Nice Can You Develop A Photographic Memory photos
A few nice can you develop a photographic memory images I found:
Image by ElvertBarnes
See photo at teacherportal.com/become/maryland-teacher-certification
Though I must have passed through Penn Station in Baltimore several times before it was in the spring and summer of 1992 that I would travel to Baltimore from WDC sometimes by car and other times by train to spend the day or night. And as a result but since then it has been my hope to embark on an ongoing documentary project that would focus on Penn Station.
Having photographed the Roots Foundation 3rd annual Father’s Day Commemoration in Anacostia, WDC, earlier that day I’d catch the AMTRAK from Union Station in WDC to Penn Station in Baltimore on Saturday afternoon, 18 June 2005, with plans of photographing the 2005 Baltimore Gay Pride Block Party.
When exiting from Penn Station, en route to the Block Party, which took place on North Charles Street I’d take this picture of the exterior of Penn Station at point I’d immediately flashback to the spring and summer of 1992.
The negatives for three rolls of film from the 18 June 2005 Baltimore Gay Pride Block Party, which included this image of Baltimore’s Penn Station, were not processed until a year later, when on 4 June 2006 I’d develop a 2005 Baltimore Gay Pride Photographs Never Before Seen virtual Exhibition I am now reminded that I need to get back to Baltimore to continue with my ongoing documentary project that actually had begun more than 10 years ago when in the spring of 1992 that I would attempt to escape the insanity of WDC to visit Baltimore. Or NYC. Or Chicago, Or San Francisco. Or Rehoboth. Or Fire Island. Or Southern Maryland.
1992 was one of the worst years of my life. If you don’t count 1987 and then 1988. Or 1990. And 1991. So all of the images from then bring back haunting memories.
Memories that are in sharp contrast to those of my closets white counter part.
In a conversation on Sunday, 4 June 2006, at Starbucks on Barracks Row when a white man who I had met just a few days before would inquire, rhetorically, what could he do, as an individual, to make things different and perhaps better for black men, and though I did not say this to him, when responding to his question, I would reflect on many of the things that I had expereinced, as a black man, that were in sharp contrast to the expereinces of and often manipulated by my closets white friends. Including my experiences during the spring, summer and fall and 1992. What they could have done was exactly what they did not do and what they did do was not ever what they said or proclaimed to have done, nor was what they did, pertaining to me, had anything to do with the truth.
Though taken years later in the summer of 2005, this picture brings back horrific and haunting memories of the spring and summer of 1992. I had not been taking pictures before then, the way that I was then. Therefore, I have few pictures or visuals to reflect on. Each picture that I now revisit simce I my picture-taking from as far back as the spring of 1992 can jar memories of exactly what I was going through, at the time. Partly due to the fact, that I have always had what many refer to as a ‘photographic memory.’
But mainly due to the fact my expereinces were so horrific and in sharp contrast to what I had planned, hoped or strived for.
So, when the white man and now new found friend who I had been so gracious in showing he and his friends arouind DC would inquire ‘what he could do’ I, politely, said something to the effect that ‘there is really nothing that you can do, and further, more. why would you or any white want to change what you do when the pain and struggles that I have expereinced as a black man were choreographed, orchestrated and staged by them has always benefited them.’
What I had wanted to say, but did not want to offend was ‘Please, do absolutely nothing!’ I am now in the process of three essays entitled ‘Not Welcomed’, Not Part Of’ and ‘Not Belonging’ which sheds light on the fact, that many people believe that it is their duty or spirtural deed to fix or save black men. It is in that very thought that I write about. Who died and made white men my god. Why dio whites feel that they have the right to change, adjust or fix me.
Over the years, I had heard so many white folks including my friends who spoke of altruism and equlaity, and while looking me dead in my eyes would ask ‘what can I do?’. It would be years later before I’d realize that who they said they were and what they said they did had nothing to do with the truth.
Within seconds and during the course of our conversation we witnessed four or five police cars pull up, and a barage of police hand cuff a black man which would result in a second black man who was sitting across from us to shout and yell, at the police, in defense of the black suspect, referring the black police as ‘house negroes.’ It brought to mind my experiences on Labor Day Sunday 2004 when I was nabbed by the police, in the exact same way, simply because I had been taking pictures of properties along Barracks Row that I had had more than just a passing connection to.
It was not unlike what would occur in NYC when leaving from the 2003 White Party or what I have expereinced, on my job, in catering, on a regular and consistant basis each and every time that I would work.
There are few places that I can now go, as a black man, that haunting memories to do cross my mind. It is an experience that is sharp contrast to that of my white counter part. Anbd while I did say this to the 4 white friends who I escorted around town over the weekend of 2 – 4 June, ech of the places that we would viist many which I’ve catered in or visited many,. many times before, bring back haunting memories that are not unlike tthose that I feel when passing throughj Penn Station in Baltimreo or NYC. Or Union Stations in WDC or Chicago.
Because, though I did not begin to realize it until the spring of 1992, every where that I had gone for many of the yers before and for all of the years since and throghout the months of 1992 were staged and choreographed by others who had the power to dismantel everything that I do.
And though my white friends perhaps empathized with the groups of blacks who were protesting, they more than lkikely thought that the police actions were warranted. Perhaps, but what I do know is that what I have beenthrough was neither warrnted nor were based on truth. And were in sharp contrast to the experiences of my white counter part.
This picture, does not tell the whole story.
Elvert Xavier Barnes Phoitography . Writrings . Ads
5 June 2006