recently, quiet. then a gentle breeze, a wisp of hair, a wish, a weed. these small, almost unnoticed things brought me back. release.

looking deeper at something i would have passed. not really deeper, but just listening to the little voice in my head that says “stop.” then the rush and impulse to push the button.

need i say anything about my angel, talisman, tour guide, the man in the hat?

the odd look. are you looking at me? through me? do you see my disguise? i’m not really waiting for the bus. i’m waiting for you to give me that look, then, i’ll be on my way, but i think you know that already.

i know you don’t see me. i’ve picked you for some reason, beyond me. i pretend to be on the phone, just waiting for you to turn, to look back over your shoulder. why? i feel like there’s something there, a phantom. but you don’t, i wait longer, moving my lips, no words, no connection on the other end, i’m just willing you to turn. you do and i click, but so what?

layers upon layers. a life. mine. yours. ours. i’m hiding on the other side, you’ll never see me, but i’ll capture you, with your hair caught in the slight breeze.

i choose to see life without its color. but there are times like this when the photo gods scream at me, “look at how the color of the taxis match the color of the reflectors.” damn them!

nothing special, a quick walk, inspired by the sound of footsteps, great light, and my shadow. quick and abrupt, kinda like life.

i am awaking to the truth of how i post when i’m in creative crisis. how i feel the need to share when i need the most help. otherwise, when i’m in ‘that’ zone, i lack the need to share, just create. after creation i ride the wave of joy at having been ‘in the doing’ of things. anyone else feel that way? kind of noticing this pattern in my life.

now, i have ‘stuff’ to share. lots of stuff, a creative over-flow. but right now, i’m posting a quick hit. a little something i ‘felt’ walking to an assignment recently. tnxs for listening.

-r

I don’t know what this is, but I know I need it. I know it keeps me present, in the present moment. All I have is, now. This image-making, this creation, this photography, this is the record of my presence. The evidence of my existence. My little way to cheat time.

This is my way of staring at humanity. Being present and feeling. Walking. On city streets-inside the flow, the pulse of life. There is no mystery here, we are one, connected at any given corner.

-r

more images, here

The man in the hat shows up again and saves me.

Street photography can be a cruel lover. Hours of walking and hunting with no results can be tough. A few days ago, I was out, looking to the streets for a shot of photographic love, but she didn’t want to give it up. Then, the man in the hat came along and that’s all I needed.

He’s been with me since the first days of my street photography. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m following him through life or he’s following me. His appearance prompted me to look back at my work and remember just how many times he’s been there, saving my ass from never coming back to the streets. One bad day of street photography can keep me away for a long time. He showed up and I was able to go home with a smile on my face.

Recently I’ve been struggling with something I call the ‘photojournalist syndrome.’ It’s the creative feeling that one must be constantly producing photographs. That after the end of one year, you should have 20 or more images to put into your portfolio. More, more, more, seems to be the battle cry.

Everybody is so damn prolific nowadays. The constant stream of Flickr images coupled with the idea that you are what you share, I feel like it’s a bad thing to slow down and take your time. But in my heart I know the turtle wins.

I’d like to be happy with one good picture a year. That way, when I’m 95, I’ll have enough good images for a book and I can say, “I’m done.”

80 f’ing outrageous images by the time I’m 95. A new goal.

I think that’s the lesson I’m going to take from the man in the hat. I can hunt for a day, or a year, but as long as the man in the hat shows up once a year, I’ll be a happy street photographer.

-r

more images, here

there is something to be said about the ‘doing,’ not the beginning, where i am motivated by outside forces, with my need to be someone, to be noticed. and, not in the end, when i no longer have an appetite, but in the being-there and nowhere else, cutoff from perceived reality, in the doing, i am free.

More images, here

The hardest thing for me to figure out when I first started making photographs, was what ‘brush’ fit me best. The Leica? 35mm? 120? I’m always open to new brushes and have used many. I’m getting a little tired of constantly changing them. I want to go back to my Holga, that fit me best. But I am so used to the instant gratification of digital. Maybe it’s time to slow down. The recent words of Robert Frank come to mind:

He talked about ego, the marrow and the mistake of the artist.

“There are too many images,” he said. “Too many cameras now. We’re all being watched. It gets sillier and sillier. As if all action is meaningful. Nothing is really all that special. It’s just life. If all moments are recorded, then nothing is beautiful and maybe photography isn’t an art anymore. Maybe it never was.”

And maybe it is his fault. Who would believe that a hairy little man could take snapshots of nothing and make millions of dollars? Anyone can take a snapshot. So, maybe, anyone can be famous if he gets lucky once

I’m trying to find my way back to where I started. I lost myself along the way. So I picked up the camera again. I feel at home. I have an appetite again. I’ll see where this takes me.