Yesterday, big Salon published a piece by Tracy Clark-Flory concerning the genre of contemporary pornography called, alternately, upskirt or downblouse photography. Her write-up demonstrated remarkable detachment and restraint, I thought. It was well-researched and thorough, yet it's point of view was indicative of a writer willing to let the facts speak for themselves and let readers draw their own conclusions. Based on the number of letters (476), it was one of the more popular reads on Salon this week. As in most matters, the letters ran the gamut, everything from "kick the bastard in the crotch" to "well, if she's going to wear those schoolgirl outfits, she deserves what she gets." Some thought that a distinction should be drawn between upskirt and downblouse. Others, indicated a bemused detachment, the attitude I imagine is assumed by art class models.  As Dalton so succinctly noted in Roadhouse, "Opinions vary."

I happen to have seen some of these  upskirt shots from time to time. To me, upskirt photographs are uniformly uninteresting, because their specificity makes them all look alike, because they are almost always low-quality images, because they so often miss the target, any number of reasons. Imagine a photographic genre devoted completely to the close-up depiction of the steering wheels of cars, shot as the cars drive by in the opposite direction at 55 miles per hour, and that's pretty much what you get with upskirt photographs. Once you've seen one, you've pretty much seen them all. And what's there to see in the first place. It's like, "That's a woman's crotch? Are you sure?".

Now, I don't do upskirt photography; I'm not that kind of creep. Nevertheless, Ms. Clark-Flory's piece hits pretty close to home, because a lot of my photography is candid portraiture in public spaces. And I do tend to turn my lense in the direction of women. Many of the issues surrounding upskirt photographs can easily be  applied to what I do, and I would be pretty oblivious to my own presence if I didn't notice (and if I didn't tell my readers) that I have occasionally been mistaken for one of those guys.

 Central to the debate over candid photography is this question: what is a reasonable expectation of privacy when one is in a public space? We already know that Big Brother is watching us, at the convenience store, the mall, the highway toll plaza, and elsewhere. And if you go out in public at all, it is hard to miss all of the folks snapping pictures with their cell phones and their digital point and shoot cameras.

I have struggled with this question a lot. My first foray into random street shots was on the crowded streets of London a few years back. As we took in the sights, I held my camera in front of me and when interesting people would appear, I would snap a shot. I had a lot of fun with this; the composition would be entirely random; the result is almost entirely dependent on the ability of the technology to focus correctly, and on my ability to hold the camera at the proper angle without looking through a viewfinder. If you try this, it is remarkable how many good shots you'll get (and how many throwaways you get, too). Even more remarkable, though, is the number of people who notice themselves being photographed. In the same way that we are genetically programmed to notice ourselves being stared at, people are generally quite conscious of a camera pointed in their direction, no matter how inconspicuously one holds it. I have received many stink eye gazes when I take these shots, indicating that I am hewing pretty close to the line, if not completely over it, with these shots.

I don't like unpleasant reactions to my photography, and whenever I get one it tends to make me step back and reflect on whether I should have taken the shot. It turns out that, even during family gatherings on Christmas day, there are a lot of people who will work at not being in the picture. Likewise, even in public spaces, where any number of spy cams have been surreptitiously placed by businesses and government to record, seemingly, our every move, some people still think they shouldn't be subject to someone's candid camera fetish. Although I don't think there is any way to completely reconcile this conflict, I have adopted some policies. 

 First, I recognize that there are public places and public places. While I will often take shots of people on the street, I don't photograph strangers eating in restaurants or shopping at the mall. A busy street is the most public of spaces, restaurants and shopping destinations less so. 

Next, I look for events where participants are actively trying to be part of the scene. The South by Southwest music festival is my favorite place to photograph. Eeyore's Birthday Party, the Renaissance Festival, Halloween Night on Sixth Street. People have dressed to be a part of the scene, and most people welcome being the subject of my camera. I have never gotten a bad reaction from someone I've photographed at SXSW or Eeyore's, and people tend to wear some pretty revealing outfits at Eeyore's.

If I am not in a setting that begs to be photographed, and I see people whose image I just cannot live without, then I tend to ask permission. I don't always do this, and when I do I risk refusal and complete loss, relative to having chosen simply to snap off a quick, sneaky shot. And most people, when you ask them to pose, become goofy and unlifelike. Everyone has their own personal version of the "cheese" pose, and let me tell you something: you're all doing it wrong, people. But on the other hand, it can sometimes be quite rewarding to get permission, because it gives me more time to compose the shot and get people's faces. (People's faces are always the most interesting part of any portrait, in my view.) When I photograph with permission, I will pay for the shot. Up to two dollars. Some people want five. Two is my limit.

 Anyway, I don't think I am a creep. But increasingly, the government sees things differently. As pointed out in Clark-Flory's piece, the federal Video Voyeurism Prevention Act of 2004  prohibits photography and videography "under circumstances in which the individual has a reasonable expectation of privacy." But what does this mean? I heard on the news the other day that a fellow was arrested by sheriff's deputies for photographing nude sunbathers at Hippie Hollow on Lake Travis. Now, do the people sunbathing at Hippie Hollow have a "reasonable expectation of privacy"? I am not so sure they do. I fear a backlash that would spill over into the sort of street shots I enjoy. But it's like they always told us in school: leave it to a few bad apples to abuse a privilege and spoil things for everyone.

 I appreciated  Tracy Clark-Flory's Salon feature. It was thought-provoking without being provocatively or snidely written. This kind of article is what keeps me reading Salon. I don't know what Ms. Clark-Flory would think of about what I do. As someone who seeks approval, but who is not always willing to do what it takes to get it, I live in my own sort of self-imposed hell most of the time.  I hope my OS readers don't think I'm a creep. But I want you to know that although I have no plans to discontinue my pursuit of candid shots, I continue to refine my own ethical stance toward an activity that clearly, um, skirts the boundary of societal mores.

(Note: all of these photographs are © Richard Banks 2008)