I made it out to the World Press Photo exhibition again this year. Twice actually. Today I was with a small group of photographer friends. We stopped at Brookfield Place and checked out the exhibition, my second visit. Part of the exhibition showcases some pretty graphic images. They keep them separated so kids can’t see them. In this shot, mom was checking out the graphic images but her little girl was on the outside holding her hand the whole time as she walked around the entire exhibit. It was soooo totally cute that I had to snap a photo. I also have one from mom’s side, but this one’s the keeper. Sadly, the half dozen exhibit photos in my shot are of Syrian refugee children who are sleeping alone in the streets and woods while trying to flee to Germany. Just unbelievable.
One thing that strikes me with this sort of photo is the fact this child is likely not really aware of the events that have been captured in photograph and on exhibit here at Brookfield Place. She also probably doesn’t appreciate how much her presence in this photo has made my day. This shot might even make my book. Fifty years from now people will be looking back to this time the same way we look back on the mid ’60s. Back then, likely no one taking photos appreciated that future generations would look at those photos and sort of use them to time travel to a specific time or era in history. In 50 years this little girl will be older than I am now. Who knows that lies ahead for her. Maybe she’ll become a famous photographer. Undoubtedly, she will have no recollection of this Sunday field trip to check out some photojournalism with mom, or that some stranger snapped her photograph. Me, I’ll be dead and gone by then. But maybe if I am lucky, this photo will live on in one of my books. Who knows. I wonder if photographers back in the mid ’60s ever asked themselves what will become of their work in 50 years.