Dick Smith, gun smith with guns - and The Rest of The Story
bdcolen
Registered Users Posts: 3,804 Major grins
As we all know, every photograph has a story behind, beside, or in front of it, which the photo itself never tells. Here's the Rest of The Story for this one.
A few years ago, when I was taking a workshop from Eugene Richards at the Maine Media Workshops - the only photo 'course' I have ever taken, on the second day Gene asked for ideas for something we could all do. I proposed that we split up in pairs, jump in our cars, and start driving - stopping every 5 miles on the odometer, at which point we would have to find a photograph within sight of the car. He thought the idea was intriguing, but selected another idea instead. So flash forward to the day before we were all going to do our day-long 'projects.' I said I wanted to drive to Blue Hill, ME, about 2.5 hours away, where I spent the summer of 1965 as a summer intern, serving as the only reporter/photographer for the Weekly Packet. I said I wanted to photograph the people and places I had come to know that summer. Gene said, "No, I know you know how to tell a story - I want you out of your comfort zone. Go get in your car, stop ever five miles, and shoot." So...I got in my car and headed for Blue Hill, stopping every five miles to photograph. (The Hommage to Martin Parr was the only image I shot worth even thinking about.)
Anyway, to make a long story longer. When I got to Blue Hill I went looking for the house in which I had rented a room for the summer. I had been owned by a guy named Dick Smith, who was a Pennsylvania native, recently out of the Army, with a young wife, new baby, and a job as the compositor/printer for the paper. Somehow, I managed to find the house - keep in mind that 40 (!) years had passed. And out behind the house was a small, new looking, building with a sign reading "Dick Smith, Gun Smith."
I walked in the open door of the shop, walked up to Dick Smith, stuck out my hand and said, "Dick, I'm B. D. Colen." He stared at me for a moment, and completely deadpan, responded, "You look a lot older."
While we were talking, and I was shooting him, a young woman, with a baby on her hip, walked into the shop - the woman who was the baby the summer I spent in Dick's home.
And now, here's Dick Smith, gun smith, with guns.
A few years ago, when I was taking a workshop from Eugene Richards at the Maine Media Workshops - the only photo 'course' I have ever taken, on the second day Gene asked for ideas for something we could all do. I proposed that we split up in pairs, jump in our cars, and start driving - stopping every 5 miles on the odometer, at which point we would have to find a photograph within sight of the car. He thought the idea was intriguing, but selected another idea instead. So flash forward to the day before we were all going to do our day-long 'projects.' I said I wanted to drive to Blue Hill, ME, about 2.5 hours away, where I spent the summer of 1965 as a summer intern, serving as the only reporter/photographer for the Weekly Packet. I said I wanted to photograph the people and places I had come to know that summer. Gene said, "No, I know you know how to tell a story - I want you out of your comfort zone. Go get in your car, stop ever five miles, and shoot." So...I got in my car and headed for Blue Hill, stopping every five miles to photograph. (The Hommage to Martin Parr was the only image I shot worth even thinking about.)
Anyway, to make a long story longer. When I got to Blue Hill I went looking for the house in which I had rented a room for the summer. I had been owned by a guy named Dick Smith, who was a Pennsylvania native, recently out of the Army, with a young wife, new baby, and a job as the compositor/printer for the paper. Somehow, I managed to find the house - keep in mind that 40 (!) years had passed. And out behind the house was a small, new looking, building with a sign reading "Dick Smith, Gun Smith."
I walked in the open door of the shop, walked up to Dick Smith, stuck out my hand and said, "Dick, I'm B. D. Colen." He stared at me for a moment, and completely deadpan, responded, "You look a lot older."
While we were talking, and I was shooting him, a young woman, with a baby on her hip, walked into the shop - the woman who was the baby the summer I spent in Dick's home.
And now, here's Dick Smith, gun smith, with guns.
bd@bdcolenphoto.com
"He not busy being born is busy dying." Bob Dylan
"The more ambiguous the photograph is, the better it is..." Leonard Freed
"He not busy being born is busy dying." Bob Dylan
"The more ambiguous the photograph is, the better it is..." Leonard Freed
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Comments
Lensmole
http://www.lensmolephotography.com/
Well done, interesting too.