2022 Shot of the Year
It all started with an unplanned moment—my wife and I were spending a laid-back morning in Paris, just enjoying coffee at the Luxembourg Gardens. It was one of those perfect travel moments where we had nowhere in particular to be, and we could just take in the surroundings. We'd just sat down to our coffee and over a nearby hill, we heard loud, steady thumping of electronic bass in the distance. At first, we weren’t sure what it was, assuming maybe a loud car, or something similar. As it got louder though, our curiosity got the better of us, and we decided we'd "when in Rome" and got up to follow the sound. As it would turn out, we had walked straight into something we didn't even know was happening. Huge semi-trucks rolling down the streets, blasting music loud enough to shatter windows of homes and shops in the narrow streets. We were baffled, needless to say.
What we experienced was a full-on sensory experience: music, crowds, and colors everywhere. As exciting as it whatever this was, what really caught my attention wasn’t just the energy of this... parade? It was the police presence. Officers in full riot gear, managing a crowd that was, let’s say, heavily enjoying whatever the hell was going on. Now, as an American, seeing riot police generally triggers the “keep your distance” instinct. As a photographer though, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get closer and document it, much to my more anxious wife's dismay. When we were planning our trip to Paris, a friend had even warned me, “the police there don’t like being photographed, so be careful”, if I was to find myself in that kind of position. I paid mind to my images and actions, keeping a bit of distance as we found our way into the Paris Techno Parade. That warning was in the back of my mind, but when I saw one officer in particular, something made me pause. He was in the thick of it, helping guide this crowd of inebriated partiers, clearly worn out at the tail end of the series of floats. You could see it in his expression—he was just... done. Tired of corralling up the back end of the line of the procession, ensuring they were staying together to allow normal pedestrian and automotive traffic to follow in behind. So, I decided to take a chance. As he stood next to me ushering in a couple of dual-bottle wielding attendees, I just caught eyes with him and I gave him a quick, “Good luck” with a shake of the head and a smile. He glanced at me, smirked, and for a moment, it felt like we understood each other, a feeling like one shared between two coworkers at the end of a long night in the service industry. He shook his head, and as the police vans holding back traffic began to approach he hopped into the side door of one. Again, I caught his eye, and I gestured toward my camera, suggesting silently, asking if I could take his picture.
And then, he did something unexpected. Instead of brushing me off or looking annoyed, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. It was such a simple gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a rare connection between two strangers who didn’t even speak the same language. I snapped the photo. A Parisian police officer, in his van, giving me a thumbs-up and a smile, as if to say, “take the photo, friend.”
It’s not just the image itself—it’s what it represents. This moment of mutual understanding, in the middle of a chaotic parade, with thousands of people around us, but for just that brief second, it was just me and him. No words, no need for translation—just two people connecting through a shared experience.
I think that’s why this photo means so much to me. It’s a reminder that even when you’re in a foreign country, navigating unfamiliar situations, human connection is universal if you allow it to be. You don’t always need the same language or even the same background to share a moment. That photo, for me, is more than just a cop in a van. It’s a memory of connection, of taking a chance, accepting some risk, and being in the right place at the right time.
