By reviewing the incident on the street I cannot believe how stupid I am sometimes. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid I hate myself.
The hairdresser was totally stoked about the Vivian Maier photographs of people she saved after watching a single documentary. That's pretty much all that she knows of the art world and of photography. She knows that Vivian Maier awakened something inside of her. She said, "There she is. That's Vivian." And we imagined together how Vivian went about getting all those impressive portrait photographs. Vivian clearly engaged her subjects somehow. Only a few photos are candid.
I want to show what the bum looks like. And I want to show what I saw when he told me to look at his cupped hand. Now that's a picture. His exceedingly rough outdoor weathered hand holding a tiny dry green precise bud. I have a few lenses that can turn that into art. Now, since I cannot take the bud, why don't I start thinking like Vivian and engage further, say, "No thank you I wouldn't be able to walk. But I really would like to have a picture of your bud. "
By ruminating this incident I beleve I'm finding ways to think more like Vivian Maier when it matters at the moment. There was something about her specifically that invited people into allowing her to photograph them. And after all that she never developed the photos. She died and left hundreds of rolls to be found in a garage sale. The buyer developed hundreds of old rolls and realized his treasure.
I had my camera right there. And there was no rush. I can say after talking, "Hey, can I get a picture of you just sitting there minding your own biz wax like when I first walked up? I'm learning this thing and I'm tring to practice. Be a model, okay? For posterity."
And then, "Okay, show me the bud again and I'll take a pictue. Because that's a thing of real beautyl."
I bet he would. And then I'd have a photo of a large gnarly hand cupping a tiny green bud.
I think that's how Vivian did it. She also used a Brownie so the thing is hanging there from her neck and most likely an object of conversation itself, a pretty girl with a box camer hanging from her neck. You can imagine her ingratiating herself into everywhere on her simple sweet disarming coquettish French charm alone.
2 comments:
By reviewing the incident on the street I cannot believe how stupid I am sometimes. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid I hate myself.
The hairdresser was totally stoked about the Vivian Maier photographs of people she saved after watching a single documentary. That's pretty much all that she knows of the art world and of photography. She knows that Vivian Maier awakened something inside of her. She said, "There she is. That's Vivian." And we imagined together how Vivian went about getting all those impressive portrait photographs. Vivian clearly engaged her subjects somehow. Only a few photos are candid.
I want to show what the bum looks like. And I want to show what I saw when he told me to look at his cupped hand. Now that's a picture. His exceedingly rough outdoor weathered hand holding a tiny dry green precise bud. I have a few lenses that can turn that into art. Now, since I cannot take the bud, why don't I start thinking like Vivian and engage further, say, "No thank you I wouldn't be able to walk. But I really would like to have a picture of your bud. "
By ruminating this incident I beleve I'm finding ways to think more like Vivian Maier when it matters at the moment. There was something about her specifically that invited people into allowing her to photograph them. And after all that she never developed the photos. She died and left hundreds of rolls to be found in a garage sale. The buyer developed hundreds of old rolls and realized his treasure.
I had my camera right there. And there was no rush. I can say after talking, "Hey, can I get a picture of you just sitting there minding your own biz wax like when I first walked up? I'm learning this thing and I'm tring to practice. Be a model, okay? For posterity."
And then, "Okay, show me the bud again and I'll take a pictue. Because that's a thing of real beautyl."
I bet he would. And then I'd have a photo of a large gnarly hand cupping a tiny green bud.
I think that's how Vivian did it. She also used a Brownie so the thing is hanging there from her neck and most likely an object of conversation itself, a pretty girl with a box camer hanging from her neck. You can imagine her ingratiating herself into everywhere on her simple sweet disarming coquettish French charm alone.
This sign is an example of chuckle humor, than which there is nothing more depressing.
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