Becoming Bruce Gilden
Brooklyn-born street photographer Bruce Gilden is a master of capturing the raw, unfiltered essence of life—whether it’s in the face of a passerby on the streets of New York or a chance encounter with a stranger lost in their own world. His technique is unapologetic, a bold clash between intimacy and intrusion. Somewhere between paparazzi and provocateur, Gilden doesn’t shy away from getting close—too close, some might say—placing his camera and harsh flash right in front of unsuspecting New Yorkers and firing away, freezing their candid moments in time.
One summer in Hollywood, I decided to step into his shoes. Eager to see if I could tap into even a fraction of his fearless approach, I armed myself with a 35mm SLR, a few rolls of black and white negative film, and the big flash unit that would make my presence known. Hollywood Boulevard was my canvas, and I was ready to pap—no holds barred, no apologies. What followed was a journey into the gritty, gritty world of street photography, where every shot was a gamble and every stranger a story waiting to unfold. In those moments, I learned the guts and glory of capturing life raw and unfiltered—without hesitation, without boundaries, and most of all, without mercy.
Street photography isn’t just about capturing a moment; it’s about striking the heart of it. It’s a tradition that demands you engage with your subject, not as a distant observer, but as an active participant in the scene. The closer you get, the more you agitate the moment. The more you disrupt the natural flow of life and create something raw, unpredictable, and electric. And then, you add a flash into the mix. Now you’re not just capturing the scene; you’re thrusting yourself into it, forcing your subject into immediate awareness, bringing a jolt of light and attention that leaves no room for subtlety.
Committing to this style takes more than just technical skill; it takes discipline, precision, and most of all, guts. It’s not easy to step into someone’s world, uninvited, and freeze them in time. It’s uncomfortable. It’s confrontational. But it’s also where the magic happens: the unfiltered, unapologetic moments that make street photography not just an art, but a full-contact sport.
But what surprised me the most about the in-your-face approach was how little animosity it generated. Going into it, I braced myself for confrontation—curses hurled my way, people shouting at me to get lost, maybe even a few threats. After all, it’s not every day you have a camera and a flash in your face out of nowhere, especially in a city where personal space is sacred. I was prepared for resistance, even hostility. But, as it turned out, none of that happened. Instead, people laughed, others posed, and a few even thanked me. It was a reaction that defied my expectations.
The difference between Los Angeles and New York in this context was subtle but interesting. In New York, people are used to being up close and personal in public spaces. There’s an energy that thrives in that chaos, and in a way, the abruptness of street photography might feel more at home in a city that’s always in motion, always alive. But in L.A., where people are often a bit more spaced out in their interactions, I thought the reaction might be more guarded, more hesitant. Yet, it wasn’t. It made me wonder if, regardless of the city, there’s a universal acknowledgment of the human condition when we’re all caught out in the same moment.
I think one of the main reasons for this is because Hollywood Boulevard is already a crazy place. On any given day, you’ll find costumed street performers, religious fanatics preaching their gospel, and people rallying for all sorts of causes. The street is alive with spectacle, noise, and people pushing the boundaries of public space. People are used to being on display here, to being part of someone’s spectacle, so a few more flashes of light don’t really phase them. Instead, it becomes just another layer in the mosaic of the boulevard.
Ultimately, working the way Gilden does was a great learning experience. It pushed me to step outside of my comfort zone and helped me grow as a more well-rounded photographer. Beyond the technical skills, it gave me a deeper understanding of the everyday people in my city, allowing me to see them in a new light. While it’s not a style I turn to often in my work, knowing that I can approach my subjects in this bold, unfiltered way gives me real confidence as an artist. It’s a reminder that sometimes, stepping into discomfort opens doors to new creative possibilities.
