Photography, as practiced by many street photographers (myself included), is an inherently cruel act. The process of extracting a person or people out of their context, placing them, disoriented, on a frame of our choosing, robs them of their humanity to a certain degree. They have no recourse to redress their grievances. There is no conversation; no back and forth; no room for discussion. The photographer, by the simple act of releasing the shutter, has all the power in this relationship. Yet, we cannot help but abstract the essence of life in a fleeting moment, if for no other reason than our own pleasure. Perhaps we even have grandiose dreams of “capturing the quintessence of an age”; to represent for posterity what it means to be alive in our time. Like the old masters we want to be revered for our unerring and astute eye, distilling that which makes now, now. At least these are the tales that we can tell ourselves.