I can relate to the dog who’s on a leash outside the coffee shop, as its master is inside exploring all that can be had via Italian dark roasts. The waiting. The anticipation. The Anxiety. Will my master return, or in my case, will the moment present itself for that quintessential KARJAKA snap that only I, Aleks, the Karjaka, can capture?
The dog cried and his whimpering rattled down my spine. The dark black lab then fell silent as he sat and watched, and listened to New York, his entire world, pass him by. His owner waited in the queue for that dark elixir of life with foamy white creamy nonsense adorned on top.
A stranger stopped and talked with the patient canine, of which both received such affection with merriment for a brief moment. Both with their tails waggling, it was like they’d known each other for years. The traveler then went on into the unknown of 5th Ave, while the dog returned to the known of many a day, the New York floor of concrete upon which to rest his head an anxious body. The black coat let out an airy burbling sputter as if to say, “Here we are again.”
The door then opened.
The master grabbed the reins of his canine companion and sat together as old friends. Their lives filled purpose and meaning again. The master sipped, and the lab protected him, inspecting every person and fellow canine that passed by. The sun cast shadows and Karjaka captured his moment.
Now that I’ve got your attention having waxed poetic on waiting for that decisive moment, the harsh reality is this story…
I sat and waited between appointments at Eataly. This scene unfolded… “there once was a lonely dog”… I captured what I thought would look interesting. Having killed 5 minutes, I walked over to my meeting on 22nd street.
Not sexy, but that’s often the case for me on street photography, or even in the studio. In both instances I’m often flummoxed about why the shot isn’t coming out the way I’m seeing it in my head. “Aleks, can’t you take a good photograph?” echos in my head from my childhood. Thanks Pops. And then, out of the corner of my eye, once my patience has worn thin, there it is. Bam. That’s the one. The one I wasn’t looking for. The one that came like a master returning with a sweet treat for his pupper.
Fine. I’ll wait, but don’t make me bark for it. I’m a good boy. Now where’s my photographic sweet treat?