During my first few days in Darjeeling, India, I was determined to try travel portraiture. I had never done it before and was nervous about approaching strangers that didn’t speak English.

Darjeeling is in Himalayas of northern India and most known for its delicious tea, which I can most definitely attest to (I averaged about 7 cups a day!). Early one morning, I set out with a goal to approach at least one person. On my way to the market, I saw this man sitting on the curb. I waved to him and he returned the gesture. As I walked past him, I couldn’t believe that I passed up the perfect portrait opportunity. I went through the market and couldn’t muster up the courage to ask anyone for a portrait. Defeated, I made my way back to the hotel. I was taking a different route on my return when I came across the same man sitting in a different place. There was no way I was going to pass up this opportunity again. I said hello to him again, but this time pointed to my camera and asked if I could take his portrait. He agreed and I spent the next 5 or so minutes photographing him. It was an incredible experience! I didn’t realize till then that one could connect with a complete stranger without having a conventional conversation. The camera could be a way of “talking” with people. Since then, travel portraiture has quickly become one of my favorite genres of photography.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

During a home stay in the most northern part of India between Nepal and Bhutan, I had the pleasure of meeting this Nepali man. He spoke no English and very little Hindi, but the family I stayed with helped translate for me. His bed was in the corner of the kitchen, and his only possessions were a few articles of clothing and a blanket. I was having lunch in the kitchen when I noticed how the window light on his face was perfect for a black and white portrait. I asked to take his photo and he agreed without hesitation. Although I was shooting with film and couldn’t review the shot as with digital, I knew I had a compelling portrait of a very dignified man.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

For this six-month trip that started in Europe and then ventured over to Southeast Asia, I carried a rather cumbersome telephoto lens. Time and again, I thought to myself how I shouldn’t have brought such a heavy and expensive piece of equipment. However, it proved its utility on the rare occasions that I used it.

One such occasion was during an afternoon bike ride. I saw photographic potential with these workers, but I truly didn’t feel like trudging through the suspicious muddy water (I think it was a rather “active” ecosystem). I ended up finding a narrow path to walk out on. Then, I gladly brought out my telephoto lens and lowered myself to blur out the grass. One of the workers eventually started walking towards me with two of his water buffalo. This action completed the composition I was looking for (see photo 1).

Ultimately, I’m glad I brought the telephoto lens because it allowed me to seize opportunities such as this. There are a number of portfolio shots from that trip that simply wouldn’t have been possible without having a telephoto lens.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

These photographs were made shortly after my series with the workers in part 1. I saw this construction site from the road and decided to go inside and introduce myself. As in part 1, I wasn’t simply looking for “pretty” pictures or documentary photos. I was looking for content and beauty. Story and soul.

I first started photographing a teenage boy who was catching bricks. I tried different focal lengths and eventually came to this composition (see photo 1). After that, I had to capture the brick at just the right moment. This brick serves the same purpose as the large rock in part 1: it’s the counter-point of interest to the worker’s face.

Second, I started photographing this older man who was carrying bricks to the wall, and then throwing them up to the roof (see photo 3). I could tell by his calm and pleasant disposition, that a nice portrait was waiting to be discovered. Richard Avedon, one of the best portrait and fashion photographers as far as I’m concerned, mentioned how he works from a series of no’s: no distractions, no exquisite lighting, no props, etc. The no’s eventually lead to the yes! I find this to be a great approach as well. I positioned myself where the composition would be simplest: no trash bags on the floor, no workers, ladders, or wheel barrels in the background. I then waited for the worker to return. When he did, I quietly asked him to look at me for a moment (see photo 4).

In looking back on that afternoon, I’m surprised by how many portfolio shots came from that short period of time.  These three photos—the rock carrier from part 1, the brick catcher, and brick thrower—remain as three of my favorite shots taken during a six-month trip! What’s interesting is that this happens numerous times in my portfolio. If I hadn’t been prepared during certain moments, I would have missed out on some amazing photographic opportunities and meaningful experiences. In this case, what if I’d decided to go home after my Hindi class instead of exploring this nearby village? Thinking about that almost makes me shudder.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

This last week has been quite busy with weddings and photoshoots. Photos from these shoots and their stories are coming soon. In the meantime, let me start another photo essay series about workers in Kerala.

Kerala is the southwestern province of India and borders the Arabian Sea. I had the pleasure of living there for five weeks while attending a language school. All of our meals were on large banana leaves. The fresh pineapple was delicious and always a daily highlight.

One afternoon after my Hindi language class, I was biking to a nearby village and came across this scene. The workers would lift these huge granite rocks onto this man’s head (photo 1). He would then carry them up a hill and dump them into a truck. The work was rather repetitive, but I still found it quite amazing to document because of the huge rocks this one man was carrying. I started photographing different visual elements of the scene; trying to capture the impressiveness of the activity (photo 2). As he lifted the last and largest rock of the day, I purposely angled my camera to include the entire rock (photo 3). This seemingly minor adjustment accomplishes two major goals. First, it brings journalistic interest to the photo: one can’t help notice the sheer size of the rock that this man is resting on his head. Second, it develops artistic/visual interest between the man’s expression and the rock.

This blending of art and story—showing and telling—is what I find missing in much of Contemporary art. Oftentimes, Contemporary art is exclusive to one or the other. Art with visual interest, but no underlying substance quickly loses its connection with the viewer. Art that focuses exclusively on content leaves the viewer perplexed and uninspired (“School: The Archaeology of Lost Desires, Comprehending Infinity and the Search for Knowledge” is a perfect case in point). Having both is necessary for meaningful art. Do you agree with this opinion? What do you think are the key ingredients to meaningful art? Do you think that Contemporary art more often than not overlooks this integral dichotomy? Feel free to leave a response.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

On the same jeep safari as in the last entry, I had yet again another instance with this smiling dilemma. This time though, I realized, or should I say, “experienced” the answer to why this was happening.

I was invited into a small hut where I saw this woman and her family. She expressed no concern with being photographed, but as in the previous instances, she would immediately stop smiling once I raised my camera. I lowered my camera just a bit and gave her a big smile. I then pointed to my grin in a friendly manner. She began laughing for just a brief moment during which I was able to take this shot. I showed her this second photo on my digital camera and she was thrilled to see it. I then had to go to a nearby gypsy dance and said goodbye to them (side note: there will be another series of entries on gypsies in India… quite a fascinating topic as well). As I was leaving that village about 20 minutes later, these young boys came running to me with an antelope horn. They told the guide that this was a thank you gift from the woman I photographed earlier. My guide was surprised by this gesture and mentioned to me that this was very uncommon for a woman to do.

I’m certain that this woman’s gift was an expression of gratitude for appreciating her smile. Living in an extremely patriarchal society, women are forced to suppress their thoughts and emotions. Most of the remote desert villages in India fit into this category. In fact, one village we visited still practiced female infanticide. These women weren’t self-conscious of smiling. They were self-conscious of expressing anything at all. Hence the blank, cold expressions I received initially.

In America, self-expression is encouraged from the day we are born. Freedom to express oneself implies equality and independence. Yet these two attributes are most assuredly looked down on for women in patriarchal societies. With this experience being almost three years ago, I sometimes like to wonder what these women are doing at this very moment. They’re most likely going to the well for water, restoring their mud huts, tending crops or cooking. Whatever it is, I hope they’re smiling.

If you would like to read more about this day, click here for the travel blog entry.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

Believe it or not, this strange occurrence where women refused to smile happened on a frequent basis during my travels in Rajasthan, India. This was not only challenging photographically, but it also stirred an intense curiosity. Why weren’t these women comfortable smiling for the camera?

Here is another example of this scenario. I paid a hefty $200 USD for a daylong jeep safari through some of India’s most remote desert villages. This was an exorbitant price to pay, but it took me to some very untouched places. As we entered one of the remote villages, I was immediately drawn to this young girl’s face. Like my experience with the mother in Part 1, I could not get her to relax for the camera (refer to photo 1).

After clearly not having any success on my own, I went to my tour guide, Fifu, and asked him if he could help lighten the mood. When I raised my camera, he said something humorous in Hindi… probably something related to me Everybody started laughing and I had a brief moment to photograph her charming and joyful smile (refer to photo 2).

Although I was thrilled to have photographed this girl’s natural expression, I still didn’t understand why this was a challenge in the first place. The answer came to me on the same jeep safari when I explored another remote village. Stay tuned for the third and final entry to this series. I’m sure you will find the answer rather intriguing. Hint: consider the consequences of an extremely patriarchal society.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

I try to achieve various moods when doing travel portraiture. Sometimes I work to capture serious expressions. Other times, I try for something more light and joyful.

Here, I really liked this woman’s smile and laugh. However, every time I raised my camera she would immediately look solemn and serious. I tried and tried to get her to crack a smile, but wasn’t succeeding in the least. Then her mother (to our right) commented in Hindi that a small part of her breast had been exposed for the previous photos. She and I hadn’t noticed this and we immediately started laughing with her mother. Bingo! That’s the shot.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

These broken water pots were set-aside in the corner of a house I visited in Nawalgarh, India. The family specialized in making water pots, and was quite amused to see me taking pictures of what they considered junk. Making a water pot has three main stages. The family first removes the clay from the ground near their home. The father then moulds the clay into a water pot (See photo 2). After it dries, the young daughter paints on the finishing touches. They sell the new pots for about fifty cents each. When I first photographed this scene, there was a bright yellow sack on the far right shelf, and the sun was shining brightly on the green wall. I decided after reviewing the photograph that it was worth returning in the evening when the light was more appealing. I also removed the yellow sack to insure a more consistent color scheme. Many of the households in this part of India paint their walls green and blue because it helps retain coolness during the severe summer months. This “junk pile” ended up making a rather beautiful composition.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post

Frans Lanting, a National Geographic photographer, explained in a seminar that the best images are often over your shoulder. His advice proved true in this instance. I was visiting a remote village in the Thar Desert, which is near the Pakistan-India border. I initially hoped to photograph a young mother. Before doing so, I decided to look behind me. There sitting on a dirt floor, I saw this woman. I made sure she was comfortable with being photographed and then dropped down to her eye level. I took only three photographs, unaware of her life story. I found out later that her red clothes symbolize widowhood. It is a custom in this area for widows to wear red for the rest of their lives. You may also notice that her eyes have a faint glassy look. This is a sign of excessive sun exposure. Blindness is one of the many hardships of desert life. This image has become one of my favorites because it conveys a certain dignity and triumph of the human spirit that shines through what must have been an extremely difficult life.

Tweet This Post Facebook This Post