I have been trolling around the outskirts, trying to find the people who appear in my SEABA work that hangs in the Hall Gallery at 180 Flynn Avenue. I didn’t want her or any of them to hear that they had a featured spot in my exhibit from someone and be surprised or angry. I generally tell people whom I shoot why I shoot and what I will do with the shots. Its a difficult strategy. The more you say, the less intuitive the images. People become self conscious and less reactive to the camera. Their increased control diminishes the honesty of the interaction. Posing intensifies. Men, more than women, will ape-out. All I seek is their humanity and a slight bit of emotional honesty, assuming that is possible.
Yesterday, I found Sarah. She acted exhuberantly when I told her. “Dude. That’s great. Thanks Dude. “She hugged me, an act that was very personal and very public. A woman in a burgandy dress shot behind the fountain with a telephoto. A bearded guy sat on a nearby bench throwing up. On Main St, signs were placed on either side of the street next to a random selection of chairs and tables offering parking for bikes, err bicycles.
“Do you remember me? I shot you the day you lost your place to live and had your hair dyed red.” She had asked me that day if I thought she looked pretty. I told her that I thought she looked beautiful, especially since she just had lost her place to live. “No big deal. I’ll survive.” And she will, too.
She removed her hat, showing that the red had vanished and her hair grew out. “Yeh Dude. I am going to shave one side of my head. How do you think it will look?”
