Roman Couple sitting in front of the Pantheon. 1995
It's safe to have a routine that you follow. Oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. A day in the office. Home to the wife and kids. Dinner. Television. An hour or two looking at websites. And then the same thing all over again. And then you die. And you haven't really lived a bad life. But did you engage?
I'm as guilty as everyone else of giving in to entropy. There's a tremendous comfort in routine and knowing with fair certainty what will happen tomorrow and the day after. But I resist. I want to be out watching the world happen. I want to actually see those moments they work so hard to replicate on TV to tweak our emotional longing in the service of some product or pharmaceutical. I want to see people in love. People who've lost hope. People who are trying hard to eke out some shred of happiness.
And I can't do that by staying home or showing up to the office. I have to be where the last of the real people are. Out in life. In the flow. On the street. In restaurants and in bars. Falling in love and then being disappointed and falling out of love. Dressing up for someone. Waiting. Anticipating.
I took some time off to go to Rome by myself. I took what many would consider to be an inappropriate camera. A Hasselblad 500 CM with an old, brassed 100mm f3.5 Zeiss Planar. I carried a pocket full of black and white film with me in my jacket. And I would just wander around looking at life. The camera wasn't a tool, it was an excuse to drop into the river of life and swim along with people who'd disconnected from boredom and routine and who were living life as fully as they could.
I sat down to have a cold drink and looked forward to see this couple. They were totally engaged in each other. When she reached out to touch him with her right hand the gesture was so wonderfully real that I was compelled to take a photo.
When I closed down my darkroom in the late 1990's I lost the negative to this image. I've never felt a keener loss for an object. I don't think a week went by when I didn't think of the negative. I have a large print of the image in my house but the thought that I'd never be able to make another print, would never be able to share this image gnawed at me. I felt the loss so keenly.
Last year I was clearing out old negatives and throwing stuff away. I found this in a folder of corporate images from a company that had long since gone bankrupt. I usually throw away whole folders but some instinct pushed me to take a look through before tossing the folder in the trash. And there was the strip of images. A beautiful strip of four frames of this couple. Sitting in chairs at a McDonald's in the eternal city. And, no kidding, I found myself tearing up with joy.
For one more brief time I felt myself connected to that river of life. And it's a reminder to leave my routine and venture out. Even if it's just a Sunday afternoon walk across town. Because when I'm out I know I'm watching real life and not some facsimile on TV. The camera is just an excuse.
10 comments:
Kirk! That was one of the most beautiful posts I've ever read. The story is gorgeous!
I felt a bit emotional when I read that you found it again... I'm that sort of person.
Thank you for making my day that little bit better :)
Great image and great story. I will keep this posting handy as a reminder to get out there, and get over the fear of street shooting. I'm really glad for you that you found the negs. I hope someday to find some of mine, negs and digital files! Thank you for sharing
I know I'm alive when I can still feel the pain and joy of strangers. Photography has given me this like you said 'excuse' to connect with life.
This one hit home, as I sit in my office wishing I were making better images. Time to get out.
Your tale of the lost negative hit close to home with me. I too misplaced a treasured negative. Like yours a frame on a strip of four squares. It was a picture that was irreplaceable, an image that was recognized in a Communication Arts photo annual many years ago and one that is relevant even now. I was sick over the loss and tore my space apart (back when we were neighbors) put it back together and tore it apart again, all in vain.
It was hard to admit the loss, I felt ashamed like an irresponsible parent who'd lost track of a child. For years the missing neg haunted me and just as it did for you reappeared, having been buried in a folder destined for the trash that I just had to look through.
I have a few negs that I feel this way about, some that I can recall a burst of adrenaline when I saw the magic frame as I unspooled the wet roll after processing.
The sleeve of negs is carefully tacked on a cork board in front of my desk just above the overused computer monitor.
A reminder of the magic.
I just don't get the same buzz downloading memory cards.
This one and the one before it were the most real blog posts I've read in ages. Thanks
Agreed, a touching image and story. Had a similar experience of a musical nature with an irreplaceable LP that went missing - for years. Just turned up in a closet or somewhere. Almost cried. Of course I have no turntable to play it on any more, but that's not the point.
I like the idea of the camera being an excuse. Very appealing.
A truly beautiful shot.
Excellent post, I can feel the emotion.
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