When you look at my early works, you can instantly tell that my roots are in the street. I’ve been doing this for a very long time. That said, it doesn’t make me an expert, a teacher, or even “good.” I’m simply obsessed with it, obsessed with doing it, compelled to do it for no other reason than for myself. It’s a deeply private moment for a photographer. It’s a feeling, an emotion, and more than that, it’s an education: something gained from practice and study. But sometimes, you have to follow your gut, not your head. Your instincts move much faster than your thought process. It’s a connection: something in what you see resonates, and that compels you to take the shot. Only after taking the photo, reliving the moment over and over, and mulling it over again and again does it become a public experience.

The question I have today is: What is “street”? What are the rules of street photography? Is it up close and in-your-face? Is it more expansive, with just a hint of people? Is it color or black-and-white? Is it simple, or is it a complex jumble held together within the frame?

It’s easy to get caught up in all the advice and frameworks out there. I’ve read “The 7 Rules of Street Photography,” “The 12 Rules of Street Photography,” and even “The 25 Rules of Street Photography.” I’ve read “The Ultimate Guide to Street Photography” and “The Complete Guide to Street Photography,” and they all make perfect sense until I go out to shoot on the street. Then you never have the time to compose your shots. You never have the time to apply the 12 rules, let alone the 25. It’s an instant, a moment in time so quick it’s almost immeasurable. The only proof that it ever happened is your photograph, and you have to rely solely on your instincts. When you feel the moment, you react, and then it’s over. This part of street photography will never change. There really are no rules; you just have to shoot with your heart in the way that feels right to you.

The way street photography has changed over the years is mostly through equipment. When I was younger, I would go out onto the streets with two or three rolls of film, each containing 36 to 40 exposures. I bought my film in 100-foot rolls, and I’d have to go into a closet to load the film into empty canisters because film was expensive. That meant a minimum of 76 to 120 images per day. Then I’d come home and process the film, wait for it to dry, and head into the darkroom to make contact sheets. I’d study the tiny images with a loupe, decide which ones to print, and circle the possibilities with a red grease pencil. It could be days before I saw a finished result. Afterward, I’d print my images, send them to editors, and carry my physical portfolio around to galleries. It was a very involved process.

Today, it’s a numbers game. I shoot with a Fuji X-T4, which can take up to 18 shots per second. At the end of any afternoon, I could have anywhere from 500 to 1,500 shots, and I’m bound to find something interesting in the mix. Then I come home, sit at my computer, open Photoshop, and within hours, I’m posting to social media or sending photographs to publications and galleries.

Another big change for me is the way we view our photographs. Before, you only saw a photograph in print: 8x10, 11x14, or 16x20. Big, beautiful prints. Today, we mostly look at photographs on our cell phones, and my question is: How can we see the minute details and nuances of a photograph on a small screen?

What does all of this mean? I guess it means that this is progress. “C’est la vie.” But for me, I only know street. My legs have carried me far, and no matter what I shoot, I always approach it from the street: the same camera, the same lens, the same mindset, and the same heart.