1979 | Portland, Oregon
OK, I admit that I have taken more than a few street pictures while sitting down. On this occasion, I had been traveling north by train, catching up with family members as far up as Seattle. This day, I met my brother in Portland to deliver his ‘new’ old Volvo, which I had sniffed out for him during my stay in Oregon.
We met at a falafel place for lunch, taking a strategic corner-window table, which I had learned to do from Art Institute pals at the old Columbus Cafe in San Francisco, where the best seat would command a street view from the narrow pie-slice corner of the building.
I had my good vantage, my camera beside me, and my lunch in front of me. As I began to eat, this man carrying his panel moved across my ‘preview’ window on the left before he turned our corner. I put down my sandwich and picked up my camera, timed two frames, then put down my camera and picked up my sandwich again. It was all one sweet sweep, as if my whole practice had come to bear on this brief performance. For me, a nice thing about photography is how often I am able to prove that I can do it.
There’s something about using a camera to look at things like this man’s panel – the lens allows me to see more of what’s there, how the light defines materials, not how I define them. I get to see what could be there in the light, not what I think is there.
My camera teaches me that I don’t know. Photography is my best guide; it gives me a chance to discover unknown unknowns.