This last week, I went to San Luis Obispo, California. It was a vacation of sorts, a chance to get away from the computer, the work, the editing, and fall in love with spending time with my family AND my camera all over again.
My goal was to make images in sets of threes. Find a them, take some photos, and group them together. Maybe to sell, maybe to hang in my home. The intention was to practice something different.
Walking down the street, I saw a man eyeballing me. He was sitting on a bench about half a block away, dressed in a way only he could dress. Not bad, not good. Everything about him was just him, and that’s how it needed to be. As I walked closer, he said to me, “You can take my photo right here, but you have to listen to my story first. It’ll only take three minutes.”
He wanted to be heard, he needed someone to listen. He began telling me a story about his life, and how he is an artist, and other things that I’ll save for me and my memory, and before I knew it, it had been ten minutes. I didn’t mind a bit, my friends and family were hungry and restless, but they are champs. They know I can’t ignore an opportunity to know someone.
So this man, I’ll call him Dell Grove, posed for me. I made his photo, he reached his arm out for a fist bump, and we went our different ways.
Sadly, he never showed me his art, but his hands were covered in paint.