For as long as I can remember, my wife’s “What do you want to do this weekend?” has been a trigger as far as my habit to over think. While those words and that question are not and have never been intended to inflict any fear or pressure. I’ve often taken it a lot more seriously. As the years go by and we both get older. Our interests have narrowed considerably. My answers to “What do you want to do this weekend have narrowed down to coffee, photography, and record shopping. Bacon often finds its way into the conversation, but that’s just me being patriotic.
This weekend, for the first time in more than ten years. I took a trip to Richmond to attend a long-time friends inclusion in an intimate record show. Aside from seeing this beautiful friend, getting the stuffing hugged out of me, and meeting her husband. I enjoyed nourishing food, walked the streets of a diverse city and took lots of pictures. On the right is the restaurant, delicatessen where we started our day.
Sunday afternoon, we took advantage of the days weather forecast to make a trip to National Harbor to do some sightseeing, shopping, and extended walking. Though it turned to be a lot colder than advertised. We wholeheartedly enjoyed our time there. As I took this picture of the ferris wheel. I was reminded of my fear of heights. My knees wobbling like a bowl of jello. Dizzied from the sight alone. Assuring myself, that someday, I will conquer my fears and face down that Moby Dick of amusement park rides. Until then.
‘I’ve been taking pictures for decades now, however, since the tragedy of 9/11. I’ve been questioned, detained, and told what I could not photograph countless times. Whether it be a police intervention, a property owner, or a security guard, I’ve gotten used to being told, “You can’t take pictures of this.” Or, “What are you doing here?” “What are you taking pictures of, or for?” And “How long do you plan on being here?” It’s something I’ve become used to and somewhat expected. That said, there are times when I ignore or straight-up challenge their demands. That’s why when, earlier this week, I was told by a security guard that I was forbidden to photograph a building on a public street. I chose to explain my rights instead of getting pissed and telling them to “fuck off!” I explained to them my rights and how their demands might be best served in North Korea or some other dictatorship. When I got home, I decided to go online to learn my rights as a photographer. Before my next outing, I plan on printing my rights in the likely chance I’m questioned, held, stopped, or informed about what I can and cannot document. As a fellow photographer, I recommend you do the same.
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