Nathan Golden is the good friend of my good friend D. Nathan is also a brilliant photographer. I am constantly amazed by how he is able to capture the humanity of people who are not necessarily powerful or glamorous or beautiful, at least in the traditional senses of those words.
(For me, he takes pictures in the same way that William T. Vollmann captures scenes in words.)
Platform 22, his photo essay that currently headlines Vewd, an online documentary photography magazine, is spectacular. You have to see it, without delay.
My friend D. occasionally sends the family and I notecards that have small images of Nathan's prints on them. One has been framed and sits on the top of our wood stove. One is tacked up above my desk at work. One is a landscape, and the other a portrait of a child taken during the same trip to India that Platform 22 documents. I receive comments and queries on both whenever people see them. They are that powerful.
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Picture number 15 (of 15) of Platform 22 haunts me. The small child who is portrayed in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the other passengers of Howrah Railway Station haunts me.
How come the other people don't see him? How is it that only the camera captures him? Is he even there?
He doesn't seem to be "present," especially if he is high on glue, although he is "there."
Is it any different than the homeless that are scattered across our urban and suburban landscapes? Do we ignore them in the same way?
Sometimes I notice them, but I usually try to quickly avert my gaze. Or, preferably, never look their way to begin with. Am I any different than the other passengers in the railway station? I fear not. What does that say about me? Us?
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