Lockdown, when it came at the end of March, seemed late. Other countries were ahead and we didn’t seem to be reading the signs – football and race meetings carrying on defiantly in a weird echo of the Blitz spirit but against an invisible enemy that wanted us to do just that. I had no idea when I would be able to reclaim my London streets from this undetectable foe.
Only essential travel was permitted. Not being a “real” photographer – someone who could make a living from photography- I could hardly claim it was essential for me to be out and about in the capital. Yet I felt that history was being made on those empty streets and that it was running away from me.
I also needed to shoot. It’s what I do. It completes me. Balances everything else. Gives me an escape. Perhaps I am an escape artist.
I also knew enough to know I didn’t (and don’t) want this virus; thank you.
So, as we got used to the new normal, social distancing and a distinct lack of toilet paper, so the number of photos taken dropped off sharply. Street photography where I live is a real challenge for me, as I have described in other blogs. Too many people know me. And it’s very hard to see home streets objectively. When I did go out, my camera still came with me but it was just in case”, rather than with any real sense of intent or expectation.
Increasingly, I found I was taking photos on my early morning or evening dog walks. I began keeping the camera in my hand instead of in a bag – ready. I started enjoying the walks more. I slowed down., looked around, noticing the subtle changes as spring bloomed around me and melted into a hot summer. Miraculously, lockdown weather was incredible and everyone took themselves outside to live their lives. It was as if nature was compensating.