Tonight I walked down the deserted streets of DTLA, away from ArtWalk, into the unknown.
I met a man who I presume to be homeless*. He wanted a quarter. I gave him a dollar.
It wasn’t as simple as that. A whole universe traveled by me as I crossed the street, looked him in the eye, gave him a dollar, and shook his hand.
And an eternity went by as he recited a poem to me for his dollar by his request.
My heart shattered and floated into the midnight sky.
My photography professor instilled in me that as a photographer, as an artist, I have a responsibility to never exploit the homeless for my art.
I had my camera and my iphone but my hand did not move to use these to paint my canvas. Maybe one can say it could only be captured with a soul.
He spoke of angels and…. yes I know…. I’m crazy. But I am also open hearted and accepting of all creatures on the Earth.
I don’t remember the entire poem but he spoke of love and being loved and sunshine and smiles…
Maybe that is my tragic flaw.
Two homeless* guys. One reciting a poem to me. My guy friend is worrying that we are going to die.
And I’m falling in love with a poem.
Is that my tragic flaw? Or is that my beauty within?
*They were actually two big black guys. ‘Homeless’ isn’t actually correct. They looked like gangstas
