Bangladesh: Beyond Carrying Bricks

Brickyards are a popular subject for street photographers in South Asia. That day, I too decided to embrace the cliché and visit one. Most houses in Bangladesh are built of brick, so demand is enormous and brickyards are everywhere. But what is there to photograph in a brickyard? Quite a lot, as it turns out…

© Richard Huang

You might photograph rows upon rows of brick walls, with workers moving among them, and capture the beauty of geometry…

© Richard Huang

© Richard Huang

Or photograph laborers striding briskly along with ten bricks balanced on their heads, revealing the beauty of strength…

© Richard Huang

© Richard Huang

Or perhaps photograph the busy stream of brick carriers weaving back and forth, conveying the beauty of movement…

© Richard Huang

© Richard Huang

If beauty does not interest you, there is always ugliness. You could dig into the environmental damage caused by outdated, inefficient production methods, and so on… The photograph below was published on 1X.com.

© Richard Huang

I had worked out all these possibilities before setting off, and I came away with something from every one of them. But what I want to talk about today is what lay beyond carrying bricks.

© Richard Huang

It was noon when I arrived at the brickyard. Most of the workers were resting or eating lunch, and few people were about. I spotted a child sitting among the stacks of bricks and thought I would take a few pictures. Perhaps he had never seen such a handsome fellow as me, or perhaps the large lens pointing at him frightened him, but he burst into tears. I had no choice but to give up. Whenever the other children saw me, they too ran away as fast as they could.

© Richard Huang

Between ten in the morning and two in the afternoon, the sunlight is too harsh for photography. As usual, I chose not to shoot. I sat beneath the guard’s shelter to cool off and wait for better light later in the day. A few of the bolder children came over, their eyes full of curiosity. I love photographing children, so I raised my camera. At once they scattered again. After a while, they cautiously drew closer. I lifted the camera once more, and off they ran with delighted cries… Back and forth we went, playing a kind of hide-and-seek.

© Richard Huang

I had not expected to find children at the brickyard, so I had brought no sweets with me. To put them at ease, I kept smiling and made an exaggerated show of raising the camera, so they would think we were merely playing rather than taking photographs. At last, I turned the camera’s LCD screen toward them and beckoned them over to see the pictures I had taken. That was how we became friends. No longer afraid or evasive, they began running circles around me, letting me photograph to my heart’s content. Every expression came naturally.

© Richard Huang

A local photographer friend told me, “You’ll make a great documentary photographer. You’re kind to people—I can tell.” The difficulty of documentary photography lies in the distance between the photographer and the person being photographed. Kindness is an effective way to bridge that distance. Smiles and friendly gestures dispelled the children’s doubts and fears, allowing their true, unguarded selves to emerge. I have always felt that human relationships are like mirrors: the kindness I extend to others is reflected back to me through them. Perhaps that is an interesting thought…

Everything I had planned for the brickyard visit went smoothly. Unexpectedly, I also came away with a series of photographs of the children—and a small realization: Want to be great? Be nice.

© Richard Huang