2005-05-06 - 9:47 p.m.
What I'm listening to: Samba Soul 70.
Man this cd really sucks. I'm glad it's burned, and I didn't burn away $20 on this shit that I could have blown on perfectly good pipe tobacco.
It's so....light and passionless...non-commital....if you were to ask the cd how it feels, it would probably answer an 'ohh, ok I guess' or perhaps a 'maybe' might surface somewhere. I think this digust may move me back into a blues phase, celebrating minimalism, lonliness, alienation, and no doubt rejoicing in a hotbed of moral depraivity. See Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson on this last point.
Went down probably every street in Mile End and Outremont this afternoon, and turned up one big goose egg. I'll have to wait this one out, or move to a less desireable part of town. We'll see, I'm not quite at the 'find something fast' stage just yet.
Sat down on the sidewalk at Esperanza, smoked, read the paper as well as cruised the apartment for rent sections. Was very relaxing, and actually laughed out loud once or twice. The mercury hit around 20 today, so it was a good time to be out and about, also lounging, smoking and drinking coffee that wasn't half bad (speaking of being descriptively non-commital...).
As I was updating myself on the recent British election, an Englishman walked by (not doing the Lambeth Walk, I might add), and asked if he could take my picture, smoking a pipe, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee at a sidewalk table. I replied in the negative, and he replied that he is not represented by a stock agency (the pimps of the commerical photo world) and is just a street photographer. I told him that I am a photographer as well, and that's why I got on the other side of the lens, thanks for asking me though. We exchanged cordial smiles, and each went about our affairs.
After a couple of silent, solitary puffs, he reminded me of what I was like about 10 years ago. Taking random pictures of strangers on the streets of Montreal, just to practice my craft. At the time, I had no idea that it was possible for such photographs to circulate in uncontrolable areas, fall into various devious hands, etc. Ahh, to be 17, excited to have one's point of view mediated by this massive honk of the best Japanese glass, and being unquestionably naive about images and their manipulation beyond occaisional dodging and burning in the darkroom.
After refusing to have my picture taken, I thought that my refusal may have been harsh, and inconsiderate, considering that I am part of the same guild, or was at one point in my career. But, I think deep down I have to justify my decision to pursue higher education, and somehow convince myself that I am more 'aware', or rather not assume that the images this street photog would have taken, would only be for his personal use and taken in order to improve his craft. Have I become so cynical, that rarely a stranger can be trusted? Could he have framed the photograph at a later date, such that, it may have looked like I was burning in my pipe the map to find these supposed weapons of ass destruction, so much talked about?
But seriously, I never take pictures of strangers anymore. I find them redundant. The act of photographing assumes a relationship, no doubt technologically mediated, between photographer and subject. So the narrative to me is more interesting when I have some sort of personal connection to the subject. And this content is reflected in the form, because the personal relationship, as seen through the camera, will spark chemistry between the photographer and subject. The subject will be seen, and see into the camera, a specific spark, temporally and spatially specific to that relationship. Strangers can't acheive that type of experiential presence, when they take a photograph of somebody that they don't know. Only personal connections can initiate attractive exhibitions in front of the camera.
Taking a picture of even somebody famous is pointless. Somewhere in my archive I have pictures of when the Montreal Canadiens moved from the Forum to their present home (can't remember the name, Molson Centre I think). I've got pictures of a host of hockey stars, who I did admire when I followed hockey religiously. Most of them have passed away by now, one notable named Maurice "Rocket" Richard.
But then again, I guess the marvel of image plurality lies in the fact that so many photographers will have different approaches to their craft, thus initiating, maintaining, and perpetuating various dialects within the photographic languages.
But hey, I'm not interested in participating in this street photographer's dialogue. Looks like he'll have to shoot the shit with some other subject.
