Author: David Barker

I had just bought my first full-framed mirrorless camera and was anxious to take it for a test drive. Within minutes, I had made this image of Earl who was standing outside Toronto’s Rosedale Library and immediately I was sold on the idea of the mirrorless camera.

There are drawbacks to the mirrorless system. For example, swapping lenses is a problem because it’s so much easier for stray dust particles to find their way onto the sensor. If I’m outdoors on a windy day and I want to switch lenses, it’s almost guaranteed I’ll end up with a dust spot on all my subsequent images. And then there’s the whole issue of hand size. Mirrorless cameras look like they were manufactured in a workshop owned by dainty-fingered elves. Finally, there’s the issue of heft. If I’m tramping around in the woods, I want a camera body that can get knocked around a bit without giving me grief.

On the plus side … A mirrorless camera isn’t likely to cause curvature of the spine. And travel! I can’t believe all the gear I used to haul onto an airplane. But most of all—and this is what I realized when I met Earl—, a mirrorless camera is unobtrusive, so people are more likely to feel comfortable when you frame them in your viewfinder. Never mind that the Sony A7 Mark IV is a 60 megapixel beast. The camera is easy to mistake for a simple point-and-shoot.

So I struck up a conversation with Earl. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, partly because he mumbled so I heard only every third word, and partly because the words I did hear made no sense. To save the situation, I held up my new camera and asked if he was okay posing for a shot. He smiled and nodded and mumbled something incomprehensible and the rest, as they say, is photography.

It was June 15th, 2021. The third (Delta variant) wave had peaked in Toronto on April 16th and the numbers were steadily declining. After two months on a downward trend, it seemed reasonable to break out of my cocoon and spread my wings. (Feel free to substitute a better metaphor if you like.) I was feeling cooped up and needed to get outside with my camera.

I was on the Bathurst Street Bridge, shooting Go Trains passing underneath, when Bob approached. As often happens, my camera was a pretext for conversation. Like me, Bob needed to get outside to stretch his limbs. Like me, Bob had taken off his mask so he could feel the late spring air on his face. It turns out Bob likes to walk with a camera, too. You can view some of his work on Instagram. We talked about cameras. We talked about places in Toronto we like to track through our photography. Mostly we just talked.

Naturally, the moment came when I asked to take an impromptu portrait. It wasn’t until later, when I was processing the images I’d made, that it struck me Bob wasn’t wearing a mask. How quickly we discard these habits. Sometimes we think the pandemic has been with us so long it will traumatize us for life. But I have my doubts. I recall all the times I’ve left home without my mask and haven’t realized until I’m halfway through my grocery shopping: oh, so that’s why everyone was glaring at me. It’s so easy to revert to old habits. It takes all of about two minutes to recover the natural feeling of an uncovered face. I expect what is true of mask-wearing will prove true of everything else we’ve experienced through the pandemic. We’ll remember the experience but we’ll forget the pain and simply get on with things. Years from now, when we tell those who follow us what it was like, our stories will take on a “when I was you age I went to school uphill both ways” quality, a tall tale we like to tell as we get on with our lives.

I met Moses Adolphe as I was walking south down Sherbourne Street on a hot mid-July day when bodies were strewn across the lawn in front of the Moss Park arena “while the lizards lay crying in the heat” to quote a David Bowie song. This is the closest I’ve ever come to getting into a fight when I’m out shooting street photos. Not because of Moses, but because one of the lizards who lay crying in the heat said he wanted to take my picture with my camera and I told him no. He really wanted to get his hands on my camera and I really wanted him to fuck off. It looked like we were going to get into it (and with 20 or 30 of his homeless friends looking on, I didn’t stand a chance) when Moses came up to us like a dolphin swimming amongst the sharks.

Moses was soft-spoken and, whether he intended it or not, he defused the situation. The guy who wanted my camera went back to his place on the grass and Moses and I had a brief chat. I asked if he’d mind me taking his photo and he was happy to pose. When I was done, he wanted to see. I think this is one of the great advantages of digital vs. film. One of the most important moments in an encounter like this comes when you show the person the images you’ve made. You can’t do that with film.

As you thumb through the images, implicitly, what you say to them is: “I see you.” I can’t emphasize enough the importance of seeing the people you photograph. The need to be seen is a fundamental need, no less important than access to food and shelter. Without the sense that we are seen, that we matter, that we take up space in the real world, we wither and die. Street photographers are ideally positioned to offer such an affirmation.