Taking the lyrics from a song of an obscure 80s hardcore band. (One my friend and I discussed about in length just last night.) Much of my love of photography stems from shadows and small pockets of light. Long ago, when I had my work reviewed by a mentor. His question, “What did a shadow ever do to you?” helped me see the error of my ways. In a sense, his words awakened something in me that not only changed the way I lit portraits and studio work. It unlocked a curiosity and passion for finding pockets of light in the dark and creating drama and depth in photos. While it opens the door to possible failure and mixed results. It brings me a lot of satisfaction as a storyteller. A puzzled look and a longer, more in depth look into the photo and it’s part of the story. This image was taken without the aid of a flash, at a parking garage in Annapolis, Maryland over the weekend.
Granted, living in areas such as Hell’s Kitchen, Hoboken, and Seattle provided endless opportunities to find inspiration just outside my doorstep. Honest characters, both safe and dangerous. Many, eager to share their life, loss, and growth over a cup of coffee or a cigarette. (P.S. I don’t smoke and never have.) But you get the picture. Despite living blocks from hotels, a shopping center, a metro station and a busy blvd. The area seems to attract minimal foot traffic and little, to no personality one might find in a big city. Regardless of the captures. I’ve decided to take my camera elsewhere. A location, I hope will be both inspiring and reciprocal to my need to create. Below are the blurred results of what looks to be my last neighborhood photo outing. Since finding the blur and bokeh features in Lightroom. I’ve gone a little crazy. But, in the end. It’s been fun. It would seem, the more I learn about the basics of editing, The more fun I’m having.
The beautiful and kind woman pictured is not the subject I speak of in this post.
Recent adventures regarding YouTube videos featuring incidents of acts of kindness and their lasting results had me visiting long-buried memories that show some of the better moments of my life. Times when I chose or realized that, in the end, I was and wanted to be a good person. Someone who, despite a sketchy background and running with a questionable mix of delinquents. I had a solid moral compass. At the age of sixteen, in my junior year of high school. My mom and stepdad decided to pick up and move from our Jackson Heights, Queens Co-Op, to the suburbs of Wayne, NJ. More on that later. For now, I’ll skip to my senior year and meet a girl worth proving I wasn’t the average street kid.
While her name escapes me after forty-plus years, her short, curly blonde hair and the confident way she conducted herself still loom large. We met in a class where we often shared our opposite opinions on the world and its people. Somehow, despite being on opposite ends of just about every subject, our bitter relationship soon became a friendship. It was like a scene out of a John Hughes 80s teen movie.
As senior year evolved. She would go on to make the honor roll while I struggled with my grades and the strong possibility of having to repeat the year. Still, I looked forward to passing her in the hallways and exchanging a few words between classes. It never went much further than that. I worked at the mall while she was volunteering at the local hospital. I remember visiting her on occasion. Trips that always put me in a positive state of mind. Thinking back, I spent much of my spare time convincing her that I was a decent guy.
Then it happened. The perfect opportunity presented itself. Our town and the hospital where she volunteered were hosting the Special Olympics. I can’t recall exactly how I caught wind of it. It was likely posted on one of our high school message boards in search of volunteers with determination and an honest will to be a part of it. I convinced her to volunteer together. Her agreement ensured that she was finally going to see me in action. We both had a great time. Being involved and interacting with special needs kids felt good. Shaking hands with the governor and being thanked for our hard work and participation was pretty rewarding for a seventeen-year-old kid. Above all, though, was convincing an intelligent and pretty girl that her, from the other side of the tracks friend, had a kind and thoughtful spot. At the same time, I think I needed to prove something to myself. That I wanted and was already a good person who wanted to help others while leaving a positive footprint on the people I met and places I went. Senior year soon ended, and I left Wayne for my old neighborhood. I don’t recall ever speaking or writing to her after parting ways. Perhaps for the best. In the end. I was just happy for the short time as her friend, proving that despite being a street kid, I wasn’t bad by any means.
Travel is a key. to happiness and fulfillment for many, including myself. Having visited many cities and small towns in the United States and throughout Asia and Europe. I’ve been treated to so many opportunities to explore different cultures. Meet amazing people and eat fantastic food. From escargot in Paris. Scorpions in Tokyo. Alligator in New Orleans. Snake meat in Taos and more. A full belly makes any trip worth taking. I took this picture while heading to the southern tip of Virginia. The food was great and we met a lively couple with two adorable daughters. As experienced countless times. It not the destination, but the journey that matters.
Though it’s not always easy to get the right subject to sit in with you. Photographing people has, for me, always been the most rewarding aspect of photography. The eyes, expression, and peeling away the layers that allow the true soul of the person to appear. There’s honestly, nothing like it. While many of the people who I wanted to photograph weren’t confident or comfortable in their own skin. Others, flat out turned down my offer. “No. I hate being in front of a camera.” are words I’ve heard countless times. The hardest part for me was not taking their refusal personally. The times when the reaction was positive and the answer was “Yes”. Put me into this instant happy place.
When meeting the woman above. I was captivated by both her beauty and talent as a musician. It wasn’t long before I realized she was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met. The image above is from our third and final session. The final results were rewarding, as I convinced her to peel away some of her makeup and change into a fun and laid back tee shirt. One of the hardest things for me has always been telling people exactly what I want. My life as a photographer became a lot easier when I learned to better communicate with the people I photographed and express exactly how I envision them.
I had just taken a job with a new studio that was experimenting with adding short video interviews to the studio photography session. It was a brand new idea at the time, and the photographers were given a chance to improvise and scrip their own interview questions. My first customers were a young couple from Brooklyn who had this amazing chemistry together. I sped through the photo session, giving them a nice session of images to choose from. When it came to creating a video that would bring in some extra cash to the studio. I was in new territory. For Christ sake. Aside from the training. I had never held a video camera before. However, having seen the couples chemistry throughout the photo session. I was ready to give it a try. Besides, both of us were new to this. Finally, lights, camera, action and they’re introducing themselves. Who they are and where they came from. Then it happened. Boom. My first question. “What was it that made you fall in love with one another?” Click, click, boom. As the woman started her response. Tears began running down her cheek.I knew, then and there they I had not only made a sale, but I made a connection. One that taught me how to communicate with complete strangers in order to get them comfortable enough to not even notice the camera.
While photographing people has been my passion since day one. It wasn’t always easy. From my earliest days photographing friends and working for retail studios. To working with models and complete strangers That personal connection peels away the layers and depth of people’s personalities was one of the best feelings I could describe.. Forging a trust in a matter of minutes. One that allows you to peal away layers to show them in a way they may not have expected. I want to get back to that, while exploring the stories and experiences behind the session and image. As much as I’ve enjoyed and benefited from travel and landscape photography, I’ve dearly missed the challenge and rewards of portraiture and studio photography. What once looked like a closed chapter seems to be opening up again.
When I think of my childhood adventures, I try not to over-dramatize my experiences. Knowing full well how many people had similar and much, much worse upbringings. Mine, for the most part, were very different from my friends and the kids I grew up with. What seems unique is how colorful and detailed these experiences remain. It’s almost as if I cherry-picked to relay these stories somehow with the knowledge that, in many cases, I was too young to understand what was happening right before my eyes. I try to write with a split sense of vision. One as a young observer. Another as a knowing adult.
While many, I would say, recollections feed off of repetitious encounters with regular people in my life. It’s the memory of brief encounters that baffle me. One, in particular, stands out due to how detailed I can still recall the short yet memorable meeting. By the age of eight, my parents were divorced, and my Dad had left his job at the bus company to pursue other ventures. He was involved with several hustles, including running numbers, loansharking, and illegal casino games near the local bar. Nothing too shady, yet nothing you’d bring up at school when the kids were asked, “So tell the class what your Dad does for a living..” According to the divorce, my Dad had weekend custody, and the weekends always featured nights at the bar and collecting money from those who risked but, did not cover the spread.
When my grandmother wasn’t available to watch me, my Dad would bring me along to collect money from the many degenerate gamblers I got to know over the years. One in particular stood out, and here’s why. Imagine this muscular yet thin 6’4 Black Irishman (That’s what they called Irishmen with black hair and eyes at the time.) walking through the door with this dwarf-sized eight-year-old at his side. Imagine the mix of fear and folly. No matter the time, place, or situation. I always had that wide-eyed curiosity that amassed countless questions to fire at will throughout the night. Although we had visited many houses, apartments, and basements before. This guy’s scene was on another level. His loft apartment had several pinball machines and a giant waterbed with ceiling mirrors above it. (Now remember, I was only eight years old.) I couldn’t help but think, “Who the hell wants to look at themself when it’s time to sleep? The guy was greasy, fat, with black, wavy hair. (Former male porn star Ron Jeremy comes to mind.) Then came the big WTF? His fingernails were manicured to a standard size, with the noted exception his pinky, which was uncut and eccentrically long. At the time, I had very little knowledge of drug culture and ways to consume cocaine. It was weird and a bit scary. I remember wanting to get the hell out of there. How the experience and sacrifice might award me some Chinese food on the way home. I never returned to that place and don’t recall seeing that guy again. But the memories remain.
After gaining some lost sense of balance. I’ve decided that I want to start photographing people again. Not that I’m nessecarily interested in models, actors or musicians. Just the exercise of a good portrait. One that tells a story of delves deep into a persons personal story and personality. I miss that. I miss that sense of capturing a moment or a mood. In recent years I’ve gone from an extrovert to a wallflower, and I’m not sure I like it. So here goes. Maybe this week I’ll strike up a conversation with a stranger and propose a session. I used to be quite good at talking to strangers. Maybe I can still pull it off. If I do. You’ll be the first to know. Here’s to following your heart.
In recent weeks I’ve been asked several times, once by a complete stranger, what I loved most about photography, and what I most liked to shoot. In each instance, I went on a far out rant about my years of shooting, and other useless nonsense. that by all means, made me look as if I was nuts. Earlier this week, I had a chance to chat with one of them. During the exchange, I backtracked and brought up his question. Explaining my recent awkwardness and how I would have just responded with, “Everything.” Essentially because I love all aspects of the art. The colors, shapes, and tones. The storytelling elements of a good capture, and the moods they create. I look back with pride regarding the friendships and trust I’ve built during photo sessions over the years. Holding my camera, pressing the shutter and going through the days session bring me a joy that’s hard to explain. Getting off my soapbox and back to that original question, “What do you love most about photography?” My simple reply is and always will be, “Everything.”
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