No one would talk to us. We were told repeatedly that everyone was under contract with BP to stay quiet. Thus photographs were hard to come by. We met one happy man down from Philadelphia to make his fortune over the summer. He could not have been a nicer guy, talking to us when others wouldn’t. But the only person who would really talk to us even for a minute was the dockmaster.
This man lived on the dock it seemed, smoked cigarettes as he pumped gas into the myriad boats involved in the cleanup process. Contrary to populist rage, the wharfs entire income right now is based on BP. They buy the gas, food, hotels, etc. for a fleet of contracted boats to collect and disperse booms to soak up the oil. This is the dockmaster:
m6 50mm summicron
Just get out there and push the buttons. Grab your brain a lens and a few rolls of film and get out there and create. Have a goal, a mood, whatever and do it. I’m certainly not very good at following this, but I need to be. This is my self-motivation, not yours
Camera Club. Find one in your area.
When the alarm goes off, it pays to wake up. Otherwise someone might snap a frame with their new leica. No its not creepy. It’s a moment gained to posterity. I’ll justify this till the day I die, no matter how many times I’m called a creep.
This is a man that I passed on the street. He seems to be content being the subject of photographs, apparently a staple on Magazine Street in New Orleans. My friend mentioned he had shot him before and the man’s demeanor was quite stoic or even apathetic about another vapid picture being made of him for looking “interesting”. Nonetheless, I’m glad he let me make my unsharp, cliched picture of him on the street.
