Nice weather we're having, ain't it?
Rode home from the theater after the Sunday matinee (and tedious publicity photo shoot), weaving in and out of the strollers along the seawall in Waterfront Park.
It was just too nice to go inside. I planted myself at the top of the amphitheater steps by Salmon Street Springs, pulled out my squeezebox, and started running through some hornpipes and jigs. Hadn't been at it more than a couple of minutes when a pretty blonde woman asked, "May I take your picture?"
"Gimme a buck?" I prompted.
She smiled, and starting digging into her handbag. "Sure... if I have one."
"Thanks," I continued. "I really don't mean to be a hard ass. It was actually quite considerate of you to ask."
Some folks stop to listen, snap a picture, then turn their backs and leave. Others kick in a buck. I can live with that. It's the pro's who piss me off. I was playing and singing over at the Farmer's Market in the South Park Blocks one day this past summer. This fellow with an expensive camera stopped, listened to one song, and then started to click off shots. At one point, I discerned that he was was poised to shoot, but he was waiting for me to look up before he snapped the shutter. I decided to sing to my shoes. He probably took a dozen photos over the course of several songs. Then he just walked off. It was then that I decided to respond "Gimme a buck?" when anyone asks if they can take my picture. I'd rather trust them to kick in a buck after taking a photo. I'd rather they give me a buck for my musicianship. I'd rather they had the patience and curiosity to really listen to the songs I sing, which have survived through generations by virtue of their deep-rooted humanity. I forgive them for making me ask for a little consideration, and for being taken aback when I do.
"I don't think I have a buck," she sighed, still pawing around in her pocketboo.
"That's okay. Thanks for asking first, and thanks for trying to reciprocate."
"Oh, I have a buck... in change," she announced. She stepped up to drop the coins in my squeezebox bag.
I thanked her, introduced myself and asked her name. Even after she repeated it for me, I couldn't make out exactly what she said, but it had enough hard consonants to prompt me to ask, "Is that a Scandinavian name?"
"Danish," she confirmed.
"Are you Danish?" I asked. She nodded as she stepped down a few steps and started focusing her camera. The sun was setting, and that spot had actually been in the shadow of the West Hills for a while, but the alpenglow was just beginning to gleam on Mount Hood, the prospect of which rises above the Marquam Bridge approach and the central eastside warehouse district. So I sang to the mountain instead of her camera. She squeezed off a few shots. Then laying her camera aside, she took out a journal or day-timer and jotted a few lines in it.
Then she walked away, and I sighed. What did she write? The stuff of dreams.
Rode home from the theater after the Sunday matinee (and tedious publicity photo shoot), weaving in and out of the strollers along the seawall in Waterfront Park.
It was just too nice to go inside. I planted myself at the top of the amphitheater steps by Salmon Street Springs, pulled out my squeezebox, and started running through some hornpipes and jigs. Hadn't been at it more than a couple of minutes when a pretty blonde woman asked, "May I take your picture?"
"Gimme a buck?" I prompted.
She smiled, and starting digging into her handbag. "Sure... if I have one."
"Thanks," I continued. "I really don't mean to be a hard ass. It was actually quite considerate of you to ask."
Some folks stop to listen, snap a picture, then turn their backs and leave. Others kick in a buck. I can live with that. It's the pro's who piss me off. I was playing and singing over at the Farmer's Market in the South Park Blocks one day this past summer. This fellow with an expensive camera stopped, listened to one song, and then started to click off shots. At one point, I discerned that he was was poised to shoot, but he was waiting for me to look up before he snapped the shutter. I decided to sing to my shoes. He probably took a dozen photos over the course of several songs. Then he just walked off. It was then that I decided to respond "Gimme a buck?" when anyone asks if they can take my picture. I'd rather trust them to kick in a buck after taking a photo. I'd rather they give me a buck for my musicianship. I'd rather they had the patience and curiosity to really listen to the songs I sing, which have survived through generations by virtue of their deep-rooted humanity. I forgive them for making me ask for a little consideration, and for being taken aback when I do.
"I don't think I have a buck," she sighed, still pawing around in her pocketboo.
"That's okay. Thanks for asking first, and thanks for trying to reciprocate."
"Oh, I have a buck... in change," she announced. She stepped up to drop the coins in my squeezebox bag.
I thanked her, introduced myself and asked her name. Even after she repeated it for me, I couldn't make out exactly what she said, but it had enough hard consonants to prompt me to ask, "Is that a Scandinavian name?"
"Danish," she confirmed.
"Are you Danish?" I asked. She nodded as she stepped down a few steps and started focusing her camera. The sun was setting, and that spot had actually been in the shadow of the West Hills for a while, but the alpenglow was just beginning to gleam on Mount Hood, the prospect of which rises above the Marquam Bridge approach and the central eastside warehouse district. So I sang to the mountain instead of her camera. She squeezed off a few shots. Then laying her camera aside, she took out a journal or day-timer and jotted a few lines in it.
Then she walked away, and I sighed. What did she write? The stuff of dreams.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
It's not THAT cold in baltimore (though right now, it is raining. It's always raining in baltimore) but at night it gets chilly and breezy, and the windows are perfectly adjacent to my bed. Plus i'm one of those people who's always cold.
As Morgan would say, I like the way you write.
As a semi-professional photographer myself, I always try to do something nice for my subject. If I'm trying to get a candid shot, I might not always be able to offer something in advance without ruining the shot. But in your case I would have been there listening for a good while before AND after taking the picture, and I would certainly have left a couple of bucks before going on my way.
Some photographers get this attitude like the world belongs to them. To me, it's like a gift I receive. If there were a way to tip the landscape, I would do it. If I could express my gratitude to the marching clouds, the sunlight at seven am, and the air I hold in my lungs while I squeeze the shutter, I would do it.
As things are, I have to settle for being one of those tree-hugging earth lovers and chipping in to charities.
Thanks for the story, and I hope one of these days I get the chance to hear one of your squeezebox sea shanteys.
-ff