Portrait of a Syrian Man
Damascus, Syria 2010
It’s easy for me to fall in love. I have fallen in love with many people during my travels from the little girls in an Indian village who followed me down dusty streets and called to me in sweet clear voices, “I love you”. .. and the small boy in Samarkand who chased off his friends when they tried to ruin my shot of Tamerlane’s grave by jumping in front of my lens…and the old Berber woman in Morocco, who opened her nearly bare cupboard and offered me her only apple.
It’s that momentary but intense connection between two people. Often, as I remember the moment, I feel tears welling up. It’s the kindness of strangers, as Tennessee Williams said.
The man from Damascus wore full black pants called salwar, a vest embroidered with reds and golds and a well-worn red fez on his head. A heavy copper urn filled with tamarind juice hung over one shoulder. A belt around his waist held drinking glasses which he washed between customers with a magician’s flourish. He stood at his post in an intersection of the Hammadiya souk: a rock in the river of flowing shoppers. It seemed that no shopper’s day was complete without a refreshing drink of tamarind juice. Business was good.
I photographed him over and over. That isn’t something most people enjoy, but he acted as if I weren’t there. He went about his business as I tried to catch him in the perfect pose. I loved him for that.
I broke a rule here. I could have eliminated the shapeless hot spot. To leave it is a considered a fault. The eye goes to the whitest and brightest. So, the whitest and brightest should be your subject. But I have the last say and I like the composition of the three vertical elements. Another rule broken is that his eyes are a bit on the glittery side. I could have toned them down, but he seems to be looking into the future and the future for him and for Syria held horrors.