“Do you ask before you take someone’s picture?” It’s the first question people ask when they see my photos. The answer is no. If I see an interesting scene like this shirtless sunbaker, I frame it and press the shutter button.
This is kind of unremarkable to me – candid street photography is a genre almost as old as the medium itself, and I spend a lot of time looking at it. But I can see why going for little walks to take pictures of strangers might seem a strange, even slightly deviant, hobby.
This distrust has probably become even deeper at a time when we are (for good reason!) especially concerned with questions of personal autonomy and consent.
Given all that, I’m not sure I can justify myself. I hope my photos are getting better, but I wouldn’t be confident enough to say that their artistic value justifies much at all. And while I do think that almost all street photos become fascinating historical documents after enough time passes, I’m unsure whether my images will ever escape my hard drive (or Instagram account).
The truth is, I take pictures for myself. Getting Instagram likes is part of it, I can’t lie, but it’s also changed the way I think in so many ways.
For starters, street photography has given me a confidence I never had before. Squatting down in gutters, standing on corners and pointing cameras at people used to make me feel incredibly self-conscious. It took me a while to realise nobody cares what I’m doing – they’re too busy worrying about themselves to even notice. There’s a huge sense of freedom in that.
It’s also handy to know how far chutzpah can take you. I’m no longer shy about raising the viewfinder to my eye or sticking my camera in someone’s face, and I get confronted far less now than when I started out and tried to be sneaky. If you act like you’re meant to be there, you can get away with pretty much anything.
It’s actually far more common for people to apologise for getting in my photo (not realising that they’re the subject) than it is for them to confront me. Last week, a woman pushing a cat in a stroller saw what I was up to and stopped to pose for me – this happens more than you might think. I don’t have the heart to tell them they’re missing the point of the exercise.
Occasionally, somebody will still ask me what I’m doing or tell me off. In that situation, telling them the truth – “you’ve got really interesting hair and it looks great in this light” or “your dog is standing in front of a sign that says ‘doggy style’ and I think that’s funny” – defuses the situation 90% of the time.
Often, these interactions end in a great chat. A few weeks ago I befriended some construction workers who initially mistook me for a council inspector. Once I explained what I was up to, they invited me behind a barricade to take more snaps.
All this makes me feel rather warm and fuzzy about human nature, to be honest. Even when you’re doing something that seems slightly suss, most people are open to other people’s interests and happy for an honest interaction.
In the rare case where somebody is truly upset about having their picture taken, I’ll just delete it. There are plenty of good reasons a person might not want to be photographed, and a good picture isn’t worth upsetting someone over.
Photographing the streets has also taught me a level of patience I’ve never had before. Once I find a place with interesting light, making a photo can sometimes take hours of standing around, not looking at my phone, waiting for something to happen. Even then, I go out most days and come back without a single good image.
Long-term persistence is required as well. Like a poker machine, street photography has a random reinforcement schedule – you never know what’s going to happen, when an interesting picture will present itself. The only guarantee is that the more time you spend out in the world, the more likely you are to capture it.
But maybe the greatest gift this strange pastime has given me is presence. Being on the street is a process of actively observing, searching for the interesting amid the mundane, the beautiful amid the commonplace – whether that’s bin chickens posing in a fountain or a little dog going apeshit inside a parked car.
Isn’t that something we could all practise? And something you might think about if you catch me taking your photo.
Alex McClintock is hosting a pop-up exhibition of his Sydney street photography at 2 Brompton Road, Marrickville on Thursday 29 February from 6pm until 8pm
