The Hydrant Was There and So Was I

June seventeenth. I took the camera outside today. Not for a project. I want to be very clear about that. I had to return a library book, the branch on the next block, a four-minute errand, and I stood in the apartment for a second looking at the camera on the shelf and thought: okay. Fine. I picked it up.

Simone came with me, which was not the plan but also was exactly fine. She kept pace, did not make it a thing, and then at some point I stopped in front of a fire hydrant on the corner of the next block and crouched down and looked at it through the lens for maybe forty-five seconds. It was red. It had a very particular shadow. I took the picture. Simone said, from behind me, very neutrally: 'A hydrant.' I said yes. She said nothing else. This is why she's a good person to walk with.

reviewing the evidence

The thing about pointing the camera at something in the world rather than at the kitchen table is that you have to choose. Inside, the subject comes to you, the light hits the water glass, you see it, you pick up the camera. Outside, there is too much. The tree, the hydrant, the gap between two parked cars, the shadow of a branch across the sidewalk. You have to decide what you're looking at, and then you have to commit to it before you lose the light or the angle or the nerve. I chose a fire hydrant on a Tuesday morning because it had a good shadow and I didn't overthink it. The library book was returned. The camera is back on the shelf. I think I want to take it out again.