Taking a portrait can range from a sublimely satisfying intuitive moment of stolen intimacy to an orchestrated communal exercise geared toward a desired public perception. Being much more interested in the former, I have on occasion been on the wrong end of an accusatory look or chastised by a hand gesture of dismissive impatience. This is the price of admission that fuels the unpredictable creative process in trying to capture that ‘decisive moment’ of a fluid encounter. There is an inherent anxiety in this process, which is both addictive and illuminating on both sides of the lens. For the photographer, shooting on the fly becomes a tango of stealth and seduction between shared assumptions and divergent intent. Its desired response, when the game is on, is a quicksilver reaction, a fleeting emotional moment that feels eternally relevant once captured.
On a more personal level, each of these portraits, and the ones that I hope will follow, serve as essential waypoints in my life, visual footholds that inevitably trigger memories tinged with the narrative of who, what, when, where and why.