Dissent Decree

Carmina was waiting when Tony walked into the Supreme Bean. It was a slow day and other than themselves and the three baristas no one else was there. “Hey Tony,” she said as she waved.

Tony waved in return and then went to the counter. Amanda was at the register. Her dark red hair was pulled into a ponytail and secured with one of those tiny beaded bands that school girls wear—in the practical manner of a college student who had put herself together just enough to be presentable for work. Her face was delicately sculpted and brushed with a trace of freckles. Her smile hinted at playfulness and mischief. He thought she might be Irish—she reminded him of his first love who was—but he never asked her. He enjoyed their counter talk and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by asking questions she might consider too personal. The truth was he had a crush on her—mixed feelings—oscillating between the paternal and romantic. It was harmless enough, after all he was nearly old enough to be her grandfather and he was sure that is how she saw him.

“I love that hat. I’d like to get one like it,” Amanda said. She always commented whenever Tony wore one his Australian Akubras. In fact he had noticed that women of all ages gave him looks and sometimes comments whenever he wore one. “If only I had worn them thirty years ago,” he thought. He thanked Amanda and told her where she could get a good deal on an Akubra. Then he ordered his standard Maximo Caramel Supreme and a chocolate chip scone.

When Tony finally arrived at the table Carmina seemed perturbed. Perhaps he’d spent too much time talking with Amanda, he thought. “How you been?” he asked Carmina. “Fine. And you?” she replied. “Fine,” he answered.

“You ever hear of a photographer named Helen Levitt?” Carmina asked. Tony thought for moment and then said, “Yeah, yeah I know the name. She’s a street photographer—works in New York. Why?”  “She died,” said Carmina. “I heard about it on NPR. They said she was 95—said she had studied with Bresson himself—worked with Evans too.”

“She’ll be missed. Levitt was one of the few photographers who could make exquisite pictures of the commonplace. She didn’t do fancy stuff—no tricks or special effects—she had a superb eye—a great sense of framing, timing and light. She proved you don’t have to travel all over the world to make meaningful and powerful pictures. She proved there’s an inexhaustible supply of subject matter in your own neighborhood—your own backyard,” said Tony.

“But Tony, if you know a place so well how can you see it fresh? And what’s the point of rehashing the common and the comfortable? Who wants to photograph or paint what they already know—everyday stuff—boring stuff?”

“Well Carmina, there really is no commonplace. Everything is in flux—ever changing. And meaning does not reside in things and places. It is you as an individual artist, who ascribes meaning to what you do and it is you who establishes the point-of-view in your mind and actual space. Just by photographing in her neighborhood, for more than 70 years, Levitt made photographs as important and meaningful as anything she might have made by traveling to distant and exotic locations. She showed that any subject is worthy if the photographer is capable of seeing, feeling and visually recording that essence—that moment in time—that allusion—that geometry of form which reveals the truth beyond the subject—beyond the props and place. It is this ability that defines a real photographer, said Tony.”

“Well Tony you’ve given me a lot to think about,” said Carmina. “Same time next week?”

“Yep, same time,” said Tony

© Michael Maurer Smith 2009