I like to walk. The speed of my observation seems adequately paced with the rate of my stride. On my feet, the bits of magic are always easier to spot, and even on uneventful days, my brain feels calmer after moving. Maybe that’s what I love most about my camera, the mechanical excuse to be present and go slow.
I also think there is a grander rhythm, a time signature whose measures fall in intervals longer than the steps of the journey. I think of Leiter, living in the same apartment for decades making photos while the world changed around his building. Or Khalik Allah, shooting the same corner night after night, till he himself, was in an instrument in the symphony of the street he photographed.
Maybe that’s the time I aspire to, but for now, I walk and shoot a few rolls of film outside my door.
