Goodbye NYC
April 13, Wednesday
On my last full day in the city, I met a friend at the Museum of Photography, Fotografiska. Just seeing the building was a bit of a thrill because it is a central part of the Netflix documentary, Inventing Anna, about the fake heiress, Anna Sorokin. Anna, who was recently deported from the U.S., scammed friends and big banks of hundreds of thousands of dollars. The exhibition of photos was excellent.
In midafternoon, I walked home through Union Square. Union Square is for me what Washington Square is for lots of other photographers. Washington Square is very close to where I stay, but Union Square is worth the walk because it is definitely a little more mainstream and less chaotic for me. There is often some kind of market that is open. On this day’s second pass through Union Square, I was trudging a bit. I do get tired. Like Washington Square, Union Square has an area where chess players gather. While all NYC park players love to play chess, for many of them, it is a way to make money through wagers or teaching. On this day, a game was going on at every table except one. I sort of drew in my breath because I knew I would be asked to play. I do not like to play games, literally or figuratively.
How the next set of events transpired is not entirely clear to me. One thing to understand is that during my visit I have made some attempts to talk to people, two dog owners actually, and then ask to take their portrait. I absolutely hate taking non-candid portrait shots, not because of some grand philosophical reason but because my non-candid pictures are uniformly awful. However, the current project that is going on in the Close to Home Photo Salon that I belong to, is to meet, talk to and then photograph strangers. My natural inclination is not to participate, but then why be a part of a Salon with that mindset? I saw the fellow who was going to exhort me to play chess as a last opportunity to chat and photograph, so I started moving toward his table.
Dave
Just as I got close, he enthusiastically stood up from his chair, accidentally knocked the table over, which knocked the chair across from him over, all of which landed at my feet. He honestly thought the table and chair had hit me. Maybe they did, but I did not fall and was not hurt. He seated me in the bystander’s chair and got everything back upright and seated himself next to me. Let’s just say the ice was broken between the two of us.
The next thing that transpired is probably too much information. When I think about street photography, I realize this was a moment waiting to be caught by a street photographer. Maybe someone did catch it. I might as well talk about it.
I certainly was not the only photographer in Union Square.
First of all, no photograph is ever going to tell the background story. Here is the story that I brought to the situation. I was raised in a southern family. On the paternal side of the family, we almost surely descended from Scotch Irish, if not in fact, at the very least, in practice. We are intensely loyal to family. We can be distrustful of those in power, including, but not limited to those in the government or big business. For me, it is big business. There is a stubborn pride in our manner of life. We discourage the display of feelings by being stoic. Above all, we do not engage in public displays of affection.
When my new chess playing friend sat down, he introduced himself as Dave. How prophetic. It is also a family name and, as such, a surprising number of men in my life are named David or Dave. Dave began to massage my knee that he thought was hurt. I seamlessly slipped that into the story, but in reality my brain was on the verge of exploding. I remember thinking, “Thank heavens, my parents aren’t here.” Here is the bottom line. It felt really good. I believe Dave could earn his living as a massage therapist if chess does not work out for him. I let him keep massaging it. You cannot imagine how far outside this was of my normal range of behavior. Dave began to tell me a little of his story. His momma had done well in corporate America, whatever that means. He wishes he had been a better son. I understand that. He traveled the U.S. during his years as a truck driver. And then, the most important piece of information. His momma did not pass an inheritance to him when she died. He is pretty certain that her valuables, including corporate stock, are in her house in a rural part of Alabama. If only he could go get them. When I told him I lived in Alabama for 28 years, there was a moment of reckoning. No doubt, he had a story that he brought to this situation given my age and the fact that I have lived most of my life in Alabama. He gave me the benefit of the doubt. The visit ended when someone came up and wanted to play chess. I asked to take his picture. I took four. They were all uniformly awful. What a pity.
If there is a picture out in the universe of this transaction, and that would be Karma, I can’t help but wonder what stories the viewers would bring to it. I wonder what kind of Street Photography Challenge this kind of picture would fit into.
So goodbye NYC. The trip was all that I hoped it would be: a lot of good times with family and friends, a lot of adventure, a lot of walking, some new experiences, some photography and a few shots that I really like.