Meeting a new person can be weird. I feel like half the time when I shake someone’s hand our grips don’t line up and I ultimately grab their fingers while I watch the expression on their face reflect just how awkward this short exchange is already going. But I digress…
During my first year at the Chicago Tribune I made it a point not to tell people what I did for a living. I wasn’t ashamed, but anytime I talked about being a photojournalist I felt selfish — as if I was making the news I covered about me. As most journalists will tell you, talking about ourselves is our least favorite past time. Other than filling out expense reports.
But several years and many expense reports later, I’ve realized that most people really don’t know what it’s like to be a visual journalist in Chicago. Our day can start at a vigil — desperately trying to be respectful while attempting to convince a grieving mother that a video interview will help tell her murdered child’s story — and end at the United Center getting yelled at by security for photographing Mark Cuban talking to Dallas Mavericks players before they take the court against the Bulls.
I guess I’m trying to say the breadth and scope of a photojournalist’s job is wider than most people think. And there’s a lot going on before the reader sees the image. As important as our photos are, in this blog I’m going to attempt to tell you how they were made, or what was going on in my head while I was making them.
So consider this our introduction. There’s a lot more to come and I hope you’ll follow along. Because this might look like a blog but it’s my life, and taking pictures is the only thing I ever want to do with it.
