People Photographs
It’s pretty obvious that I don’t make a lot of photographs of people. Not that I have anything against it, but I don’t have much of an opportunity to photograph people, nor much of an inclination to try. That would probably change if I was immersing myself in a culture where they didn’t immediately distrust someone with a camera like Liberians generally did, but that’s not likely to happen. So I stick to the landscapes I so enjoy.
That doesn’t mean I don’t look at photographers’ work that includes photographs of people. Not only can one learn a lot photographically from that work (for example, how light plays on surfaces in portrait photography), but travel photographers and those incredible National Geographic photographers help quench my thirst to understand different peoples, cultures and places.
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve come across various statements by several different photographers that have gotten me thinking about some of my photographs of people.
One of the big questions in photographing people - whether it’s street photography, reportage or travel photography - is whether one engages with the subject before hand or not. Immeshed in that issue are ethical questions of consent, and photographic concerns about wanting the people to look natural and not to be posed. I have images of both types.
Obviously, I wasn’t about to dive into the water and ask these kids if it was ok to photograph them. Actually, they probably didn’t care in the least that I was up there with a bunch of other people and I doubt I was the only one photographing them. They were enjoying themselves too much to give any mind to me or my camera.
On the other hand, there have been times when I’ve asked consent. While at a bar in Voinjama, Liberia, I walked out on the tall berm the bar was on to take some photographs of the town, of which the bar had a great view. As I turned around, I noticed a little girl down by the road standing there looking at me. I asked her if she wanted me to take her photograph and she nodded her head. So I did.
They’re two very different types of photographs.
Among my recent readings has been a lot of discussion about stories. Some photographers are obsessed with the photograph as a story, insisting that their photograph has to tell a story (or that a photograph isn’t any good unless it tells a story, or even that they’re not photographers, they’re story tellers). I’ve never quite fully understood what that means, but I suspect that’s my limitation and not theirs.
One discussion about photographing people did strike home. It was an article discussing engaging the people you wish to photograph, and staying with them long enough such that they become comfortable with you and act normally (i.e. not give you that big smiling face). I recalled that when I did my housing documentary in the 1980’s that’s what I did, stayed with folks and just talked with them for a long while before I started photographing. By that point, people were just being themselves whether they were looking at the camera or not.
Anyway, the article then started talking about stories, but in a very different way. He mentioned how, often, the image can tell or suggest a story (that can vary depending on the viewer), but that story may be very different than the actual story from which the photograph arose, the story about how the photograph was made, the photographer’s story and the subject’s story. And, of course, there is always the viewer's story. That comment made me remember a particular image, which led me to looking at my own people photographs (to include the ones above).
Back in May 2013, I gave a short course on Liberian land laws and land tenure rights to a group of agricultural extension service students at Cuttington University in Gbarnga. (I did a blog post of it dated May 18, 2013 if you want to check the blog archives.) After the course was done, everyone got together to take a class photo and then we stood around talking for a bit. I had my nice point and shoot camera in one hand while chatting with folks when a little kid walked up to us and just stood there sucking on some candy while we talked.
After awhile the little guy stepped over closer to me and put his hand in mine. I said something to him, but he didn’t really respond, so I kept up my conversation. After a couple of minutes, while still holding my hand, he said something softly. So softly I couldn’t hear him. I leaned over and asked him what he said. He repeated something, but still I really couldn’t understand him. So I asked again.
Finally, one of the women from the class said, “I think he wants you to take his picture.” I asked him if that’s what he wanted and he shook his head yes. So I quickly glanced around to see if there was a good spot that wouldn’t have a distracting background and asked him to take a few steps over with me by the base of a small monument.
He sat down without saying a word. I asked him one question, then another, and he wouldn’t say a word. All he did was keep sucking on his candy and, at most, would shake his head yes or no.
I made half a dozen photographs of him. After a few shots I felt I had a good one, but I made a few more just to be safe. Also, I wanted him to feel as if someone was paying attention to him.
Strange thing though, is that when I tried to show him his photograph on the LCD screen on the back of the camera, he was totally uninterested and simply walked off. I guess all he wanted was to have his photograph taken.
So here’s the image from that sitting.
Every time I look at this photograph I wonder what his story is. What it was back then, and now what it was during and hopefully after the tragic Ebola crisis Liberia went through not long after I left.
So while I may not entirely get the photograph as a story thing, I do get the fact that there are stories nested into stories of the people and places involved in making a photograph. I guess that’s what made the petroglyph photograph from our trip back from Fresno so powerful - there’s a story there that we’ll never know. Which is, in part, the power of a photograph - there’s always a story there, whether the photograph tells it or not.
And sometimes, I wonder if all we’re really doing in life is accumulating stories. I guess that’s one way to look at it, and not a bad one at that.