Most of the times, we do know when we are doing our first picture. A person, an object, a situation. And also we use to remember it, since the first time is always important.
But, do we remember the last one? Do we ever know, when shooting, if it is the last one? Generally, we don’t! We may realize, latter, that it was the last one, but, knowing it when pressing the shutter release, is seldom.
Through the years I had the chance of being there when the last photo was done. And when the one in front of the camera not just knew it, but also make everything so that the picture was done.
The first time happened some 40 years ago and I was an eyewitness. It was, probably, one of the most important photographs of my life.
Another one took place last year. This one!
One day, in June, these two came to me, at the Jardim da Estrela, where I play the role of an old fashion photographer, with my fake old camera.
They wanted to know if I have two pictures, one of each one, but both of them with a friend. He died some time before, but they want to have that souvenir. I did, but at home, so I promise them that I would bring it with me next time.
A week or so later we meet again and they received their photos. But she wanted some more: a photograph of both of them. And, of course, I did it. But they look so in love that I also took this one, with my reflex camera. Some time after we meet again, he and I, and I give him the photograph.Since then, we meet several times. He only. I never saw her again, walking around the park as she use to.
This week he came by once more and we chat a little. At some point, I ask him about her.
“She died last November”, he told me. And, shrugging his shoulders, he added: “Women problems, you know!”
I was speechless. What can we say on those moments?
But he added, smiling as always:
“I guess she knew it was her last picture, that one you make of us. You know, I still have it at home.”
We said some more non important things and he went away, with his swinging walk and his long lasting smile.
And I stood there, thinking on how the meaning or importance of a photograph can change. A trophy to some, a memory to others or even a farewell from those who left.
Is not easy to know we did the last one!
But, do we remember the last one? Do we ever know, when shooting, if it is the last one? Generally, we don’t! We may realize, latter, that it was the last one, but, knowing it when pressing the shutter release, is seldom.
Through the years I had the chance of being there when the last photo was done. And when the one in front of the camera not just knew it, but also make everything so that the picture was done.
The first time happened some 40 years ago and I was an eyewitness. It was, probably, one of the most important photographs of my life.
Another one took place last year. This one!
One day, in June, these two came to me, at the Jardim da Estrela, where I play the role of an old fashion photographer, with my fake old camera.
They wanted to know if I have two pictures, one of each one, but both of them with a friend. He died some time before, but they want to have that souvenir. I did, but at home, so I promise them that I would bring it with me next time.
A week or so later we meet again and they received their photos. But she wanted some more: a photograph of both of them. And, of course, I did it. But they look so in love that I also took this one, with my reflex camera. Some time after we meet again, he and I, and I give him the photograph.Since then, we meet several times. He only. I never saw her again, walking around the park as she use to.
This week he came by once more and we chat a little. At some point, I ask him about her.
“She died last November”, he told me. And, shrugging his shoulders, he added: “Women problems, you know!”
I was speechless. What can we say on those moments?
But he added, smiling as always:
“I guess she knew it was her last picture, that one you make of us. You know, I still have it at home.”
We said some more non important things and he went away, with his swinging walk and his long lasting smile.
And I stood there, thinking on how the meaning or importance of a photograph can change. A trophy to some, a memory to others or even a farewell from those who left.
Is not easy to know we did the last one!
Texto e imagem: by me in “Estórias do Oldfashion”
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