September 15, 2002 – Unlike the International Spy Museum, the Hirshhorn was almost bereft of people. It was cool and modern and cylindrical.
Nicole Wilson and I were there to attend the exhibit, Open City: Street Photographs since 1950.
I have been a shooter since I was a VWL (Very Wee Lad) and as my father was Bob Abraham, I grew up with a camera in my Formerly Little Hands. My first camera was a Nikkormat, as a child. Then I had a wonderful Nikon FA. I now use Nikon N90s bodies, Speedlight flashes, and fast Nikkor Lenses. God is my gaffer, I always say. There is very little lighting better than available.
Anyway, Nicole and I enjoyed the works. I am a slide photographer and so it was hard for me to consider the number of images that I have thrown away. Its mind-boggling, really: I must, over time and after editing, throw away well over 2/3rd of my slides. And that is after a quick once-over with my loupe.
Some of the images looked like some of the images I have not hesitated to trash. Oh, the humanity! I had been looking at the slides through the filter of my Agencies, so I was not exploring them as an artist.
Although I never through it would be true, I agree whole-heartedly with Miss Nicole when she commented that the only street photographs she liked were the archival, historical, images in black and white without modern cars.
I have the same prejeduce and adore modern editorial people photography (which cannot really sell in the stock world without a model release) but I prefer to do this sort of photography in black and while, removing the subject from any historical reference. I like to shoot weddings in this timeless way as well. Its very important to me. I hate much of the photography I see from the 70s and 80s. They seem to me to be heavy-handedly aware of its ephemeral timeliness.
When we finished, as the rent-a-cop spoke of the closing, lovely Nicole and I descended, exited, and then sat together in the Hirshhorn’s sculpture garden. We sat and looked at pretty little children. One gorgeous child in particular. Hapa. And androgenously beautiful with short curly dark hair and eyes welling with an odd and self-aware serenity and wisdom.
I love that child.
It was time for us to eat. We planned to go back to Dupont to Chinese.
Sarah Fina Connerley called. I called her. She told us she would like to join us for dinner. Nicole and I waited a while at corner of Seventh Street SW and Independence Avenue. Nicole and I were talking about Kylie Manogue. She danced. It was hot. Nicole never looks like she ever feels the heat, although she is always hot. I always feel the heat. She sang, “nah nah nah, nah nah nah-nah-nah” and the day passed.
The phone rang. The phone was head. Nicole spoke loudly and clearly into the handset of her phone, “we are at the corner of Independence and 7th!” A moment later, Sarah drove up, and we were off like a shot.
