Hurry up and wait

The “hurry up and wait,” often for ridiculously long times for a news conference to start, or a newsworthy event to happen, or even everyday life to unfold is not just an occasional part of a career in journalism, it becomes the basic rhythm of the job.

Like spending an entire day outside a courthouse for a few brief moments and the opportunity to photograph defendants arriving or leaving (cameras are not allowed in courtrooms in Pennsylvania).

You’re waiting for something you can’t control, all the while trying to alert for the moment it finally happens.

Over my years as a photographer there has been one “wait” that is even more constant and one that I probably could control.

When I am assigned to photograph a building or city street scene I could just make sure my camera setting are all correct, my battery is fresh and I have clean SD card in the slot. Then make a quick snap to show readers what the building or street scene looks like and move along.

But no, I wait. A lot. For a bunch of random elements to line up perfectly.

I stand there like the two characters in the 1952 Nobel Prize-winning Samuel Beckett absurdist play, Waiting for Godot. But instead of some mysterious stranger, I am waiting — and hoping — the stars all align just right, the photo gods are willing, and the universe gets it together to allow that one person, dog-walker, jogger, bicyclist, scooter, car, bus, or trolley to pass through my carefully pre-composed frame at just the “right” time. In the “right” place.

And maybe the “right” color. Like my yearslong Oy-Yo yellow pursuit (those waits however were for a mere 7.6 minutes at a time).

I like to think of myself as being patient and even visually heroic; good qualities to have in a photojournalist.

But anytime I really think about it or try to explain the “why?” to friends or even colleagues it ends up sounding both obsessive and pathetic.

The solitary waits are a great time for self-reflection. Or during more media busy events a chance to hang out with photo friends.

One last literary reference, before unfolding a few of the photos I’ve made recently while waiting. They’re another way I keep myself entertained, and help avoid feeling too much like Sisyphus, condemned to push that stone up the hill only to watch it roll back down.

Since 1998 a black-and-white photo has appeared every Monday in staff photographer Tom Gralish’s “Scene Through the Lens” photo column in the print editions of The Inquirer’s local news section. Here are the most recent, in color:

» SEE MORE: Archived columns and Twenty years of a photo column.