As I framed this scene, the woman in blue scrunched up her face and tried to turn her body. As she passed, she said angrily that she didn’t appreciate having her photograph taken.
In the United States, we have the right to photograph anything we can see when we stand in public spaces (like this sidewalk). The American Civil Liberties Union elaborates this and other rights photographers have here.
I had the right to photograph this woman, whether she liked it or not. But if I had any idea of her feelings I would have waited until she had passed me by. I wanted to capture this sidewalk with pedestrians walking along it, but this particular woman did not have to be included. Other people would have come along who would not have objected, possibly would not have even noticed me. Why needlessly upset people?
I also have the right to photograph children I see in public spaces, but I seldom do. When my children were young I would have objected if some strange man photographed them at the playground. One possible reason a man might do that is unsavory enough that, even though honorable reasons are far more likely, I would have gotten in his face and insisted he leave immediately.
However, as you can see above, children do sometimes appear in my photographs. In this case the scene was the busy National Mall in Washington, DC. As a popular tourist destination, many people in the crowd were making photographs. It allowed me to be inconspicuous. Still, I didn’t linger. I wanted to photograph a rider on the dragon, the most interesting “horse” on the Mall’s carousel. I also wanted to practice panning to stop in-motion subjects. I made three quick photographs, two on one pass and one on the next, and then turned my attention to other subjects.
It wasn’t some higher motive that has kept me from posting photos of my children online, at least at first. It was their mom, who was afraid of online predators. Overafraid, if you ask me. Sharing photos of my sons playing at the park or blowing out their birthday candles was never going to invite that kind of trouble. But she was pretty direct about it: don’t post anything that identifies our sons or there will be a fight.
It was not the hill I wanted to die on. In the decade since, I’ve never named my sons online, never posted a photo.
My older son is 19 now, an adult in society’s eyes. So after a portrait session with him this summer, I just asked him if I could post a couple of the shots on my blog. “Knock yourself out,” he said. So here, for the first time: my son, Damion.
He was in a reflective mood on this overcast day. I thought Crown Hill Cemetery might provide some fitting backdrops.
It feels great to finally show you my son! If you’re a parent, you understand: this young man is my heart.
It’s been frustrating for years to speak of Damion only indirectly and never to show his photograph. I’ve felt jealousy over the years as my friends and family shared photos of their kids on their blogs and on Facebook.
But sometimes they’d post awkward situations and unflattering poses that I thought must embarrass their kids. I wondered how those kids would feel about those photos when they were adults. It’s led me to change my views on how parents should manage their kids’ privacy online.
As an old-school parent I think children aren’t responsible enough to manage their rights on their own. It’s our job as parents to manage our kids’ rights for them, allowing them to make more and more decisions on their own as they mature.
I don’t think routine family photos that cast a kid in a reasonably positive light are any violation of the kid’s privacy. I don’t think sharing a kid’s name makes him or her any more susceptible to online predators. So if it were not for my ex’s strong words years ago, I would have been sharing my sons here and on Facebook all along.
But you can’t predict how your kid is going to feel about privacy as they grow up. By every stereotype, my millennial son should be Snapchatting and YouTubing every moment of his life. But he doesn’t. Damion grew to be a deeply private young man. You’ll be hard pressed to find him online. A year or two ago he canceled his seldom-used Facebook account because his mom and others kept tagging him in photos they shared there. (Yes, I know she was doing what she didn’t want me to do.) He wants to tightly limit how and when any information about him is shared. I was surprised that he gave me permission to share these photos.
Now I’m glad I haven’t been sharing about Damion all these years, that my externally driven moratorium ended up serving him well.
So before you write about your kids or post photos of them, consider how might they feel about it when they’re adults. You can’t predict how they’ll turn out and what they will care about. Just as I could never have guessed Damion would become so deeply private.
Down the Road is on hiatus, returning Monday, 26 September. I’m rerunning old posts in the meantime.
I wish I had a cloak of invisibility. Whenever I grab a camera and head out to shoot, I don’t want to be bothered or even noticed.
Because I take so many pictures along the roadside, drivers frequently stop and ask me if my car has broken down. I used to try to explain, but that seemed to just confuse the good Samaritans. So now I just smile and say, “No, everything’s fine!” and turn back to what I’m doing. But I still haven’t figured out what to say to people who ask questions when I’m in town shooting with my vintage cameras.
When I was shooting with my Argus A2B last year, I stopped for a cheeseburger and noticed that the adjacent strip mall had some good photographic possibilities. I shot several photos there, including this one of a check-cashing place. A man immediately came running out and, clearly agitated, asked me what I was doing. I showed him my 60-year-old camera and briefly explained my hobby. He shook his head and said, “Don’t you think that’s a little strange?” I was gobsmacked, and I just walked away from him. When I reached my car, I turned back to look and he was still standing there, watching me. It makes me wonder what he was trying to hide.
When I was shooting with my Pentax K1000 not long ago, I burned off the last few shots on my first roll of film in the parking lot at work. I was looking for colorful cars to shoot, which isn’t easy these days given that the most popular colors are white, black, and endless shades of beige. I liked this shot of a Jeep’s headlight best.
The next day, the company that manages our office park sent out an e-mail saying that they had received several reports of a suspicious dark-haired Caucasian male wandering the parking lot photographing cars, and that if he is seen again to call local police. Don’t they know I’m harmless?
I was thrilled to find an old bridge back there. It was a simple concrete affair, typical of bridges built by the Indiana highway department in the 1920s and 1930s.
I lingered on the bridge. It was peaceful back there, though I could hear the cars whizzing by on modern SR 37. The road from the bridge ended in somebody’s driveway, and there was a little gravel path connecting it to modern SR 37. It let a police car in while I was back there. It was just before the police arrived that I noticed that “Private Property, Keep Out” sign. Now, I heed “No Trespassing” and “Private Property” signs when I go exploring. I don’t want any trouble, and I empathize with property owners not wanting strangers traipsing around on their land. But this sign faced the road; you wouldn’t see it unless you stopped next to it and looked right at it, as I did. I hoped that it meant only that the land behind it was private property. But when the police car arrived and hovered anxiously, I realized that this was not the case. The property owner probably called the cops on me. I turned around and hightailed it out of there. Fortunately, the officer let me be chased off.
I’m too old for this kind of excitement.
Shaken but not deterred, I kept exploring the old alignments of SR 37 that day. Where another old alignment curved to meet modern SR 37, another sliver of the old road stretched out beyond. This time, the property owners did a much better job of marking their territory.
The other day several of my friends e-mailed me congratulations that one of my photos had been published. It caught me flat-footed; I hadn’t submitted any photos anywhere! It turns out two of my photos were published that day in different online publications – without my knowledge.
The first ended up being a permitted use. Indiana Landmarks, our state’s historic preservation group, used to e-mail me a couple times a year asking to use my photos in their publications. I’m a Landmarks member and love their cause, so I always enthusiastically said yes. Finally I just gave them blanket permission to use my photos as they see fit as long as they credit me. I just didn’t stop to think that “as they see fit” might include passing them on to an outside group!
The photo in question is this one of The Diner, the front part of which is a 1953 Mountain View aluminum diner. I took it on my 2009 trip along Indiana’s National Road (US 40). A well-known landmark in the Indianapolis suburb of Plainfield, it has been closed and vacant for years now. It is also the last aluminum diner on the entire National Road, which led Indiana Landmarks to advocate for its preservation. They’ve worked out a deal where the diner itself will be moved farther into town, still on the National Road, but this valuable land will be sold for development.
But that’s not why a cropped version of the photo showed up in this story in The Indianapolis Star. It appeared there because Indiana Landmarks sent poets all over Indiana to write verse about various landmarks, including The Diner; they then held a reading of all the poems. The Star wrote a story about it, and Indiana Landmarks provided my photo for the story. Indiana Landmarks honored my terms by asking that the Star credit me, and the Star was good to honor that request.
The other photo was published without my permission. It is this photo of the Monon Fitness Center, which I took a couple months ago with my vintage Agfa Clack. (And in the three years since my photo of The Diner, I learned how to fill the frame with my subject!)
I uploaded this photo to Flickr, where I assign all of my photos a Creative Commons license that lets people use them freely for non-profit purposes as long as they credit me and use them unmodified. The Indianapolis Business Journal is certainly for profit – and when this building sold recently to be converted into a brew pub, the IBJ featured my photo when they blogged about the sale. They credited me and linked to my blog.
I was at once delighted and irritated. I love it when someone finds my pictures useful. My words, too, for that matter. But couldn’t the IBJ have sent me a quick message asking my permission? Harrumph!
But it’s time for full disclosure: I sometimes use others’ work here on Down the Road:
For my recent post about television news themes, not only did I use a photo of a television I found somewhere on the Internet, I superimposed onto the screen a frame from a YouTube video of a copyrighted TV news broadcast. Heck, for that matter, I made the accompanying video of copyrighted news opens from videos I liberated from around YouTube.
Finally, for several years I knew I was violating Google’s terms when I used screen shots from Google Maps in my road-trip posts. Used to be, Google insisted that maps be embedded. But they sometimes update the aerial imagery, meaning that my blog would no longer show things as they were at the time I took my trip. So I deliberately violated their terms until a couple years ago when Google relaxed the terms to allow screen shots as long they’re properly attributed. That’s why you now see long copyright statements under my Google Maps screen shots.
A couple years ago I quietly added a Copyright page to this blog. It outlines the practices I try to follow in using the work of others, and states my terms if you want to use my work (my photographs and my words). I happen to think that the best way to protect your work is to not publish it on the Internet. I won’t go as far as to say that publishing on the Internet erodes your copyright, but I think it’s realistic to expect some of it will eventually be stolen. You have to determine whether righting the wrong is worth the costs, in time, effort, and maybe even lawyer fees. I have come down on the side of nope in all cases so far. Here’s my twofold litmus test:
Have you harmed me somehow, such as by claiming my work as your own, associating me with something I don’t support, modifying my work in a way I don’t like, or making significant money from my work?
Are you being a butthead, repeatedly using my work without honoring my terms?
I don’t feel harmed by the IBJ‘s use of my Monon Fitness Center photo – they credited me, I like the IBJ, they didn’t even crop the photo, and I can’t imagine how my photo materially boosted their revenue. (I might not be so forgiving if I made my living with my camera or my writing. I make software to feed my family.) And as far as I know, they haven’t been liberally raiding my Flickr stream. So they get a pass for using my photo.
Similarly, I think my use of others’ work here on Down the Road meets the same criteria. Well, my repeated use of Google Maps imagery miiiiiiight have dipped its toes into the butthead pool a little. I was relieved when Google changed its terms, and I immediately started honoring them.
What do you think? Are you more or less rigid than me when it comes to your work that you’ve published online? Why?