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Last month, I made a photograph at P\u00e8re Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. A candid image. Unposed, unplanned, and deeply human.<\/p>\n
As street photographers, we often work in the space between moments. We don\u2019t ask, we react. That\u2019s the job. But street photography is controversial. Some say it\u2019s invasive, unethical\u2014especially when photographing people during private or emotional moments in public places. <\/p>\n
I understand that discomfort. But I also believe, strongly, that street photography is a noble pursuit. At its best, it\u2019s about bearing witness. It\u2019s about storytelling without words. It preserves what might otherwise vanish. While the world scrolls past, we stop time\u2014if only for a fraction of a second. And when we do it right, our work adds something meaningful to the record of who we are.<\/p>\n
As I walked through P\u00e8re Lachaise\u2014the final resting place of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric Chopin, \u00c9dith Piaf, Gertrude Stein, and many others\u2014I saw her. She was resting her head on a gravestone. A quiet, intimate moment. Grief in stillness. I didn\u2019t know who she was\u2014only that the moment was powerful. I knew that if I stopped to ask permission, I\u2019d lose it. So I made the photograph.<\/p>\n
Then I introduced myself.<\/p>\n
Her name was Manuela. She was kind and open. I told her what I had done. I offered to send her the image, and she gave me her email.<\/p>\n
She replied with grace\u2014and something more.<\/p>\n
\nThank you for your offer; I gladly accept it. I am grateful because you captured a moment filled with emotion. Actually, Suzon was the daughter of my best friend.<\/p>\n
She used to call me \u2018Mom\u2019 and I would be very happy to receive this photo. Thank you. Her father, whom I have informed, is also eagerly waiting.<\/p>\n
Thank you very much.<\/p>\n
Goodbye. Manuela<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n
Later, on the plane home, I wrote to her again\u2014this time with the photo attached. I explained that I\u2019m a street photographer and educator, that I try to work with respect, and that I teach others to do the same. I told her that if she preferred, the image would never be shown.<\/p>\n
Then, in a second message, came this:<\/p>\n
\nSuzon wanted us to meet \u2014and somewhere, she\u2019s laughing still.<\/p>\n
Not in the skies, but in the hush between heartbeats, right here in my chest.<\/p>\n
Thank you \u2014<\/p>\n
for being here, for the beauty of your gift, for the quiet grace of your presence.<\/p>\n
Since the day she left, Suzon has never stopped speaking to me.<\/p>\n
In whispers.<\/p>\n
In wind.<\/p>\n
In wonders.<\/p>\n
She speaks through impossible moments that only love could summon.<\/p>\n
One winter evening, her father, hollowed out by grief, asked me to bring her flowers.<\/p>\n
I wandered through P\u00e8re-Lachaise, lost among the names and stones, hugging mimosa like it could warm my hands.<\/p>\n
The cold stung my eyes. I sat on the curb, in tears, and whispered,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Suzon\u2026 I\u2019m such a bad Mom2.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then \u2014 from nowhere, he appeared.<\/p>\n
A rider on the storm, an American soul asking me, \u201cWhere\u2019s Jim?\u201d<\/p>\n
A scene so surreal, I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n
He helped me rise. Together, we walked \u2014 ten steps.<\/p>\n
There she was. Suzon.<\/p>\n
He knelt, left a guitar pick on her stone, and walked away with a sprig of mimosa I placed in his hand.<\/p>\n
Jim had sent his desperado.<\/p>\n
Suzon had found a way to answer.<\/p>\n
Another time, I collapsed again \u2014 and from the silence came a man in black, singing Piaf:<\/p>\n
Non, rien de rien\u2026<\/p>\n
I asked him, \u201cWho are you, Monsieur Farfadet?\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled: \u201cI\u2019ve haunted this place for years\u2026and today, I felt this is what you needed to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led me to Piaf\u2019s resting place, then faded into air.<\/p>\n
I never saw him again.<\/p>\n
But her message \u2014 clear as music.<\/p>\n
Suzon sends me signs.<\/p>\n
Always.<\/p>\n
Little miracles tucked in grief.<\/p>\n
A laugh. A stranger.<\/p>\n
A song in the right key.<\/p>\n
And yesterday, it was you.<\/p>\n
Your presence,<\/p>\n
your photograph,<\/p>\n
your kindness \u2014 they were her way of saying:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou see? I\u2019m still here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her father once feared she\u2019d be forgotten.<\/p>\n
But how could we forget Suzon?<\/p>\n
That visit wasn\u2019t even planned. We were headed to a show, when a voice inside me said: \u201cGo to P\u00e8re-Lachaise.\u201d<\/p>\n
So here we are.<\/p>\n
And now, with Jean-Michel\u2019s blessing and mine,<\/p>\n
I ask:<\/p>\n
Let your art become a thread in her story.<\/p>\n
Let it echo where we can\u2019t reach.<\/p>\n
Let it carry her light into forever.<\/p>\n
We will not forget Suzon.
We will not.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\nStreet photography matters because it captures life as it unfolds\u2014unscripted and unfiltered. It\u2019s one of the few photographic genres rooted entirely in reality. No staging. No retakes. Just the world, as it is. At its best, it connects us to one another. It honors the human experience. It allows strangers to meet, unexpectedly, across time and space, in moments we don\u2019t plan but are privileged to witness.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s what happened at P\u00e8re Lachaise.<\/p>\n
Being a street photographer means stepping out of your comfort zone. That looks different for everyone. For me, it often means pushing through the moment of hesitation. It\u2019s easy to talk myself out of taking a picture\u2014out of fear, doubt, or politeness. But I\u2019ve learned to summon the bravado to shoot anyway. I can always decide later what to do\u2014or not do\u2014with the image. That courage doesn\u2019t come easily, even after all these years. And not everyone is happy when I get caught stealing a candid moment. But I\u2019ll say this: 97 percent of those encounters have been either positive or without incident. Most people respond with curiosity, not anger. Sometimes, they respond with something deeper.<\/p>\n
I also remind myself: in most of the world, this isn\u2019t a legal issue. In public spaces, you can photograph people without permission\u2014and even exhibit, publish, or sell those images. What we\u2019re dealing with isn\u2019t law. It\u2019s ethics. And that\u2019s where intention matters. It\u2019s different for everyone. It\u2019s about how we work, why we shoot, and how we treat the people in our frames.<\/p>\n
Still, I understand why some people are uncomfortable being photographed without permission. It can feel like a personal boundary has been crossed. Even in public, many feel a sense of ownership over how they appear and who sees them. Being photographed in a raw, emotional moment can be unsettling. There\u2019s also the fear of being misrepresented or shared out of context. In a world where images can go viral in seconds, that fear is real\u2014even if rare in my experience.<\/p>\n
Some see the camera as a threat, not a tool for connection. That\u2019s why how we approach street photography matters so much. We can\u2019t control how people feel, but we can control how we work: with sensitivity, awareness, and the belief that every person we photograph deserves our respect.<\/p>\n
Street photography becomes visual history. It records not just people, but the culture, energy, and spirit of a time. The way we look, the way we move, what we carry, what we wear\u2014these are details future generations will study to understand us. That\u2019s the responsibility we carry as street photographers\u2014not just to observe, but to preserve. When we trust the moment and work with care, our photographs become more than images. They become memory. They honor life.<\/p>\n
That day in Paris, I didn\u2019t know who Manuela was. I didn\u2019t know who Suzon was. I only knew the moment was real and full of feeling. I made the photograph, and afterward, I offered it back. What I received in return was something unexpected\u2014grace, trust, and the chance to help keep a young woman\u2019s memory alive.<\/p>\n
Suzon\u2019s story became part of mine. And now, through this image, it becomes part of yours too.<\/p>\n
Suzon Garrigues was 21 years old. She loved rock music and the socially conscious novels of \u00c9mile Zola. She was studying literature at Paris-Sorbonne University. On November 13, 2015, she was one of 90 people killed in the terrorist attack at the Bataclan Theater in Paris. She had gone to the concert with her brother, who survived.<\/p>\n
About the author<\/strong>: Steve Simon is a photographer and teacher based in New York City who\u2019s obsessed with documentary photography and all things photographic. Steve is photographing the streets and leads street photography workshops around the world. You can link to his work and writing on his website<\/a> or follow him on Facebook<\/a>, LinkedIn<\/a>, Instagram<\/a>, or X<\/a>. This article was also published here<\/a>.<\/p>\n