Sometimes I wonder if it's really worth it.

I enjoy the creative process that fuels photojournalism. Despite working for second- and third-rate publications the majority of my career, the writing part came well before the photo part. I have a low-end camera and rudimentary PhotoShop skills, which, I believe, are sometimes tempered by what I think is a decent eye for imagery. Since I began fancying myself an amateur photographer I have been exposed to one consistency that drives me nuts -- whip out a camera in a public place and people get fucking weird, quickly.

Understandably, I'm well aware that you can't just go shoot whatever you want when you want. If you walk into a bar and start taking photographs, there is a risk -- albeit a slim one -- that one of the patrons at the bar possibly, at the insistence of the court, is not supposed to be in a bar. He may not want an image containing him captured. You can't just walk into a restaurant and start snapping away. You become a subject of the discretion of management, who can insist you leave. Granted, you've done nothing illegal by any stretch, but it's still very, very bad form. Public property is fair game, and even some private property. I can stand in front of your house, in the street, and take a picture of your home. I am well within my right to do that. If I step on your lawn or in your driveway, then I'm open to all sorts of charges, including trespassing.

Months ago, I took Lamont to a dog daycare facility on Cass Avenue in Detroit. They have an indoor-outdoor play area for dogs, so I took him up there to run around. I paid my $6 and offered proof of his immunizations, which I'd obtained that day from my vet. We check in, I de-leash him, he starts running around and playing, I take out my camera, start getting a few shots and about six seconds later, this dude has sidled up next to me.

Him: "I see you're taking photographs."

Me: "Yes I am."

Him: "May I ask why? Are they for anything?"

Me: "Yeah, they're 'for' me."

And then I move away and keep taking photos. People get fucking strange, man. They either want to know who you're working for or why you are taking photos, or they immediately want to tell you that you aren't allowed to capture images, even though, again, you are well within your right to do so. This is one of the many elements that, in my opinion, make people certified douchebags.

Recently, I've experienced two attempts at this censorship, both very different in context. Last weekend, Kerry and I visited the Michigan Modernism Exposition in Southfield, which is basically an array of fancy antique dealers. Most of the wares adhere to an art deco theme. This show usually contains some really cool -- if not entirely overpriced -- items, including very colorful glass ...

 

... some spectacular lighting ...

 

 

... this kickass human brain model ...

 

 

... an old-school hairdryer ...

 

... and this bomb fireplace setup ...

 

... I also thought this glass floral arrangement was kind of cool looking ...

 

... until the half-second after I took the shot, the woman running the booth -- this tired, Jewish hag-looking bitch -- got right up in my shit. I mean, this broad was in my face and it totally, completely caught me off-guard. She began barking about how I needed to ask her permission first to take pictures of anything. "You ask first," she said in a voice that can only be described as a scold, which really started to piss me off. Without blinking I remarked "Really? In a public place? One constructed and maintained with taxpayer money? I'm not so sure about that ..."

And then she really got wound up, yammering on about how she spends a lot of money to get to these shows and buy this stuff and photographers aren't welcomed to shoot these things for fear of "them being copied." My initial instinct was to tell her to fuck off, which is what I usually do to people like that. But, Kerry was nearby and at the risk of starting a scene, I did not want to embarrass her. Had I been there alone, yeah, the expletives would've flown like an Ozzie Guillen post-game presser. Instead, I just laughed in her face, smiled, gave to her that re-assuring tone you use with children and the mentally retarded and said "Um-hmm," and then I walked away. Art deco my ass.

Here's some art deco for you, Detroit ghetto-style:

 

Now, that's some motherfucking art. If even says so RIGHT ON THE HOUSE.

Shortly after that photo, I had another encounter with some folks not at all supportive of my creative outlets, but I didn't jaw at these guys, no, I got busy and hightailed it quickly from the neighborhood, per their suggestion.

Detroit is a city awash in street-side memorials. Someone gets shot and within hours, there are a dozen stuffed animals, photos, candles and well-wishes on the porch or on the sidewalk where it happened. This is not funny. This is some serious shit. And I would never make light of something like that here. But, I did see a memorial that caught my eye so much I had to turn around to see it again.

 

A couple of stuffed animals and a great many empty booze bottles. I found their arrangement -- delicate and intentional -- to be intriguing. The tire, the big red bear, the empty Remy Martin, the whole deal is just, I don't know, it's weird and sad and oddly captivating all at the same time.

 

While I'm doing this, I hear a voice behind saying "Hey. Hey!" I turn around to see two young guys, maybe 26 or 28, in a new-ish Yukon stopped in the street lane opposite of my side of the street. They ask me exactly what I think I'm doing. They do not look happy.

"Just taking some pictures, fellas. That's it."

And then I attempt something really stupid (at least with these dipshits), and try to initiate conversation. "Is this memorial for someone who lived around here? Did you know him?"

"Get the fuck outta here, man," is what they said before they very slowly drove away. So, I took another picture.

 

I wish I had a Kevlar vest and a "tool," as the kids say. I would've loved nothing more than to point my camera right at those guys and start taking pictures. A little camera shy, boys? Instead, I was thankful they kept on driving and didn't get out of that car to whup my ass or fucking shoot me.

Ghetto territorialism is such bullshit. I've experienced it head-on for nearly 20 years, and yesterday was no exception. I've lived in all-black neighborhoods, where everyone fucking hated me. I worked in all-black communities, where nobody trusted me (not that I expect them to). As a journalist, I've covered all sorts of shit in weird neighborhoods and it's all the same: they don't like nobody who isn't from there, unless you have some sort of ghetto pass. I quote the iconic punk rock band Crime when I say "Love us or hate us, we don't give a fuck." And I don't, really. I don't want to be accepted in your neighborhood, believe me. And I understand that this memorial was crafted in remorse and out of respect for someone who has passed. I'm not making fun of it. I'm not denigrating it or the people who have suffered due to this loss of life. Just like that tattered, ironboxed bitch at the art show and that lanky, gay motherfucker at the dog place, I'm just taking photos people.

It doesn't have shit to do with you, OK? I know that's hard to fathom for some of you egomaniacs out there, but when I raise my camera for a shot, this is about me. It's not about work or my wife, or the dog or my friends, or the bills and the bank, or problems of any nature. It's about me and the lens. I'm doing nothing wrong, and I shouldn't have to quell suspicions. Yes, I know that if I go into a depressed area of the city and take a photo of graf on a wall, if someone who lives around there were to approach, I would have some explaining to do. I'm in YOUR neighborhood, I probably owe to you that courtesy. But it doesn't go both ways. If you, homeboy, innocently drive down my street, I'm not going to flag you down, stop you, and demand to know your intentions. No, I just call the cops. Kidding! I kid. But I could, and no less than three cars would have you pulled over in about 8 seconds. 

They don't want me -- actually, they would rather intimidate/harm --  and I don't give a fuck about them. I'd like to see one of these dipshit candidates address THAT element of race. Let's see your solution for that.