It’s easy to walk around the downtown streets and start to feel a little inferior. I know there will always be people who are cooler than me. I know there will be people who have more money and power than I’ll ever have. As much as I might pay attention to comings and goings downtown, I know there will always be those who are more in-the-know. So whence the source of my discomfort? Cameras. Sometimes it seems that a requirement for a trip downtown (or a walk downtown, if you are already here), as basic as a black dress for the women and a hat for the men, is a camera.
I’m not talking about a little Instamatic or a camera phone. Only the teenagers use the camera phones. For adults the requirement seems to be a massive, asymmetrical colossus that must perform photographic functions of which I cannot conceptualize. I often wonder, “Where do all the pictures go?” They must be out there somewhere. I run around with my little Kodak taking pictures that seem to work out OK and mine actually go somewhere. It’s confounding to consider. The group of large camera bearers I’ve pictured here were one of two such groups I ran into on the same night.
This particular group of photographers (I think it was an actual photography class) had commandeered two young girls and took their pictures repeatedly in the doorway of the not-then-open Black Market. I took my shot at one of the girls with my little camera (see below) and I think it turned out just fine. I’m sure their cameras do things mine can’t do, but I think sometimes the subject makes more difference. Besides, you’ve seen my picture of this lovely young lady. Have you seen theirs?