PHNOM PENH
Unlike most business transactions, a haircut imparts a feeling of intimacy. And that's why 41-year-old Jeff Alexander has always been fascinated by them.
"A haircut is a very honest, vulnerable state," he says. "It's an exchange of trust."
On a trip to Cuba, this public relations executive from the Philadelphia area photographed a barber who had cut his hair. Now, years later, he still considers the result one of his strongest images.
So whenever Alexander travels, he sets out to photograph scenes of the daily habits and activities of the people in the far-flung places he visits. That impulse is what brought him to the Central Market in Phnom Penh on a visit to Cambodia in the summer of 2005.
Just after the sobering experience of visiting one of the so-called Killing Fields outside of the city, he and his now-wife were wandering the booths when they found themselves at the outskirts of the market, where there was a group of streetside barbers.
"The setting was terrific, and the child's reflection in the mirror was irresistible," Alexander recalls. "It allowed me to see both faces at the same time."
Moreover, the fact that all parties were busily engaged in their task made them easy subjects. "They knew I was there, but they were too busy to care, and I doubt they would have minded anyway," he says. "Cambodians were very warm and inviting to us."
Experience has taught the New England native to always have his equipment on him when traveling. He used a Nikon D70 with an 18-70mm AF-S Nikkor, the white balance set to Shade.
Standing under the awning a few feet from the scene, the bright light allowed him to use an aperture of f/8 and keep both faces in focus as he composed in the viewfinder, zooming in just slightly from 18mm and snapping away at 1/125 sec.
Alexander travels often, and this won't be his last barber photo. "Sometimes luxurious, sometimes far less so," he says. "But go to any city and you'll find it -- they're out there, waiting to cut your hair."
ROME
When traveling, most of us operate on the early-to-bed, early-to-rise principle. This way we'll never miss the golden hour of sunrise over a city skyline or mountains, and always be prepared for a day of photo hunting. But that's why many photographers miss one of the greatest caches of street photography -- the city at night.
Peter Gutierrez's work as a Brussels-based freelance journalist on European affairs keeps him traveling to different countries. Then, daytime is for writing. But when the 46-year-old Texas native's work day is done, "that's when I hit the streets."
Armed with one of several film cameras, a lightmeter, and a tripod over his shoulder, he performs his own personal, compulsive reportage: "The loneliness of the city, where people are present but faceless, nameless, like ghosts or spirits."
But capturing them takes speed and dexterity. "If you spend too much time behind a tripod, people notice you and act unnaturally."
So when he stumbled upon this street vendor in Rome, Gutierrez used his usual technique -- lots of preparation and quick shooting.
His Minolta Autocord RG 120 twin-lens reflex with a 75mm f/3.5 Rokkor lens was already mounted on a tripod and loaded with Fujifilm Pro 160C film. (Tripods are best for night shooting of course, but in a pinch, resting your camera on a wall or street furniture can do the trick, and is sometimes more subtle.)
He used a handheld meter on a medium-gray section of the pavement, then set an aperture of f/11 and shutter speed of 15 seconds. Rather than focusing on the vendor himself, he selected an object in another direction at about the same distance. The small aperture helped ensure that this tricky low-light focusing technique would work.
Then he swung the tripod around and aimed at the vendor. Handholding a dense blue Cokin A 021 filter both compensated for the yellow cast of artificial light, and exaggerated differences in other mixed lighting to create an eerie mood. (You can also do this later with software or in a darkroom.)
As for the vendor, "this all happened in a matter of seconds," Gutierrez says. He always looks away from his subject, to avoid attention as he counts down the exposure time. When the shot was done, he picked up his tripod, "and I was gone."
Granted, a furtive approach is one way of photographing strangers, but it's also essential to what Gutierrez wants to capture: "Small scenes, fragments indicating the presence of humanity, that I'm not a part of. I am an observer, unobserved."

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