David Perry:
Girls On the Road

PHOTOS | DAVID PERRY       WORDS & BACKSTAGE PHOTOS | ANDREW KAISER

I arrive at Seret Hot Rods and Customs on a blistering afternoon. The shop is stands on a largely deserted strip of pavement on the outskirts of Vallejo, California, a small sleepy town just outside of San Francisco. Rusted buckets of metal litter the curbs on either side of the street. A junkyard dog is barking in the distance. The only thing missing to complete the picture is a brush of tumbleweed rolling on by.

Grabbing my camera and notepad, I make my way through a chain-link fence to the dusty yellow building standing in a patch of gravel and dust. David Perry is waiting, a middle-aged guy in faded black clothes, the edges of an intricate tattoo sneaking out of the short sleeves of his shirt. He has sharp, intelligent features that break into a smile as he introduces me to Matt, the owner of Seret Hot Rods, his assistant, and make-up artist, Rebecca. Then of course there's Sasha, the model, all angles, curves and just a tad nervous before the shoot.

Rebecca gets to work on Sasha’s make-up. David and I chat while he sets up his studio gear. “Try not to show my fat ass,” he says when I take out my camera to get some shots of the set up process. This is David’s way - keep the shoot casual, don’t over analyze the whole thing. Follow your instincts and think with your gut.

In the centre of the garage among tools and odd bits of equipment is a gutted, rusty hot-rod built around the body of a 1927 Model T Ford complete with over-sized white-walled tires, two glaring front-mounted headlights, and an exposed engine with the words “Oldsmobile Rocket” stamped into the side. I hate to admit it, but I probably spent more time staring at the car then I did at anything else during the entire afternoon.

The shoot starts off simple enough. David instructs Sasha to do some basic poses against the car while he snaps away, getting a feel for what's working and what isn’t. It's not long before things get interesting.

“How about some sparks,” says David looking over at Matt.

Matt produces from his tool box a handheld grinder and thick leather gloves. He gives them to Saha and I watch faint lines crinkle her brow. She slips her delicate hands into the gloves and takes the grinder with a shrug. She's up for it.

Balancing on sky high heels, her white breasts gleaming like mountaintops in the glow, she starts milling the metal on the hot rod, sparks dancing over the leather gloves, the noise and motion sensual, stirring, erotic. David's down there on the floor, rolling about in the grease, firing away from all angles in search of the golden shot. A near naked girl working heavy metal. The sparks keep flying and I'm waiting for a starry sparkle of fire to take a bite out of her chest, but Sasha's a pro, she leans over her work and bears the pain as a sheen of sweat coats her ivory skin.

Matt lights a blow torch. Sasha shrugs, wipes a smear of oil across her brow and the metal on the old Model T glows white as she trains the tongue of intense heat on the aside panel. The garage is an oven. Beads of sweat snake down the girl's body. She asks for a towel but David Perry waves away the request. He likes her wet. It goes with the overall aesthetic. He's right, too. She knows that. Me and the assistants take turns going out for a breath of air, but Sasha keeps at her post, grinding and sweating. Something good is happening She can feel it. And she wants it as much as the photographer.

Over the course of several hours they explore every combination and every pose. She slips in and out of different panties and tops to find the best rockabilly mood. Every detail is scrutinized, every exposure checked and re-checked.

It's twilight outside and hot under the big lights inside. We roll in a another car, a big purple sedan with two-tone bucket seats and enough rear leg-room to remind you why drive-in movies swept across America. Sasha's happy to lay the power tools aside and stretches out on the front seat like a foundry worker after a day's toil. David continues to snap away like a man possessed.

It's a long and gruelling shoot. I'm beat and I haven't done anything. By the time we finish the sun has long fallen over the horizon making the studio lights oozing out of the garage look like a small circus oasis in the middle of a dust bowl. We're all tired and dusty. Sasha. She has that afterglow that comes from hard labour. It's time for a beer.

Special thanks to Seret Hot Rods and Customs: http://www.seretcustoms.com/