The Artist's Statement

Art 100E - Photography
Motion Study Artist’s Statement
by Ian Spiers

Humiliated, Angry, Ashamed, Brown.

He told me that I’d broken the law by not providing my ID to the original investigator (a man who I personally feel has entirely too much power). I told him that I’d asked if I was legally obligated to produce my ID, and that he’d clearly told me “no,” but it was obvious that that didn't matter to Special Agent McNamara in the slightest. I was just wrong, and he was just right.

He went on to tell me that the minute I’d photographed federal property, citing the Ballard Locks, the train bridge and the Patriot Act, that I’d, again, broken the law. Of course, I asked why there weren’t any signs on that parcel of public property disclosing that photography was forbidden...

You know, I just read (and reread) that last paragraph, and I still don’t get it. I mean, you’re joking, right? The Ballard Locks are easily my neighborhood’s most recognizable landmark and its highest point of tourism. Tour buses and tour boats make regularly scheduled visits here, and guided tours escort groups of visitors through this landmark daily. Everyone’s taking pictures of the Locks, the boats, the bridge, and the migrating salmon. In fact, on any given weekend, you really can’t throw fish at the Locks without hitting an amateur photographer. And yet, this guy is justifying this invasion of my privacy by telling me that it's illegal for me to take photos?

I knew something he didn’t know. I went on to clarify that I’d actually been to the Ballard Locks just two days earlier, where I’d met with the park ranger, specifically requesting permission to take a series of photos. We’d had a genuinely pleasant discussion about photography and the freedom of speech. In the end, he’d clarified that I had permission to take photos, just about any photos I’d like, on the city side of the Locks... which was the side I was currently on. Of course all of this information was immediately discounted as Special Agent McNamara’s dissertation turned towards the logic behind investigating suspicious activity.

I continued to ask why the eight of them weren’t “investigating” and harassing any of the curious, non-brown tourists that were now milling about. “There’s a man, right there, with an easel and canvas, standing under the bridge, right now! Why aren’t you asking him for his ID?”

“Have you read today’s paper?” Special Agent McNamara asked gruffly.

Exasperated, I gave up, saying that I really didn’t want to play those kinds of guessing games. No, I didn’t know what he was talking about.

Special Agent McNamara went on to lecture me in front of his peers and the gathering crowd on the finer points of 9/11 and the social climate that’s ensued. (Thinking back on it, I think he skipped over several significant points regarding the damage to American liberties.) At long last, he punctuated his keynote by referring to some “maniacs” slamming 747’s into skyscrapers, and saying something about how people are concerned about suspicious activity in their country, and how they needed and deserved to feel safe,

I couldn’t help myself. I interrupted again, stating that I knew about 9/11, ‘cause it happened in my country, too!

After being detained for thirty of the longest minutes of my life, my ID was finally returned and the congregation of men— three Seattle Police officers, three Federal Homeland Security agents, and two security guards for the Ballard Locks (including my original confronter)— slowly disbanded. After a quick thought, I caught up with Special Agent McNamara in the parking lot at the top of the hill and asked for a business card. (“Here he comes,” one of the men announced sarcastically.) Special Agent McNamara gave me his card, and then retrieved a bulky digital camera from his car and asked to take my photo… you know, just to help him out… just for his file. He even instructed me to call him before returning to the Locks to take additional photos. I reiterated that I’d done nothing wrong, and that I did not want him taking my photo. He continued to gently persuade me, and I continued to refuse, and then he made it perfectly clear that I had no choice in the matter. So, I let him take his goddamned photo, and then I returned to my tripod.

Continue>>