July 16, 2010 § Leave a comment
Every so often, I come across a street shooter that really makes me look. You know, those moments that are quintessentially generous, the moments that belong to everyone in their familiarity and ubiquity, but are also sacred in their casual magic. The characters that come into play, with their dirty tattoos and entirely disarming charm. When we talk about photographing for history, I believe in the language of the street as much as I do in the language of war. In some ways, the street speaks to me more. War can look much the same, wherever you go… the street is always shifting, evolving, changing from one to the other and perhaps back again in the cyclical nature of fashion. The street will bring you back to the things that you recognise from living; that aimless saunter on a hot day, the people-watching, the waiting in line. It speaks of a time, a place and a sentiment, and the street photograph is a record of that… and a successful one reveals the utter poetry beneath.