Today I learnt that building effective relationships with my subjects is a very valuable and essential skill to hone.
The Hare Krishna Temple
I had met a lively group of Hare Krishnas in Birmingham City Centre a year to eighteen months ago. They were singing mantras with such vigour and passion, and seemed colourful and friendly in every way. Already having an interest in photographing people of faith, I stopped to talk for a while before asking if I could visit their temple one day.
It’s a year or so later. I make arrangements by phone. They remember me still. The Temple leader is happy for me to come. I’m all set.
A short walk from the number 11 bus stop and I arrive at number 84. The Hare Krishna Temple is in an inconspicuous, white-washed house on a normal residential street in Birmingham. I ring the doorbell and it is opened by a beautiful, young woman who welcomes me in. She then disappears back down the corridor ahead before I can ask her where to go, and I am left without a host. I gaze in and see shoes upon the floor and placed on wooden shelves. I take this cue and remove mine as well, before following the sound of singing. The door is open and the amber glow of the tungsten bulb directs me in.
Sunday night at the Hare Krishna Temple is a time for lively communal worship (Kirtans and Bhajans), teachings from the Bhagavad Gita, singing and dancing (Aarti) and sharing food together. The room is open-plan, painted in pastel colours and with religious gold-framed paintings hung on the wall. At either end are shrines. One with three animated deities, richly decorated in colourful paints, jewels, flower garlands and gilt and jewelled crowns. They have big bright eyes and cheerful, upturned mouths. At the other end is a raised throne-like plinth with a life-like model of the late founder of the Hare Krishna movement, seated cross-legged, bald and wearing white, with a pale brown skin tone. I do a double-take, he looks so real.
In the centre of the room, seated cross-legged on the floor are five young men on cushions. The leader is playing a harmonium, an organ like instrument surrounded by men playing doubled ended khols or mridanga drums, and hand cymbals (kartals). They music and chanting is upbeat. Some of the men wear jeans and sports tops, some wear dhotis (traditional clothing). Many have wooden rosary prayer beads (mala) around their necks or hanging from their shoulders in cloth bags, and painted bindis adorning their foreheads. One or two have sikha, a tuft of hair upon their otherwise shaved heads. About the same number of young women are seated, subservient, in a line along the opposite wall facing the male leaders – their husbands, brothers, uncles and friends.
As an unbeliever, I realise there may be some rituals and beliefs that are unfamiliar to me and I don’t want to offend or distract anyone from worship. I move about the room quietly photographing the musicians, the deities and the women as sensitively as possible. One of the two resident monks calmly enters the room, a serene, yet private man. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, or with anyone. Before the shrines he circles offerings of incense and candles then closes the curtains to ‘feed’ the deities. I soak up the atmosphere, absorbing information about Hare Krishna’s from real-time observations, whilst checking every now and then that my movements are welcome.
As the singing and dancing continues the room gradually fills up, as more and more people arrive. As they enter some bow in front of the deities, prostrating themselves on the floor or standing with hands raised in the air. Some offer flowers or money. Many of them clock me and I give a reassuring smile. I hope there will be opportunity to introduce myself to the whole group soon.
The music ceases, signalling the beginning of class. The leader asks if there are any visitors today. I allow a pause for others to respond before finally introducing myself, and the purpose of my visit. Piles of dog-eared Bhagavad Gita are being handed around. I am given one too, a little surprised to be included. The theme for this week is devotion and service. I weigh up what to do. Listen or photograph the group reading from their holy book? The atmosphere is calmer now and visually there is less to photograph, so I decide to observe and objectively understand more about Hare Krishna beliefs. I open the book on the relevant chapter and four paragraphs later I’m asked to read too! All eyes are on me. I oblige respectfully, but contemplate to myself whether I should have continued photographing after all.
It >> It dawns on me that at this moment the photographer to subject dynamic has begun to change. The room is full now with forty or so people – men, women and children, arriving across the space of two hours. Gradually I find myself being included in the proceedings. I’m given prayer beads. I’m given new believer books to take home. I’m given tasty homemade dhal and rice. I’m even asked when my birthday is by the leader, then before I know it they’re singing happy birthday and a cake is being cut for me! I endeavour to continue discretely taking photographs and to take my position again behind my camera, but with a different sort of attention now on me the moments to photograph become the same moments people ask me to join in with activities. The opportunity to capture photographs is slipping away. I discretely exit the room to remove attention from me, the new and interested visitor, returning a short while later. But inevitably the dynamic has changed.
Lesson Learnt
I like to think I’m good at getting to know people, showing interest in other people’s passions, building a rapport and gaining trust. When I approach a new subject to photograph I explain who I am and what the purpose of my photography is. I ask them to try to ignore the camera and get on with what they would normally be doing. I am naturally inquisitive and love to know the story behind the photographs. What motivates them? What is the history behind what they do? What are their passions and their hopes for the future? Often I ask lots of questions, sometimes I even record an interview.
But I’ve learnt something new about human relationships. Not about how to capture fascinating pictures of subjects interacting, but importantly about how the relationship between photographer and subject can change very quickly. I’ve found myself unexpectedly balancing on a tightrope between being a photographer and becoming a participant, suddenly finding myself slipping out of role as I’m included in the activities I am choosing to photograph.
It has left me reflecting on what it means to be an observer, and considering how I communicate effectively so that the reason for my visit is mutually understood and I maintain a professional authority in doing my work. I’ve also learnt a lot about when to put the camera down or not, and about how my movements are perceived. As I observe, I’m being observed too.
It’s a fine-line that photographers straddle in building relationships with subjects. And for now it’s my learning curve.
