So I was busy photographing the Boston Public Library and this man goes by and says, "Hey, want my picture? I have a Beautiful smile!" I sort of ignored him, the way you do when you don't want to be bothered. But he repeated it with such eagerness and he was right there. I didn’t even have to displace myself. I turned toward him, aimed the camera and he flashed me his beautiful smile. In an instant it was over. I laughed and told him that he really did have a beautiful smile. And he was pleased that I had captured it. And he does, in all of his toothless brilliance, have a wonderful smile! He offered his toothless self up to me with complete abandon, no pretense, no egotism. And whenever I look at this picture of this man whom I will never know, I smile. He has come to epitomize for me the pure joy of life and the simple generosity that humanity is capable of achieving in even the smallest of gestures.
I rarely take photos of people. My sister is the portrait person. I prefer landscapes and such, as you can tell. Everyone has her preference. Some painters eschew small canvases for really big ones; sculptors prefer animals to people; actors prefer playing villains to heroes.
It takes a special type of courage to photograph people. When I do it, I try not to be noticed. I'm the type who will hide the camera discreetly under my coat and try to get a shot, or pretend to be focusing on something nearby and then fake left when they aren’t looking. Ask me to present something to a group of people, and I don’t flinch. But ask me take a picture of that couple sitting at the cafe, and I’ll go all shy and timid. That takes a technique that I have yet to learn. My sister, on the other hand, is another story. Give her a camera and she is emboldened to do just about anything.
For me, having a camera in my hand gives me a certain power. With it, I can invade your privacy. That couple in the cafe may be discussing something very serious, very personal, or they may be complete strangers engaged in the mating dance. The photographer frames the story and the people in it, becoming part of that intimacy. Who gives the photographer the right to do that? I am not sure I want that responsibility.
I live in tourism central and I hate it when I am walking by the bay and someone is pointing the camera lens my way. I have to resist the urge to run. I know that they may be shooting the big boat behind me or something, but years from now, I will still be in the video they show to their friends on a big screen TV. It bothers me. I reflexively do my best to get outside the frame as quickly as possible, even though I never voluntarily put myself there to begin with. This attitude, I realize, is a bit egotistical. Why should I think that I am so important to be noticed as anything other than part of the atmosphere? Ah, but I should be noticed as more than atmosphere!
Sometimes when I see random people in my shots, I wonder about them, where they live, what they do, if they are still alive, etc. Occasionally I think, "Dang it, there is that stupid fat dude right in the middle of my shot!" That man will forever be the "stupid fat dude" who ruined my shot. He will never be the "excessively large man who is the father of 3 strapping boys, and loving husband who gives to charity every year."
Yesterday, I went to an exhibit at my local museum. There was a photo there from Henri Cartier-Bresson. It was of chalk artists in Paris. They were on their hands and knees working with several people looking over their shoulders. It was a slice of life from 1950's Paris. It was an engaging photo and I found myself wondering about the people in it. I wondered if the over-bearing authorities would soon show up to tell these artists that they couldn't draw there or to ask them for their permits. I wondered what they drew after the photo was taken and how long it stayed on the sidewalk. I wondered if the artists shared their chalk and what the one woman would buy at the market after she left here. I wondered if the small boy would want to be a chalk artist too. I imagined him today, a grandfather living outside of Paris with his wife and planning their next vacation to Morocco. All of this made the photo great.
Take a look at some of these photos from Robert Doisneau . He is famous for caputring people kissing. But he had other fun things as well. One of my favorites in the "Sidelong Glance". Think of the story you can tell there! How did he ever manage such a shot? Many of his photos show a wonderful wit and the luck of having been in the right place at the right time.
For now, I will content myself with this, a gift to me from a stranger. Yes, he has a beautiful smile indeed!
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