On Ben Yehuda Street, the great pedestrian walkway in the heart of West Jerusalem, a man with a stern expression was playing heavenly classical violin. Robin was in a shop buying supplies for the training that she is teaching tomorrow. I stood nearby, soaking in the music. After awhile, I gestured with the camera for permission, and shot a few frames. He stared at me until I wore out the posed look on his face. We talked for a bit, learned his name was Alexander, and that he was from Russia. I gave him my card. He played again, I raised my camera and watched the background until an interesting looking person (of which in Jerusalem there is no shortage) walked by.
While I stood nearby, several other tourists stopped to take Alexander’s photo. None made contact with him—he was just a piece of local color, to treat as an object. They walked up, snapped a photo, and turned away. None put any coins in his case. I wanted to run after each one and say, "At least pay the man for the photo you just stole from him."
Alexander asked if I would watch his violin for a moment while he ran to a store to buy a cigarette. Robin was still shopping, and I saw no reason to say no. This was the best example of why I like to photograph people—it is a uniquely intimate relationship, even if only a moment. This photographic subject was trusting me with the means to his livelihood.
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