I Photographed Hillary Clinton (And It Was Awful)

Source: I Photographed Hillary Clinton (And It Was Awful), Fred and Harry Borden, 6:41, uploaded 2024-04-15, playlist index 401.

Harry Borden’s account begins with a text message to Michelle, the publicist who has arranged a portrait of Hillary Clinton. He needs to start taking pictures. She does not reply. He sends another message and suspects that the shoot will never happen.

A cancelled shoot and two long waits

Borden had arranged to photograph Clinton in 2018. He is glad that he brought an automated digital camera because a cancelled shoot can leave a photographer with nothing. A little notice would help, although he accepts that plans change and that a photographer has to adjust.

He has waited for famous subjects before. In Rye, East Sussex, he sat in his car outside Spike Milligan’s house, hoping to make a portrait. A ghostly figure appeared at a window, then vanished without giving him a picture. A similar wait outside Sadie Frost’s home in Primrose Hill also failed. The Clinton day becomes the worst version of the same problem.

The frustration carries a larger judgement about status. Borden sees some famous people treating the people who work below them as disposable. A portrait of Clinton could give his work a wider audience, which is part of the attraction of photographing someone so well known. The picture might be seen, discussed, and folded into the public conversation. That reach is what a photographer wants from a commission of this kind.

Swansea University and the day that never started

The shoot takes place at Swansea University. Borden arrives with his assistant and plans to give Clinton a copy of Survivor, his first book, which contains portraits of Holocaust survivors. He hopes the gift will curry favour, distinguish him from the many photographers who have photographed Clinton, and show that he is a serious portraitist.

The publicist leads the crew from room to room in search of a suitable location. Borden describes her as out of her depth. The day then fills with delay. Borden describes Clinton as intent on displaying her importance whilst she shakes hands with dignitaries, speaks to admiring children, and gives speeches marked by her defeat by Donald Trump. People around her keep praising her, whilst a mirrored security detail stays close for the whole day. Borden waits for roughly eight hours.

At about 6:30 p.m., the writer Decca Aitkenhead is called in for an interview. Aitkenhead remains inside for around half an hour. The light outside is good and fading, so Borden texts Michelle again. The silence confirms his suspicion that the portrait has vanished from the schedule.

Fifteen seconds in a makeshift studio

Borden walks towards the interview room and passes the security staff. Clinton and her entourage emerge and begin to leave. Aitkenhead follows them, explaining that the photographs still have to happen. Borden says he takes Clinton by the shoulder and moves her into his makeshift studio. His account treats the gesture as an ugly response to being left behind after a full day of waiting.

Once Clinton stands in front of his camera, Borden works quickly. He releases the shutter continuously and gets about fifteen seconds with her. Her staff then criticise him and treat him like a street paparazzo. Borden sees the distinction as important. He arrived as a portrait photographer for a session included in the day’s schedule, and the pictures exist because he forced the scheduled moment into existence.

His anger turns towards the publicist. Borden believes she presented herself to The Guardian as someone who could secure both an interview and photographs without having the authority to deliver either. He describes her promises as commitments she could not keep. On the journey home, he stops outside an off-licence, buys a packet of light cigarettes despite having quit years earlier, and smokes two in the street. Once he calms down, the result seems bearable: he has pictures, and he has a story.

The photographer’s practical lesson

Borden compares the failure with an earlier incident involving the writer David Icke. A writer can damage a photographer’s access to a subject, he says, because the two people are meant to work as a team. He dedicates the video to Aitkenhead, who recognised that the treatment of the photographer was unreasonable. In his telling, she was the only person besides Borden and his assistant who acknowledged the lost day and the broken understanding.

The working lesson comes from the same failure. A commissioned portrait session should begin when the photographer arrives. Borden advises taking reportage pictures during the waiting and preparation, even when most of those frames will be rubbish. A shoot can change without warning, so the photographer should leave with something before the formal portrait has a chance to disappear.

Limits

The video is a first-person recollection of one day. It gives Borden’s account of the schedule, the publicist’s authority, the staff’s behaviour, and the brief portrait session. The source provides no independent account from Clinton’s team, Aitkenhead, or the organisers at Swansea University, so those judgements remain attributed to Borden.

The English captions are automatic and misrender several proper names. The account names the writer as Decca Aitkenhead, although the captions vary in their spelling, and it refers to a cigarette brand that the captions do not render clearly. The note keeps the narrative details that remain clear whilst avoiding a stronger claim about the disputed arrangements than the source supports.

Further reading / references

• Harry Borden’s website, linked in the video description.
• Harry Borden on Instagram, linked in the video description.