While on a family weekend trip, I knew that NYC’s Pride parade was set to take place today. I told myself it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I missed it. And of course, my mind played tricks.

Predictably, 2 minutes into the official start of the event, I started seeing photographers post past pride pictures, as they made their way to this year’s event. Like the universe was trying to give me FOMO. 

In those moments, I pause and try to remind myself:

1. Your break is valid. Family is important to refuel, feel grounded and connected. 

2. Comparison is a trap. It’s a natural human reaction and helps us improve over time, but going unchecked, it can be a real killjoy. Someone else is probably even comparing themselves to you right now. Pauline Mauroux wrote it in her newsletter: Comparing yourself yields two outcomes—1/ You suck. 2/ They suck. Productive, hey?

3. Missing one event doesn’t erase your entire body of work. Our value as creatives doesn’t mean we need to be everywhere all at once. Being selective can actually be powerful.

4. Being intentional with how you spend your time. You’re simply choosing which opportunities make sense for you in this moment, rather than running after every event and opportunity like a headless chicken. 

5. What are the quieter stories? Perhaps some of those highly visible events are not where you ought to be. Perhaps there’s a small, more intimate story to tell right where you are. 

In the spirit of this, here’s a pride picture from 2022 (!) The year I met Jordana, a dear friend who changed my life by encouraging me to go to ICP. 

Happy rest to me! Happy Pride to all!

Although I no longer go out as much for pure “street photography,” that’s where I started and what partly shaped my work today. 

The question I get asked the most often is: Do you ask people for their consent before taking a picture? And just like most things in life, the answer is: it depends. 

1. Public vs. non-public spaces

Public spaces are generally fair game, and rarely can people haggle you for taking their pictures. However, it’s always good to exercise courtesy. Just because you can doesn’t always mean you should. I have often paused before raising my camera—not because I feared backlash, but because I wanted to be intentional. If someone is clearly in distress (see more on that below) or in a private moment, I try to ask myself: am I capturing something meaningful, or just intruding?

2. Children vs. Adults

Photographing children comes with its own set of ethical questions. Even if it’s technically legal in a public space, I tend to be more cautious. Children can’t consent in the same way adults can, and parents understandably tend to be protective. I have found that if a child is part of a wider scene—a street event or festival, for instance—I may still include them if they’re not the focal point. But when they are, I do my best to spot their guardian.s and get permission. Other times, I simply avoid the picture. Either way, I assess the specific situation every time.

3. Vulnerable people

There is a big difference between photographing someone who’s stylishly lounging in a park and someone who’s unhoused and asleep on a bench. I’ve seen those pictures and you have too. On social media, too many people romanticize those pictures and situations—It’s truly truly problematic (and I don’t say that lightly given how loosely this word has been used recently). Unless there’s context and it’s clear the photographer took time to build a connection with the person photographed. Vulnerability demands care. So I always ask myself whether the image tells a deeper story or just turns someone into a spectacle. Sometimes, prioritizing anonymity can help convey the message without a person on display. Those pictures need to be seriously considered, making sure there is context, a narrative, and consent. Exploiting pain for aesthetic gain is wrong, plain and simple. We carry responsibility for the way we represent people, especially those already marginalized. If you’re interested in documenting stories that involve vulnerable people and communities, then consider careful long-form work, which does require a certain training and awareness. 

4. Acknowledgement

A glance, a nod… is all it takes. When people understand you’re not trying to “steal” your picture. By making eye contact, you’re letting them in on your idea, on your creative process. These moments often blur the line between candid and posed, but they carry a kind of trust. Sometimes, in an effort to not affect the candid moment, I’ll make the picture and acknowledge the person right after. Which brings me to the next point.

5. Everything is better with a smile 

People respond to that: it signals openness, diffuses tension, and invites connection. Smiling throughout the process goes a long way. Even before you’ve made eye contact, someone seeing that they’ve inspired you to create can elevate their confidence. Often, that becomes a conversation starter—and conversations bring depth. 

Ultimately, street photography is not just about composition, or light, or the cool angle of a building. There are tropes using shadows and reflective surfaces that I’ve seen one too many times—Try making it about people! Your encounters will enhance your practice a hundred fold.

Good luck, and comment if you have any questions!

Debi Cornwall has had a remarkable journey from a twelve-year career as a civil-rights lawyer to an acclaimed visual artist. Her meticulous research and negotiation skills, honed through her legal background, now enrich her visual practice. I had the privilege of being her student at the International Center of Photography in 2023, where her innovative approach to conceptual documentary profoundly influenced my own path. Recently, we both exhibited work at the Rencontres photographiques d’Arles.

Debi had a large solo show, “Model Citizens,” at the Espace Monoprix, after winning the 2023 Prix Elysée. Over the last decade, she has been looking at how state power is performed, consumed, and normalized through three kinds of venues across the United States: Immersive, realistic military training scenarios and cultural role players as part of the US border patrol Academy (1), war museums, staging Americans as heroic victors or innocent victims (2), and “Save America” rallies dedicated to Donald Trump (3). Through her work, she asks: How do staging, performance and roleplay inform ideas about citizenship in a violent land whose people no longer agree on what is true?

At the same time, my project “Silent Radar” was being exhibited at LUMA, as part of the Dior Photography and Visual Arts Award for Young Talents. Silent Radar tells the story of two transgender friends (Silent and Radar, after their avatar names) who spend most of their time on the virtual reality platform VR Chat. This story goes beyond tech or the notion of ‘digital future’, speaking rather to the ideas of identity and community. It confronts and blends the real and the non-real, the virtual and the tangible, the digital and the analog, and begs the questions: When both realms start to merge, how is the ‘self’ defined? And what does it tell us about our real, tangible, world?

This shared experience in Arles was an important marker for me, as we went on to discuss the significance of working in lineage.

Read the full interview on Lenscratch.