Since birds are like tiny dinosaurs, I'm also brave.

I'd say interesting critique tonight.

Perhaps we frightened one another. It feels like that; we saw that we (my collective class) could rip one another apart, like feral gladiators, and ultimately, I think we didn't like it. The advantage is that it seems like maybe we can start talking about the work (perhaps even critically, carefully).

Although... I don't know. Someone wanted to criticize me tonight... I'm realizing I'll have to talk to him individually, because (of course) part of me is curious about what it was about this one picture that bothered him so much.

The pigeon.

Which... well, unfortunately, it's complicated.

Now there are, perhaps, many reasons to dislike the photograph.

He said that it offended him, or... well, I don't remember his exact words, but he was trying to express profound displeasure about this sole image. It was all rather quick. First, he seemed angry that I would dare show such a picture. I got the impression he took it as thoughtless; a postcard. Then the class seemed to collectively leap to protect me, deriding this closed-mindedness. What subject taboo? A pigeon? Pshaw.

My defense was almost certainly dismissive. In terms of offensive imagery, something I take an interest in, I just don't see it. It's perhaps unsettlingly banal, but I had two images on the wall that were ridiculously dark (both literally and figuratively), and two more that were light and happy and silly. The bird was, on the wall, acting only as a bridge, or an island. Putting aside that, to me, a photograph of an animal is utterly populist. But my dismissal went further than this, though. To me, an image like this is an affirmation of everything that I loved about photography before I started to take it more seriously, as well as a commitment to fundamentals. I don't want to stop making what I sometimes call simply "NY" shots; unpremeditated, ugly, dirty. I don't want to apologize for something fleeting and un-special. I don't want to commit myself to some closed-down perception of the "perfect." Do you need this shot to be lit with HMI's and captured on a $30K Hasselblad? Because 1. that will never happen, and 2. it wouldn't help anything.

I claimed immediately after being given permission to speak that the images were not what would be called a sequence. Actually, that came through in a number of ways; but I tried (and perhaps succeeded) to convey their separation in their arrangement on the wall.

So yes, separate. But I had just finished saying that the picture was a "scene illustration" for a story that went along with it, which I told very concisely, careful to note that the date and time of the photo did not match the date and time of the story.

So I told this quick, uninteresting story about jumping on the subway tracks, which in telling didn't nearly do justice to the experience. The adrenaline, the amazing process of both weighing your life in relation to a book, while trying to calculate what you know of "typical" train patterns, all in under 90 seconds, while briefly taking stock of what you think of as your "reflexes."

I took my backpack off, unhooked my umbrella from my wrist, and jumped down, got the book, and scrambled up over the dirty platform, which was about neck-high, with some but not much difficulty.

It was exhilarating.

But... as a visual aid for this experience, which I viewed as essentially filling the "intimate" requirement of the critique guideline, it seemed perfectly adequate, and not altogether unenjoyable to look at. To me anyway. But I guess my chandelier-swinging tale of derring-do would seem intimate from my perspective. Perhaps it was only that, afterward, there was no one there to laugh with. One man who met my eye gave me a barely perceptible nod, to which I said, "Sphew," and chuckled politely. Not that I wanted a standing ovation or anything, but... you know. White boy did alright.

It is, in fact, like a photo postcard. It's sentimental, sort of, but also rather thoughtless and ungainly. It was spontaneous, and strange, and uncertain.

Have you photographed a bird? They're very tense. I was very still to get this shot. I can't remember if I'm zoomed in all the way; but judging from the vignetting, I'd guess probably.

I now keep my Yashica in its case in my right-hand jacket pocket. I keep the lid of the case open; I can pull on the cord and have it in my hand, on, with the flash off, in under ten seconds. It's not silent, but in public, it's certainly proven quiet enough.

It's become my "train" camera. I don't even look through the viewfinder anymore. It's my low-pressure, high risk camera. I steady it on the lip of the jacket pocket, or if I'm feeling hopeful in low-light on any available relatively flat surface.

It works great, and feels very low-key; something my politeness sort of spoils in my street work. My timidity forces me to ask permission of a cognizant subject.

But from my pocket (literally a hip-shot), I feel more bold. I'm not taking your picture, sir; it's this damned hip-camera.

I won't deny it's sneaky, and cowardly, and probably very suspicious and weird. And I have yet to review the results of this method. Which will be undergoing spontaneous rearrangement, as this morning I switched out a spent T-Max 3200 for a much more colorful NPS 160.

I can't be shooting nothing but color, though. Maybe now is the perfect time to shoot my 120 Tri-X 400 in the Seagull. Or perhaps I should let it go, and return it to its owner, my friend Arturo. I dunno. He might be mad at me.

Anyway, sorry to peter out there. I know everyone only reads to find out which brand and ISO of outdated film I'm currently shooting.

Hope some of that may have been interesting. Thanks for reading.

(And since this is basically nothing but a shooting diary anyway; one little thing that I've enjoyed doing for the first time: shooting in the rain. As with my first successful "night" photograph, the first thing that dawns on you is, "so much wasted time." I had been holding myself back, telling myself that I needed another point and shoot that would be my "beat-up" camera, not realizing that rain is not acid, and that cameras are moderately tough, and umbrellas can be shoved down the front of your coat and balanced on your head, freeing your hands and protecting everything. Obvious; but what a joy. Actually, this is making me realize that my anti-umbrella policy had some drawbacks. Which was only rescinded because I lost all my baseball hats, somehow.)