© Richard HuangFrom the moment someone is chosen to be photographed, a certain bond forms between subject and photographer. It is a subtle bond: it may be warm and enthusiastic, evasive, deeply moving, or numb and indifferent. That is precisely the fascination of street photography.
© Richard HuangThat day, I visited an extremely busy cargo wharf in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh, where most of the freight boats docked. Lines of laborers balanced baskets on their heads, carrying sand and stones ashore one load at a time, all by sheer human effort.
I spotted a boat loaded with coal, with laborers hauling it ashore. Coal dust scattered across their faces and mingled with their sweat, creating one distinctive face after another. It was a wonderful subject to photograph. My friend and I hurried over to the route the men took on their return after unloading each basket and waited there. Whenever we saw an interesting face, we asked permission to take a portrait. Almost everyone readily agreed, even though it cost them a little of the time they relied on to earn a living.
© Richard HuangThis photograph was published on 1x.com.
© Richard HuangAnd this one.
© Richard HuangThis one.
© Richard HuangThis one.
© Richard HuangAnd then there was this handsome young man.
He is where today’s subject begins. The light was poor at the time, so, because he was so handsome, I told him I would take a separate portrait of him later.
While I was busy photographing the others, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he was vigorously wiping the coal dust from his face with his shirt—and getting it almost completely clean. I grew anxious. Come on, man, I thought, don’t wipe it off! Toronto has no shortage of handsome men and beautiful women; I didn’t travel all this way for another pretty face. That face covered in coal dust was exactly what I wanted to photograph.
After that, I ignored him and carried on photographing the other coal-streaked faces. When he realized I had given up on him, he looked deeply disappointed. He kept glancing at me and lingering nearby, reluctant to leave for a long time.
© Richard HuangSeeing him like that, I called him over and took a proper portrait of his clean face, satisfying his longing to be photographed. Only then did I realize that, unhappy with the shirt he had dirtied while wiping his face, he had even arranged a temporary swap with another laborer for a cleaner one.
Compare the two images of the same face, before and after, and the difference is clear. From the photographer’s perspective, the coal-streaked face is naturally more interesting and compelling. From the subject’s perspective, however, the clean face represents the person he sees himself as.
There was no way for me to give these photographs to the young man. So the question is: why was he so determined to pose for a photograph he would never receive? In truth, at the instant I pressed the shutter, the camera merely preserved an unchanging image of him, while within himself he underwent a subtle process of reshaping his self-image. For him, that act of self-awareness—not the photograph itself—was what mattered most. I feel I should repeat that three times.
People often speak of the power of photographs. I would argue that photographs themselves have no power. The power comes from the inner changes set in motion—through making or viewing an image—in the photographer, the subject, and those who later see it. It is this psychological change that has power.
The bond between the young man and me did not reside in the photograph. It lay in the way his act of wiping his face prompted me to reflect on the relationship between photographer and subject, while my taking that extra portrait eased his disappointment. There was a genuine exchange between us.
As photographers, when we raise our cameras and point them at another person, do we pay enough attention to the subtle relationship that forms between us?
© Richard Huang