Great Black & White Photographers Part 3

1.) All of her photos have such simplicity and tell a story. I like that she was such a well traveled woman and the diversity of her photos reflects that. I was originally drawn to the the first picture here because of the sense of a line going diagonally across the picture. The cleanness of the lines are satisfying and also brought my attention to her photos. From the pictures that I saw, all of them had such radically diverse emotions from the people. 

2.)  

I see all of the workers and people walking down the boardwalk. The diversion tunnels don't have any water in them, because there hasn't been rain recently enough to cause the dam to overflow enough. I see the contrast between the sizes of the tunnels and the people in front of them. I see the edge of the dam, with some businessmen having a conversation. There aren't many people around, like you would expect, but there are some people who are meeting or providing maintenance to the tunnels and part of the dam.
I smell the tangy stagnant water from the dam and the salty rusted metal of the diversion tunnels. I smell the cologne of the businessman that just walked by with his colleagues, who were looking at the diversion tunnels. I smell the pungent oder of the worker who is working on the maintenance of the tunnels nearby, with the sharp smell of his newly cleaned tools. I smell the faint thought of dirt that has collected between the bricks in the side walk.
I hear the few birds circling overhead caw at the ground, looking for their next meal. I hear the slight gurgle of the water in the dam, going through pipes I can't see. I hear the whispers of the people talking around me, going about their business. I hear the squirrels chatter to each other in the line of trees by the front of the damn. I hear the clank of wrenches and screwdrivers that help to hold the dam in place. I hear the whistle of the breeze through the middle of the diversion tunnels, matching the whistle of the man who is walking by.
I taste the saltiness of my sweat run into my mouth. I taste the dryness of the wind blowing by. I taste the thought of water as the wind blows by, from the stagnant water held in the dam. I taste all of the different metals from the tunnels and my camera as I concentrate. 

I feel the smoothness of the weatherworn tunnels. I feel the roughness of the light coat that I am wearing to keep the coldness of the breeze away. I feel the the dryness of the uneven brick sidewalk under my feet. I feel the presence of all the people around me, going about their days.
2.)

I see all of the people standing in line, waiting for their bread. I see the puddles of water that still hadn't drained from the flood. I see the pieces of houses that haven't been cleaned up, with some bits of ruined furniture here and there. I see the paint cracking in the mural behind the line, with the corners of the poster beginning to peel up. The bottom of the poster is water damaged and probably needs to be replaced, which is a shame.
I smell the rain from the past few days and the puddles that are left from the rains. I smell the bread cooking and cooling in the windowsill, being prepared for the next people to come to the window in need. I smell the perfumes and colognes attempt to mask the bitterness of not showering for a few days because the water pipes stopped working during the flood. I smell the overwhelming oder of gasoline from the car that just drove by.
I hear the clerk at the window talking with the first person in the line, some of the people behind them muttering at the fact that this is taking too long. I hear the patter of slight rain on leaves and on the hat that I am wearing. I hear the woman talking about the prices of food at the corner store, and how prices have risen since the beginning of the flood.
I taste the bread that I just ate for lunch, grateful that I don't live in this damaged town. I taste the bile rise up my throat as I smell the oder of the man who just walked by, who obviously hadn't had a shower in days. I taste my hair that is blown into my face by the wind. I taste the drops of rain that fall on the face.
I feel the water wrinkled poster on the wall, about to crumble and fall off. I feel the rough polyester coat that I an wearing to block out the cold. I feel the cold begin to numb my ears and pull my hat down more. I feel the roughness of the man who just shoved by me in order to get to the stoplight a second faster. I feel the sadness, but the willingness to overcome from the group of people in front of me. 

3.) I would like to make a blog or a powerpoint on Margaret Bourke-White. She is a well-rounded woman, who has done many, many things. A lot of the things she did surprise me for the time period, which makes me like her character even more. I like the simplicity of her photos and how her photos have so much meaning to them, but leaves some interpretation to the viewer. Her pictures all hold a story that I like and I can get information from.