(Or … It’s My Party and I Can Cry If I Want To)
I usually don’t like taking pictures of the homeless. For some reason they have been resonating with me lately. Maybe it’s because I am another year older today. When I think about what it might be like to retire from a job, but having a six year old who will start college when I am 70, it doesn’t look like retirement is anywhere in my near future.
I also think about my own mortality. My parents, both 90, are still very much alive. Some can say, “Oh, you have their genes. There is no reason why that can’t be you as well.” Well, anything can happen. Will my wife’s and my employment, finances, health, last well into the future? So many unknowns.
Maybe that’s why those that are living on the margins of society have begun to show up in my imagery. These people can be each and every one of us. I don’t want to get into a political discussion here, but the disparity of global wealth distribution really needs to be dealt with.
While many of us gather truths, inspiration, the representation of our innermost thoughts and feelings from life out there, we are all just a step or two away from living on the street.