... Vegas is fading.
I read an interesting quote this morning on Blake Andrews' blog:
"I’m very sparing with photographing people. Once you insert a person into the work, he or she becomes the protagonist."
He saw me coming with my camera, but not before I clicked, and as I passed, he called out to me, "Hey, pedophile! Child molester!"
DW was incredulous. "What did you do?"
"I kept walking. He was drunk."
"You didn't say anything? I would have told him off."
"For a brief moment I wanted to turn around and clock him."
"No, no, no. Then you would have ended up in jail."
"Like I said, he was drunk. It wasn't worth it."
Just words. But still, when I went back o my room, I looked in the full length mirror. What was it that made me look like a perv? My hat? My paunch? My shoes? The whole package, including my camera?
More likely, a memory. Poor guy.
The world is a full-length mirror. Whether we like it or not. But what we do in front of that mirror is equally a reflection. Call it the pocket mirror, if you will, a compact we carry with us.
I've heard that if you ask a person if you can take their picture, more often than not they'll consent. I wonder what would have happened had I asked that fellow. But that's not my way. Maybe I should get over myself but I don't feel completely comfortable around people. If you've met me, you can tell. I'm a nice enough guy, but there are little hints. For the same reason, I shoot my street photos from the hip. Consequently, I have begun to rely on the artifice of Photoshop to tell a story, for better or worse, like the passing moment that it is.