Barflies
Here’s a little break from the Holga rivers series: Jack and Peter at the bar at Merlin’s Rest, our neighborhood pub. This picture was actually taken by my friend Arthur Ruckle (the saxaphonist here) this past winter. And it’s a lovely picture: interesting color, wonderful DOF, and a great subject. (Though I hope I don’t lose my Den Leader’s license for taking my kids to a bar; it’s actually a very family-friendly place, in the tradition of Irish and British pubs, and they’re drinking un-spiked Sprite. I’ve even seen the grandchildren and nieces of certain local politicians, with those politicians, on these very same stools.)
The reason I’m posting this, besides its aesthetic qualities, is the fellow in the background with the baseball cap. Apparently Mr. Ruckle and this gentleman had a disagreement about what one’s expectations of privacy in a public place ought to be, and he threatened to sue the photographer if he ever sees his picture on the Internet. I think it’s unlikely that he’ll ever see his picture on the Internet (and if he does, he’ll have trouble making himself out–wonderful DOF again, he’s just an evocative blur), but I tend to agree with Arthur here: if you’re in a public place (which surely Merlin’s is, being a public house and all), your expectations of privacy ought to be low. If you choose to do your drinking alone, like George Thorogood, then by all means, draw your shades and be shocked if a camera appears.
I’m not quite as aggressive as Mr. Ruckle on this–I tend to ask before shooting, and if someone’s uncomfortable I’ll put the camera away–but if you can’t stand on principal, where can you stand?
First: just because a business is “open to the public” does not make it a “public place”, as in a public commons, like the publicly owned streets and parks. Not only do the laws with respect to privacy differ between the two, but so do expectations. One should be able to go to a restaurant or bar or health club or other privately-owned establishment, with a reasonable expectation that strangers are not entitled to stick a camera in your face.
Second: what would be your own reaction, while enjoying time with your family in a restaurant or bar, if someone unknown to you should begin clicking photos or making videos clips of your own children?
In any case, what should prevail is courtesy and respect, no matter where you are, and regardless of any so-called “principles”, or “rights” of photography, whether real legal or just imagined. Certainly you and your friends are entitled to take photographs of your own children for your own enjoyment. But if others around you are feeling the behavior is intrusive into their own enjoyments, it probably is. In which case, just back off.
We have largely acquiesced to a surveillance society, with hidden and not-so-hidden devices recording our movements at every corner. Some of us don’t like that, and maybe the man in the baseball cap is one of them. It is then within our own powers to put our cameras aside for awhile, make peace, and let a man enjoy a beer in the company of his fellows.
I don’t entirely disagree with you; like most things, it’s a complex balancing act. My own approach is toward the “ask first, then shoot” side; I’ve taken pictures of people at Merlin’s, but always with explicit permission and the understanding that the camera goes away if the subject is uncomfortable. “Subject” becomes tricky in these cases–I know the limits on a wide-open aperture in low light, and know that anything more than two feet away will be an unrecognizable blur–but a pub isn’t the place for a physics lesson (except maybe during the pub quiz) so I defer the people in the frame. And if the man at the end of the bar had been clearer in this picture, I wouldn’t have posted it.
A place like Merlin’s makes for a slippery case, because, as you note, it’s neither quite public nor quite private. It’s one of those “third places” that Ray Oldenburg wrote about, a place where negotiation and civility have to take the place of the absolutes that apply in private “first places” and public “second places.” In our current American society, where the surveillance regime has made the public space treacherous and where creeping privatization has colonized the public square (I’m thinking not only of shopping malls which claim huge rights of privacy to themselves–often banning photography outright–but also the ubiquitous Bluetooth cellphone headpieces that let people be physically in a place but entirely unengaged with their surroundings), that middle ground is threatened with extinction. And with it we lose those negotiation skills; the altercation between Arthur and the man with the baseball cap demonstrates that loss: a simple “Hey, no pictures of me please” followed by a “No problem, you’re out of focus anyway” would have been better than a belligerent threat to sue and counter-sue.
Pictures of people in their natural surroundings are always a tough call. On the one hand, pictures with people in them are a lot more interesting than pictures without people. And the history of photography would be poorer without Cartier-Bresson’s cafe scenes or Robert Frank’s American bars. When my wife drags me to antique stores, I like to wile away the time with the boxes of photographs; the snapshots of people going about their business in stores and bars are always more interesting than the unsmiling studio portraits or the vacation shots of buildings and natural wonders. From an historian’s point of view, these candid shots are precious beyond pearls.
But so, too, is civility precious. Arthur’s picture pushes the civility envelope a bit too much; not taking it would probably have been an act of civility, but might also have been a surrender of something that’s almost as precious. In any case, it opens up interesting questions, and interesting questions are always worth asking.
If Teska ever lets you follow her to Minnesota, I’ll buy you a few rounds at Merlin’s. No cameras allowed (maybe).
Peace,
Michael
The anecdote carries an important lesson: the greatest danger to photographers (and photography) comes from the assholes with cameras who preceed us.
I don’t know all the particulars of this “altercation”. But one thing is clear: no friends of photography were made on this occasion. I am sure the air was poisoned for just about everyone sitting in the vicinity.
This is regrettable. The next time the man in the hat or his companions ever see a camera pointed in their direction again, they will surely be even quicker to anger.
And what is accomplished by taking an aggressive American machismo stand on so-called “principles”? How much better to imagine your friend apologizing for the intrusion and any discomfort he may have caused the man and his companions, putting his camera away for awhile, and buying the man a beer.
Like you, I enjoy classic vintage photographs, both for their aesthetic qualities and for the slice of life they portray of different times. But in making photographs nowadays, we must recognize that we do indeed live in different times.
For one thing, compared to the family-friendly Kodaks and Brownies of yesteryear, the tools and language of photography in our time have become highly weaponized. We generally hear cameras described like guns. Of course they “shoot”, motor drives are “rapid fire”, lenses mount with “bayonet”, film comes in “cartridges”, loaded into “magazines”. Photography has the vocabulary of naked aggression. Instead of making photographs, we “take” them. The photographer is a hunter, out to “bag” the shot. (There is even a flickr group called “Contract Killers”!)
What a sad choice of dialect, for an art that is as fleeting and ephemeral as a ray of light!
But instead, our culture has been indoctrinated with images of photographers wielding their equipment like gunslingers, and describing it with the language one might use for an assault rifle. Should it be any surprise, then, when pointing a lens toward someone, no matter how benignly, that he or she could take the intrusion as an assault?
And let us please forget about asserting “our rights” over others for one cotton-friggin minute, whether those “rights” be legal or imaginary. There is only one principle that really matters here, only one principle to stand on. It is very very simple, it is fundamental to all else, and it is this: treat others with the same courtesy and respect you would like to be treated with yourself. (Even, and especially, on those occasions you are not treated that way yourself.)
You might even call this a “golden rule”. Turns out it’s a pretty good rule for photography, right up there with “sunny 16″.
(Note for “christians”: what the golden rule means is, if you wouldn’t like being bombed in your own home, don’t go around bombing others in their own homes.)
Because as we go about the world selfishly asserting “our rights”, standing on “principles”, without courtesy and respect for others, without civility, without compassion and consideration, our loss of those same rights, for ourselves and our children, is certain and inevitable. And the society of man becomes a misery for all.
It’s not always easy, but people like you and me can help bring a sense of fun and higher consciousness to the photographic process. Goofing around out there in the world with our funny old cameras, we can be gracious ambassadors for the joys of silver and the ephemeral ray of light. Sometimes it means taking our cameras out, sometimes it means putting our cameras away. Sometimes it means we won’t get a photograph at the time, but maybe the next person will. And that is all okay. We have over 80,000 unique individual seconds to work with, each and every day, an infinite wonder of photographic possibility. As the flower of one moment passes, so another blooms nearby. For as long as we have film, we may find joy everlasting.
As the actual photographer, I’m coming to this a few days (okay, months) late, but here are a few things I’ll say in my own defense that will not doubt muddy any waters that may have cleared up since last fall.
First, one gives up much of one’s right to privacy by leaving one’s house. Likewise, a photographer gives up the right to photograph when he/she walks into or onto private property. Michael and I have both been taking photographs inside various establishments for years, so the right to shoot in Merlins had been obtained.
Secondly, this fellow approached me and rather tipsily told me that I didn’t have the right to take his picture. I replied that Merlin’s Rest was a public venue and even though it was private property, I had the permission of the property owner to photograph inside. I then assured him that he would not be recognizable in any photo, and I think that is borne out. I’ve seen pictures of the Loch Ness monster that were more identifiable. Had this man just robbed Merlin’s Rest, this photo wouldn’t be enough to identify him. I tried to give him a crash course in depth of field issues in dark places, but he preferred to threaten to sue me.
Thirdly, when he began to press me, I pointed out to him that the reason that privacy laws are so difficult (even though he assured me that he “knew the law”). This photo does not show him (to the extent that it shows him at all) in a way that is different from what anyone else who was there would have seen. It’s not (thank Vishnu) an “upskirt” or voyeur photo. He was sitting at a public bar drink beer, and there’s a picture of him at a public bar drinking beer.
Lastly, Michael gives me too much credit for being assertive. I explained to him several times that he’d be out of focus, but instead, he chose to threaten me with a lawsuit. While I stood my ground, I remained polite and pleasant. When he came back to confront me on the second and third occasions, I was a little less polite, only because he was interrupting me in a conversation with someone far cuter than him. I also pointed out to him that the large party across the bar had taken his photo several times while he and I were talking.
The final lines of the conversation were when he asked me, “What are you, some kind of paparazzi?” To which I asked, “What are you, some kind of famous?”
I’m glad the photo of the boys turned out as it did.