The Picture That Changes Everything: the Pleasant Madness of Street-Photography part 7 (final)

7: All These Moments

Street-photography is as much about the things we don’t see as it is about the things we do see. The glimpse tells us just a little bit and most of us are satisfied by this. We like the mystery, we don’t need everything revealed. Perhaps this is why I love black-white pictures so much, it strips away the colors that would distract us, it gives it that dated feel. It shows us a different world even though it’s still the same one. Black-white images tells us we are dealing with something of an older time, something seemingly far away from us even if the picture was made yesterday. Black-white pictures are so crisp now, they used to be full of grain. The graininess is now considered stylish but back then it was the only quality available.
Now we can see everything so clearly and many don’t want this. They choose to make photography with traditional film, a Polaroid camera or alter their digital camera to reveal a little less. Sometimes we slow-down the shutter speed, we see time trying to keep up with the flash. It almost feels like we are messing with the foundations of time. We can alter the settings to reveal something the camera couldn’t: slow-down the shutter speed in the midst of heavy traffic at night, see it become a beautiful blur; use macro-setting to enlarge a object, the rust of an ax in an abandoned house; focus on a singular subject, blur the world around him.
The angles can mean everything to. A crooked angle might be better suited than a straight angle. Crop the picture so the focus goes on what can make the picture great. Sometimes a shoddy picture can give it more meaning than if it was perfectly set up. How do you want the subject to represented? A low angle can make him seem like an impressive man, a high-angle might make him seem like a small man. There’s the treasure of the accidental picture- a secret most street-photographers won’t tell you is that you don’t need to wait for that perfect moment, the best tactic might be to just go ape-shit on that shutter button, have fun with it, see the beauty all around you, enjoy the process.
There’s this meditation I practice about distancing myself to my thoughts, this guided voice tells me to imagine a mirror and as I look at myself, I should realize that my thoughts, no matter how important they seem, won’t alter physical reality. It won’t change me. These thoughts are just traffic in the mind. But all of us can’t but be captured by the flow of thoughts; from nostalgic musings, sudden regrets or the inability to live up to our dreams. As I’ve stated before in the previous chapters, we want to see a glimpse of their world, we want to wonder about their inner world but we must retain the mystery. It’s part archaeological, a glimmer to a world long gone. Even if the picture was made recently, the world changes faster than we think. How the streets looks today will look different a decade from now. It all goes so fast and if you don’t have a photographic memory, you won’t be able to picture how it was. Perhaps this isn’t such a tragedy yet sometimes, in my lonely hours, I find myself suddenly back in streets that are now so different, in buildings that are demolished or abandoned. It all goes so fucking fast. It’s as the great expired Replicant used to say; all these moments will be lost, like tears in rain.
There is no formula to capture these moments, if somebody tells you there are rules, tell them that they have no idea what photography is- I’m purely talking about the aesthetic matter, not the technical side of photography. There’s a science to photography but when it comes to the artist, the aesthetics belongs to him and if you can break the rules in a beautiful way, you’ve succeeded were most fail. Surely I’m not even close to such a level, but I do think it’s important to be a rebel. I remember when I was a part of a theater group, we had to be fairy-tale characters guiding kids in this theater building. I was cast as The Big Bad Wolf. I played him like a creepy child-catcher, I want to scare the shit out of these kids. Most of my fellow actors had props but I didn’t. I didn’t think I needed it. Some suggested to have fake Wolf-ears but it seemed excessive. I merely had the tuxedo, the long hairs covering my ears. One of the actors critiqued me for this. But when my scene came up I knocked it out of the park. Little Red-Riding hood was in the bathroom hiding from the Big Bad Wolf, the kids were there with their teachers, she was crying for help. I burst into the scene, banging my hand against the door. Even one of the teaches shrieked ”Jesus!” A few girls hid behind their teachers, the boys thought I was fucking cool. Later on, when the kids passed our troupe, they all pointed at me and yelled ”look it’s the Big Bad Wolf!” It proved I made an impact, it was probably, besides another theater show with the same troupe, the highlight of my small theater career. Now I’m not being presumptuous here, I certainly wasn’t the best actor- probably one of the poorest- but I did break a conventional rule of my troupe. You need to think outside the box, you need to break some rules to develop yourself as an artist. If you think you have to do it like this because your favorite artist did it, you’ll never become your own artist.
It’s experimentation, getting comfortable, fucking-up and being okay with it. Right now I’m making pictures by weird angles, surprising myself at times, getting annoyed at others. Eight out of ten times, my pictures during the month aren’t noteworthy but the two times make up for it. It takes years to be good or maybe less, I don’t know, just have fun with it. Care for the process and realize that if you truly loved it, you’ll keep onto it. You won’t give up the thing you love. There might be times, like I did, when you leave it for a while, pursue different interests- just like I did, I stopped taking pictures for two years. But if it’s real love you’ll come back to it. And if you feel bad about procrastination or not having done much in such a long time, notice this, accept it, venture into helpful thoughts (is it going to help you moping about this all day?) and move on.
And while you’re here, grab your camera and go out there. There’s so much out there and it’s all fading away. Even if you manage to capture nothing picturesque in your journey, it will train you for your next one. The next one show similar results but perhaps the one after that will be different. One day you will be better. And that moment, when you realize this, it might fade away too. You’ll doubt yourself again and you’ll quit for a long while. Then you’ll come back again and perhaps you’ll attain that self-confidence again.
These moments come and go, they fade away and never come back. Perhaps you can break the cycle but you’ll never to be aware of this. We can do so much if we are just aware of what’s really happening.
And now I must leave you, now it’s your turn to tell I’m wrong about everything. I wish you good luck on your journey. Remember: sometimes you think you are going one way, and then you find yourself in another. Have faith, be open, cherish the moment you’re here. It would be all taken away from us, but perhaps that one moment, the one that means everything, will stay somehow. A picture that never seizes to amaze us.

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/

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The Picture That Changes Everything: the Pleasant Madness of Street-Photography part 6

6: The Interview

There’s still so much I need to learn, I’m still rather fresh in this field. Since I conducted a few political interviews, I thought it would be education for me to interview a few photographers. One of them was Slovenian street-photographer Tom Plevnik. I had been following him on WordPress and enjoyed his style of photography on his site. When I e-mailed him, he said he would love to do but there was one caveat: his English wasn’t so good.
So when I copied the contents of the e-mail interview through here, I had two choices: leave it like or correct his English? I’m not tell you which one I choose. You can probably guess for yourself. This is not to make fun of him since I have an extremely poor grasp of my own native language- which if you didn’t know was Dutch. English had always been my beloved language. I read in English, I talk mostly in English. The Dutch language always seemed so lame.
Most of the questions I asked pertain the surface level of photography. There are some personal ones and Tom has done his best to answer them. To tell you the truth he waited patiently for me to even send those questions. I wanted something from him and it took me more than a week before I finally send him the list of questions. There were some things going on in my life. Some good things -went on vacation with my girlfriend- some bad – the occasional bout of heightened emotional instability. My mind was all over the place. There are the obsessive-compulsive thoughts that manifests itself in a series of manic habits. It makes me scared of this world, it makes me scared of being alone, it makes me scared of myself. Sometimes it gets really bad, you have to give yourself a break and stop wanting things for a while. You can’t do it too long- you’re not allowed to get used to it- but you can’t push yourself so far that you’ll get some sort of mental breakdown. So I choose to relax for a while, have some cocktails with my woman, get a little drunk, have a few laughs, not giving a fuck about my personal ambitions.
Eventually I have to get back. I get a little anxious if I don’t write for too long. You have to get back on that horse. No fucking excuses. You have to do right on your words, so I finally send the list of questions to Tom. I already had lost on interviewee due to my procrastination- which would have been the content of the still unwritten third interview regarding the political situation in Turkey. If you really want something, you have to go for it. You can’t blame others for bailing out on you if you fail to deliver.
After the questions were asked, it was time to write this article. I interviewed the subject, Tom Plevnik, over a month ago. I I knew what I was supposed to do, but I kept stalling it. There was naturally no rush, there was no deadline besides my own. But I’ve learned that you can’t relax too much. Eventually you gotta get to work. But every time I tried, something was wrong. I could have easily half-assed it: write some intro, copy the interview and voila, there you go. But none of that felt write. I felt I needed to go to a more creative route. It needed to be about something more, something bigger, a greater challenge.
You can’t keep doing the same trick, eventually you gotta expand. You need to get out of your comfort zone. Sometimes one’s comfort zone can be far deadlier than all the monsters outside it. Perhaps this article portrays a maturity of writing- or progression- or perhaps it shows a lack of restraint. It certainly became more personal, closer to a stream-of-consciousness style -hough I honestly never finished any Kerouac book. I’m not saying he’s bad, he just seemed to ramble too much, which might sound like the pot calling the kettle black.

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/
This article has become more personal and less about Tom. It has become about what it means to be a street-photographer. This was not my original intent but on the other hand, you need to go where your creative spirit takes you. Sometimes it takes you to a completely new direction. And Tom has certainly, taught me things even in his short answers. It would have been easier to interview a more pretentious fop. He will ramble on, he will reveal himself. You have to a choice to dissect his bullshit or go along with his bullshit. To go along with the bullshit is easier. You’re not writing a biography for god’s sake. It’s only supposed to be interesting. Bullshit can be just as interesting as the truth- though rarely as disturbing.
And though I cannot state that I looked into his soul, our correspondence together with this interview proves that Tom isn’t a pretentious man at all. He’s a humble man, the best kind of artist. He just wants to do the ‘one thing’ he loves to do. It makes him feel good when he does it right. There is no illusion of grandeur, there is only the love of the craft.
On his website it says: One Picture Can Change Everything. The picture that changed everything was the one he made with his sister by the sea. I don’t know which picture was the one that changed everything for me. But I hope I can take on in the future, one which will change everything to the viewer who sees it. It will inspire the viewer, it will make him want to do more. He will change the world around him for the better, he will hang this photograph at his workplace.
There is the question of why we venture into the street and make pictures of strangers. I told you my reasons of why street-photography means so much to, now let Tom tell you his:

When did you first start taking an interest in Photography?

Photography has always been present in my life, I don’t know why. I got the first camera in elementary school and the camera was Meikai EL. I still have it somewhere. 

Do you remember the first ‘good’ picture you ever made?

I think I made my first good photo with my sister on the sea, still in elementary school and on a black and white film. I think I still have this photo. 

Which photographers/artists inspired you the most?

For the first time I was first in Paris in 1998, I saw black and white photographs in a gallery. Later, I purchased the first book in an antique shop and found out that it was Henri Cartier-Bresson. Now I prefer Thomas Leuthard. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to take a photo with him in Ljubljana.

What is your famous picture from a famous photographer?

That is Robert Doisneau and his Le Baiser de l’Hôtel de Ville.

Do you have any photography books in your collection? If so, which one is your favorite?

I have many books. But surely my favorite is Henri Cartier-Bresson: The Man, The Image, and The World: A Retrospective, Peter Turnley: Parisians and of course Bystander: A History of Street Photography.

Since I struggle quite a lot with the technical aspects of photography, do you think it’s essential for a photographer to be good in the technical aspects of photography?- knowing the exact ISO, shutter-speed, aperture etc.

I don’t know to be honest. I just stick to the principles of focal length lens and speed of aperture. If the focal length of the lens is 85mm, the shutter speed should be at 1/80. If necessary I’ll adjust the ISO. 

How much time do you devote to your art every week approximately?

Because I’m not a professional photographer and I have a regular job, the photography is intended for weekends.

Do you believe in talent or hard work?

It’s hard to say, but it probably takes a lot of hard work.

You goddamn right… How long did it take for you to take yourself seriously as a photographer?

For the last two years, I have been more intensely involved with photography, and I have begun to call myself a ‘photographer.’

Are you sometimes insecure about your abilities?

Many times, ha ha ha ha ha…

Have there been moments in your life that has inspired your future photography?

There were many moments, one was the last weekend with photographer Natalia Wisniewska.

Is it hard to be an artist/photographer in your country?

Yeah, it’s very difficult. Though we do have many Slovenian photographers, such as Arne Hodalič, Manca Juvan, Matjaž Krivic, etc.

What is your favorite kind of photography- portrait, street, landscape etc.

I really enjoy in street photography. But lately, I like fashionable portrait photography.

Are there any dream projects of photography you hope to do one day but are now impossible?

If I could work in Paris as a photographer fashion photography.

Are you able to look at someone’s work, a photography, and see if they have what it takes?

I do not have official photographic education. I learned everything about photography from books. I do not know, I’m just a visual guy, I like the photo or I do not.

And finally; what kind of advice could you give to an aspiring photographer?
Be yourself, take a lot of photos and enjoy.

Which is basically all the advice one needs.

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/
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The Picture That Changes Everything: the Pleasant Madness of Street-Photography part 5

5: The Kind of Suffering We Are Interested In

The subject isn’t always human, it could be another animal. If you’re aware of my work, you probably noticed that I use the word ‘human animal’ a lot- a term I borrowed from philosopher John Gray actually. It’s important in my mind to not single out humans being different than animals. It would be hubris, it would be wrong. We are animals too, just because we can create or enjoy art doesn’t make us any less of animal than a pig. But the worst hubris of all is the idea that we are ‘better’ than other animals. Sure it would be reasonable to fight our survival rather than a different animal species, but it still wouldn’t give us any more of a right. This idea of rights, like religion or government, are all man-made. They are not universal truths, they are our truths. We need these truths to make us nicer animals- though more often than not, we use these truths to justify heinous acts. We don’t apply them to other species. We’ve trained our children to dilute our conscience for other animals. They are stupid, we are smart, therefore we deserve more. It’s a lie and a dangerous one to boot. Being more evolved doesn’t make us better, it just makes us more powerful.
So the subject of street-photography could be another species of animal as well: the eager dog on leash who went he notices that people are looking at him endearingly, nearly jumps free from his leash just so can receive some heavy petting; a cat lurking the crevices for a little snack, perhaps to give it as a present to her provider; a couple of pigeons hurling downwards with incredible speed when they notice that some guy is throwing a piece of bread away; a rat carrying a pizza down the subway. Their world is not as complicated as ours, though it’s perhaps more perilous. There’s no human drama, just the search for the next meal so they can survive another day. We were much the same in the past. But we evolved, we lost hair, we grew smarter, we were blinded by the fire. We made up a God that told us he created the world just for us. We created empires on our manipulation of the environment through the burning of fossil fuels and the subjugation of animals for livestock. These things were important to us, even if it involved great evil. We’ve destroyed an ecosystem or two. We’ve watched the occasional spill, a spill that became a natural consequence, we cleaned up the goo from animals we’ve always considered too cute too harm. We’ve made excuses to invade countries so we can conquer their oil refineries. All the animals we subjugated for livestock, the mass-genocide we were fine with so long as their bodies are used for fast-food. All the land we needed so that we can slaughter these beautiful creatures. It’s all part of it. So many died so that we can continue pretending this world belongs to us. It became so bad, we are now actually influencing the climate, created manic weather patterns and the prospect of doom for many who live nearby the sea.
The end belongs to us. We won’t be there for a new beginning. Perhaps we will leave enough behind so that other lifeforms will wonder about our existence.
But now, most of us are comfortable. We suffer in various ways, as our lives today conflict with our genetic code of yesterday. Our savage ancestors never needed to invent existentialism to give meaning to their existence or see a therapist about their marital problems. Simple put: we ponder too much shit. Suddenly our existence is supposed to have a great meaning. Suddenly this short time on earth isn’t enough, we demand eternity for something we call our ‘souls’. And we can have this eternity if we just follow several rules- naturally these rules vary across the religions. Even so, most of us don’t need to kill for food, being an accessory to the fact as we shop in grocery stores, is the closest most of us will get. Most of us don’t need to fear predators, perhaps there’s the spiritual kind, the drug-peddlers, the nefarious gurus, the money-suckers, but most of them don’t have claws scratch open your belly nor the jaw filled with sharp teeth that can bite open your neck. While there are enough photographers fascinated by wildlife, who do amazing work as they hide in the bushes, waiting for the predator to pounce on her prey, us street-photographers are far more interested in the quiet suffering of the human animal. On the other hand, the image of a lone dog scrounging for leftovers in an impoverished city might be the most heartbreaking of all. But that’s because of the dog’s innocence, not because we can really connect with this animal. We can connect to a dog through mutual respect or reciprocal love, but not because we can fully understand how it is being a dog. We only know how to be human. It’s not the same connection we have to our fellow humans who are dealing with their complicated humanity. The instinct that has been tarnished the consciousness and expressed itself through the conscious.
There is debate among whether or not the hunters in their prime, lived superior lives than ours. The farmers that came after certainly weren’t happier but it did start the process for our continuing survival. Even if we want to, even if it would be better for us, we can never become this primitive. It’s too late now. We have to be the modern human with all the pain that it entails.
One could state that those who don’t live in affluent countries, live in their own urban jungle. These animals don’t snarl like the animals of your lush jungle, but they do curse and point guns at each other. There the occasional bout of violent machismo, the male that needs to prove that he’s the ALFA and therefore deserves the better woman. Bruce Gilden has made wonderful pictures of these Yakuza gangsters, men who collect their money with stoic expressions. There is no time for mercy, they will hurt you if you don’t pay up. The Alfa-males has organized themselves, they honor their ALFA, the ALFA is protected by lesser ALFA’s. If a lesser ALFA screws up, he might have to chop of a digit. There are rules in their streets but as history has proven, these rules are easily broken. There’s always an asshole among them that inspires others to be even greater assholes. The savagery of the jungle pales in comparison to the savagery of the human animal.
So you make pictures of the youth, the ones who if they don’t receive intervention, they will become just as savage as their fathers. They hang out in abandoned buildings, they play games with each other, they beat down scaredy-cats. The streets are full of them, you can spot them in the way they walk. Some of them are wannabee’s naturally, but some have prospects for greater and more nefarious futures. I don’t often make pictures of them because I don’t want to get in a fight with them. I prefer to make pictures of scaredy-cats like me. People who are trying to make sense of their lives. You see them trapped in their thoughts, they often forget that more often than not: their thoughts are not them, it’s just events in the mind, filled with clutter they should ignore. They confuse it with the murmurs of the soul. But they don’t have a soul, nobody has but we are accustomed to belief and feel that we do. Even if we don’t believe it, we do act like we have one. We cultivate this made-up soul, probably for the better. The things that don’t exist can be imperative for our existence.
The stories we capture in our flash, no matter how poignant they seem, are often imagined. They are part of the illusion or ourselves or based on a shattered dream. They are real because we live them- we are who we pretend to be, so be careful who we pretend to be- but we should have been taught to dilute the ego and seek clarity, make ourselves nothing instead of everything. Instead we have filled our children with this notion that we have all this identity. We didn’t tell them how fragile this mind and its feelings are. We didn’t tell them how easy it is to get lost in the streets. We didn’t tell them that nobody has an answer, and that it’s hard to find your way back if you stray long enough.
Even this philosophical diatribe might be an illusion. There might be several or just one answer to everything. We can’t deny physical reality but the reality in our minds, the fantasy-lands inside us, are hard to ignore. These memetic forces has made us more powerful, has given the greatest chances of survival. Yet even in the most affluent cities we can spot them, we can see it if we look close enough, the people trapped in fantasy-land. The fantasy-land which is empowered by the constant adds and bright lights and their Facebook feeds. There might be freedom for this suffering, but this suffering is what keeps the economy booming.
But through all this suffering, the right photograph can give it meaning. The suffering of others can move us, make us feel less alone. The whole point of art is make our suffering meaningful. The difference with street-photography is that we never ask for permission. So people get angry, they ask you to delete it. The trouble is, if we asked them, we wouldn’t be able to capture the truth. We have to be bold, we have to be rude. We suffer as well, we just want a glimpse of your suffering so we can feel better about yourself. Somehow, perhaps there is no great reason, we must express ourselves through the lens of this camera.
Bruce Gilden often makes pictures of these street creatures, you will have intimate close-ups of junkies with no teeth or old men with shrunken faces, a life that has given them some form of facial deformity. They accuse Bruce of making fun of them, but it’s not like that at all. He finds them as beautiful, if not more than all the models on these adds. And I have to agree with him- models are just too fucking boring.
And we apologize for your suffering, but we’re just trying to make it beautiful. It would be a shame to waste all that suffering.

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/
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The Picture That Changes Everything: the Pleasant Madness of Street-Photography part 4

4: The Glimpse

There’s the world surrounding the subject, there’s the energy of the streets. It’s part of a story we will never fully know. The Street-photographers tries to capture this part of the story inside the flash of his camera. It doesn’t always work, the focus might be wrong. The eye must receive the necessary information in less than a second. The eye must feel compelled to take a closer look. If this happens, the photograph is good. It should capture the viewer immediately. There is just something, even if its a photograph of something mundane, that captures their attention. If this does not happen, if the viewer loses interests within seconds, the photographer has failed the story.
Imagine a movie, a dramatic scene of dialog between two spouses who are on the verge of getting a divorce. The actor must the emote the tragedy of the screen, the connection is becoming lost between these two people. The chemistry must be there, but if you take a still picture of that scene, the body language must confirm the content of this scene. Image them looking away or looking down, or looking at each other with wanting and desperate eyes. If the still is at the wrong moment, this information might be lost. Timing is everything.
One must remember though that there is always something interesting going on, even in the mundane moments. It’s just that not every moment is as picturesque. A war-torn country has a lot of energy, I’m not saying that everyone can make beautiful photographs there, but you are bound to make some interesting ones. There’s a greater victory in capturing normalcy, making it look beautiful. You wouldn’t notice the old man reading the newspaper, but the Street-photographer saw something and now this old man is something special. Now you begin to wonder about the old man’s story.
Often times The Street-photographer never really knows if the picture will work. Sometimes they are so sure that they have something special but when they look back, it’s not there anymore. The angle was wrong, the ISO was too high, the shutter-speed is off or they simply missed it. They were simply too slow. They missed that one precious second that would have made all the difference. Other times The Street-photographer manages to make a picture that at first, didn’t seem that noteworthy but when they look through the collection of the day, they realized that they have something much more than they had initially thought. The caught the energy, the subjects come alive. They have more of a story than they had initially presumed. We often don’t know we have a story until we actually look at the photograph.
They forget that the shutter catches more than you think. There’s the story of graffiti in the subway and as the Street-photographer pushes the shutter button, a lone human lighting a cigarette is getting captured inside the flash as well. Both the graffiti and the human become one subject, one whole story or two sides of the story; the history of the graffiti- the city perhaps- and the history of the lone man. It doesn’t matter how shitty the graffiti art is or how seemingly unassuming the lone man looks, if you capture it right, you catch part of an interesting story. There’s a wonderful book of Polaroid pictures, Colors, The Polaroids by Dennis Hopper, which, as the title suggests was made while he was scouting for locations for his gang-land drama Colors. Looking at the vast kinds of graffiti in L.A., he understood there were stories behind these paint sprays, it enamored him, he needed to make pictures of this- besides being an masterful actor and director, he was an equal master photographer. He understood there were stories there, they deserved to be seen. He captured not just the atmosphere of the streets but the mindset of the youth and artists who left these messages on these walls.
The first time I really began to get serious street-photography, I started with makings numerous pictures of trash such cans of energy drinks or cigarette butts, whatever you could think of that would be lying on the street, and many, perhaps rightfully so, laughed at me, ”why is that guy making a picture of that can of coke?” one pedestrian said to her partner as they passed me. Irregardless, I felt there was something there, though at first I couldn’t explain exactly why. I guess it could be subconscious, you more you let yourself be free with your art, the more you reveal of yourself. Often times I’m writing and suddenly veered into a subject that was dear to me, even though I wasn’t planning on it. It’s about the imagination then, if you make the art vague enough, the viewer/reader might interpret it in their own way- perhaps the pictures of trash by Mr. van Dijk represents the our carelessness of the environment! Art needs to be personal, not just to the artist but to the one that enjoys it. Even if it isn’t personal to the viewer/reader, he will make it personal. An artist often times doesn’t know why he’s drawn to one direction. He just feels there’s something there and so he needs to go there- same as how this article went.
It’s the little things, if you can capture the little things, the bigger things come easier. A shattered beer-bottle might have been used during a fight, perhaps if you look close enough, you would see some smears of blood. This was a battle between two brothers, the story of Cain and Abel resurrected in the twenty-first century. All these examples are props for the seemingly mundane yet complex stories. Just like artifacts of an ancient past, we wonder about what we are seeing, we research and we can only image about its users. These props were used while these subjects were contemplating great things. A little moment might evoke a greater truth. A simple moment captured between two lovers on the streets can be considered everything, making a picture of them sharing a piece of pie might be even better than seeing them kiss on the streets. The kissing might evoke youth, the beginning sparks of a promising romantic relationship while the sharing of the pie, might evoke comfortability with each other, a deeper intimacy between the two- if you made a picture of them together in a private hotel room, you would see one of them laugh as they smell the fart of their significant other. If you made a picture of the plate where the pie was eaten, with the fork laying on it, some crumbs still left, you would catch part of a story. The story might be more clear if the couple were in the picture, but the glimpse of their story is there. Remember: it’s always about the glimpse, the street-photographer will never get the full story, the writer may but never the street-photographer. We can only catch a glimpse, the glimpse is all that matters. Our job is to catch that glimpse and make it look good so that the viewer of the photograph, can wonder about what was behind that glimpse.
The details are everything, you want to be like Sherlock Holmes and catch all the details so you can uncover the mystery but you never will. The random person on the street, seemingly on a great mission, we can only wonder what this mission was. The rambling drifter, we can only imagine where his madness came from. The worried middle-aged woman, what was she worried about? The pubescent with green hair and dirty clothing, is this a sign of rebellion and individualism or this a sign of neglectful parenting? Tourists, people on a break from the jobs they hate. People on meditation retreats, closing their eyes, feeling the moment. There’s so much to tell, you wish you could freeze time just so you could make pictures all day. If there was an eternity, I would spend a hundred years just making pictures.
In the end, we are storytellers, even if we catch only part of the story. Sometimes that little seemingly insignificant part is just as poignant as the whole story. Photography can teach us, in a sort of Buddhist manner, to look at life differently. Unlike a movie or literature where often enough life is perceived as ‘the whole story, where every part is intrinsic to this one character, his tragedies and ultimately his death. It’s not always like that and perhaps it’s not even a proper way to perceive our existence. It’s one way to look at it but not the definitive way. We shouldn’t perceive life as so simplistically cinematic. Life is a series of fleeting moments, it all goes away too quickly. To my mind, in this fleeting moment of consciousness this wisdom comes to mind: the only way we can keep these moments safe from our fleeting memories, even if the complete experience is forever gone, is by taking a picture.

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/
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The Picture That Changes Everything: the Pleasant Madness of Street-Photography part 2

2: The Lights Just Keep Passing Us and Fading Away

I’m not sure where my awareness began. There is no exact moment, the death of childhood is gradual. It’s a series of instances, experience that drives the mind of a child to the realm of adulthood. Perhaps it began in the backseat of my grandmother’s car.
Both my parents didn’t own a car, nor had the license to drive one, so my grandmother from my father’s side would drive us everywhere. I’m not sure where we were going or how old I was but none of that matters. This memory an amalgamation rather than a specific one. It was a moment that repeated itself plenty. A moment that didn’t feel significant at all. A nighttime drive on the high-way, her tired grandson gazing out the car window. Sometimes the greatest mysteries of life are best pondered in a sleepy haze, as your consciousness drifts through memories, as you interact with old friends and made-up ones, to movie-stars you’ll never meet and Gods that never existed. You don’t want to fight for the answer anymore, it’s too tiresome. You gently ask the Gods that aren’t really there, who are just swimming in your mind, about why you are here. You’ll never get an answer but that’s fine, you’ll make up one. The Gods tell you it’s okay, you can rest. You’ll wake up in a new world tomorrow.
I wasn’t thinking about Gods then, but I made my first childish step toward existentialism. Gazing out the car window, I started watching the cars pass us by. I started watching them disappear into the night. In the distance they would change into car lights, they would ultimately fade away. I began to wonder about the people inside those cars, who where they? Where were they going?
I began to imagine these people living exciting, sometimes tragic lives. We would pass each other and never know each other. If we ever meet, we would never know we passed each other that one time on that particular night. Perhaps a friend or a future love would be in that car. Perhaps even my future killer. We could mean so much to each other but we’ll never find this out. We are connected but we will never find out. Perhaps you are fighting similar demons. The possibilities are endless. You will never know. We should be reaching out but we won’t. The lights just keep passing and fading away.
For some reason this fascinated me. These musings would come back to me, as I passed the myriad of faces in the city streets. All these lives, too many perhaps, that pass us by. Most don’t have a photographic memories. You need pictures to remember the faces of even those you love so dearly. There’s a limited amount of space in our minds. We come to a point where our bodies are just deteriorating. If are lucky we are so deteriorated that people ask us about oblivion, whether or not we fear it, whether or not we really think there is such a thing.
These fading faces should be more precious than that. These moments that pass away should linger somewhere so we can go back to them, to understand what was happening. There is so much humanity that is wasted away. I think this is why I became interested in street-photography…

Picture belongs to Tom Plevnik, https://tomplevnik.wordpress.com/
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FATHER!

Sometimes I think it’s better to be indoctrinated into a certain style of thought, than roaming the wild west of ideas. The intellectual gunslingers waiting for you to draw. The preachers are trying to convert you into their cult. The scientists tell you all the facts. The artist tells you to ignore them all. It’s full of secrets but so many of them turn out to be lies. They all mock each other. They say that if you follow them, you’ll evolve, you’ll be enlightened, you’ll be happy, you’ll be awake. There’s so much violence, there’s blood on every wise thought. They shoot themselves, they shoot each other, they tell others to shoot for them, the gun explodes in their hands. When you’re indoctrinated you have a home. There is no need to be lost because you were born with all the answers. The questions that are left are inconsequential, they will reveal themselves. The things you don’t know, you don’t need to know. Inside the church of your choosing, you have an established identity. There’s no need to search for one, you can laugh at all the others who try to define you. You have your own morals. You can be a loner. You can condemn those who are praised by the majority. It feels good knowing who the real bad guys are. It feels good to SEE. It feels good knowing that those who are not part of your church are blind. The others seem so foolish. They wear stupid hats. They abort their babies. They eat their young. They are petulant savages. They don’t know how to make love, they only how to fuck. They have no souls or at least they don’t believe they do. They fuck too much and make too many goddamn babies. They fuck each other in order to fill the hole inside their rotten souls. They have no higher purpose. They will never fill the hole inside them. The pursuit to fill that hole will lead to our destruction. It feels good to condemn people. It feels good to be a judge. It feels good sentencing people to death, watching them hang on oak trees. Fill the syringe, watching their eyes lose themselves into the void. Watch their bodies fall like paper sacks. It feels good to not be lost. It feels good to know why you joined the army. It feels good knowing why you fight this war. If I go outside, I’ll have rediscover myself. I’ll probably find out stuff I don’t want to know. The indoctrination included the willingness to let side and perform certain evils. I don’t want to be aware of this. Sometimes when I look outside my window I see a great fire in the distance. I know that if I find it, if I engulf myself into the flames, I will know everything. I can outdraw the intellectual gunslingers, I can be the leader of the right cult, I have future peer-reviewed studies inside my head that tells you all you need to know about the human body, the human brain, the universe and how to make a perfect society. I can spend hours making art and never doubt my abilities. If I reach the fire I can destroy the ego. I will be eternal, I will know all the celestial truths. I could travel through time and space. I can make the human world run on love. And sometimes I go looking for that fire, leaving my church behind. Sometimes it seems like I’m right path and I’m so close but then it seems to move away for me or maybe I’m standing still, I don’t know. Somehow I get lost. It makes no sense, I was so sure in the beginning of my journey. I ask people for directions and they all point to different directions. The fire seems to be there until I discover it’s just a reflection. There are so many intellectual gunslingers I kill along the way. But they wound me too. Sometimes I need to crawl to the fire. Sometimes I hallucinate the fire. There’s something in the water, something in the air, I don’t know. There are times when I feel that I’ve reached it, that is until I realize I haven’t changed at all. I become discontent again. I’m so unhappy I want to fucking die. I really gave the wild west a chance but it’s too much. It’s so vast. it’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s too much of everything. All these awakenings, all these gods, all these interpretations, all this suffering, all this science, all these lies. So many suffer because they believed, so many suffer because others believed in things they didn’t. It’s too much. I can’t climb every mountain. I can’t look around every building. I can’t make sense of this science. I don’t feel the love of these gods. I can’t SEE everything. Perhaps the answer lies in knowing everything but I’m just a human animal, filled with countless limitations. There’s only so much you can know until you start forgetting the most important things. Just tell me how to go back. I found home once, I can do it again but I lost my way again. Tell me how to go back and I’ll never leave. I promise. My feet hurt, I walked so far. I met so many people, I can’t remember their faces even though they meant everything to me. There are so many people I loved that left me. There are so many friends who abandoned me and I abandoned just as many. I didn’t want to but something compelled me, I thought staying with them would never make me find the fire. When they said stupid shit, I couldn’t abide by them. They strayed too far. I can’t keep track of them all. I try to keep in the pack but I have others to think about. I have ME to think about. I’m the one all alone out here! Can someone please tell me how to go home! I forgot the address, I don’t have money for a cab. I’m a little disoriented. I haven’t eaten much. Sometimes I feel like I’m going insane. People looking down their phones, hoping if they look long enough, they won’t care for answers. I do that too but I keep looking for answers in there. There’s so much information available, but none of them have the motherfucking answers. I’m so tired, I’m about to fall asleep. The fire burns bright and maybe I’ll dream about it. If you find me, wake me up, point me in the right direction. In the fire you’ll never be cold again. When I get there, I’ll be indoctrinated by the Gods and I’ll tell you all how to live. I’ll write you a map and tell how to get there. You can all join me on condition: never tell me I’m wrong. If you’re not sure, burn alongside me. The fire will make you all look the same. The fire will make you all think the same. You’ll realize there was never any reason to doubt me……….

Picture taken in Wisla, Poland

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Am I Going To Make It?

Remember the moment when you stopped fighting
and started drinking…
It’s the moment when you realized that you were through,

that the jig was up.

You lost the game of self-deception,

the world won,

you tried to built this fantasy world in which you were king,

but instead you were forced back into reality.

There’s the usual moment when you feel sorry for yourself,

you act as if you lost everything,

and you hope the universe will give you some sort of sign;

”don’t give up yet buddy!”
But the universe ain’t your buddy,

and it’s all about the golden rule:

shit just happens and some get lucky.

Some breeze through life

with little or great tragedies,

they don’t struggle in school,

they don’t get bullied because they have this innate coolness,

they have what it takes to be accepted in the fanciest schools

and even if they don’t;

they have parents that can pay the schools to accept them.

It’s that easy. For them it’s always easy.
They learned who they were at a young age,
and did what they could to make this person come alive.

And when you aren’t one of them,

you hope you’ll be one of the success stories,

the one that rises up through the muck,

one day they’ll interview you and you will give advice to all those people

who are just like you,

and you’ll tell them: ”don’t give up buddy! Don’t give up!”
This game you are playing means everything,

if you follow the rules- don’t give up!- you can make it…

There’s an end to this, you tell them…
One day you’ll be the master of the universe….

But maybe this doesn’t happen,

maybe you keep feeling sorry for yourself and the signs never come.

You’ll be sitting here,

like I am,

drinking beer,

smoking a cigarette,

realizing that this is the moment you stopped fighting

and the moment you start drinking….

…And then you laugh and realize that you’re not much of a drinker,

you’ve had enough already,

and it’s still early in the night,

so you wonder what to do…

And since you have nothing to lose anyway,

you start doing what you love

and before you know it,

you realize you don’t need the universe to give you any signals.
You can manage fine on your own.

Picture taken in Wisla, Poland

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We Always Knew

‘’We always knew that this was part of the plan. You know I can’t just stay here. There is life out there I need to finish. I can tell you it won’t be long, but it will be. It will be worse for you than it is for me. You can stand yourself, I can only stand myself when I’m with you. It will only be for a few weeks, but I’ll miss you every night. This was always part of the plan… We have to leave the ones we love so much. I promise you I will come back. I have a life to finish there, but I have a new one waiting for me here.’’

Picture taken in Eindhoven, Holland
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The Street Musician

”Sometimes I wonder why I even take pictures. I take a bunch of them for weeks, months. When   look back at them, I realize none of them are any good. ‘Listen you don’t have what it takes,’ I tell myself, ‘you need to stop fooling yourself. There’s a life you need to lead. There’s nothing wrong with this life. It’s just not the life of an artist, about finding or expressing yourself. Most of them are miserable anyway. You are miserable and you are not even a real one. They say there’s nobility in the man chasing the impossible dream. But there’s nothing sadder than the man chasing a dream that doesn’t even belong to him. This doesn’t to you. This is not you. Go home.’
It’s then that I encounter this street musician. I’ve seen him before. He moves from place to place. You live in the city you can’t miss him. And it’s not the music that fascinates me about him, it’s how he plays it. Every time, he’s standing there, for hours with a big smile on his face. For a long he has realized he never play an arena, the crowd will always be small. Most people even ignore him. But so what? There he is, singing his heart out for a few pennies people have to spare! You realize that that this is a man that has found himself a long time ago. And that’s all I want to be. I want to be authentic. I just want to know who I am, to be good at something. In the infinite book of human expression, I will be in one of those pages. Like so many, there was something I wanted to say. Before it all ends, there was something I needed to leave behind- even if nobody will pay attention to it. Like the street musician, I will be ignored, yet I smile and play my heart out anyway. Maybe I’m asking too much, but I can’t let this go. I don’t care if this dream doesn’t belong to me, I’m chasing it anyway.”

Photograph taken in Groningen, Holland.

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You Live Here for the Silence

”It was a small village, packed with farmers. The days were predicable. If you wanted fancy stuff you had to drive for an hour to the mall or to the city. The people live here for the silence….
They hadn’t seen him before. It was obvious he came from a different place. Cars would stop, doors would open. He’d tell the driver he was fine, ‘don’t worry, it looks worse than it is,’ he’d said, ‘I live close by from here. I’ll be fine.’ He would put pressure on his wound as he walked ahead. It wasn’t far from here, he believed this, though sometimes he forgot where he was supposed to go. He would think of home, but he wasn’t sure whether he still lived there, whether these people still lived there with him.
Things get so blurry. When you’re hurt, things become a blur. You get these images of the past. Streets. Roads. Houses. Buildings. Fields. You remember them so clearly. You feel your ghost still there.
He found a pathway under the bridge. It seemed so familiar to him. He went off the road and ventured into that pathway. They had been doing some construction there. There was nothing there, no houses. Only graffiti, evidence of youthful parties. If he made it far enough, he would find himself on the highway. Eye-witnesses said that he had a smile on his face, as if he was looking forward to something.
Sometimes you remember things so clearly and places become so meaningful to you, you need to be there. No matter how far it is, no matter if these places even still exist, there has to be a way.”

Photography taken somewhere in Poland. 

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