I admire good street photography but I am very cautious when it comes to executing it. Taking candid portraits of people in the street is a delicate matter. Lets face facts; very few people like having their picture taken! Even fewer without their permission. The dilemma, of course, is that the best street photography occurs when the photographer captures his subject unaware. What is the obligation of the photographer: To always ask permission and get a release? To shoot first and ask questions later? Or to operate with a measure of stealth that is, at the very least, a violation of privacy. I have asked permission in the past, but to be honest, most of my street photographs are taken without the subject's knowledge. I try to tell myself that they are in a public place which I have a right to record. However, there is always a level of guilt attached to these stealth photos. I can understand why celebrities hate photographers. Another element is that very often the most compelling photographs capture individuals at a difficult moment in their lives. I do not want to be a voyeur, but I do want the compelling photograph. So I take the risk and take the shot and feel extremely uncomfortable doing it. And yes, from time to time I am confronted. I will try to explain what I am doing and why. Sometimes I walk away with the shot and sometimes I don't. The poem that follows was inspired by a photograph I took in St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City. It was the holiday season. This man seemed...tired. Once again, I try to remind myself that photographs like this raise our level of social awareness and just may lead to some collective attempt at mitigating the circumstances of those in need or at the very least, promote a sense of empathy.
I stop and stare and wonder why!
What brought you to this time and place?
Music from his soul whispers a sigh,
Shelter of stone in this homeless space.
I snap the shutter with silent regret,
An image framed in sad neglect.
His inner light a distant star,
A silent prayer echoes from afar.
The homeless man and the passerby,
There but for the grace of God go I.
And who am I to judge this poor man?
His soul knows more sorrow than others can.