I don't speak Farsi and Abbas doesn't speak English.
Abbas was here INORONO in 2004 visiting his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren who lived in the house next door, from his native country of Iran. In the summer of 2004 I built a garage and Abbas watched my progress day by day and week by week. Our friendship began with demolition. He would stand on the sidewalk or in my driveway and watch. Sometimes he would sit and watch. Periodically he would help me if it was obvious I was struggling to move or carry something. Mostly he just watched.
When construction began his interest increased. He watchful eyes gleamed with curiosity. He would pick up tools and ask me what they were for. At least that's what I think he was asking. He stood on the newly poured concrete slab and pointed and waved his arms, again, his eyes full of life, light and knowledge desperately trying to impart some of his life experience to me. At times I think he thought that if he could just speak slowly and loudly enough, I would understand his language.
Our friendship grew following the completion of my garage as I turned my attention to my garden. Oh how Abbas loved my garden. Again, he offered his advice and I did my best to take it, despite only assuming I'd properly translated his hand gestures. And oh how his eyes would light up when I delivered vegetables to him, knowing I just had to share the bounty of the harvest with him.
In April of this year I came home from work and saw a car parked in the driveway next door. You see the house Abbas stayed in when I first met him is now vacant and For Sale. Abbas' family moved into a house better suited for their family and has been renting until recently. As I backed into my driveway I saw that Abbas was here INORONO again. I saw the glimmer of recognition as he realized it was me and I think he saw the same in me. I parked and as smiles emerged on both of our faces, we walked towards each other, hands extended, and embraced. I still didn't understand the Farsi that flew off of his tongue but with his grandson's help with translation, we managed a conversation.
He looked exactly as I remembered him. Despite living more than eight decades in what I think we can all agreed is a turbulent part of our world, his eyes were alive with the light of his accumulation of experience and life lessons. I knew at that moment I just HAD to photograph him while he was here.
I went next door one evening to speak to Ali, Abbas' son and asked about my wishes to photograph him. Later in the week I was told he agreed and we arranged a time and a place.
I agonized over how to set up. My goal was simple. I wanted capture the light and life in his eyes and the stories embedded in his face. Isn't that what we're all after when we photograph people?
I set up in my garage, the one that forged our friendship. I thought it appropriate.
Utilizing a homemade flat-black backdrop (and old closet door painted black on one side and white on the other) and a homemade white reflector (the other painted door), I placed a Nikon SB-800 into my EZBox softbox on a stand in the Rembrandt position at camera-left. I closed down two stops from ambient and utilizing TTL at +2 compensation, dialed in an exposure. The white reflector at camera-right brought out the detail on his shadow side while still allowing the depth and the texture to show. In the last few frames I wanted just a touch more fill so I added a second bare-bulb SB800 in Group B at -3 compensation in a Justin Clamp about ten feet from him. All were shot with my Nikon D700, 24-70 f/2.8 lens in RAW at ISO 200. I believe this final shot was 1/200th at f.3.2.
INORONO there is a lot of talk about diversity because of that big entity on the other side of the bridge on Marsh Island. Diversity is important to them up there and is important to a lot of the people I know but I find that diversity, by it's very nature, needs labels in order to define itself. I grew up in a world of labels. Where and when I grew up lot's of folks were labelled. There were "Catholics," "Protestants," "working families," "white trash," "colored folks," "rich," and "poor." Even today, living INORONO I see this same "diversity" in my neighborhood. There's us, the "white, middle-class family," the "Catholics" across the street, the "Jewish family" next door, the "Chinese," the "Japanese" and the "Muslim" families all in our quaint little cul-de-sac. But they're all just labels.
Here's the deal. My friend Abbas and I are different in many ways. We've grown up and lived in very different worlds with different circumstances and situations. Our friendship, however, is based on our human experience; our desire to learn from others, to take care of our families and to enjoy what life has to offer. My friend Abbas and I are much more alike than we are different and I'm so very grateful to have made his acquaintance and become his friend INORONO.
