Notes from a Photojournalist
By Joanne Lane My father once gave me a pencil stub for Christmas. With it came a scrap of paper - his version of a card - and a message probably written with the same pencil. It said, "Happy Christmas Jo. Just write. And write what you know. Love Dad." For those that know my dad, it will not seem an unusual present. The same year my brother received a single $1 coin and was told to save. It was somewhat prophetic of our professional status now more than 10 years later. I am one of those half destitute travel photojournalists, my brother is a successful doctor. But before you are turned off by the earning merits of the photojournalism profession do read on. You, as many other people do, often ask how or what I write about and photograph. How do I know there are bed bugs in that hotel? How do I know Calangoot in the Philippines is congealed chick eggs in red jelly goop? How do I know a human sewer runs from Dehra Dun to Haridwar in north India? Because I`ve been there and seen it. Because I`ve tasted it or smelt it. How do you know? Because you write and photograph what you know... It`s a simple formula and my father is right. It`s the only way to go about this profession. However I have been accused of all kinds of evils doing this, including missing what`s really there because I`m constantly thinking about what photos I need to take and what sight to see to say I`ve "done it". It`s time to put the record straight on photojournalists. I once passed an evening with a fellow traveller in Belgium who I`d met when we checked into the same hotel. We went out for dinner, one of those baked-in-beer specialities that only the Belgiums know how to produce, gone ice skating in the square with the locals and hunted out some post midnight entertainment. Upon hearing about my profession in our final location he accused me of living my life behind my lens and pen. He felt I did not really experience a place and let it flow and happen around me, that I constantly sought out the cliché experiences, the stereotypes instead of the real soul of a place. At no point during the evening had I produced a pen or camera. I`d not asked too many questions of anyone and had felt completely relaxed. He had happily partaken of the same experiences and our actions had been random and circumstantial rather than guidebook oriented or planned. That night our hotel almost burnt down and everyone was evacuated in the middle of the night. We were taken to a police station and interrogated. The result was I wrote about the fire and I wrote about him. Both had given me plenty of material and despite I dislike the fact the obnoxious guy made it to print, his contribution to my Bruges experience was notable plus he made me some $$$. However he did not make it as a future travel companion. To answer the former question, how do I know what to write about, I wait until I can work some of it out. If that means spending three hours outside the pool of nectar by Amritsar`s golden temple, getting drunk in a tapas bar in Granada, or drinking copious amounts of coffee on the Champs d`Elysees so be it. It all helps me write about India, Spain, France or any other destination. Sometimes they are cliché experiences but one of the joys of travel is to sometimes find a place is exactly what you thought it might be like. In fact I wrote an entire article about my delight in discovering that the Netherlands was actually how I imagined it might be with people wearing clogs, seeing windmills and sex shops. My photographs were of these things because that`s what was there. It`s true I watch people more than the average tourist. I`m like a sponge, soaking up every conversation, glint of culture, observing old men hanging out of pubs... I ask lots of questions and take many photographs but the truth is I do this essentially for me, more than the next article or photograph I want to sell. I`d do it even if I wasn`t a photojournalist, I just have an innate curiosity that is particular and crucial to this profession. But I do have limits. I don`t poke my nose in where it`s not wanted. I always ask to take a photo and if it`s a no, it`s a no. I don`t go and hide around the next bush and poke my lens through the shrubbery.
So how does a photojournalist spend a day? I don`t use time frames. I get a map, check opening times and make sure I see what I want to see. This usually involves the main sights because no one goes to Agra and misses the Taj Mahal or goes to Paris and fails to see the Eiffel Tower or to Seville and not see the Alcazar. These things make up the life blood of the town, they form the history. But if I come across an impromptu concert in a bar and a museum is about to close, I`ll stop because this is life happening in front of me. If I run out of film and the light is fading golden and beautiful, I may glance around to see if there is a photo shop nearby, but if not I`ll just enjoy the moment. I don`t want to live my life behind a lens or behind a piece of paper. And contrary to what people think I don`t make notes constantly in my head or on paper.
I do have a good photographic memory and can recall scents, sights, lights, conversations and details very well. I don`t need to file the experience immediately. When I need the information later I just squeeze my proverbial sponge and it comes out. I do carry around a pen and pad because it`s actually something I enjoy doing. If I`ve been walking around all day the way I relax and get my "downtime" is to find a quiet spot where I can jot down memorable things or details of the photos I have taken. But they are often more philosophical notes, phrases, a description of someone I`ve seen, food I ate... and they often later make up the descriptive elements of my articles. The writing spot doesn`t always have to be quiet. I write when I`m waiting for a train in Sicily from the public bar, from a square outside the Cordoba Mezquita where I want to sit and enjoy the winter sun, from a boat on a three day journey to Timbuktu... It`s often in these quiet moments of observation that you feel you finally touch on something of the place. I spend many hours doing this. On a wall in San Gimignano I watched the landscape change on a September afternoon and finally worked out what the fuss was about the light in Tuscany. Obviously this helped get the appropriate photographs also. In Vigan in the Philippines it was steaming hot so I spent hours watching sleeping dogs, horse drawn carts and dark haired women washing clothes on their villa balconies. It helped me understand the Spanish legacy of the town while I rested in the shade. In southern Turkey on a hiking holiday we spent most days holed up with locals drinking tea and biscuits but it helped me understand the people. We took more photographs of dressing up in each others clothes than anything else. I have spent from 2 days to 2 years in countries, and I don`t necessarily think I understand the places I stayed the longest any better than others I stayed shorter time periods. You are always scratching the surface unless you were born there, but I try my best to discover the place while I am there. Some places remain a mystery because I came at the wrong time or just felt nothing about the place. I don`t pretend I found it or experienced it and I`ll write exactly that. Along a similar line I am often asked how far photojournalists go to sell a place that really might not be that exciting. If it`s really not interesting I don`t even write about it. But even of the interesting places I don`t gloss over the bad experiences. I`ve started many pieces with my horrific misadventures - pooping over the side of a boat into the Niger River because there was no toilet, being attacked by dogs in Sicily, getting lost in China, mistaken for a prostitute in Madrid and so on. I photograph the skulls of those killed by ethnic genocide in Cambodia, the rats and insects people eat in Laos and the toothless old people from the third world. The photographs accompanying any piece are often chosen by an editor but my exhibitions are usually rawer. The most recent, "In the manner of woman" featured women in various roles around the world. There were the young, the old, the beautiful, the ugly, the happy and unhappy. Another of my secrets is to get up early. It is the best time to get photographs but I also like doing it. It`s the most interesting part of the day, when cities and landscapes come to life. I`ll never forget walking at dawn through Calcutta to get to mass at Mother Teresa`s house. The city was waking up, people were sleeping outside, going through their morning ablutions or preparing the first chai (tea) brews of the day. But the greatest thing about photojournalism is that while we are often the observers or the tellers of the story there is always a point in which we can cross over and become integrated. Just like the scientist in the classic 1983 Carroll Ballard movie "Never Cry Wolf" he finally became integrated and involved. I`ve washed and fed dying people, I`ve looked after and taught children and given money if it was needed or food. There`s no way you can just be a casual observer when sometimes a life is on the line or you can do something to improve someone else`s circumstances. If I was to give any advice it would be to simply repeat my father`s advice to me. Write and photograph what you know. And so I dedicate this to my father, (bubba-gi, blips and TTT) for his advice and inspiration and someone whom "I know". ABOUT THE WRITER
Joanne Lane is a freelance photojournalist from Brisbane. Her work has taken her around the world from Oceania to Asia, Europe, Africa and back again on trains, boats, camels, across mountain passes and through all sorts of weather. To learn more about her work go to www.visitedplanet.com |
