in my portraiture class taught by suzanne opton we were assigned to make a portrait of a stranger. without taking their picture. just describing them and the scene in one paragraph of text. it's not as easy as you'd think.

 

"He's sleeping in one of those seats at the end of the cart of the number two train going from Crown Heights to the Bronx. His legs are sprawled across the floor, almost hindering people from getting on and off the train. He is wearing a cloth that once was white across the top part of his face, but his feet is lacking both shoes and socks. He is obviously homeless. His skin is dark and his beard hasn't been trimmed in a very long time. Even though I can only see the bottom half of his face he is strikingly beautiful, perhaps it's partly the vulnerability of sleep, yet he can't be much older than my 21 years, and had life played out differently for him he might have been one of the models I would photograph in a studio somewhere. But no, his pants are torn, so badly, so that I can see the dirty orange boxer shorts underneath his once bright gray track pants. The deep hollows underneath his cheekbones are greatly enhanced by the butterfly light caressing his face. When the train reaches 34th street the cloth slides off his face down on the floor and he looks up at me with the same studying gaze that I've studied him with for the past half hour. Bright, light brown eyes. Click."

now, is that a portrait of a man?