EDITOR’S NOTE: Aurora Sentinel reporter Quincy Snowdon is traveling on an exchange visit organized by the International Center for Journalists (ICFJ) as part of a program funded by the U.S. State Department. He’ll be reporting regularly during his adventure.
KARACHI, PAKISTAN | I have a confession to make.
Well, maybe more of an admission. I think Usher permanently changed the casual use of the word “confession” a long time ago.
I’m not a photographer.
That probably doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone who has suffered through the handful of photos that have accompanied these posts in recent days.
But I’m trying. It’s not going super well, but I’m trying.
I’ve been doing my darnedest to pursue some iPhone journalism while in Pakistan, the likes of which is riddled with off-center subjects, crooked horizons and thumb-covered lenses. I’m sorry.
I only have an iPhone, and I’ve yet to invest in a useful, effective weapon (see: camera). Looking at the legitimate tools of some of the other reporters on this trip with the International Center for Journalists, I realize I’m dealing with what is essentially a Happy Meal toy. It’s akin to bringing a Swiss Army knife to a sword fight. You can patch together some booby traps and cut, paste and crop your way to something quasi-useful, but you’re still going to be very close to losing a hand, even in a best case scenario. Or something like that.
HIGHLY DECORATED BUSES AND TRUCKS ARE ALL THE RAGE
A fellow trip-taker, Josh Morgan, a photojournalist from The Rapid City Journal in South Dakota, was kind enough to walk me through a few tutorials, which I’d like to think have at least helped me get my thumb off the lens. The tips were incredibly simple: Don’t use HDR. Crop with this button. Square mode is not very useful anymore. Hold the phone with one hand, etc. A little goes a long way when you have a permanently, semi-broken thumb that gets in the way of more than a thumb ever should.
Even the Sentinel chief shooter, Gabriel Christus, has helped to give me some pointers from across the world — via Twitter — politely critiquing a shot I was ashamedly proud of. Gabe kindly pointed out that sure, I may have found an interesting subject, but there was a lamp post sticking out of the guy’s head. Yikes.
I’ve had the privilege of being around a handful of wildly talented photographers, namely Gabe and Marla Keown (as well as passersthrough Philip Poston, Trevor Davis, Sara Hertwig and Panama Payne), and I ogle at their shots. I’ve even got somewhat adept at ducking out of frame without being asked. Although, Gabe frequently still gives me a wave right or left to exit his frame, at which point I crouch behind a desk and scribble into my notepad. That latter task – scribbling – is the type of introversion I prefer. The former task — ducking out of the frame — is about as much as I’ve personally interacted with photography in some time. (Unless you count sliding filters onto hastily captured Snapchats, of course.)
Somewhat to my chagrin, that distance with the medium has changed this week.
And that reluctant pull toward the iPhone lens has led me to discover a very real two-way street, one paved with cultural alienation. For nearly every shot I snap of a person walking through a doorway or sitting on a median, I’ve had someone snap a photo of me or one of my colleagues. It results in some sort of bizarro version of Norman Rockwell’s “Triple Self Portrait,” where it’s just two people taking photos of one another, each believing their respective subject is the strangest thing since “Stranger Things.”
On a recent visit to the Pakistan Monument in Islamabad, a young kid, probably 8 or 9 years old, ran up to me and held out his phone, grinning and nodding. He wanted a selfie with me — the clearly out-of-place, pale, blue-eyed American. We took one. And then I took some shots of people moseying around a large stone structure his government created before he was born. Pick any theory of classic sociology and there’s probably something going on in that situation. Because, to the surprise of my wildly American psyche, there’s only one alien in that encounter.
And it’s not the young guy who asked to take a picture to show his friends at school.
Just — Gabe, I’m sorry about the photos.
— QS
RECENT AP PHOTOS OF AND ABOUT PAKISTAN
PREVIOUS POSTS FROM QUINCY SNOWDON:
• 9/20/16 AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Elusive peace in Pakistan puts Aurora in perspective
• 9/18/16 AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Kashmir collides with life all over India and Pakistan
• 9/17/16 AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Life in a country where fortresses, risk, newspapers and beauty abound
• 9/16/16: AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Saturday — Who pays for reporters from Aurora and Pakistan to trade places
• 9/15/16: AURORA TO PAKISTAN: A reporter’s close look at a complex nation
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Originally from Connecticut, Quincy Snowdon ditched the East Coast about six years ago for Colorado’s thinner air and higher mountains. He’s worked at the Aurora Sentinel in Aurora for two years and something like 68 days (but who’s counting?). He spends most of his days writing about spats on the local board of education and the city’s art scene. But he’s also been known to write about crime, food and the occasional business opening. His likes include climbing up Front Range rock piles, Barilla pasta and getting lost in YouTube worm holes — usually pertaining to bloopers from seasons 3-5 of the American sitcom The Office. His dislikes include deadlines, people who refuse to provide their last names and spotty WiFi connections.