After the Storm in Dublin
“After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer.” William R. Alger
On my way to Dublin, I have no specific plan other than to go to a street photography meetup which is on today. However, on the way up it occurs to me to double check on Instagram if I have the right day, but there’s nothing about the meetup on there. I then proceed to have a look in the Facebook group, and I learn that the day out was cancelled due to extreme weather. I guess the “extreme weather” referred to was what happened the day before as the weather is perfectly fine today. However, the train is significantly delayed, and though I’m not sure why, I suspect it may be something to do with trees causing obstructions on the track. And so, with no forethought aim other than to meet up with the cancelled group meetup, I decide to go on my own little photo walk.
I sometimes go out with groups of people to take pictures, but what usually happens is that I get so caught up in chatter that I could be out for several hours and not realise that I took hardly any pictures till I get home. It’s nice to be social and to go out with people to engage in certain activities as a group, but there’s no real need when it comes to things like street photography.
Only an hour away from Dublin, I ponder where I’m going to go when I get there and to that end open up my digital book called “Three Castles Burning” by Donal Fallon. In it, he writes about various streets in Dublin. James Joyce Street catches my eye and so I have a quick read about it. Formerly called Mabbot Street, it was once one of several streets in the area that formed a part of one of the biggest red-light districts in Europe, which were collectively called the Monto. James Joyce referenced the area in Ulysees, where he referred to it as Nighttown. It sounds quite a fascinating place to visit, and so I make my way there upon arriving in Dublin.
Upon arrival at James Joyce Street, I decide to walk the length of it to get my bearings, but it’s only a two hundred and fifty metres long with a barber’s and a couple of empty looking office blocks, and the occasional person strolling up and down. It may have been an area which saw significant amounts of debauchery in the time of James Joyce, but there isn’t much going on today. I think about hanging about to see if I can find any interesting looking subjects to photograph, but it’s a bit chilly and I don’t fancy standing still for too long, and would feel like a bit of a madman if I were to go pacing up and down the same stretch of street for a couple of hours, and so I resolve to have a little wander through the city.
On Henry Street, I walk past a rather interesting looking man with a gray beard on a keyboard, and a little voice in my head tells me to go back and ask him if I can make a portrait of him, and so I do just that. He has a notice stuck to the front of his keyboard which says he is homeless and undergoing treatment for stage 3 cancer and so I ask him if I can take a portrait of him and he happily consents and I chuck him a couple of euro and we have a bit of a chat.
I’ve always enjoyed street photography, but I’ve only recently decided how I like to practice it, and I may change my mind about same in the future. I personally like to talk to random people and form a connection with them. I’ve always enjoyed talking to random people which was one of the reasons I used to enjoy smoking lots of cigarettes. You could just walk up to anyone in a pub, a coffee shop, or anywhere, and ask them for a light and next thing you know you might find yourself in the midst of a really great conversation. I think a lot of addictions are like that. It’s not so much that one enjoys the drug, or whatever, that one is addicted to, it’s that the addiction is deeply embedded in social interactions with other people, or it enables one to feel that they can connect to people. Advertisers of things like coffee play on that, associating it with friendship, maternal affection, happiness, warmth, and love. I spent many years trying to enjoy the “golden moments” promised by caffeine adverts, but the stuff only ever made me a hyperactive, shaky, jittery mess. Interestingly, the times when I used to drink coffee and go out taking street portraits often did not go very well. Lots of people would turn me down, as I think I was giving off a jittery nervous energy that made people think I was full of cocaine or something. In my post-caffeinated state, most people are quite happy for me to take their portrait even though I’ve never met them before in my life. Energies are infectious, and if we feel anxious, our anxiety makes others feel anxious, and when you make people feel anxious, they aren’t likely to want to talk to you, never mind agree to your taking their portrait.
Some street photographers I know relentlessly take pictures of anything and everything, often without the knowledge or permission of the person being photographed. I think it’s a legitimate art form that really comes to fruition in years to come when people look back and can get a glimpse of how streets, people, and fashion looked in the past. Candid photos capture fleeting moments in time, little instances that will remain frozen forever long after the demise of all those in the picture. To be captured forever in a picture is like the visual essence of that moment being immortalised.
On my way down Henry Street, a Nigerian woman starts a conversation about Jesus. There are often people like this handing out flyers in Dublin these days and the upshot of conversations I seem to regularly have with such people is that they felt a bit lost in life, on account of various personal tragedies, but they found a reason for being by opening their heart to Jesus. I’ve never been hugely religious, but I think that anything that gives people a sense of solace and belonging, or a sense that they have a reason for being, that they feel they otherwise lack, is a generally positive thing.
After talking to her for a bit, I spot a man with a dog and another man and I think it will make for an interesting picture and so I go up and ask permission to take one and they agree.
Next, I head towards Capel Street and spot a chap that has a kind of Dickensian look and so I find myself asking if I can take his portrait before even realising I’m doing it.
Considering going home at this point, I realise that I made no portraits of any women and so I make my way to the Temple Bar area, and that’s when I spot Shaz, who has about as much piercings as I’ve ever seen in anyone and so I ask if I can take a picture and she agrees.
Not long after this, I decide to head back to the train station as it’s getting a bit late, I’m a bit cold, slightly headachy, and the light isn’t that good at this stage anyway.
Unlike in Galway, I didn’t notice there to be any signs of the storm that occurred the day before, so I guess they got off lightly comparatively, while a large portion of the west is littered with countless trees and lots of people are without both running water and electricity. I always find it strange how different the weather can be just a few miles across the country. It’s still not too good in Dublin, but it’s generally better than Galway in my estimation, and I wonder if that explains part of Cromwell’s statement when he invaded Ireland in the 17th century and declared that the natives go “to hell or to Connacht”.