A Would-Be Photographer's Reservation

I haven't quite figured out how to cross a certain line. There's a certain kind of photography I'd like to get into, but I'm a little sheepish to take the steps required to get into it. It could be considered a bit invasive of people's privacy, but if they give their consent, then what's the big deal? I mean, I want a more intimate view of the people who draw my attention, and that kind of photography is really attractive to me. Sure, people may feel a bit exposed, but wouldn't we all be helped by being a little more open to each other? A little more free? Looking at each other a little closer and taking in the beauty we each have to offer?

OK, before you get too carried away in your imagination with what "kind" of photography I'm talking about, I'll fill you in: random shots of strangers on the street or in the park. No, more than random shots. Portraits of their personality and daily goings on after I've observed them from a distance and seen something I think worthy of noting in a sensitively captured image.

I'm also not talking about gritty urban photography: gangsters' tattoos and guns to remind the public of youth gone awry without direction, homeless people with toothless smiles to remind everyone of people in need and inciting a bit of guilt for not giving enough, or children in orphanages with a subtle subtext of "this is where thousands of children will remain if you refuse to allow non-ideal families to adopt". I'm not, as of yet, particularly interested in some grandiose political activist facade or justifying my fascination of strangers with some social cause. I just see beauty, inspiration, quirkiness, or unique lifestyles in passersby and would like to capture that sometimes.

Example 1: While taking photos of the Cathedral of the Madeleine in Salt Lake, I walked by an elderly man with grey hair with a bag of bread crumbs outside a community building of some sort, sitting cross-legged in the grass and feeding a whole party of pigeons. Judging from their comfort with him and his peacefully "at home" demeanor, I guessed this might be a regular ritual for him, and I wondered what his story was. I wanted to ask him if he did this regularly, if he lived in the area, whether he had a home and family, how long he'd been doing it, and whether he'd mind if I snapped some photos and brought him a print or two of the results some subsequent week. I felt weird asking. I walked on, looking back several times at the image I could have captured of this man connecting with his pigeon friends.

Example 2: That same day, while taking pictures of the Salt Lake City and County Building, a young woman who appeared to be of mixed ethnicity stopped me and asked if I could spare some change. I declined. My pockets were, in fact, empty, which always assuages the slight tinge of guilt I feel from keeping my money for causes I know more about and people I care more personally about, a guilt which comes even when I'm in debt, myself. That may be partially because I'll spend money on a nice meal even when I can't afford it then withhold money from someone who may not be able to afford any meal at all, and despite the possibility that they would potentially just spend it on drugs or other addictions. I always think, "I should just offer to bring them back a meal," but that gets quelled by thoughts such as, "They certainly don't look like they're wasting away," or, "They may just be insulted, like a couple of them were in Montreal, that I don't trust them or that I think I know what they need. Better to just say no or give them some spare change." So I actually ended up talking to her for a few minutes. She had come to Utah from California with her mother and had been here for a couple of months, if I remember right. I wondered why her mother didn't support her, but I didn't ask. I wondered what the rest of her story was or if she was telling the truth, but I didn't ask to find out. I just had a pleasant chat and went on my way. I wanted to take a picture of her sitting at the public picnic table with a man sleeping under a tree in the background, but I felt awkward asking her. I didn't want her to think I saw her as some sort of fascinating zoo creature or something.

Example 3: On the way from Tooele to Provo, I passed a house with a corral and what looked like a small rodeo or rodeo training going on with a small audience. Real cowboys and cowgirls...cowpeople? I wanted to pull off the highway, head up their driveway and ask if I could get some shots of them roping calves and riding their horses there among the mountains west of Utah Valley. I might have done it this time, but unfortunately, I had to meet someone, and I didn't have time. I thought I might have actually done it, but time was against me. Maybe next time.

Example 4: In Moscow, the University of Idaho was just getting back in session, the weather was beautiful, the sun was out, and people were feeling all kinds of energy. A lot of that energy was expressed in outdoor activities: walking, jogging, sand volleyball, tennis, football, disc golf, sunning themselves outside their sororities, and even a couple of guys engaging in outdoor wrestling practice. At least, I assume that's what it was. I mean, Moscow's a relatively "open" community and all, but I assumed, given the public location right in front of the Rec Center and despite the fact that they weren't wearing uniforms but just shorts, that they were practicing wrestling moves. But I thought, "I could get some really comical pictures out of this". I wanted to stop and get some shots of a fun-looking sand volleyball game, or couples jogging down a creekside trail. Or a girl talking on her cell phone who gave me the most coquettish smile I've seen in a long time. But I took none of the above. Again, how awkward is that, some random dude going up to a group of college students with a camera and saying, "I don't know any of you, but y'all look picturesque. Can I snap some shots?" Creepy. I wanted a series of shots to capture this spirit of energy and health and enjoying the outdoors, but I didn't want anyone thinking I only wanted pictures of them because I was lusting after them or something, though believe me, some of the ones I wanted to photograph were, in fact, quite lustworthy. Ah, shoot. Now I was struggling with whether they really would make a good picture or I was just lusty. Dang it. Fine. No photos of healthy, active strangers.

Example 5: In Seattle, I was on my way to bide some time at Caffe Vita, and as I pulled over to get out of my car, a thin, neatly combed blond gentleman, probably in his fifties, came out of a door from a stairway to apartments with a red wagon, which he left in front of the steps to the door and went back in to emerge a moment later carrying a rather elderly-looking dog. He placed the dog very carefully, almost gingerly, into the wagon, where it laid almost gratefully. As he went back in one more time, the lame dog in the wagon caught sight of a stranger passing by and, almost like the old ladies at the nursing home whose eyes twinkle when a song from their youth comes on, and they simply have to muster all their strength to dance as much as they can in their wheelchairs, threw back its head feebly and started barking as dogs love to do. It didn't matter that it couldn't run or jump or go to the stranger; it seemed quite happy to just bark away and be a dog, in whatever way it could. The man re-emerged with another dog on a leash, and the three of them moseyed together up the hill away from me. I almost did it. I almost ran up to the man and expressed how much I'd enjoyed seeing him treat his dogs so lovingly and how great it was that he took the lame dog for walks, or wagon rides, and asked if I could take his picture. I stopped and turned around as I walked down the hill towards the cafe, wishing I knew how to approach him. I really, really wanted to capture that. I didn't. I felt presumptuous thinking I had any right, as a hobbyist photographer, to ask some stranger to take their picture.

That was when I decided I really needed to figure out how to start doing this. I decided every photographer begins as a hobbyist, and I needn't be a pro to ask. But how to approach people? Maybe it's as simple as just doing it. Just asking. I've always been shy that way. I contacted people on the street or the bus on my mission, though. I can do it now. But there's always the question: is it appropriate? I think most of the time, it's clear. No harm in asking an old man if I can photograph him with his pigeon friends and give him a copy. But it's trickier to ask a bunch of scantily clad college students if you can capture them smacking a volleyball mid-jump. Perhaps some things just aren't appropriate unless everyone knows each other or is there with the purpose of being photographed. :-)

For the obviously "OK" incidents, maybe I just have to challenge myself to set aside reservations the next time I really want to capture a moment in a stranger's life and...ask. One of these times, when it feels right, I'll just do it. Maybe I'll go back and see if the pigeon guy is there one of these Sundays...