the niki download
I DID NOT GO TO THE KENTUCKY DERBY

#73
5/12/2023

I was in Louisville last weekend. My friend Emily wanted to go to meet her friend Natosha for the first time in real life. I tagged along. Both are incredible photographers and the sweetest of people.

As it happened, the weekend we selected to drive down was Derby weekend. I was floored at the opportunity to strobe some decadent and depraved southerners in the face.

;=)

Flash photography is aggressive, perhaps even violent. It has been a staple of street photography since Weegee and probably before.

Today, direct flash is one of the longest running trends in editorial photography. Whether the subject is a salad or a CEO, direct flash is loved by editors from Bon Appétit to the New York Times for its flat but not unflattering, high contrast quality.

Despite the violence of 300 watts of bare bulb being pointed into your eyes, I am constantly surprised to find that, for the most part, when I use flash on the streets people take me more seriously.

They are excited at their chances of stardom, pleased to be seen, they need not know that I work for no major publications and have an agenda to make the best email newsletter on the planet…

Knowing virtually nothing about the Kentucky Derby, I immediately understood its purpose upon my arrival to Churchill Downs which was surrounded by miles of rented fencing. This event is about distinguishing class, social hierarchies, and good ol’ boys and girls peacocking.

I balked at the ticket price, $72 just to stand in the infield, the box seats went for $5,700 and up. I would probably get kicked out anyways for running around and blasting people.

Besides, every paper in the country already sent their best photojournalists who year after year make images of the event from a glossy, positive and “completely objective perspective.”

They had it covered, despite the death of 7 horses most of the coverage was typical of the rah-rah-rah of sports and was flattering towards the decadence and eccentricities of Southern Gentry.

I try not to judge. We all need Jesus, after all, as we are constantly reminded by legions of sidewalk preachers and Jehova’s Witnesses.

We also need a spot to park our limousine…

And someone to wait in it.

I have never been to the actual Kentucky Derby, so I am not completely sure, but I think the street parties may be the actual main event.

As the thorough bred horses ran and died. As the “$$$ thoroughly breaded $$$” humans placed bets, lost, won, drank and ate. I walked around and drank with the locals and asked them what they thought of the ponies.

They did not care about the ponies. For many, this was one of the most lucrative days of the year.

A common refrain as I walked about strobing people was, “How much is this photo gonna cost me?” To which I would respond,

“It is free, here’s my card, email me and I will send you the photos.” To which they would respond,

“Free!? There is a lot of money out here to be made, you should be charging, have a drink.”

I only found one house in South Louisville that cared about what the ponies were doing:

Down The Stretch Lounge, which puts on a proper tail-gate complete with a tiny television and freely distributed Colorado Cool-Aid.

Despite my 1990s “running of the ponies t-shirt” my strobe gave me away as an outsider. One man asked me who I was with. I told him I am independent and offered him a rip off my joint.

He laughed, declined the smoke and told me I could shoot as much as I liked, he even offered me the best seat in the house.

Everyone else sat on saddles.

The main race lasts 2 minutes.

Just like most of the men who attend it, if they can even get it up, drunk as they are. I suppose that is what the dildos are for. Anyways, a horse named Mage won.

A storm was rolling in and I still had a zealous desire to flash people. The beasts were finally leaving their fenced in zoo where the alpha apes wear seersucker suits and smoke cigars.

Before the rain came I ran around and felt my judgement washing away with every plastic cup of whiskey. I loosened up and became less cynical.

Despite the fence. Despite the insidious nature of class hierarchies. Despite the deaths of ponies. Despite the young blondes shouting at me that it was illegal to photograph them…

Jubilation was in the air.

I found myself at my favorite type of party,
one that breaks out at a gas station.

Dandies and débutantes awaited ubers, lifts and limos as the locals zipped around on slingshots and picked up their own in golf carts.

Right in the thick of the mass exodus of Churchill Downs, a family celebrating Cinco de Mayo poured tequila directly into the horse faced mouths of the already heavily liquored derby fans.

I joined them, the man who poured tequila into my mouth was extremely generous, it overflowed from my lips and ran down all over my camera.

Encouraged by the liquor, I asked him what he thought of all these people and their attire and
their politics and their opinions.

He smiled at me, offering me another mouthful.

"They can say what they want, as long as they say we are good hosts."

See you next week,

-Niki

I DID NOT GO TO THE KENTUCKY DERBY
#73
5/12/2023
the niki download