respective authorities were signed. The airplane was specially prepared for this occasion and could not carry even a single passenger on board apart from the pilots. In the cabin of our L 59 Albatros it was much easier. Other than the pilot, myself and my two cameras, there was only room for the flight schedule and a hundred grams of fear under the seat on each side. Our crew took off with a ten-minute head start exactly at 9:37 AM. After a few minutes, during which I half-fainted and woke up again in turns (even though I had spent hundreds of hours in the air in commercial planes), we came through the clouds, where we moved according to the instructions of the control tower and waited for it to connect us with the ‘bluebird’. The Fischer Air Boeing 737 took off from the old airport at Prague Ruzyně ten minutes after we had and due to its size, took it a little longer to climb up to our altitude. It eventually emerged on our left. Both planes were navigated from the control tower so that it would be possible to maneuver and change directions even in the air. Both pilots naturally communicated with each other and I was connected to the intercom, to hear instructions in case of any changes.

I think that at the moment I realized where I actually was began the most exciting shoot of my life. Only in the air did I realize the feeling of space around me. I felt as though in the largest studio in the world while giving instructions that I wanted the Boeing on the left, then on the right, downsun or upsun or from below. The cabin of the fighter jet enforced this even further, because I felt as if in an open space. It was a moment where it was possible to forget about the problems of the moment and take the most of the given situation.

At the beginning, I was faced with the problem of choosing suitable lenses to carry with me and which to leave on the ground. The possibilities allowed me two ‘bodies’ and two lenses. Due to security factors, changing lenses was almost impossible; this is why I even had to practice changing film on a flight simulator with straps. After tests at the airport I decided on AF Nikor 85 mm 1:1.8 and „D“ 28 – with 70 as the second choice. A relatively simple configuration, as many professionals may object, but there really was no space for a long lens and you know how sometimes less is more. Regarding films, dia material was supplied by KODAK with 100 SW and S Chrom films and a reserve negative by FUJI for professionals of the same sensitivity. I am not sure if today that this tells anyone anything but I had to state it. I wasn’t worried about the light. It was very constant and even though I had tried to measure it straight from the cabin with a light meter due to an excessive presence of glare, in the end I relied more on the built-in measure of Nikon F 90 (instead of the Nikon F5 that had stayed at home due to its weight; the measure of the 90 however proved excellent). I set the second body of Nikon F4 according to the measures of the 90. The hardest nut to crack turned out to be glares, despite the use of a polarization filter. I had anticipated this situation and in my jumpsuit pocket I had smuggled in a mini bounce, which I used as a light shield. I had about thirty minutes for all the ‘fun’ which, thanks to the patience of the crews, extended for a whole hour. I exposed about eight to ten cine-film rolls, which was an extreme number taking into account that the last time I had felt so ‘relaxed’ was while bungee jumping and on a rollercoaster. For today’s digital photographer, it probably would be woefully little material but that‘s how it was back then. The last shots from a ten-meter distance were, so to speak, in the pocket and so we could afford a greeting in the cabin.

The return to earth was in the name of attempting to win the courage badge. I survived the spiral one hundred meters above the airport head down and thanked everyone politely. I took the smiles of the technicians after landing due to my pale face as the cherry on the top. May I add one more note? It is sometimes said that pilots are bigheaded hot shots; I would like to state that they have a reason to be and once again I would like to kindly thank them. In my next life, I would like to be a pilot, or at least carry a helmet for one.

Adolf Zika

A question comes to mind: how many of us men, when we were still little boys, played Indians? We would be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t. Naturally, I played an Indian, too, and I have to admit that I always wanted to be the chief. That never changed, incidentally. I still have that today. At the time I would never have suspected that one day I would meet a real Native American in person and even become friends with a capital F.

The man of red skin is called Willford Pariete and he currently lives in New York. I met him when I first traveled to New York nearly thirteen years ago. For many years he has been friends with my „New York mom“ and for many years he has been her good, albeit very quiet companion. My memories of that time could be summarized in the following simple lines: Will, who sits in front of the television and doesn’t care which channel he’s watching. Will, who showers for two hours in the morning and evening because he considers a shower to be one of the greatest inventions of the age. Will, who never gets angry because there is no longer any reason, because no one can take from him more than what we, the white folk, have already taken from him. Will, who always wants seconds on his plate, regardless of what is being served. Will, who doesn’t know where the North, West, East and South are because he always knew where he went and thus never even needed them. Or Will, who gets absolutely lost with a road map because he does not even have the papers for that devil machine, and all he needs is to find his way in the subway. I could continue on and on!

Few of us could imagine a person who’s lived in the cheapest hotel – a booze joint in China Town – for no less than a quarter of a century (true, he has moved to Staten Island now, but he is no better off by any measure), he has barely ten dollars for a day, yet he is happy all the same. Happy because, after all that happened to Native Americans in the big land, he can at least live in that god-forsaken hotel or dorm. He really is content and takes life as it comes and goes every day. Both his parents were murdered by modern inhabitants and the last time he saw his two daughters was twenty years ago. They are more than thirty years old today! It is not easy to get close to such a person, but not as difficult as it is to photograph one. And unfortunately, that’s what I wanted to do.

It all started in 1997 when, before my departure, I gave him a gift—a T-shirt with Jimi Hendrix. It was not so much about the famous guitar player as about the gift itself. I meant it quite casually and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Will is not and has never been used to receiving gifts and it could be said that this bold act made him lose his straight face. He fell silent and did not say anything for a whole day! But the following day he swept me off my feet in return, when he gave me a coin he had received when leaving alcohol rehab as the only proof of shaking his alcohol addiction. The only gift that that this Indigenous American had received from the White Man. I didn’t expect that he would respond to my giving him the T-shirt with something as significant as this coin! It was probably the only valuable thing this ordinary Native American owned. I realized then that it was a real friendship between a white and a red man! I left, only to return half a year later.

This time I properly photographed Will for the first time and very closely. It was very strange and full of tension but one could tell that he wanted to give me his face as an expression of trust. It was then up to me not to take advantage of this trust. When I returned to Prague, I had the photographs developed and let them ripen for a few weeks. When I went back to them, I found out that there was something weird about them, it was that tension I mentioned. I had stage fright in front of him. But I really liked the images, and it greatly troubled me that I was not sure whether I could use them in my catalogue. In the end I did not use them. They simply didn’t have what I yearned for. For a long time nothing happened, I didn’t ask Will for anything but I secretly hoped that one day we would do it all over again. A year later I came back to New York and asked him again. After his traditional morning shower, I dragged him out to the backyard in front of the garage under sharp sunlight and started shooting. All of a sudden I felt that it was going well, that we were both relaxed and were creating something that could in the last phase show the whole Native American truth. Or more accurately the truth about Native Americans. I waited for this photograph for three whole years and it was worth it. Then I lost sight of Will.

I haven’t been to the US for a long time, so I missed him. After a very long time indeed I was able to see him through WEEK OF LIFE, where I finally saw him in the set of images of my NY mom, Olina. During my recent visit to New York we met again. It was a beautiful meeting and I think a little emotional as well. I will probably never shoot Will again, not that he wouldn’t be a suitable object, but because he already gave me the most he could and he couldn’t have given his portrait any more. Perhaps only his Native soul, but unlike ours, that one is not for sale.

Adolf Zika

It actually isn’t as much a story of a photograph as it is a story of an old and lonely woman and her small dog. The whole thing took place about ten years ago in one neighborhood in Southern Bohemia in the middle of blocks of panel houses.

In this ordinary and god-forsaken place, every afternoon small boys played football on the ground between the buildings. The ball was flew all over and bounced in all directions. But of all places, it flew the most into the window of an old woman, who had no one and was a good target for different pranks. And so every other day the same scene occurred, in which the boys begged the old lady for their ball that had dropped into her kitchen and broken dishes or sometimes the window. The lady didn’t want to give up the ball and sent her tiny barking dog Ben at them. It always involved a lot of shouts and tears. And so the lady began to be called Granny Ben.

No one was particularly fond of the lady because Benny got up every day around four o’clock in the morning and the old lady walked him around the whole closed block of homes. As soon as she opened the door at this early morning hour, the dog took a run and barked all over. The lady, still in her nightgown, screamed behind him in a high-pitched voice as loudly as she could: “Benny!!! You bastard, wait!!! Just wait, my darling, just wait till I catch you, I will kill yooou!” Neighbors leaned out of their windows, shouted at the poor old woman various unpublishable swear words and occasionally even threw something at her. And so it was repeated every other morning.

One afternoon, I think it was in the fall, this lady grabbed me under my arm, pressed me against her and said: “Young man, would you photograph me with my little darling? I will hang the photo above the cupboard in the kitchen, so that we wouldn’t be home so alone………”

Sure! Sure my dear, I will shoot such an old hag, who wakes me up every morning, never lets me have a good sleep, not even on Sundays. I will photograph a granny who takes away the football from small boys! And already I was looking for a suitable excuse to quickly and quietly get out of it, but her embrace was so tight that I couldn’t refuse.

“All right, just stand here perhaps, click, click ……….. well and it’s done!!! I will bring you the photo tomorrow.” I didn’t even wait for her to thank me or hug me tightly. The next day I approached the apartment on the first floor of the building, where the lady lived. I had the photograph, 40×50 cm, neatly hidden in a hard paper tube so that it couldn’t be seen at once and so that it would be more difficult to take it out. I rang the bell at the door. “Good morning, here…… here you have the photo….. as you wanted… so, have a nice day and good bye!” I didn’t wait for anything, took the stairs three at a time. Surely when madam sees herself, her embrace would be even firmer and maybe that wouldn’t even be the end of it. Out of breath, I stopped outside under her open windows and I waited to see what would happen. I have never before heard such long and cheerful heartfelt laughter that came and it was one of the greatest rewards I have ever received. Before I moved away from the neighborhood, the lady always nicely greeted me in a high voice across the whole street and once she even invited me to her home for coffee. To see Benny in the golden frame, she said.

Thanks to this photograph I sleep well in the morning. Thanks to this photograph I see the world of old people differently. Since that time I don’t mind dogs barking in the morning.

Incidentally, this photograph was chosen this December for an anthology of documentary photography and photojournalism, which will be published in the USA and which aims to show the ordinary face of this world. But that’s not as important.

Daniel Kaifer