The streets I see

Belgrade, Serbia

“What genre of photography do you specialize in?” was the first question.

I hmmed and hawwed on the keyboard: typed, tried words out for fit, deleted and started over.


My relationship with this thing I do has been doubt-ridden from the beginning. I call myself a street photographer because its mode – harvesting unscripted pictures from whatever/wherever the situation – describes how i work. But my work itself isn’t razor sharp like those whose images define the genre.


I am an ardent admirer of street photography’s many gods, among them Alex Webb, Natelle Autio, Trent Parke, Matt Stuart,Helen Levitt, Jesse Marlow, Elliot Erwitt, and recently, the women whom I haven’t read about in its scrolls: Sabine Weiss, Xyza BacaniElena Maiorova, and any/all of these amazing photographers, whose work I’m still getting to know (thank you, creator of list!). Each of these photographers brings an entire narrative to a single image, which is an astounding thing, when you consider how limiting one frame is. We see life as a nonstop video roll overlaid by filters of an evolving life. To condense all that into one picture, in the right light, frame and depth of field, to evoke wonder, shock, awe, transmit clarity about character, place and time… there’s something miraculous about it all.

Me? I mostly take pictures of people from buses and trains.


I’m compelled to do it from recognition, a kind of un-mutually-acknowledged tribe forming. I’ve spent most of my life making long commutes on public transport. While I am an enthusiast of progressing transportation technology (air-conditioning! Wi-Fi! Sound insulation!), it rarely feels miraculous in the moment. Most of the time it doesn’t look particularly awesome either.


But I’m one of them, those people on the bus. The push and pull of belonging has been on my mind over the past couple of years. Losing a parent, and being mostly in places where I’m not part of the conversation because I don’t share the conversational tongue, makes me wonder why I feel a part of some things and not others: how do I identify with a complete stranger from a foreign place?

Of late, I am more conscious of the intent behind the taking of a photograph, than just its aesthetics. What it says about me as a photographer, and a human being.


Sure, I have a bunch of work that is all about look-at-me-I’m-almost-Jesse-Marlow. I want to be, you know. And never will. I lived in Australia for a long time, in a city where the light encouraged that sort of imitation. But my vision will never be that clean, that confident, nor that sharp. Undergoing laser surgery in 2011 means I got to throw away my -1000 prescription goggles, but my eyes are very much like cheap old glass: they gather light unevenly, are horrendously flare-prone, chromatically aberrant, and lack precision in focus. I wear spectacles to resolve edges when driving at night.


My sight is full of overlay and texture. My vision, constantly muddled with the extraneous. Shooting from buses and things allows me to replicate that imperfection and incidental interruption. Windows always need to be washed, and trams move. And I think that’s one of the reasons why shooting on public transport persists: it’s honest.


It’s about looking at people passing by, without them looking back, even when they sometimes do. Despite my hunger for connection, invisibility is usually more of a mercy than it is a grief. Being a UFO (unidentifiable foreign oddity), an uncertain shade of brown, being looked at can carry heavy friction, even though I find so much pleasure in looking at faces of people I long to have language to speak with, and wish for the courage to try regardless. But deaf to understanding and mute in expression, I am more reserved than ever.

So in place, I can only look at the evening dusting a cheekbone, the stilled flight of a coiffure, the fold of an elbow in the rain soaked noon. These are not the streets of the genre, but they are the streets i see. And I am learning, in fits and starts, to claim them as my own.



  1. Olaf says:

    Great piece and captivating photography!

    1. Charlene says:

      Glad you enjoyed it Olaf. It sprung out of having to write a couple of things for the Fuji enthusiast network this September. Everytime I write about this project (several times in the last 5 years or so), something different emerges. It’s certainly evolving!

  2. lynngailphotography says:

    Your writing blows me from the mountain! so precise, vivid – like looking at images and being able to see what’s right in front of you.

    1. Charlene says:

      I’m glad it’s speaking to you.

      I’m often so afraid to write what I think for a couple of reasons: a) All the voices in my head, b) The consequences of vulnerability.

      But real connection cannot be made without openness, so I’m attempting to be more open… about my thinking processes, if not the actual thoughts themselves, which are still muddled!

  3. greg g49 says:

    I really like these last couple of posts. And among the individual images I like them best the softer and more asymmetrically framed they are… go figure. I especially like the two kids from the last post along with the man whose face you find upper right only by following his sleeve and in this one the first (love how the bars from seats and such divide up the frame) and particularly the last with the mysterious wavy light distortion in the glass behind the figure.

    I think this is good work, Ms. C, both images and words. Maybe I’m not an authority with any credentials, but neither am I one to praise just anything. I think you could safely allow yourself a little credit. As for “muddled” thinking, let me “borrow” a line from Shakespeare (with apologies to the bard): “If this be muddled, yet there’s clearness in it.” ;-)

    As always, my best wishes and hope to see you “keeping on” for a long time.

    1. Charlene says:

      I guess that’s where the phrase “clear as mud” comes from :) I’m keeping on, trying to be a little freer with my output. I’ve spent so much time second guessing myself into paralysis it’s gotten ridiculous!

      As always, thank you Greg.

  4. David Mullen says:

    Hi Charlene, great post. For me, I love the “outside looking in” detachment that your images convey, and your use of words brings a synergy to complete the story.


    1. Charlene says:

      Thank you, David.

  5. Mike Vincent says:

    A wonderful, reflective, vulnerable evaluation. Thank you Charlene.

    1. Charlene says:

      You are most welcome.

  6. Tommy says:

    Thanks for sharing your thoughts and pictures. I think they are great! Your photos give me curage to try street photography in my own way.

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