Decisive Moment (Fulton Street)

Henri Cartier-Bresson's notion of the "decisive moment" in photography was inspired by words from Cardinal de Retz.  Retz's original words are, "Il n'y a rien dans ce monde qui n'ait un moment decisif."  Translated, "There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment."

Here are some of my favorite moments decisively captured by some brilliant photographers:

by Henri Cartier-Bresson

The presence of people tends to create a "decisive moment" photograph.  How boring would this picture be without the person blurring by on their bicycle?!

Behind the Gare St. Lazare
by Henri Cartier-Bresson

I'm not sure what is happening here, nor am I sure how deep this water is, but the precision of capturing this moment just before  the man's heel hits the surface of the water is outstanding - not to mention his use of an extremely imprecise camera compared to today's cameras.  This is a perfect example of a "decisive moment."

If you're interested, this is a look through Cartier-Bresson's photobook The Decisive Moment:

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Girl in Fulton Street

by Walker Evans

Which "version" do you prefer?

I prefer the image on the right; I think it is more decisive.  I feel like it is taken moments after the image on the left, just after the two men in the foreground stepped out of the shot and the woman just slightly turns her gaze.

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by Brassaï

by Brassaï

I just love these two photos by Brassaï.  They're not traditional "decisive moment" photos because there is at least one subject in each of them staring right at the camera's lens - right at us.  He was obviously not taking these flash photographs in secret at 2am in dark at somewhat shady bars around Paris.  The subjects seem like direct participants in the capturing of these, or should I say their, moments.  Oh, and the 'kiss curls'...can't beat that.  Those will be back in style in no time.

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Woman on the Street with Her Eyes Closed
by Diane Arbus

Blinks don't last very long.  People also don't walk down the street with their eyes closed very often.  Was this taken during a blink?  How long did this blink last?  Was the woman standing with here eyes closed, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, before opening them again and continuing her stroll down the street?

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Loyalist militiaman at the moment of death,
Cerro Muriano, September 5, 1936
by Robert Capa

What could be a more decisive moment for a photographer than watching your subject get shot and ultimately die?  The constant moral dilemma of war photography: take the picture, or save the soldier?

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World's Fair, New York
by Garry Winogrand

You must click this picture and see it in its larger form.  Each individual person on this bench has a story, and it's really fun to make up their stories!

Untitled
by Garry Winogrand

I will never admit I know what is going on in this photograph, but it is definitely carrying the essence of "decisive moment."

Los Angeles, California
by Garry Winogrand

Oh the shadows!  Plus, the women, the man in the wheelchair, and the child turning to look at it all.  Just wonderful!

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Marilyn Monroe
by Richard Avedon

Surprise.  I bet you saw this coming.  I don't think I need to say more about this spectacular portrait than I already have. ;-)  My FAVORITE decisive moment.

See Richard Avedon's Marilyn Monroe and Today I Asked Why.

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Meudon
by André Kertész

The photograph on the far right is the one truly titled Meudon.  I wasn't a huge fan of this picture when I first saw it, but I became a fan when I saw this sequence of shots.  Meudon is the perfect example of a decisive moment.

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I will end the photographs with this:

Greta Garbo
by Edward Steichen

At first glance, this looks like a simple portrait - not a decisive moment.  But, according to my History of Photography professor, during this photoshoot, both Greta and Edward were getting a little bit frustrated.  Greta leaned on the backside of a chair with a "my hair is driving me crazy!" gesture pulling back her hair and resting her elbows on the back of the chair.  *snap*  Decisive moment.  Beautiful.

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Some of Life's Decisive Moments:

Saying "I love you" for the first time...and waiting for him to say something (anything!) back.

Just some personal experience speaking here.

What's wrong?"

If you're asked this, you're not hiding it very well.  Is it worth unloading it all?
Is it worth burdening this person with what is "wrong"?
Do they actually care?  Will they understand?
Will they judge?  Will they offer unsolicited advice?

Running a red light...

a yellow light...

a purple light.

Crash.  Bang.  911.

Let's catch the later movie; we're not going to make it in time.

Stepping into a street before the beeps for the blind.

It's stranger than fiction.

"Deciding to write a cute boy on Facebook." - RTH

Yes, I meet people online.

Top of a step ladder.

Tippie toes...bad idea.

Entering an elevator.

Will you make it?

Hitting "Send," Clicking "Publish," Pressing "Share," and "Tweet."

Social media is not, and will not, be the death of me.  It only brings life.

It brings it in so many different ways and gives me so many verb options

for getting it all out there for you to read.

"Do you want to be boyfriends?" - JLH

"Do you?"  *sigh*  "Yes..."

Will you marry me?

...

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Today I Asked Why

I wrote this story as a paper for my History of Photography class (ARTH 3600) in September 2010.

Writing dialogue is something I am not accustomed to.  There were voices in my head...each with distinct personalities.  The photographers in the conversation you are about to read are Timothy O'Sullivan, H.P. Robinson, and Julia Margaret Cameron.

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Today I Asked Why

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!” I loudly mutter as I run through the door to my café. I like to call it “my” café because the actual owner let me decorate the south wall with whatever I wanted. I don’t know…it makes it feel like mine. I chose nothing fancy, nothing too extravagant. This large wall has one single photograph. I dare say this photograph is the best portrait ever taken. But that’s just my humble opinion. The image enshrined on the south wall is none other than Richard Avedon’s Marilyn Monroe.

Beautiful, isn’t it? Isn’t she? The rawness in her posture and facial expression is rare enough to view in person, let alone capture in a photograph… Anyway, as I mentioned, I was late for work. As I ran inside, the opaque cloudy sky released itself and, in a heartbeat, it was pouring. As I stood in the doorway, I could already sense my boss wasn’t even upset I was late. Why? Because he knows what a downpour means: customers! A café is prime refuge from a deluge. I unexpectedly get nudged from behind. I turn around to see a dozen people under the awning wishing to get inside. I step out of the way as the customers quickly trickle inside.

Being the lowly busboy, I rush around the café gathering empty glasses, mugs, plates, and bowls, clearing room for our new wet customers. Once everyone was settled and we began to get a handle on things, I glanced to the south wall and smiled at Marilyn. Sitting at the table immediately across from her was an unusual trio of regular customers. I didn’t notice them come in with the thunderstorm rush…were they here before I arrived? Front row seat or not, they always watch Marilyn from wherever they lounge. Today I asked why.

“Why? Why?!?” the woman jokingly jeers back at me. “Because it’s so beautiful, so soft, so…haunting! It’s simply stunning!”

“I honestly don’t understand why you two like this picture so much,” the older gentleman interjects. “It’s just another plain picture of Marilyn Monroe. There are thousands of them and this one is no different. It’s not even artistic!” At this, the woman flushes an impatient shade of red but continues to sit and listen. The man continues, “Avedon just snapped this picture and did nothing to it – not one dodge, not a single trick, and not a thought of conjuration. A child could do that!”

The younger man lightheartedly steps in, “What is a ‘conjuration’ anyway?” The three of them laugh as the younger man looks back at me and says, “I’m Timothy, by the way.” He points to the other two and introduces them as Julia and H.P. I introduce myself as I grab a chair to sit with them. “Don’t let me interrupt,” I say. “This was just getting exciting!”

Julia draws us back into the conversation by asking H.P., “What would need to be different for you to accept this as a piece of art?”

“Oh, so many things!” he replies. “First, the picture should have been taken with her looking more cheerful and less awkward. Photography should elevate the subject and avoid such awkward forms.”

“But,” interjects Timothy, “that’s why I find this portrait to be so striking! Her ‘awkwardness’ makes this portrait different from her others. I haven’t taken many portraits myself, but I know a good one when I see one. Unfortunately, I instead know war. And I know how to capture it in a way to convey its horror and lack of glamour. My goal was never to romanticize such atrocities. I wanted to show the world the death and dread it produces. Avedon took a picture of a devastated battlefield here! Marilyn looks like a mess compared to the thousands of glamorous shots we typically see of her. Marilyn Monroe was a bombshell in so many ways and Avedon captured her post-detonation.”

Timothy’s passion causes the rest of us to sit in silent awe for a moment. Julia then slowly and softly breaks the silence saying, “As I’ve been listening,” her tone becoming more delighted, “I noticed how perfectly the sharpness of her face is balanced with the softness of everything else. You two would probably call the soft glow ‘out of focus.’ But what is focus – and who has a right to say what focus is the legitimate focus?”

H.P. jumps at this comment and says, “The blurriness of her torso would make it impossible to even use in a combination print. Much more planning and thought would have to be put into this portrait to make it useful in my art photography.”

“Planning and thought?” Timothy questions. “Words spoken by a man who photographs solely in his studio! When you’re out in the field documenting war or landscape, you record precisely what you see through the ground glass and do absolutely nothing to alter it.”

“I don’t alter the photographs, Timothy,” H.P. calmly rebuts, “I combine them. I am following the encouragement to ‘not merely amuse, but to instruct, purify, and ennoble’ with my art photography. I will admit, with the world now knowing Marilyn’s rather tragic story, this image could certainly be used in an allegory to educate the public. I just believe, for a portrait to be considered art, the ‘artist’ needs to have more involvement than simply pressing a button.”

“Allegories can be done without combination printing, you know,” says Julia. “You’ve seen my allegories. Yes, I did pose them, but I posed everything at once for a single photograph as to avoid combination printing. I find the printing process for a single photograph to be laborious enough... Printing from multiple negatives simultaneously would drive me bonkers! H.P., you said this portrait could possibly be used in an allegory. In my opinion, this portrait of Marilyn is an allegory on its own, combining my two favorite styles of art photography – portrait and allegory. However, Avedon didn’t pose her. It was completely unplanned. This singular moment could never be planned out in a studio for a combination print.”

“Exactly,” confirms Timothy. “Avedon’s Marilyn Monroe combines the real and the ideal, sacrificing nothing of Truth. So let us take it for what it is rather than trying to reinvent it. I really have to agree with Julia here…”

“I wouldn’t have expected any different, Timothy,” says H.P. with a smirk on his face. After a short pause, H.P. looks me in the eye and asks, “So, what do you think?”

“Me?” I hesitantly reply. “Well…um…I’m a little biased toward this photograph…”

Timothy laughs saying, “You think you’re biased? You’ve been listening to the conversation, haven’t you?” 

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Many ideas and quotations were borrowed from Beaumont Newhall’s The History of Photography, pages 73-78. Though they are not explicitly cited, most of the quotes and ideas are recognizable from class discussion alone. 

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MONO Lessons (Part XVIII: 366 - 382)

Meditatively Obtained, Novel, and Observational (MONO) Lessons

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366. The more I think about it, the more I want nothing to do with anything Mormon.

367. I need somebody to type my autobiography while I just blab away about my bizarre and somewhat heartbreaking past.

368. I don’t believe in “love at first sight.”  However, I’m a strong believer in “like at first sight” and an even stronger believer in “lust at first sight.”

369. I have some unresolved issues with him.

370. She can hold out for a whole month!

371. I’m acting like a teenager and I’m fine with it.

372. Daiquiri Ice is DAIRY FREE!

373. Physics is more phun when I can phocus on it.

374. If I need a new kidney, YOU are waking up in an ice bath.  Just sayin’…

375. I'm pretty rational about flying off the handle. – AEW

376. When I’m annoyed, I can’t hide it.

377. Don’t have the ice cream.  Just don’t.

378. The best part about having a boyfriend is he goes to every freaking concert with me.  ☺

379. When finally confronted with a question you’ve been waiting to be asked for years, it can catch you so off guard that you freeze up and avoid answering it the way you’ve rehearsed a million times in your head.

380. 1982 Tron = AWFUL!  Seriously.  Did Disney really release that to the general public?

381. I have never found a human being more repugnant, cowardly, and disgraceful than those two and I haven’t even met them.

382. Somebody dislikes Halloween more than I.  And that’s saying something.

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"Time Is All Around" by Regina Spektor

This is one of my favorite Regina Spektor songs.  The remarkable visuals in the chorus are by far my favorite part.  Lyrics provided below.

"Time Is All Around" - Regina Spektor

You step on all my parts

And then you walk right out the door

And I know that your love ain't never

Coming back no more

Time is all around

Except inside my clock

Everybody's waiting for their lover to unlock

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die

When they're about to fall from trees

When they're about to dry up

Time is all around

Time is all around

I hallucinate a cat between my feet

I'm stepping lightly so as not to hurt it

Everybody wants

To say that you have changed

Of course you've changed, you've changed, you've changed

Your mind's been rearrange

But leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die

When they're about to fall from trees

When they're about to dry up

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die

When they're about to fall from trees

When they're about to dry up

Why am I supposed to love if I don't want to love?

Why am I supposed to, I'm so tired

Why am I supposed to love if I don't want to?

I don't want

I don't want to

I don't want

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die

When they're about to fall from trees

When they're about to dry up

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die

When they're about to fall from trees

When they're about to dry up

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Sweet Dreams

Warm and comfortable here in my bed, the door opens with a chilling breeze flooding every inch of me and my room.

*sigh*

The Best Time To Fly
by Muffin-and-Lemonade
deviantART

I close my eyes and prepare again for this ritual.
Sweet dreams are made of this, right?
This time, the beach.  The warm, soothing beach.
Right.
Here we go...

I feel the wet, soft sand breaking underneath my feet and squishing between my toes.  I look over the ocean's surface through my sunglasses from under my flamboyantly large sun-shading hat.  It's so calm and relaxing.  A wave rolls up the beach and wraps its fingers around my ankles.  I sink into the sand as the wave pulls away.  I stay put.  Can waves alone bury me in sand?  Another smooth wave deposits more sand over my feet.  This feels so weird!  My ankles are sensually bound by the sweat-soaked sand...

Wait!  Ouch!  I'm stuck!  This hurts!

"Shhhh!"

I gently lift my feet out of the sand and see my reflection in the water as the wave spills back into the ocean.  I love my red summer dress.  So retro chic with the red lace.
I look to the horizon again.
What's that?  Can't be a wave...that's far too big.  The surface has been so calm.  Oh no...  It is a wave...and it's coming my way.
Run run run!  I hear it fold over itself as it moans and groans toward me.  It's close, it's close!  Run faster, run faster!  
I knew I couldn't run fast enough.  It caught me - battered me down into the bed of sand, wind knocked out of me.  I'm drenched; soaked in sticky, slimy, stinky sea scum.  There's scum in my hair, scum on my face, scum in my mouth, scum in my...

*whop*

The towel hits my back.
"Clean yourself up.  You can shower in the morning.  'night."
"FUUUUCK YOU!"  I scream in my head and shriek with my eyes.
"Oh, and remember our deal."
"Goodnight," I grunt.

I'm still not very good at this.  I want to escape, travel the world, but then my escape even takes me.
Sweet dreams.  Ha.  What are they made of?
I don't even know any more.

It's impossible to transpose...

...Anger, Rage, Titillation, Penetration, Screams, Pain, Blood...

...into serenity. 

I didn't sleep.  Time for a calculated nap.
Ahhh...  This beach is simply beautiful.  I wish I could live here.  I wish I could leave home and stay in this place forever.  It's so warm...so safe...so calm...

Red Coat Reverie I
by shamoney shambles
Flickr

A familiar chill runs up my spine, engulfing my body.  I whip my head around to find myself surrounded by snow-covered peaks.  As I shiver in my bathing suit, I assure myself, "It's okay...it's okay.  I'll be fine.  This will work just fine.  Just stay here and I'll be fine."  I walk into the lodge followed by many stares and double-takes.  Luckily they have plenty of snow gear for sell.  I pull out my bottomless wallet and purchase a beautiful winter coat.  It's red with hint of lace.  Since I'm here, I guess I should at least rent some skis and try it out.

The ski lift ride is jostling, blustery, and white-knuckled.  At least I'm warmer here under the covers...in my coat.  I get off the lift and slip over to my first run:  Sucker Punch.  They say it's an easy run if you don't think too hard about it - just use your split-second instincts.  Right, don't think.  Here we go.

I push off feeling the cold breeze on my rosy red cheeks.  The rush of weaving in and out of trees, people, and more trees is exhilarating.  I really start to pick up speed.  I see a jump up ahead...  Hmmm...I don't think....  Wait, exactly, don't think.  Just go!  I reach the bottom of the jump, swoop upward, and lift off!  Flying high into the air in slow motion.  I feel snow flakes tap my face.  

*smack*

Ughhh, my face.  Ahh...Sucker Punch...I get it now...  I flip myself over, onto my back.  I have sopping wet white snow all over my hair and my face, in my mouth, and in my...

*whop*

Towel again tossed at my cocooned body.  All I can do is shiver and breathe and cry wrapped up in my red, lace-trimmed comforter.
"Clean yourself up.  Your mother is home.
...Remember our deal.  See you again tonight." 

Right, our deal.  I'll never forget our deal.  And what a deal it is:
I lie here, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I clean up, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I keep quiet, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I feign innocence, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
I lie here, breathe, and he doesn't kill me.
Sweet dreams are made of...me.

168.365 all the words in my mouth, #474 in explore !
by ashley rose
Flickr

Dinner.  Steak.

This is hell.

This is insane.

I'm bound, gagged, and in shackles...

How can mom not see this?

This agony has got to stop.

This nightmare ends here.

This time is the last time.

Hell is for sleazy scum like him; not for children.

If mom won't help me, I'll help myself.
I slip one of her precious steak knives into my pocket as I finish cleaning the dishes and prepare to return to my tainted bed.

I immediately tuck the knife under my pillow, inside the pillow case.

Opening the Door
by twenty_questions
Flickr

*knock*knock*

My door creaks open.
"Go away," I say, face in pillow, knife handle clenched.
"Just a kiss goodnight."
"Go away."
"Just a kiss goodnight, I said."
"Fine."

These goodnight kisses take longer and longer each night.

*click*

Darkness.  I know it too well.  Time for that kiss.

Tikka Powder
by Amit Rosner
cplaces.wordpress.com

I walk down the alleys of the cramped market standing out like a rose in full bloom wearing my brilliantly red saree.  There is excitement buzzing through the crowd.  "Color, color, color, color" is all I hear.  Is it Holi?  Oh how I would love to celebrate the Festival of Colors with the Indians!  People are buying handfuls of pigments from giant anthills of color!  I want some red.  "Who has red?  Who has red?!"  A woman tugs on my saree and pulls me to a shop.  I look at a mound of red in front of me.  I look at the woman and say, "Now that's what I call red!  Thank you!"  She gives a laugh and moves on.  "Four handfuls, please."

I walk out of the crowded market with my bags of red to a more open area.  Awww, it's so cloudy for such a happy day!  Our colors will brighten it up.  All this color will make the sun want to poke his way through those clouds and see what we're doing down here.  More and more locals begin to fill the area around me, each one of them holding some color.  I holler to the man next to me, "When should I do it?"  He looks back at me with a serene look on his face saying, "Now, my dear!"  He clenches his eyes closed and releases his dust in ecstasy.  Color color everywhere!
Color...
Color...
Red
Red...
Red......
It's all red...?
Oh how I love red!

I'm covered!  Covered in red red red!  It's in my hair, on my face, in my mouth, and in my...

*boom*crash*bang* 

The downpour begins.  I knew the sun would want to see, but what a messy way to clear the clouds!  Instantly, our pigment drenched faces turn deep, rich shades, staining each fibre it touches.  The red drips from my body.  It drips through my hair, down my neck and face, into my mouth, along my back, and into my...

*drip*drip*drip*

Dripping Wet
by mlibrarianus
Flickr

"The deal's off," I choke out.  "I'm not going to breathe for you any more."
He howls and frantically pulls out the knife I, only moments ago, gently placed in my neck during his blind euphoria.
Only a few more

*drip*drip*drip*'s

and sweet dreams are here to stay.


Music to my ears.

*drip*drip*drip*

Sing me to sleep...
Sing me to sleep...
I don't want to wake up...
Sweet dreams.

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Inspired by:
Sucker Punch

"Asleep" by Emily Browning from Sucker Punch
"Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)" by Emily Browning from Sucker Punch (originally by Eurythmics)
"Hell is for Children" and "Suffer The Little Children" by Pat Benatar
"This Time" by Céline Dion
"The Dark I Know Well" from Spring Awakening
Life
Others' Lives

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Burdened Bench

Hobos sleep

Kids climb

Women breastfeed

Lovers cuddle

Parents watch

Cats catnap

Dogs are tethered

Birds drop

Gossip whispers

Newspaper reads

Women womanized

Men hypermasculinized

Passers-by people-watched

Hair mocked

Clothing scoffed

Jealousy onlooks

Coworkers conspire

Strangers confide

Always vacant

Until needed

What a burden for slabs of wood and cast metal to uphold.

Inspired by:

Garry Winogrand
World's Fair
New York, 1964

 

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"This Time" by Céline Dion

Are you or is someone you know being abused?

Are you or is someone you know abusing others?

Remember, abusers are not just men and the abused are not just women.

This ends now.  If you need emergency help, call 911.  If you need other assistance or advice, call The National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1.800.799.SAFE (7233) or 1.800.787.3224 (TTY).  Anonymous & Confidential Help 24/7

www.thehotline.org

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"This Time" by Céline Dion had an effect on me the moment I first heard it.  I hope it does the same for you.

Here, Céline talks about her feelings toward this emotional song during her recording sessions.  Below is the full song followed by the lyrics.

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"This Time" - Céline Dion

One more hour burns
So scared of his return
That I can't sleep tonight
In this hospital light

What you call a tragedy
Is just another day to me
For my heart beats with fear
As his footsteps draw near

The life I meant to lead
Won't slip away from me

'Cuz this time's the last time
I know that my eyes have seen too much
This nightmare is not fair
And I've had enough
(And I've had enough)

You break me, and as I bleed
You just say you're sorry
You call this love?
But this time your lies
Are not enough
This time...

There's nothing left of this
Your wispered words and empty threats
Rip away the seams of what I thought this would be
The last thread has come undone
To reveal what I've become
Another victim of a poison love

I've been afraid for years
But that won't keep me here

'Cuz this time's the last time
I know that my eyes have seen too much
This nightmare is not fair
And I've had enough
(And I've had enough)

You break me
To just say you're sorry
You call this love?
But this time your lies
Are not enough
This time...

And what remains a mystery
You cannot have the best of me
So I'm taking back
All you took from me

'Cuz this time's the last time
I know that my eyes have seen too much
This nightmare is not fair
And I've had enough
(And I've had enough)

You break me
To just say you're sorry
You call this love?
But this time your lies
Are not enough
This time...

---

• Emergency: Call 911

• The National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1.800.799.SAFE (7233) or 1.800.787.3224 (TTY) for Anonymous & Confidential Help 24/7.

www.thehotline.org

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