I DON'T HAVE HEROES, BUT I MET AN IDOL
Yesterday's post introduced the reader to Ara Guler, the 88-year-old Turkish Armenian photographer belovedly known as the Eye of Istanbul.
His understanding of humanity, captured in black and white film -- as well so some color and moving images -- is unmatched.
He is, without question, the greatest living photographer on earth.
Burdened with a heavy, but well worth it hardback edition of his photos of trams, I was heading down Istlikal Caddesi for another night of roaming the backstreets of Beyoğlu.
I do my own photography -- digital, color, never improved with PhotoShop -- of Istanbul's constantly changing streets.
I was near Galatasaray, when I decided to stop into a cafe to get some tea, or perhaps limonata, for the privilege of using a nice clean restroom before heading out for that golden light.
I sat down, ordered and next to me, was an octogenarian, bald, bearded man who looked a lot like an older version of the legendary historian with a camera who I idolize.
Knowing Guler had opened Time-Life's branch in Turkey in the late 50s, I figured he must know some English.
My phrasebook Turkish is just not adequate.
So I took a sip of
Çay, took out the fine bound book I'd purchased hours earlier, and told Guler that I thought he was an artist.
A bit hearing impaired, he leaned forward to ask me to speak up.
Thankfully, he (1) was actually Guler and not a look alike, (2) does speak English and (3) didn't run me off for imposing on him.
I scooted over to the table -- clearly, he was having a bottled water and unwinding from a day in his nearby studio before meeting friends -- and chatted a bit.
He asked me what I thought of Istanbul.
I said it is one of my favorite cities on earth, but I feel it is getting too modern too rapidly.
He observed that it has to find room for 20 million people.
I agreed, but I said not at the expense of an old neighborhood getting sacked in return for high rise tomb stones.
He nodded.
I told him no artist in any medium captures and understands humanity better than him.
He appreciated it.
I handed over my book.
He studied each image.
Many looked to be about a half century old.
He told the story of some of them.
His aged hands glided over the pages, as if he was still looking for some imperfection, some magical angle of light, some way of doing even more brilliant story telling with his still images.
Two men arrived. Much younger than him, but not college age. Contemporaries? Protegees?, or simply neighbors or friends?
I didn't want to over impose. We'd chatted quite a bit about light -- how a photographer's eye for it is 100 times more important than any fancy camera body, zoom lens, filter, etc.
We also talked about humanity. How humanely portraying people in pictures is important on dozens of levels.
From a pure artistic standpoint, introducing humanity into pictures is one thousand times more useful than the most advanced photo editing software -- we agreed.
Getting ready to pay for me tea and limonata -- I ordered both -- and let the great photojournalist get on with his life, I bashfully asked him if he would sign the book that I had purchased at a book fair part of a Ramazan carnival earlier.
His told me he know I wasn't some Ebay profiteer, pretending to befriend him so I could up the value of a book with the autograph of a famous person.
He lovingly inscribed the book.
Till the end of the trip, on the flight and on the taxi ride home, I clutched the signed Guler book like it was more important than my passport.
Classic Ara Guler photo of trams in Beyoğlu, 1960 -- four years before I was born.
http://photojournalistaraguler.com/
