Tag: artists at work

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Take My Picture, Kashi (Old Varanasi), Uttar Pradesh, India

These Eyes

The sun is high enough that it bores down hard through the thin but thick veneer of smoke and smog smothering Kashi, old Varanasi. In the midday heat, with camera in hand a bagful of lenses at the ready, I search for frames in a place of bounty so extreme as to be, in effect, daunting. It is impossible to exhaust the options, even without changing lenses.

“I would like you to take my picture.”

This is not the familiar request of one tourist asking another for a favour, as they offer their camera for a shot of themselves. Rather, it’s a local asking someone with a professional-looking camera to take their photograph. Record me. Eternalize me. Kids of all ages ask this of me often, especially in places that are populous and there are enough tourists about that the locals feel comfortable with them. That this question comes from an adult, especially one so beautiful, and with such arresting eyes, is rare. Rare, and disarming.

Nonetheless, I agree, then check the light and turn us around a bit so the sun falls on his features in just the right way. Two quick frames, nearly identical (I end up using the second), then I pull out a business card to offer while I thank him. He demurs about receiving a copy of the image file; the gesture is a gift to me. I thank him again. We small talk about our lives, the substance of which escapes me now, seven years later, not because his life is unremarkable but because my memory is. And then, we part.

I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to edit and post this portrait. Simple as it is in form, it’s really quite remarkable due to the light and its subject. There’s more than a little Mona Lisa subtle intensity in his expression, most notably the intimacy of his gaze. I’m not sure that fighting the light to put the ancient buildings of old Varanasi as his background would have improved the result.

I do nearly regret not taking more frames of him, asking him if he’d accompany me a bit as a model. However, setting up portraits and models isn’t a mode of photography I’m practiced or comfortable with. When it comes to people, I’m more of a street photography poacher, someone who lays in wait or sneaks up on his subjects. The intimacy of this moment is not something I’m comfortable asking for. I think that affects my ability to frame such interactions between photographer, lens and subject. The personal interaction distracts me from creating the frame.

<smile> And, yes, there’s no small metaphor in that.

I think this photograph works so well because I made minimal effort to pose it, thought simply and quickly about light and framing, and allowed the subject to make his own statement. It’s a simple intimacy expressed warmly and naturally on both sides of the glass. The result is among the best portraits I’ve ever taken.

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Three Mates and an Interloper, Mathura Junction in 1600th Time, Mathura Junction Railway Station, Uttar Pradesh, India

Three Mates and an Interloper

My train speeds through the station
Camera lens pressed to the window
Short staccato shutter bursts
Seeking moments and frames

In one second
Three frames
Find three mates
And an interloper

This image the best
From the middle frame
Captured in 1/16,000th of a second

Then… they’re gone forever

In that moment now the past
Scarce opportunity for impressions
Too little time, even
To register more than a glimpse
Of form and tone

Years later
I shape the RAW data into a photograph
Meanwhile my mind lingers
With a ridiculously brief moment
Captured by glass, sensor and silicon

Allow the words to come
That shape stories
From the raw material
Of images
Collected from
Stories I’ll never know

With my muse ephemera
I rewrite history
To serve the present
Then offer a gift
To eternity

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Dusty Tail and Pickup Truck, Empress, Alberta, Canada

On Dust and Pickup Trucks

Backlit in amber
She swishes her tail of dust
Rumbling over the gravel
On a line smoothed
By springs and shocks
Uneven earth pummeling tires
While stones scatter and ricochet
Off her steel undercarriage

But for the pickups and semis
This is a placid place
Where the wind is but a whisper
In the tall grass
Heard below the chatter
Of red wings and starlings

I stand to the windward side
When the pickup approaches
Share a raised hand and a nod with the driver
As is custom in lands where people are sparse
And even strangers receive the grace of acknowledgement 
Though he won’t slow his pace for the passing
Until he reaches the stop sign
Rolls through slowed and turns right
Signalless 

I watch the truck accelerate
Southbound on the pavement
The roar receding
Until it becomes a memory
Soon enough replaced
With whispers and bird song
While the wind-blown dust
Settles serene and surreal
Across the landscape
Lingers in the hollows of the road

That becomes a different photograph
And I’m not sure which I prefer
Though, all the ones I tried before the pickup
Which were spectacular in the light as I took them
I know now will seem, perhaps, a little mundane

As the shutter clicks
I offer a mental wave and nod
To the long passed pickup driver
Thanks for the scenes you set
Then offer another to serendipity

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Waterfall in the Mist, Western Brook Pond, Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland, Canada

grey ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #346

“Too bad about the weather,” she says

I’m framing a photograph
Camera in hand though not to eye, just yet

“Yesterday was perfect
Bright and sunny
Not a cloud in the sky”

I like today just fine, I tell her
As a frame begins to form in my mind’s eye

“But it’s so dismal and grey!”

Blue skies at noon
Are a bright, empty smile

She looks at me, head tilted
It’s a sky without character, mood
The light falls straight down, casts no shadows

Still the look
It’s dull

“You prefer dour to dull?”

I do
“Perhaps that says more about you.”

I smile, and nod
Half because, perhaps, she’s right
And half because I’ve found the frame

Camera to eye … click
I show her the screen

“Oh! That’s beautiful!”

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Waiting, Taken from a moving taxi, Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Waiting ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #330

In a moment of sizzle
Humming fan blades
And the thrum of traffic

She waited
For some tasty tidbit
I couldn’t make out from the taxi

She thought about yesterday
And tomorrow
Last week and next month

She thought about everything
But this moment
And the tasty thing sizzling

Or the next moment
When the tasty thing would mercilessly
Burn her tongue oh so deliciously

But…

Who’s to say any of this is true?
I was just a photographer living in the frame
Capturing serendipitous moments from a moving taxi

And now I’m just a poet
Listening to the words as they come
Trying to give them their moment

So all of it is fiction
Or maybe some of it is the truth
Though, hopefully

I’ve created something
Which at least
Speaks truly

Even if
It only speaks truly
About the act of creation

Or maybe, the story
Is just saying something truthful
About the creator