Thursday, April 19, 2007
PHOTOJOURNALISM'S ADRENALIN RUSH
It was sheer madness, if you asked me. Because in my desire to get as close as possible for a good shot, I suffered from a momentary lapse of reason — I risked getting my toes run over by the escort motorcycles who didn’t have that much space to maneuver to begin with. Nonetheless, these escorts must keep the motorcade moving even at a snail’s pace. There was also the main truck driver who kept blowing his horn at me for my having blocked his path as I kept taking pictures of the group of men on the flatbed his truck.
It was insane! I was seriously more intent on getting well-focused and -composed shots than worry about getting hurt.
There was also the throng of well-wishers and spectators, who crossed the designated police lines just to catch some candies, baller IDs, and T-shirts being hurled by those personalities from the truck. I often found myself sandwiched between this wave of people and the police escorts, but I had to wedge myself right through and make my way towards the next spot up ahead and secure an ideal position for the next series of shots.
Ed Santiago, my photojournalism mentor, (left photo) believes that this area of photography sharpens the photographer’s gutfeel; thus, urges all his students to often practice photojournalism.Documenting the scene as it happens is the core of which; hence, on that particular day, despite the respective politics, philosophy, track record and integrity of the group of men up on that truck, my intention was merely to document the event with my camera. I wasn't there to create history or provide a personal dissertation on these personalities' respective school of thought or achievement (or lack thereof).
Anyway, being quite savvy with the streets of Santa Cruz, Manila, instinctively, I knew which position would best give me a certain structure as backdrop, or where I could climb a bit to get my camera as near within eye-level with my subjects who were up higher aboard the truck.
And every time I captured the desired scene, the adrenalin rush that came with it fueled a greater desire to run towards the next ideal spot. Right there and then, I experienced a moment of epiphany — realizing that this has got to be, more than anything else, what most photojournalists live for — the adrenalin rush. No wonder some of the seasoned war correspondents would find themselves standing in the line of fire, so to speak. What matters most to them is no longer their safety, but the perfect shot or footage to share with their readers or viewers back home. That’s how crazily diligent they can be.
I was drenched with sweat as I took my final shot while standing on the base of a street lamp at T. Mapua Street. It was a narrow street and I was only a few meters from the motorcade so, when I yelled for the mayor to throw me a T-shirt, with a smile on his face — probably appreciating all that effort I’ve exerted in photographing his entourage — threw one towards my direction.
The mayor must have played baseball when young because the T-shirt landed exactly on my right hand without my over-reaching for it. But suddenly, someone grabbed the T-shirt from my hand — spraining my ring finger as he forcefully pulled it away from me. The mayor saw it and with a simple gesture, a couple of his security men grabbed the teenager, retrieved the T-shirt, and handed it back to me. I yelled, “Thank you, mayor!”
Most public officials might have a love-hate relationship with the media, but here in Manila, the mayor, at least, appreciates their presence.
.
Labels: photojournalism
posted by Señor Enrique at 7:54 AM
| 16 comments
