It was sometime in 2013 when a raggletaggle collective of photographers got together to discuss England’s clement shores for lands unknown.
We shoot weddings mostly and wanted to freshen things up, sharpen our focus, rewire our neural pathways with something new and exciting. And then destroy those fresh neural pathways with too much wine. So we chose street photography in Paris.
There are eight of us and it was street photography. So after several brainstorming sessions, the help of a government think tank and a prohibitively priced branding firm whose office hovers just above the city of London, we all settled on the name The 8 Street.
There was no overriding remit with the group. The 8 Street photographers were given free reign to document the city in any way they saw fit. So we took to the streets, roaming across Paris photographing the hangdog and the beautiful, the sullen, the wasted, and the proud. Plus a few rubbish trucks and people asleep on the Metro.
It wasn’t easy. The Parisians have some kind of psychic antennae. They know you’re taking their photo before you do. They can sense the kinetic energy in your shutter finger. And they don’t like it. Also some of us had huge great hulking DLSRs which is about as discreet as trying to shoplift naked. (We really shouldn’t have drunk so much wine.) But what emerged by the end of our trip was a collection of photos to stand behind and be truly proud of. Plus eight massively re-energised, newfound friends.
The results will follow over the next few weeks….