The Market

Something felt different about my experience at the Downtown Bloomington Farmers Market yesterday morning.

As soon as I rolled in, I ran into Janie Paslaski. Janie and her husband, Frank, own Middle Creek Farms.

I had photographed Janie holding a little goat. I could not help myself when I saw that moment. It presented itself to me, I accepted the opportunity, and I made the photograph.

The Saturday before, I had given a physical print to Frank. Yesterday was the first time Janie had seen me since receiving it.

She hugged me.

My day felt blessed right out of the gate.

A photograph had left my hands, entered someone else’s life, and returned to me as gratitude. There was no sales pitch or transaction between us. Just a picture, a hug and a little humanity.

What that can do for the wounded parts of us all.

My photography plan for the market was simple. I was shooting with intention and purpose. I wanted to make beautiful images, but I also wanted to make connections that were neither fake nor transactional.

A real handshake. A pat on the back. A conversation that did not begin with somebody trying to sell something.

Portraits that look and feel like the people standing in front of me.

The interaction between subject and photographer felt warm. More importantly, it was warmly received. People did not seem to treat my camera like an intrusion. To me, it felt like a return to a time when we were not so far apart.

I really miss those days.

Everywhere I looked, small relationships were happening. People sat together and talked. A child rested against someone carrying him. A dog looked directly into my camera like he had been waiting all morning for me to arrive. A man walked through the market with a beautiful white bird perched on his shoulder.

These were not props or pieces of content. They were people living their lives, and for a few seconds they allowed me to witness them.

Then Micro Spice began playing “Die With a Smile.”

I had heard the song before, but yesterday I listened to it.

There is a difference.

The words reached someplace inside me that I was not prepared to visit in the middle of the Farmers Market. I rushed off to the side with tears streaming from underneath my Ray-Bans.

I could not tell whether I was feeling the pain of a broken heart or confronting some brokenness inside me.

Maybe it was both.

Or maybe God’s plan was unfolding right there. Maybe the tears were not evidence that something was wrong. Maybe they were evidence of His presence.

The music kept playing. People kept walking through the market. Life continued all around me while I sat off to the side, crying behind my sunglasses and feeling everything sobriety had returned to me.

Clarity is a gift. Nobody tells you how much it can hurt.

I have always had the gift of gab. Anybody who knows me knows that. But listening is a different gift. Sobriety has given me the ability to hear words beyond the melody and appreciate meanings I may not have been available to receive before.

The John Guest Experience had not always been fun.

This version of me feels different. This version feels special because I was fully present for my own life.

Then I met Brian.

Brian K. Simpson is a talented pastel and charcoal artist. I told him that I see him around all the time. I often find myself watching for the opportunity to photograph him drawing someone interesting.

He had appeared in my work before we ever officially met. That makes sense because Brian is as much a part of this art community as anyone.

I have always believed that we are all artists. We simply use different tools and techniques.

Brian works from life with pastel and charcoal. I work with light and a camera.

Yesterday, the portrait artist became my portrait.

Meeting Brian and making his photograph completed my day.

It began with one photograph returning to me as a hug. It ended with another photograph beginning.

Somewhere in between, the music brought me to tears and reminded me that I was still here to experience all of it.

Fit 2 Capture. Fit 2 Curate. Fit 2 Print.