The Fuzz

A few years ago, I set out to do a low-key photoshoot on a cloudy damp morning.  I had packed an iron cauldron, my Witch prop, and a bunch of smoke bombs.  I thought that a smoking cauldron in the foreground of the photo with a blurry Witch in the distance would be a fun image.  The setup took longer than expected.  

Doing this stuff for as long as I have, you'd think I would be less anxious and twitchy about trespassing to get a photo of a weird prop.  Nope.  In fact, I think I've gotten more uptight about it over the years.  A grown man setting up a Witch, or a scarecrow, or a reaper looks odd and unusual and WIERD.  And suspicious.  

So, I set up the Witch and her cauldron behind a construction company and began lighting smoke bombs.  These things only burn about six quick seconds, so I would get about three shots with each bomb.  Turns out the smoke was visible from a nearby road.  As I snapped away in the sulfurous, brightly-colored smoke, I heard a voice come from behind, "What exactly are you doing?"  It was a police officer.

I was impressed I hadn't heard his car pull into the parking lot behind mine.  And definitely shocked I didn't hear him approach on foot (disappointed in my previously-mentioned twitchiness).  I stood up as the smoke bomb hissed out the last of the blueish smoke.  I explained I had an odd hobby, and I was taking some shots of a prop I made.  I would imagine I sounded like Don Knotts at this point, trying to explain what exactly I was doing.  

I scrolled through photos on my phone showing him the photos I just took, and earlier ones of other photoshoots.  The officer seemed really interested and told me that he had a hobby taking photos of architecture.  Said he does it on the weekends to keep sane.  I told him I would leave and he said for me to take my time.  As he was pulling away, I snapped a photo.