Foto Friday 15 – Together Alone
Moments in Time
It was a dark, cold Friday in February, and the clocks were striking nineteen. I was walking around Paris with a friend, taking pictures. My friend, not a photographer, wanted to come along and see what I see. When I took that image of a young couple in the crowd on the stairs of L’Opéra, my companion, standing there among the crowd next to me, had a profound realisation.
I raise my camera, aim and shoot.
People will see! My friend swallows in a dry throat, in a fight or flight instinct, eyes darting about, a sensation of daring, a voyeur, a thief, stealing moments in time, something forbidden, something lost, a blindness to the beauty and tragedy of everyday life.
Away from the busy streets of Paris, one seeks solitude, a refuge, an escape from the city, to enjoy a warm autumn afternoon under the trees, sitting on the soft carpet of fallen leaves together, alone. I haven’t been to this park for quite some time, although it’s within walking distance. I should go, the sun is shining today.
The Sunday after L’Opéra, I was taking photos in Paris, again, alone this time. I wanted to take a picture of the Eiffel Tower from Place du Trocadéro. I know, so cliché! As it happens—and it happens a lot—there was a manifestation that day, which one I don’t recall. A search for the date and place yields no results either, the reason lost to history, a rebel without a cause.
Together Alone We Stand
Outtake
On my way to Place du Trocadéro, I come across some stairs. Stairs on every street. People go up the stairs. People go down the stairs. Their faces come and go. It’s true, I tell you. Not me. I stay at the top, aiming down the rails with my camera, waiting. Patience, wait for the decisive moment. The people ignore me. A lone man past his prime passes me. I smile and nod and focus on the rail again. He descends slowly. I shoot. Click. Click. Click. Halfway down, I shift focus to the man. He turns and looks at me. Click. He leaves. He is gone.
I leave you with Mark Knopfler and the Dire Straits – On Every Street (1991).
a picture of your face
your injured looks
the sacred and profane
the pleasure and the pain
somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
words and images, seamlessly woven, transporting the reader. What a fabulous post.
Hey Alexander ... I was wondering if I could use your excellent image 'Together' as a starter for my next 'Double Espresso', a 50-word and a 100-word story summoned from the same prompt. Such an evocative image. Duly credited in the piece, of course. A collaboration, of sorts.