My journey home from Africa took me through Brussels this time. I’ve made my thoughts on this city perfectly clear in previous posts.
To my surprise, there was a great Steve McCurry exhibition going on, so I gladly bought tickets and spent 2 hours looking at the work of a master.
Street photography is hard. Not technical work of operating a camera. The social work of being in the right place, at the right time. Having the bravery to interact with people to get the pictures you want. The ability to get lost and meditate in a city and not feel self conscious about taking pictures. Steve’s ability to hop in the back of a truck bed and go to the ends of the earth to get a shot are really admirable.
It’s ironic that after seeing that exhibit I put aside my grudge with Brussels, and went for a walk at golden hour to see if I could find anything interesting to photograph besides the pissing boy and waffles . . . and it turns out I did. I stumbled into a group of Palestinian protestors. It seemed weakly organized and occurred at the steps of the Belgian Beer experience for some reason? I didn’t quite understand the significance of the location.
At one point I saw an agitated young man approach the police with hostility. The officer reached for his tear gas, and as much as that would have made for a striking picture, his friend pulled him away. I later saw sharing an electric scooter zipping off around the corner where they were stopped and searched.
Other than that, the crowd was mostly positive and filled with more onlookers than protesters.
