Portrait Photography | Portrait of a Homeless Man

I had my camera with me last week when I was on the University of Texas campus.  It is a very rare occasion that I have time to stroll around campus and take photos of whatever catches my eye.  When I do have the time, I find it is always rewarding in some fashion, and there is always some lesson learned.

Today was all about practicing composition and using the sunny f/16 rule to get a correct exposure; it is nice to not have to rely on the camera to get a correct exposure.  Cameras try to be smart but most the time you have to be smarter than the camera.  I suppose this is what I learned at UT.

I had to keep my eye on the watch, unfortunately.  Time was running low, so I decided to run into the nearest coffee house to get a cup of liquid energy before heading on my merry way.  I stopped inside Cafe Medici which once was Metro on The Drag (aka Guadalupe St).

For those of you out there who are not familiar with The Drag, it is the commercial strip that spearates campus from the residential West Campus.  It has the Co-op bookstore, a number of places to eat, a tobacco lounge and clothing boutiques.  There are certain stretches of this street that historically (meaning as far as I can remember in the past 7 years) have always had a congregational hubs for the homeless and vagrants.  Interactions can range from mere disregard to begging for change to heckling when you say that all you have is a credit card.

I left the coffee shop and walk by one of these hubs.  I wasn’t paying too much attention; my objective the parking garage was in site, my camera was turned off and slung over my shoulder and my mind was tinkering with a joke whose punchline just wasn’t quite working out.

“You can take my picture!” a voice volunteered.

Slightly started, I grabbed for my camera while flicking my eyes towards the surroundings…. sunny day… in the shade…. plus 1/3 exposure for taste. My fingers started dialing in the settings as I approached the man who had spoken.

He was smiling, but with a shyness and a sense of disbelief that he had drawn attention to himself.    I took a few snaps, smiled and said thank you after showing him my favorite of the bunch.  I turned to leave when he began talking again.

It took me a few seconds to realize why exactly I couldn’t understand him.  He is speaking English? Yes, those are English words.  He is speaking in actual sentences? Yes that is English syntax.  Then why doesn’t it all fit together?

He was rhyming at me. Free-flowing as he called it later.  Speaking in verse.  I couldn’t understand him at first because I wasn’t expecting to hear the sounds of poetic rhythm and prosody.

He was telling me a bit of his story, how he couldn’t read or write that well, how he wanted to go to college but didn’t know how to even begin, how he had a dream to get signed and record some of his work for others.

I talked with him and he rhymed back at me.  A barista from the coffee shop who came out for a smoke break gave me a look that asked if I needed help to escape my new friend.  I smiled and made a small shake of my head.

It turns out his name was Brandon, though he hasn’t gone by this name very long.  When he left the gangs he decided to forge a new identity for himself.    He was a nice guy, and I wanted to do something for him.  I told him to wait for a minute and I would be back.  Some people give money; some people would buy food;  on this day, I had my camera.

I ran into the CVS nearby and popped my memory card into the photo kiosk.  Approximately three minutes and thirty one cents later, I walk back out of the CVS with a 4×6 print in my hand.

But Brandon was gone.  I looked up and down the street, but I couldn’t see him among the throngs of college students.

Slightly bummed, I headed back towards the parking garage.  Passing by an old church, I look over and see Brandon leaning against one of the church walls.  He was looking at me, puzzled.  Perhaps he had already forgotten me?   I don’t know.

I walked up to him and gave him the 4×6.  He looked at it for a few moments, then broke into one of the biggest smiles I had seen in a long time.  He gave me a big ole high five and a enthusiastic handshake for good measure.  I told him to take care of himself and he called me a “Cool Cat.”

I left him then.  I’m not sure if I will ever see him again, but I sure am glad I met him.