I love Tate Modern; there’s such great style and shopping here. I love the galleries and the pubs out on the street, just having your pint as the sun is setting.
The students didn’t want to go into Tate Modern the day they were at the Globe Theater. Imagine that, it’s right next door, it’s free, it’s a humongous building – how many times do you get to walk around inside the hulk of a we-thought-it-was-dead fossil fuel era power plant, and it’s like Drew said: great style and shopping. And if you get outside of the shops and cafes, you can even view art.
There are photos one misses, or doesn’t make; all sorts of reasons come into play: you’re stunned, shocked, mesmerized, not quick enough or just enjoying the moment for what it is without an apparatus in front of your eye. I wasn’t quick enough to catch the boy putting his hands in imitation of his father taking a photo because I was caught up in the moment. Just seconds before I took the photo of the boy, his father, and the guard, the boy had his hands in front of his face imitating his father’s taking a photo. I’d been watching them because Tate Modern has a “no flash” policy and the man had taken a photo using flash, which is why the guard had wandered over – to remind him that there’s no flash photography allowed – a strange phrase “no flash photography” because almost all photography with the exception of long time exposures is over in “just a flash.”
Anyway, I saw the boy and his father – who is very tall, perhaps seven feet – several other times and the boy struggled to stay apace with his father who always seemed in a rush to get there or get here. I never saw the man look at the boy, even to answer questions.