We held three instructional sessions last Tuesday. Two were online synchronous, but the first was an in person class. I helped my coworker get through the first one. I led the third with the help of our supervisor. B the time my evening class rolled around, my social batter was drained.
After class, I decided to walk home. It’s good to walk after a long day. A nice way to unwind. Or so I’ve been told by doctors and random people on the Internet. Walks help melt away the tension. Walks are the reason I keep buying new and taking out old cameras. I snapped a few pics around the railroad tracks. A few at the school district administration building. And a number of other places. While street photography—be it professional or hobby—capture moments with people in them, I don’t feel comfortable snapping pictures of humans just yet. Or maybe ever.
I do enjoy taking pictures of buildings, light posts, telephone poles, cats, birds, cars, and statues. I tried my hand at taking liminal photographs. I tried it in black and white. Using a pinhole filter. I stood in front of Willie B’s barbecue, closed for the night, and snapped a photo of the entrance. The red glow of its sign turned white in monochrome photo. I smiled. Switched the filter and snapped the glow of a single light of the building next door.
As I cut across the parking lot, I noticed the light inside the restaurant. The building normally stands dark at night. I walked passed the large window and angled my camera. Liminal. As. Fuck.
I snapped the photo. And another. Before turning around and walking down the side parking lot. The glow of headlights illuminated the night scene, hitting me directly. I moved back onto the small sidewalk to avoid getting hit. The car slowed beside me, window lowered.
Three people sat inside the small sedan. The driver calling out from me, after switching on the interior light. Beside him was a woman with the jowls of a bulldog, mouth agape, staring at her phone. In the backseat, his best friend, a scrub by the looks of it, looking bored and tired with this life. The driver repeated his words as I pull my left earbud out to hear.
“Why are you taking pictures of closed buildings?” he asked. His voice belonged to the Valley. The sort of whiney twinge that comes with drunken machismo. The voice of a man who felt inferior his whole life that he searches for reason to fight. Searches for a reason to prove himself. The sort of voice you will hear coming out of Latino ICE agents.
“Because I can,” I answered.
“But why?”
“Because it’s what I do? I don’t know what you want me to say here,” I said.
I understood his confusion. I tried to see it from his perspective. But his voice. The way he carried himself. His entire reason-less existence in this world. The look of a man who didn’t just settle, but never bothered trying anything. The sort of person who just coasts through life, accepting everything handed to him. Not wanting to pick up a hobby other than watching whatever sport is in season and getting drunk. Someone who hasn’t picked up a book since high school graduation. Who finds it a burden when he has to think. The sort of person who doesn’t vote but complains about government, though cannot explain why it bothers him so much. The sort of person who doesn’t understand art or nuance. The type of person who is so miserable with his own state of being that when he sees someone doing something that brings them joy, he needs to slow down his car and question their purpose.
I wanted to ask him if he would be more comfortable if were taking pictures when the place was open, full of people eating. Would he have stopped me then? I figured the question would upset him more than he was already. Maybe I should explain to him the beauty of empty spaces. The intimacy that one feels looking into an empty building. I doubted that he would understand.
The jowled lady glanced up from her phone and met my eyes. She shook her head and muttered something.
“It’s sketchy, bro.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I responded.
Sorry that your life lacks meaning and beauty. Sorry that you drive your friends around in the dark, stopping strangers on their walks. Sorry that you gave up on life, on beauty.
He drove away and I picked up my camera, aimed at his tail lights and snap a picture as he slowed down for the stop sign. I wonder if he caught me doing that as he turned.
After getting home, I scroll through the photographs to find the one of the window. The picture came out shit-looking. Wonderful.
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