I see him before I decide to speak — sitting on a bench in the middle of the shopping centre, rucksack at his feet, watching people go by. He’s not in a rush. Just… still. And that stillness makes me curious.
I’m here working on my homelessness project, looking for faces. Not just people who’ve been homeless, but people who haven’t, so the viewer can’t tell the difference. From where I’m standing, he could be either. Layers, backpack, slightly weathered look. I take a breath, walk over, and explain what I’m doing.
He laughs and says, “I’m not homeless… but I get why you stopped.” It’s not defensive, just honest. We chat. Turns out he’s meeting a mate, just early. He tells me about losing his job a few years back, how close he came to ending up without a roof, and how a friend’s sofa saved him.
There’s no performance in his voice — just straight-up truth. He talks about people he’s known who’ve been through it, the tough breaks, and the small things that make a difference.
I ask if I can take his picture. He nods. No fuss, no posing. Just sits as he is, looking straight at me. And I know it’ll work in the project — because in the final image, you won’t be able to tell which “side” of the story he’s on. And that’s exactly the point.
