Shanghai Street Stories

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I’ve been sitting on this series for a while. Well, not just this, there are a dozen others, but let’s talk a little about this one in particular.

There isn’t a specific or exciting story to tell. It was a thoroughly enjoyable day-long amble on a Saturday in Hongkou district (虹口区) which I ended with cramped feet but a happy heart. Everything came together: cool weather, sufficient light, optimal crowd density and diversity of characters. It was days like this that reinforced my affection for Shanghai.

Yet when I reviewed my work the next day, I felt uninspired, almost disappointed. I found some perspectives unoriginal and compositions lackluster, a bit of a waste given the pleasant circumstances. Where was the motion, flow and wit? One photo seemed like a variation of another barely a month ago.

It took weeks to filter a dozen shots I could live with, another several days to do another cull. I remain undecided, deleting another as I write this post.

So what of it then, you ask? It was an exercise for my own gratification, a weighing of one’s minor accomplishments. But really, it is a reminder of how difficult the process of street photography can be for some.

Many photographers consider street photography to be challenging, perhaps the most difficult of genres within photography. The random and often uncontrollable elements in composition and people’s growing sensitivities about privacy are just some examples. Ironically, these are also the reasons that drive some to embrace street photography.

Personally, I’ve had little trouble with photographing people in Shanghai’s streets, something I’ve discussed at length before. Where I find constantly challenged is in creativity, sustainability and speed, especially when detecting and assembling an interesting composition quickly.  The process is easily suceptible to weather conditions as it can by your emotional state. Often times, it can be both relaxing and frustrating.

My partner often teases me about being too hard on myself, and how little of my work I share (ironic given that I have a blog) but I discover this to be surprisingly common among some photographers. It’s not a vanity thing but rather about skill and expectations.

Last September, as part of organizing the exhibit “The Living Streets of Shanghai and The Hague”, I spoke at length with photographer Lu Yuanmin (陆元敏) who was the event’s guest speaker.

Lu 老师’s (or Teacher ‘Laoshi’ Lu as most call him out of respect) street photography, largely shot in black and white film, is concentrated in his hometown of Shanghai. Pushed by high contrast and heavy grain of the film, his photos exude a dreamlike feel (also a recurring theme in interviews). His inspiration “comes from visual memory; the moment of collision of memory and reality.” It is as if one is drifting through Shanghai with an invisible cloak, peering intimately (and fleetingly) into people’s souls.

When I asked him if he encountered much difficulty shooting in the streets, he acknowledged how angry some people can be and it has grown more difficult of late. Being exceedingly shy in public, Lu is adverse to conflict.

“When I notice an argument in the street, I tend to walk away rather than towards it.” he said once in an interview. All of this has shaped his stealthy approach in street photography.  Before, the Lomo camera used to be one of his many weapons of choice. Of late, he has switched to a toy camera which hung like a small key chain no bigger than his thumb.

Once, I blurted out that despite practice, I find myself with no more than 8 good shots after a long day of shooting.

“So many?” Teacher Lu remarked in surprise. “That’s quite good already. I usually have just one or two,” he laughed. My face reddened and I slunk deep into my chair. That only made me feel worse. Clearly, my bar of excellence wasn’t very high.

When shooting film, Lu insists on developing all of it himself, fearing others might see his “mediocre” work if he sent it off to professionals. There was nothing militant about his approach to photography, he really was that humble. Perhaps with fame comes growing expectations, and you can be your own worst critic. Despite decades of experience, even veterans still grapple with the process. But it is Lu’s passion for street photography that presses him on. Nothing was too trivial. Nothing was to be passed up.

And so, the weekend is coming. Another day-long amble is expected and the frustrating process of shoot and review will reoccur.

But I never said I’d stop. Did I?

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You might enjoy this interview with Elliott Erwitt who recently received the Infinity Award for Lifetime Achievement from the International Center of Photography.

The “wit” in Erwitt is no coincidence. Every street photographer aims to be able to easily capture that fleeting moment of irony and what I refer to as “double-take”. The best of Erwitt’s work is often a trick of the eye, a “misalignment” that aligns perfectly, like his famous works on dogs and human interaction.

When trying to weave stories of disappearing neighborhoods and their residents, the focus and technique are different. The subject is shot from different perspectives, and your job is to draw out the details in the most holistic yet unique manner. Tens of shots later, you invariably have enough to piece together a narrative.

But street photography requires so much more effort. You have one shot, and only one shot, to tell it all.

Erwitt had said, “It’s about finding something interesting in an ordinary place… I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.”

This may come naturally to some with a Roald Dahl-like imagination, but not to others, or definitely not me. The frenetic density of Shanghai can be a double-edged sword in street photography. With human interaction in the city like heated molecules bouncing madly off each other, the excess of activity can often be distracting. At times, I get why some people prefer to photograph nature. They don’t try to sell you fake Gucci bags or cheap roller skates.

Which is why after six hours of meandering from the Bund along Fuzhou Lu (福州路) and an equally listless metro ride home, I ended up with only a handful of usefuls I was satistfied with. Each was merely a snapshot of a time of a day. Put them together, there wasn’t much of a narrative.

I’d ask myself, why bother? Spend all that time walking alone to be jostled and hustled. What do you have to show for at the end of the day?

Again, for his 80 over years old and a lifetime of experience, Erwitt puts it in perspective:

“Photography is not brain surgery. It’s not that complicated. It’s easier now than it was before, but before it wasn’t that hard. It was reasonably easy. It’s not the ease; it’s what you do and how you do it and how you construct your life and your vision.”

So yes, we’re not rocket scientists just because we talk on forums arguing whether rangefinders or DSLRs win out for street photography. But we are out there figuring it out through our lens. It requires a positive outlook before you step out of the door, a dedication to the craft and a steadfastness in spite of mediocre work. On your worst day, street photography is as challenging as it is humbling.

Everywhere in Shanghai, people are waving cellphones, point and shoots and DSLRs. But you can always spot the street photographer. He or she is lingering in corners, sometimes for over an hour, waiting for that “moment”. We’d recognize each other on the streets, nod in acknowledgement and move on.