I enjoy documentary photography–both the concept and the reality. I love it that there are people out there documenting their lives and the lives of others. It pleases me no end to know there are photographers taking photos of their friends and family members, who take pictures of the meals they eat, who document where they live and work and play, who shoot portraits of the people they meet, who find their mundane lives so interesting they feel a need to share them with others.
I enjoy documentary photograph–but I have almost no interest in doing it myself. Almost none.
But sometimes I get attracted to an object–a bright red snow disk, a gas mask, traffic signals–and I document that object. Last fall I happened to see this chunk of asphalt curbing around which some red PVC wire had been tied, making a sort of carrying device. The curbing had been carried about twenty yards from its original position. I visited the curbing every few weeks and photographed it. Then one day it was in a different spot; it had been moved maybe seven or eight yards away…at which point the PVC wire had apparently snapped.
And it’s still there. I don’t understand this at all. I don’t understand why somebody wanted to move the bit of curbing to begin with, I don’t understand why it was set down where I originally found it, and I don’t understand why anybody moved it further. I just don’t understand it.
And that pleases me.