during my shows this summer, i spent a lot of time commuting. like, a lot. in order to not have my rush hour commute crush my spirit like it can to so many, i decided to occupy myself with what some could consider spy photography.
with my schedule, there wasn't time for any semblance of 'traditional' portrait stuff, no time for covering pretty friends in fruit juice and dirt. one of the reasons i picked up an iphone was for the camera anyway. so i became a one man secret agency and started shooting anyone who sat across/behind/near me. sometimes i was discreet and hid my phone, at others i was bold and got whatever shot i could with an undetected quick draw. eventually, i saw it as a nice way to have a mini-connection with a fellow commuter. i found myself almost caring about these people a little. i could even make up little stories about them based off each little hipstamatic* image. then i thought about it. was the monotony of my daily 1.5+ hour trip warping my mind? and more importantly, was this... creepy?
ultimately, i decided that it wasn't (and if it somehow was, i didn't care enough to have that stop me.) besides, the artist in me said, "we're in a public place. we are sharing time, space, and breath. we're all sharing this instance of being, i think it's cool, i'm going to photograph it." but something like that can very quickly be seen as voyeurism (which in itself can be art, but that's a whole other blog post) or an overall robbery of privacy. after all, i could've very easily asked permission to capture each person's immortal soul with my phone like a respectful street photographer. instead i preferred to catch "honest" moments in a harmlessly sneaky manner.
oh well. guess this attempt at a cure for boredom made me think hard than i intended. interesting what the mbta can do to your brain. or maybe just mine.
*for the curious -- lens: chunky, film: blanko noir, flash: off
blue.
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