The New Street Photographer's ManifestoFebruary 7, 2013/by techgnoticMore Like This
Street photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson called it the “decisive moment”— the captured instant when all the photograph’s elements come together to tell a story in a way a text narrative of thousands of words could never begin to. It is what hooks people, both practitioners and advocate-devotees, on the art form. It is uniquely completely immersive in life— step out into the streets— in which the moment of artistic epiphany can never be guessed at until it suddenly happens. When it is properly mastered, it is as pure as the dawn of each new day, as true as the living organism of a teeming street scene catching a breath as one.
It's no easy task to pull a book together for publication and "The New Street Pho
Stonva's Crowns with Secrets That Speak -Spoiler-Standing on top of a glass covered roof top, was a sixteen year old male. His short black hair drifted over his forehead. A cold breeze made his white t-shirt drifted over his dark blue jeans.More Like This
The sixteen year old smiled out at a city. The skyscrapers were reaching up towards the stars. The metal and glass skyscrapers sparkled in the moonlight.
Echoing between the buildings was the sound of the city, with the traffic of flouting cars traveling below. The traffic was rushing as the traffic lights flashed green. The boy slowly walked over towards the edge of the building.
A grey sparkling steel railing was surrounding around the rooftop. The bot walked up to the railing. He stared out at the city skyline. The moon sparkled up in the night sky, which was covered with flickering satellites.
The boy placed his right hand onto his chest, as a smile grew across his face. A tear of joy washed
The Tale Starts With One MomentSunlight raced across my silk porcelain skin. A smiled sprouted across the sparkling face. I saw in the shimmering mirror in front of me. The morning sunlight came sparkling threw the balcony door to my right.More Like This
Tears of joy and pain danced down my cheeks. My light baby blue eyes were fading, as they stared back at my soul in the sparkling glass covered mirror. But something was different about this day.
I wasn’t happy. The pain drifted down my face, like a dark sunset hiding behind a night full of despair. My eyes were telling me that everything was going to be fine, as I kept the pain inside.
Taking another look at my disgusting excuse for a body, made me realize the story I had to tell the world. My pain that I felt for years was what made me who I am. But the story wasn’t only mine to tell, it’s ours.
My short blond hair was in a mass on the top of my head. I