Keeper.
I love this image. I shot it many years ago and it's in the entry hall to our main house. I made a print that is much, much better than the above scan because it's on 20 x24 inch, double weight Ilford Gallerie paper and I slaved over the burning and dodging for multiple renditions. It's beautifully framed and matted and has been hangin at the entry to the house for nearly 28 years now. It doesn't get old.
I show it today to talk about a tendency some photographers have of seeing a scene, getting a quick snap and the rushing off; either out of fear of being discovered by the subjects or because they didn't slow down and think about ways they might have made the shot better either by changing the composition, changing the point of view or just slowing down and waiting for the scene in front of them to change on its own, in a natural way.
The images below are the ones that came in the moments before the image above. Each has a different look and a different energy. I was waiting and sampling to see if I could get exactly what the fast part of my brain would identify as "the one." The slow and plodding part of my brain wanted to think about it some more and maybe go for some gelato. In all I shot eight frames. Not being very surreptitious because I was using a big, loud, medium format film Hasselblad camera with the volume turned up to full. And I was maybe five or six feet behind the couple. I assumed that they assumed I was actually photographing the 2,000+ year old landmark in front of us (behind them) so why should they care? But to me the secret trick of this set of images is the thought/intention of not retreating after getting "a" frame. But waiting to get "the" frame. Maybe the waist level finder of the camera was an aid to the whole exercise. After all, who can work quickly looking at a screen that shows you everything backwards and dark? That sure slows one down. On the other hand I was using a 6x6cm camera so after 8 frames I was getting near the end of my 12 exposure roll and, well, film wasn't free. Usually.
Printing an image quite large (for the times) and living with it in your home for nearly three decades goes a long way toward confirming how you feel about the work. We took all the art work down last year so the housepainters could work without endangering the frames and the glass on the prints. When the walls were bare B. and I both felt the house seemed empty and unsettled. Not finished. Once the prints went back up the equilibrium in the space returned. We have more wall space to fill but we haven't decided on more images just yet. Give us another 30 years. ...