Decided today was a good day to go find my homeless friend Barry who I have not seen for awhile. Though I never found him in his usual location, I ran across some other people who were kind enough to let me take their photos today.

If you are on the waterfront in Seattle, make sure you stop by the John T. Williams Memorial Totem Pole Project.

I had the opportunity to talk to some street musicians who play in front of the Starbucks on 1st and Pike. Really nice people and they were thankful for me asking permission to take their photos before I did. Seems some photographers will get right in their face with a camera , take a quick snap and then move on. A better option is to ask permission, observe them for awhile and then start taking photos when they feel relaxed with you being there.

 

 

Inspired by Eric Kim, who has a wonderful blog on street photography, I thought I would go through some of my old street images that I hadn’t looked at in quite awhile. Regularly I would walk around Seattle taking photos, talking to the homeless and trying to capture a bit of the city life. This was always something I really enjoyed and having shot thousands of images throughout the streets, it was something I always looked forward to.

These are a small sampling, I’ll have to dig the others out and share.

An Interview with Barry

“If your life has gone to shit,
remember, you are the asshole
who made the shit” – Barry

 

The Bainbridge Island to Seattle ferry is my cocoon of solace and quietness before beginning the workday in the financial district.  The smell of the Puget Sound envelops my senses and the crisp air brings a slight chill to my bones.  The bicycle commuter’s speed past the pedestrian walkway, jockeying for a position at the front of the boat. Their cautionary safety lights twinkle a bright red in the darkness, with an intermittent flicker.  Their feet are clipped into the pedals as securely as my camera, in my ever-present backpack. The busses unload their payload of commuters; the coffee shop is a workshop of activity. With the morning headlines tucked under my arm, I make my way up the ramp to a comfortable booth that is my perch to watch the day unfold. The ferry is loaded with a less than typical Monday crowd as the holiday’s approach. The makeup lady stares into her mirror for the ½ hour long commute. Transforming herself into a beauty queen while her husband stares blankly at the reflection of himself in the window. His eyes drifting to sleepiness.

A makeshift Christmas tree stands as a lone sentry beyond the entrance to the ferry, while the steady streams of commuter’s embark on their familiar journey. The temporary travelers all jockey for their respective seats, coffee and papers are juggled with briefcases and strollers in hand. They emerge from all over the Kitsap Peninsula with Bainbridge Island being a popular choice for commuters to live. With a “bedroom community” atmosphere, the island hosts many professionals of the middle to upper class status. Porsche’s and Range Rovers are as common as the stuffiness within this island neighborhood of water view bungalows.

Across the water, the day is beginning for Barry, a 38-year homeless man, who has called the streets his home since he was 18. The freeway screams overhead, the tires creating a thump; as tires hit the freeway joints. Slowly he clears the cobwebs from his head as first light comes. He knows all to well the police may arrive any time to move him along. With a slow methodical motion he lays his bedroll on the cold asphalt. Both hands to the side, he cups them toward the middle, rolling the bedding with the experience that twenty years on the street can teach. His bended knee makes sure the roll will be tight; helping conserve the limited space in his overstuffed shopping cart. Movement is hard with the many layers of clothes required to make it through the chill of the night. This day he has a T-Shirt underneath 4 layers of clothes. Clothing can be traded at homeless shelters or treasures discovered in dumpsters located in the canyons of the city. His boots are taped with silver “Duck Tape” while his khaki pants and jacket are coated in dirt. A fresh pair of underwear will have to wait for another day as the familiar itch of an unwashed body, reminds him of his circumstance.

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