A photographer's dilemma

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Boston is a wonderful city for pedestrians. Every corner opens up a new view on something that makes you want to stop and stare for a while. Walking to a given destination with a specific time in mind can be difficult because of all the stops along the way. But it's so worth it.

So there I was on Friday, walking through a packed Quincy Market and wondering how to find the water. Anytime I'm in a place that's alongside the ocean, a lake or even a river, I do my best to spend some time on the waterfront. I know it sounds odd, but there's something cathartic about being there, on the edge of the land looking out at the watery emptiness.

The color of the water, the smell of the air, the snap of the wind in your hair, the sound of the breeze, the birds and the lapping waves. This unique sensory soup makes you think. It pushes all the conflicting messages of our supercharged lives out of our immediate view and forces us to simply spend some quiet time, alone. It allows us to wonder why we don't do relaxing stuff like this more often. Why is that?

After a few minutes of quiet time by the water's edge, I checked my watch and started to walk back. I had colleagues to meet, a plane to catch, and a family waiting at home.

I stopped to shoot a water fountain in Columbus Park on the way back. Lucky me for stumbling across something so genteel in the middle of a beautiful park. The rotunda was filled with pedestrians from all walks of life. A mother pushing a stroller alongside her friend. A group of tourists taking in the scene. An older couple spending some couplehood time by the water. I took out my camera and trained it on the fountain.

When I was done, I turned around and noticed him. A homeless man was asleep on the bench. I stopped dead in my tracks. A beautiful scene, filled with beautiful people enjoying a beautiful day, all completely ignorant of the low-key tragedy of this one person's life.

I wasn't sure what to do: shoot the scene so that I could tell the story of how cruel and unfair life can seem almost within the same frame, or keep my camera tucked away because I wouldn't want to upset him.

I hemmed and hawed for a bit, wondering what to do. I politely turned down the tourist group's offer to take my picture - stranger-pix always come out lousy, as if people don't know how to compose - and pretended to look at other points of interest for fear of attracting attention to my intentions.
When everyone walked away and I was alone, I decided to shoot. I set the camera up, turned, and clicked off a few images in rapid succession. When I was done, I put my camera away, looking surreptitiously around to ensure no one saw. I silently apologized to the still-sleeping form, hoping he wouldn't feel animosity toward me if he knew, hoping he would know that I'd try to poignantly and sensitively relate the tone of this tiny moment in time.

I don't know whether or not I succeeded - and I still can't rid myself of the feeling that I have somehow violated this individual's life - but I felt I needed to at least try to tell a snippet of his story.

Your turn: What would you have done? Would you have taken your camera out or left it in its bag? Is the value of telling this story greater than the potential for morally injuring the subject of the photograph?

One more thing: I've uploaded the photostream from my trip. Click here to explore my Flickr companion site or simply pop into the sidebar and click on the More of carmizvi's photos link. If you'd like me to pull any of them - along with expanded stories - into the main blog, please let me know.