The memory

Some people in Sri Lanka drank a lot, which was a sad thing to see. One of these occasions I remember very well. I was sitting in a bus and we stopped near a liquor store. In front of it was an old man. He was insanely drunk, pouring the alcohol straight from the bottle in his mouth. I wanted to capture the figure, but the moment I lifted my camera, I looked at his face. I saw his red nose, the rag covering his hair, his grey beard - and I felt sad. I didn’t want to take a picture anymore, because I realised it would ruin his privacy. So we drove on in the bus, and even though I do not have a picture, I still remember.

Although photos are nice to have as a memory, it pays to be considerate towards the “object” of your photo – because people become objects if you catch them with the camera. It emphasises a power relation, especially in the case of rich Western tourist vs. the poorer native inhabitant.

The incident with the drunkard left a great impression. Afterwards I have always asked permission when I wanted to take a photo of a person. People actually always agreed; sometimes smiling a bit awkwardly, sometimes with enthusiasm. One time I was on my bike, cycling around the ruins of Angkor city, as I passed rice paddy fields were locals were working. The colour palette was composed of perfect emerald greens, almost calling out to me to take a picture. I just walked into the field and asked the people if I could take pictures. We ended up having a really nice conversation – if something in half English, half Khmer and by means of hands and gestures can be called a conversation. It is one of the pictures with my best memories, which shows that pictures can be taken in a sustainable way.

The picture I took of one of the locals working in the emerald green rice paddy field after our conversation. 

If you want to know more about pictures, read David Turton’s article in Anthropology Today (2004) about how photographs effects the Mursi culture in Ethiopia.