Curtis's Dilemma

I recently took in an exhibition of work by Edward Curtis, famed Native American portrait artist and chronicler of the last remaining intact native societies in the United States at the turn of the century. His work was paired with contemporary native photographic artists and was presented with a critique of his methods as not being an authentic representation of the culture for two reasons:  he often had his subjects “dress up” in their traditional ceremonial costumes, and he would erase any references of modernity that might show up in the photographs. Fair enough. But having recently read Shadowcatcher, Curtis’s life story, I find I can relate a little to just what he was up against in trying to capture a culture for posterity in rapidly changing times.

A part of my journey is to try to share my experiences with friends and followers who have supported this adventure. What an incomplete portrait it would be without the visuals to go with the stories. Taking pictures of the happenings around the studio is pretty easy. Everybody knows what is going on. But when I venture out into the city, hoping to capture a bit of my surroundings, I am the outsider and, naturally, I get my fair share of attention and scrutiny as well.

While Curtis schlepped his heavy camera and equipment over rough terrain on horseback, I walk about comfortably with a thin wafer of technology in my hand. But I find myself in what I imagine is a similar dilemma: Do I seize the moment, document it raw, as is or do I announce my intention, ask permission, pay for the privilege, risk spoiling the moment? The artist in me wants to follow my creative instinct. Go for it. The respectful guest wants to be sure not to offend.

Yesterday, when I ventured out early into the neighborhood with a vague plan to capture the scene, I passed a neighbor working her patch of garden and was compelled to freeze that moment. I thought I would get a discreet shot while she was unaware, but then,  I decided to ask. She was skeptical. A white man wanting to get a shot of the “native”.

 “I’m an artist, working with your neighbor at the WayiWayi studio.” The artist excuse had served me well in the past. An awkward moment. I put myself in her shoes. What would I think if I was similarly confronted while casually watering my lawn? After a moment she graciously acquiesced. Then posed. In her traditional, Zambian ceremonial working-in-the-garden costume. The spontaneous, frozen, moment in time was transformed into something else.

 “Will you pay me?” she asked after I thanked her and began to walk away.
Realizing I had nothing in my pocket I replied, “ Sorry, today, I have nothing to give you but thanks".

Morning gardener