the day i couldn't use a camera

sometimes photos are for keeping hold of things we want to remember.
people, places, laminated, sealed, held in place for later reminiscence.

i took a lot of photos in new orleans, there was so much to take in that i used photography as a tool to aid in processing what i was seeing. for the most part, due to disbelief.

but it's a funny thing. the one part that i didn't photograph is the part that sealed itself most in my memory. (i was told i'd be attacked for it so i thought it best to listen)

it was a thursday evening when we went to visit 'the wall'. the sun had set as we drew up to a dark gravel car park, flanked along one side by a large wall.

at first we thought we must be early, nobody was there. but as our eyes adjusted we began to notice a dark mass moving a little way along. approaching the mass gained definition, revealing hundreds of homeless people gathered around a small band of people serving hot meals.

i was a little scared, i think we all were, the sheer number of people surrounding us was forboding. but we were there to help so we shook off the intimidation and got on with it.

i joined in with the group of serving people, handing out bottles of water to folks to give me time to take in what i was seeing. as i watched and talked to people a sudden realisation took me aback.

the people in the queues could have been my friends. one; the image of an old friend from school; another; my brother.
some were younger than me but most were about the same age.
all misfits looking for their place.

the homeless folks i see regularly are predominantly middle aged, drawing comparisons with parents or grandparents. but it's very different when you can completely empathise with.

one girl in particular i'll never forget.

i left the servers and (with a friend) went to sit with a girl i'd noticed in the line, thin, made seventeen, on the muddy gravel by the wall, she sat. i sat with her and we just chatted for a while.

the conversation doesn't matter, but it will stick with me for my lifetime. her face, i didn't photograph, but it told a thousand stories, burned into my memory, is what i see when i think of that evening. the girl who i knew, but didn't.

her leaving words were 'keep spreading the love.'

all i did was talk to her, gave her a little hug, but to her it meant much more.

photography is a great tool for recording things, but the experience of life is often far more powerful than the capturing of it.

for that there is no justice a camera can do.