Opinion

They’re one grade down from those “decisive moments” — the hypercritical instances captured by Henri Cartier-Bresson. Certain actions are so commonplace, so casual and unremarkable in themselves, that it’s pointless to call them “decisive,” even though they may be critical to the image. What are they?

I call them “passing moments.”

My featured image is a good example of a passing moment. The woman in the orange jacket is standing on a street corner in Hong Kong, handing out free newspapers to commuters on their way to work. She repeats her action time and again with each person who passes.

There’s nothing “decisive” about the moment of delivery. In fact, it seems to happen over a period of one or two seconds rather than in an instant. The man approaches; the woman readies the paper. The man gets closer; the woman offers the paper. The man never breaks stride; the woman doesn’t even look at him. The long moment has passed.

I like these passing moments. They give a sense of “life continuing,” rather than “life frozen.” I actually prefer them to Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moments, which are surely an attempt to identify a phenomenon that doesn’t exist beyond the confines of photography.

You can find actual “decisive moments” only in the realm of science fiction. I remember watching a BBC TV serial called “Quatermass and the Pit” in which scientists dig up an alien space craft which has crashed near a Tube station. When they eventually break through the super-hard metal exterior of the craft they discover what appear to be dead, but perfectly preserved (and very frightening) insects, almost as tall as men. Then Dr Quatermass offers a key insight. These space-voyaging insects are actually alive. They’re simply existing in a different dimension, caught between two micro-seconds of time.

Life Continues
You see, we human beings don’t exist in decisive moments. For us, one moment blends imperceptibly into another. Even if we pause mid-air for a micro-second — like the gentlemen (below) who’s checking his recent purchase of some fresh cakes — we’re not really stuck there for eternity. We delight in swimming through the flux of time — and I really think the happiest people are those who “go with the flow” and enjoy it.

I grant you one thing: photography fixes our appearance for eternity, or at least for as long as the image can survive on disk, paper or computer memory. But there’s a huge gap between the reality of the image and the reality of the material world. It’s a gap that doesn’t exist in, say, literature, in which the flow of time is recreated by the act of reading the poem or novel.

If you concentrate on a single, isolated incident in street photography, you can certainly reduce the scene to a single instant. Yet I really prefer to see a contrast between this briefest of moments (the man looking at the bag) and the wider context of the image (people walking past in the background). When you put the single instant into its context you get…the passing moment.

In the photo below, a shopper examines a dress on a shop dummy. The woman is undemonstrative, pausing for a moment or two before moving on. The inanimate dummy, on the other hand, appears to be much more lively, holding up one hand in a gesture that would yield a “decisive moment” if made by a real person.

My photo therefore contains a fake decisive moment, simulated by the dummy, but sufficiently convincing nonetheless to give the image a sense of “rightness.” I’m not sure if I can even call it a “passing moment,” because the mannequin is poised in such an insistent, transitory position, in imitation of real life.

Yet the formula remains the same. There is a point of focus which appears to be pivotal in the flux of time, around which you can see time still flowing naturally.

That’s a passing moment: not particularly decisive, but a key element of street photography.

So many factors work against the best interests of the street photographer! There’s the constantly changing light, the hostile attitude of people who hate to be photographed, and the incessant movement that causes perfect compositions to disintegrate before our eyes before we can press the button.

How delightful it is, therefore, when something works in our favour! One such factor is the tendency of people to dress in similar ways whenever they join a group.

I guess this harks back to our prehistoric past when we all belonged to a particular tribe. Some of us still do. If we join a company that has a corporate uniform, or if we’re in the armed services, or simply working at a job that demands a certain kind of clothing — then we’re behaving tribally once again. It’s all to do with identification, of being part of something greater than ourselves.

Couples
Young couples often dress like each other, not because they don’t have individual taste but because they like to demonstrate what they have in common. Perhaps they go shopping together and express a liking for certain materials, styles and colour combinations.

The two people in my featured photo (above) make a harmonious composition with their shared love of burgundy red. I was fortunate to come across them when they were enjoying a wine tasting at a winter street market — and luckier still to see them sampling red wine rather than white. Spanish burgundy?

Larger Groups
It’s a little more unusual to find larger groups of people wearing similar clothes unless they share the same occupation. I saw these four guys (below) walking away from a street carnival at the end of the day. I have no idea who they are, but for that very reason I find them thoroughly intriguing.

As you may know if you read this blog regularly, I like pictures that compel the onlooker to make up a story to account for the content of the image. Here’s my own version. It may or may not be true.

Four friends, possibly members of a boy band, came to town dressed in their normal clothes (not the ones you see here) and discovered there was a carnival in the afternoon.

It was a bright day, so they all bought sunglasses in matching styles, then one person had the bright idea of buying matching clothes as well. As a result, they popped into clothing retailer H&M where they picked out identical tee-shirts, shorts and socks.

The town is full of party stores, so it was easy to find some colourful, carnival-style garlands. The only problem — apart from non-matching trainers — was having to carry their regular clothes in the H&M shopping bags. Maybe next time they’ll come fully prepared!

Working Parties
If you’re looking for colour repetition among groups of people you could do worse than photograph men and women at work. When people are obliged to wear a uniform they automatically make a harmonious picture. I hasten to add: it’s up to the photographer to make sure there are also other reasons for taking the shot.

The group shot of people at work seems to be most successful when the individuals clearly show their unique personalities, despite wearing identical dress. Such an effect does not come across when you see, for example, a distant shot of soldiers on parade. They all look very much alike. But in civilian life, people are free to express themselves in different ways while still being able to work together effectively.

I have a couple of shots to support this theory. The first (immediately above) shows three guys setting up an outdoor sound system. They all look pretty efficient, dressed in the corporate tee-shirt, with two of them wearing the corporate baseball cap as well.

However, each man has a separate task to perform while communicating with colleagues, including someone else at the end of the telephone, presumably back at base. Individual personalities are apparent, making a contrast with the similarity of dress. The red arrow and stark white of the untouched water bottles suggest a sense of urgency, but the man with his back to us — with the jaunty pigtail — provides a calm, stabilising influence.

I took a similar, but more humourous shot on a later date (below). Again, there are three guys making preparations for an event, putting name-tags on seats. A passing TV cameraman is not part of their “tribe” because he wears a different corporate outfit and works without any reference to the others.

The photo would not be as amusing without the family of pandas in the background. They’re all part of their own tribe: Mum, Dad, and the two Cubs.

Yet like each of the men in the photo, the pandas seem to have individual personalities. The young male has a zany hairstyle and is the only one expressing any concern. Likewise, the man in charge — who points with his finger and seems to be saying “that’s where it goes” — is equally self-conscious about his hair. What appears to be a colourful comb juts out from his back pocket. The young panda looks aghast!

Do advertisers mind if you include their posters in your street shots? No, they encourage it. They like to see their adverts reproduced in as many places as possible. It’s one reason why so many posters are amusing and “high impact” — and why they positively invite selfies and photo ops of people standing next to them.

This is especially true of posters located close to the ground, at bus stops and waiting areas. There’s much to be gained by having everyman and everywoman displayed in close proximity to the image in a poster. It connects the public to the product. In this way, the product insinuates itself into our collective consciousness and becomes part of the fabric of daily life.

In my street photography I take it for granted that this devious process is taking place, but I don’t attempt to fight it by ignoring the posters. What’s the point? In a hundred years time the product being advertised may have long gone out of fashion, its manufacturer bankrupted by changing tastes. The world moves on, but street photography is forever.

The Eternal Triangle
In my featured image (above) there are several elements playing their separate roles and the Kurt Geiger poster is just one of them. The shape of the poster is repeated in the white rectangles at the top of the frame. Huge columns separate the two real-life figures, a workman in overalls who’s just bought a sandwich and a pregant woman who’s taking a distant photo into the bright sun.

Please don’t ask me for the “meaning” of this picture. While I certainly don’t think its meaningless, I can’t quite put into words any precise explanation of it, other than to analyse the composition. At the time of taking the shot, I saw the image as a whole and composed it deliberately to achieve the effect you see.

When I saw that the model in the poster was wearing sunglasses and appeared to be looking directly at me (and my camera) I was naturally interested. I had to wait for the two figures to move into position and they duly obliged. I had in mind the idea of contrasting real-life people with the image of the glamourous model, but I think the picture has turned out differently. It’s really about photography.

The glamourous model, the pregnant photographer in pink, and me (or you the onlooker) form a triangle that almost encloses the worker and the two huge columns. The whole composition hinges on the man who is closest to the centre of the image. In particular, the whitest and brightest feature is the man’s overalls which identify him with the workers who built and now maintain the magnificent setting.

In other words, the workman is actually part of the background, despite his visual prominence. The real subject is the photographic triangle: us, the model and the woman in pink.

At least, that’s one way of looking at it.

The next picture (above) is not nearly as complicated. It’s just two woman texting while the little girl in the poster gives a big, exaggerated yawn. It’s my simple way of stating that I’m getting a little bored with seeing — and photographing — so many people staring at their phones. Henri Cartier-Bresson never had this problem!

Too Good to Ignore
Images in posters are far too good to ignore. The photographers who take the original shots are highly paid professionals and have gone to a lot of trouble to create the most stunning images possible. If you include their images within your street photo, you owe it to the fraternity of photographers to make a significant contribution of your own. That’s why I say: “If you borrow a poster, put it to good use.”

For every Saint sculpted by European artists I reckon there must be a thousand Buddhas sculpted in the Orient. It’s almost impossible to perform street photography without including them. Alternatively, you may decide to make them your primary subject. After all, the image of the Buddha is not a stage prop and shouldn’t be treated as such, despite being as much a part of the eastern environment as the ground itself.

Images of the Buddha are not representational in the same way that images of Christ, or the Saints, represent an individual human being who is nonetheless divine. A sculpture of the Buddha has an abstract, symbolic quality. It represents both an idea and an ideal. The idea is eternity and the ideal is the possibility of achieving oneness with eternity and liberation from the otherwise endless cycle of death and rebirth.

Eternity and Ephemerality
Street photography is all about capturing the ephemeral moment and preserving it for eternity — or at least for as long as people wish to view it. Unlike the sculptor, the photographer can’t separate these concepts of eternity and ephemerality. The conflict — or contrast, if you prefer — is built into the medium.

Move, point, click, eternity. That’s the photographer at work. Is it entirely coincidental that more cameras are manufactured in Buddhist countries (Japan, Thailand) than elsewhere? It’s interesting to reflect on this thought. We could be forgiven for thinking that the camera is a tool of Buddhist teaching.

All Buddhist sculptures are highly finished and smoothly polished, whether made of bronze or stone. They seem to be so self-contained and other-worldly you could almost believe they arrive in the world fully formed, without human assistance.

I love to see ancient Buddhist sculptures, standing or sitting in rows — especially in the rain. Repeatedly, they weather the storms yet succeed in maintaining their posture, even when the substance of which they’re made begins to erode.

Buddhas in the Making
Only during the sculpting or painting of a Buddhist figure do you get a sense of “process” rather than fixed, eternal serenity. I think my photo (above) of the craftsman in the purple shirt, who is smoothing the surface of the figure with some kind of resin, shows the process — but the moulded statue is already fully formed. Even here, the Buddha seems to be perfect, despite any ongoing activity to finish the work.

I took the shot from across a major road in a particularly busy part of Bangkok, near the Giant Swing — the huge wooden structure on which young men would perform the dangerous religious ceremony of “Lo Jin Ja.” Rooted in Hindu traditions, Buddhism is not all contemplation and quiet reflection!

To the Western mind, Buddhism appears to have been born out of a human desire for permanence in an impermanent world. Buddhists counter this view by eliminating desire itself. They set themselves on a path which, they believe, leads to freedom (from reincarnation), oneness (with the rest of existence), and eternity. You won’t get there, they say, if you desire it.

As a result, Buddhist societies have an easy acceptance of life in all its forms. I can’t be uncritical of the religion as a whole, because — as in all religions — cults and breakaway groups have a habit of making sudden appearances, enriching their founders and enslaving their adherents. Yet there are so many positive aspects, especially respect for life, tolerance shown to others, and reverence for the enormity of existence — that I can’t ignore it either.

In Thailand, what I value most about Buddhism is the way in which it interweaves with the everyday lives of the people. As I write, my 96-year-old father-in-law is celebrating his birthday by inviting a number of monks into his home for prayers and a meal. Younger people rarely have special birthday celebrations, but older people like to mark the big occasions: those that correspond with the 12-year-cycles.

Hence, 60, 72, 84, 96 are all occasions on which monks are needed, especially when you’re 72 and have completed your “six cycles” according to Eastern tradition — a tad longer than our “three score years and ten.”

The Forest, the City, and the Monastery
As I understand it, there are three environments in which the Buddhist adept — the Bodhisattva — can reside. They are the forest, the city, and the monastery.

Bodhisattvas have placed themselves on the path to enlightenment — and could achieve it with ease but stay to help others along the way. To me, those in the city seem to have the most noble calling, while those in the monastery have the advantage of peace and tranquility for reflection. Yet it’s the forest dwelling monks who are the most highly regarded, with their tradition consistently promoted as superior to the others.

Back to Nature
Away from the normal city, I like to take pictures in Thailand’s Ancient City, the 200-acre park just to the south of Bangkok. Its construction began in the early 1960s but it’s filled with accurate reproductions of many ancient temples as well as with several original buildings, moved here to enhance the sense of authenticity.

“Ancient Siam” (as it’s now called) is not in the forest, as such, but set in splendid gardens with hundreds of trees and pathways. It gives you a real insight into the variety of Buddhist tradition and all the mythological events and narratives that support it.

Just above is my shot of people working cheerfully on their very latest sculpture. The woman has discarded her gloves to get a better grip of her spatula for carefully smoothing the torso. The Buddhist figure smiles back at her.

Colour is both joyful and exhausting. It’s the signature of life: a signal to living creatures that we’re here on Earth instead of far away on a remote, monochrome moon.

Think of how the world would look if everything were in black and white, the two neutral colours of a legal document. It would look dead and lifeless.

Most animals, together with birds and insects, have colour vision. Dogs tend to confuse red and green, but they can certainly distinguish red from blue. Even cats — once thought to see only in black and white — can detect more colours than was once thought.

Our Colourful Vision
Human beings have sophisticated colour vision because of the number of cones in the eye. As a result, we can see that trees have a hundred shades of green in the spring and a thousand shades of red, yellow and brown in the fall. If we wait until winter, when life is hibernating, we see the countryside drained of brilliant colour, leaving brown branches, blue smoke, white snow and little else apart from evergreen trees, colourful man-made objects, and, of course, the birds.

Birds have better colour vision than we do. They see more colours and they have additional color cones in their retina, making them more sensitive to ultraviolet. Even to our eyes, birds appear to have colourful plumage, but to them the feathers of another bird are quite remarkable — and well worth a compliment in birdsong.

We’re Outclassed by the Birds
Don’t just take my word for it. Scientists have studied the colour vision of birds, comparing it to our own. Richard Prum, professor of ornithology, ecology, and evolutionary biology at Yale University, noted: “The startling thing to realise is that although the colors of birds look so incredibly diverse and beautiful to us, we are colorblind compared to birds.”

It appears that birds can see far more colours than they make in their plumage. However, over millions of years of evolution they’re gradually catching up, becoming more and more colourful. The same phenomenon is happening, not in human evolution (as far as we know) but in human culture — and far more quickly.

Professor Prum, with Mary Caswell Stoddard of the University of Cambridge, authored the 2011 paper: “How colorful are birds? Evolution of the avian plumage color gamut.”

It’s a fascinating read and raises all kinds of questions that are relevant to photography. For example, at the time of its publication, Professor Prum said: “Our clothes were pretty drab before the invention of aniline dyes, but then color became cheap and there was an explosion in the colorful clothes we wear today.” He added: “The same type of thing seemed to have happened with birds.”

Birds use colour for different purposes: not only as camouflage but also for social signalling and choosing a mate. But what came first: the avian visual system or the complex communication signals which led, via evolution, to increasingly colourful plumage? It’s not a “chicken and egg” situation! Scientists are reasonably sure the visual system evolved first and all the rest followed.

Likewise, we are filling our world with increasingly colourful objects: murals, paintings, bright plastic chairs, anoraks, tee-shirts, mailboxs, and brightly coloured vehicles. When Henry Ford said the customer could have a car painted any colour as long as it was black, he must have realised the policy would eventually have to change. We see colour and we yearn for colour, even when it’s garish and in questionable taste.

The Yellow Car
A while back there was an illustration of our modern attitude towards colour when hundreds of motorists driving bright yellow cars descended on the Cotswold village of Bilbury, in Gloucestershire. They were there in support of Peter Maddox, 84, a resident whose own yellow car had been vandalised by people who thought it looked out of place in the picture-postcard village.

Mr Maddox had no wish to offend and replaced the car with a grey one, but not before news of the dispute spread on the Internet. Hearing that tourists had deprived a pensioner of his car simply because it ruined their photos was more than other yellow car owners could bear. Like a swarm of angry bumble bees they arrived at Bilbury to make “a celebration of anything yellow“.

The story ends happily for some, but not for all. Today in England, you can have your car sprayed in “Maddox Yellow.” Thank you, Mr. Ford.

And the Conclusion Is?
For the street photographer, the only possible conclusion is that the world is getting ever more colourful — often in ways we find hard to accept. We can exclude colour and stick to black and white photography. Or we can embrace it joyfully, like the motorists who went to Bilbury in support of Mr. Maddox.

In my own experience I find a similar conflict between the subtle grey tones of traditional architecture and the garish additions of street signs, posters, graffiti, and brightly coloured hairstyles, clothes and accessories. This is especially true in the northern cities of Europe and North America, where the best policy for the street photographer is to be selective with colour, using it for contrast and emphasis.

In tropical countries, colour becomes more prevalent in human culture — as it does among birds. I still try to make sense of it when taking pictures in South-East Asia where I’m obliged to see the world primarily in terms of colour. I sometimes limit the range of colour within a single image, as in the featured photo (at the top). At other times I “let it all hang out” and include every colour in front of me (as below).

I don’t expect everyone to approve.