Man with birds. Roma.

I hate when people ask me if I’m a photographer.

Sometimes it’s the gear that prompts this. They see the expensive looking camera, or maybe pick up my kit for a moment and are taken aback by how heavy it is. “Whoa! You must be a photographer.” Maybe it’s the final shots that have them whoa-ing, but the gear still takes centre-stage: “You’re camera takes great pictures!”

But no, the reason I hate when people ask me if I’m a photographer is because I’m not sure what to say. On the one hand, I most certainly am. I’ve shot weddings, portraiture, and used my photography as the foundation of several paid graphic design projects. I’ve been paid money to shoot. Simple. But on the other hand, I feel like I’m not really a photographer at all. To date, photography has only been a small part of what I do, and after more than ten years looking through a series of increasingly expensive lenses, I’m still not really doing the kind of photography that has always inspired me the most.

All of my favourite photographers are documentary photographers. The famous black and white street scenes of Henri Cartier-Bresson. The blisteringly visceral war photography of James Nachtwey. The artfully realized wedding work of Jeff Ascough.

Their subjects vary considerably, as well as their styles, but there is a thread of consistency among this type of work that transcends stylistic differences. Unlike fashion photography, most forms of portraiture, and pretty much anything done in a studio, quality documentary work is basically true, at least from the photographer’s point of view. They don’t have the luxury or inclination to ask their subjects to turn a bit to the left, or take a few steps back or find a more flattering angle. Their raw material is only what’s there at a given moment; the light as the camera can record it. Their medium is the world itself.

Every artist has the power to manipulate their audience, and documentary photographers are no different. But compared to a painter who can create whole worlds with the strokes of his brush, or a sculptor who can destroy with the driving bite of her chisel, the documentary photographer’s tool box is much more restricted. His only means of manipulating the final image is to choose what to include in or exclude from the frame; what to focus on, what sort of mood to imbue through lighting, composition, focal length. And while the simplest of these tools can still be very powerful means of manipulation, they do not carry the god-like creative potential of other mediums. Some might think this to be a limitation, but for me it has always been photography’s greatest strength. Art is about interpreting the world around us; recording what we see, sharing how we feel. Documentary photography does this in the most literal way possible. To me, this is the main attraction of the photographic medium, and the ideal I have always aspired to in my own style.

I certainly can’t claim to be a photographer on the same level as those mentioned above. More than anyone, I am aware of just how far my work falls short of where I’d like it to be, and this is why I struggle with the dreaded question. But I am a photographer, and although I am not where I want to be in terms of development or recognition, I am proud of how far I’ve come. One of my biggest goals during our travels is to challenge myself photographically, to think in terms of projects not just individual shots, and to push myself outside of my own comfort levels while behind the camera. Street photography is one way to do this, but it’s not the only way.

I am a photographer; one who is becoming surer and surer that this work is and will continue to be a large part of my professional life.

Man with bandage. Istanbul.

Woman on cell phone. Roma.

Mother and daughter. Istanbul.

Walking man. Roma.

Three ladies. Roma.

Street performer. London.

Busy street at sunset. Roma.

Young tour guide. Tloss, Turkey.

Commuter. Istanbul.

Man on bike. Lanciano.

Teenage couple. Roma.

Young woman. Roma.

Couple kissing. Roma.

Man on ferry. Istanbul.

Related posts:

1. 24 hours in Roma
2. Aya Sophia: up close and personal
3. Everyday Istanbul

This skater and his buddies were shooting some film footage near London Bridge.

The imposing facade of St. Paul’s Cathedral, completed in 1711. It was the work of Sir Christopher Wren, London’s most famous architect.

This is the inside of the London Monument (see Laura’s post below). The Monument is also the work of Wren.

Another shot, this time looking up from the very bottom.

Laura at the top of the Monument.

The two hardest-earned pints in the city.

Related posts:

1. We Walked: 14 Kilometers Through London
2. We’re in London
3. Fish and Chips

The morning air was cold and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. We headed for the British Museum but it was 8:15 am and it didn’t open until 10:00 am. Instead we walked to the Covent Garden Market.

Covent Garden Market, London, UK.

The market was just starting to unravel. Again, we were too early. So, we walked. We walked towards the river, along a place called Sommerset House, which was also closed and we kept walking up a street full of theatres with huge billboards and signs that would probably be flashing with life and entising the crowd, but they too were closed. So, we walked.

By now we were already quite cold. Chris didn’t have mittens or a scarf, but even with those I was getting chilled to the bone. To warm-up we found a coffee shop in front of a castle-like building, the Royal Courts of Justice.

Coffee break in front of the Royal Court of Justice

After warming our fingers for a short while, we walked. Behold, out of the winding street and hugging British buildings was St. Paul’s cathedral. We took a couple shots and then went inside.

St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, UK.

St. Paul’s Cathedral and the ever famous red British telephone booth

As I walked through the revolving door which informed me that  this was the house of God and I was entering the gates of heaven, I was promptly informed by another sign that it would cost me 15.00 pounds to enter. I had a flash back to my high school history class and something about purchasing tokens or tickets for heaven...

Needless to say, we didn’t pay. Instead, we walked towards the TATE MODERN, a fabulous modern art gallery that has FREE ENTRY. Along the way we spotted this memorial in honour of the firefighters who died during the Blitz.  It was covered in row after row of the men’s names.

Firefighter memorial for those who died during the Blitz, with St. Paul’s in the background.

Bridge (featured in Harry Potter!) that takes you to the Tate Modern in the background.

At the Tate, we walked through the many galleries looking at Surrealism, Cubism, Arte Povera and more. A few of the pieces we saw were by Jackson Pollock, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso and Robert Therrien.

Not wanting to pay 10 pounds each to see the reconstruction of the Globe Theatre, we took a photo of the outside. Unfortunately during this time of year no plays are offered in the Globe. I believe they are only available in the spring and summer.

Chris does his best Hamlet monologue in front of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.

From the Globe Theatre  we headed to the Tower Bridge, the famous bridge of London which is often confused as being “London Bridge”. It’s not. London bridge is remarkably mundane. The Tower Bridge on the other hand is quite remarkably extraordinary. They can still lift the bridge to allow the passage of large sea vessels, but a 24 hour notice is required. I was amazed at this considering the construction of the road looks like ordinary, solid asphalt.

Tower Bridge, London, UK

We had fully intended on visiting the Tower of London, located next to the Tower Bridge, but it was 3:30 pm and it closed at 4:30 pm and at 17 pounds/person we decided against it. Nonetheless, with the wonderful lighting from the setting sun, I snapped a shot of Chris.

Tower of London

The tower was used to hold prisoners and to house the royals many, many years ago.

Chris and I had now been outside, walking, for 9 hours. I was thoroughly chilled to the bone and was having a lot of trouble warming up. We went and sat in a church for awhile to take advantage of the heat and then we started the looming walk back across the city to our hostel. Before we got more than 10 meters from the church we saw a huge column and people were at the top of it. “Let’s go” Chris said, “Some stairs should warm us up.” He was right, 311 stairs to the top warmed me up almost as good as a bubble bath and cup of tea.

The 1666 Great Fire of London free-standing stone monument column.

The column was built between 1671 and 1677 to commemorate the Great Fire of London in 1666 which destroyed most of London. The column is the tallest free-standing stone column in the world. It is 202 feet (61 meters) tall which is the exact distance from it to the place where the fire started. It was after the fire that buildings were constucted out of brick or stone.

While coming down the 311 steps in the monument column, I shot this through a narrow window.

I recall Calgary, Alberta, Canada also had to learn this lesson in the late 1800’s after a fire destroyed most of downtown. They rebuilt with sandstone. Um? The reason why anyone would study history suddenly becomes clear.

Needless to say, Chris and I walked back down the 311 steps and kept walking until we finally got “home” at 10:00 pm. After walking this 14 kilometer journey through London, not counting the walking within buildings, we immediately went to sleep.

Related posts:

1. We’re in London
2. Some complementary photos
3. Fish and Chips

We landed at Gatwick Airport, which is a good 40 minutes away from the center of London. After a few minutes of confusion trying to buy a train ticket in a country where they speak the same language as us, we couldn’t help but chuckle at our rusty travel skills and the thought of doing the same thing in Turkey or India. 24 pounds later we were on the train. 40 minutes later we were at Victoria train station in London.

We started walking in the direction of our hostel and the first thing we saw was something that looked like a festival. It turned out to be a market, and buried within was a restaurant called “The Laughing Haddock” with the subtitle, “The Best traditional English Fish and Chips”. The line wove within the restaurant, out the door and down the sidewalk. We figured if the locals will line up for it, then it’s definitely something not to be missed. So, we waited in line, ordered two haddock and a large chips and left the cramped restaurant and were back on the London streets looking for a wet London bench to sit on.

Before we found our wet London bench, we stumbled accross the first political protest of our trip. A mob of protestors had signs that said “Bliar” (in a not-so subtle reference to Tony Blair) and then words of hurt and hate listed below which were separated by what looked like a “SPLAT” of blood. The mob of protestors had a leader with a megaphone (some things never change) and they chanted back whatever he yelled. Police, in their classic Bobby British styled helmets, were all around.

As we passed the protestors, the police, and the media, on our right was Westminister Abby and ahead, as we came around a bend in the road was Big Ben. He looked a lot smaller than I remembered. In the same square as Big Ben, next to a statue of Lincoln–which Chris educated me was most likely there in memory of the American civil war when the British supported Lincoln–and in front of the most ornately decorated court building, we found a wet London bench to eat our lunch. Or perhaps it was brunch. I couldn’t tell you what meal this was suppose to be because all standard order of the day was lost in the void of travel.

We began to eat the greasiest meal of my life: British fish and chips. It was a classic and iconic way for Chris and I to fill our bellies with London. The next day we planned on filling our minds with it.

Related posts:

1. We Walked: 14 Kilometers Through London
2. Some complementary photos
3. We’re in London

Snapped this from 39,000 feet in the middle of the night (hence the grain). This is the eastern edge of Greenland. For the photo nerds, this was taken at f/1.4, 1/4 of a second at ISO 3200. Not bad, not bad.

Hey all,

Just a quick post to let you know we’ve made it safely to London. My battery is about to die. I’ll post some photos of Vancouver soon.

Chris

Related posts:

1. We Walked: 14 Kilometers Through London
2. Fish and Chips
3. Some complementary photos