Bob gets asked this question in different ways, usually by people who are new to street photography, or by people giving him that look when they notice the camera. You know the look. The one that says, “Are you hunting me?”
So let’s clear this up.
Bob is not a predator.
Bob is a forager.
A predator stalks. A predator waits for weakness. A predator takes something away.
A forager wanders. A forager observes. A forager collects what’s already there.
That’s Bob.
Bob Walks, He Doesn’t Chase
When Bob is out on the street, he’s not chasing people down Yonge Street like it’s a nature documentary.
He’s sitting on a bench watching someone sketch quietly in a park.
He’s chatting with photographers who are just as excited about their cameras as he is.
He’s noticing workers unloading materials before the city wakes up.
He’s stepping into a market stall glowing with Christmas lights and human warmth.
Bob walks slowly. Sometimes very slowly. He waits. He lets the street come to him.
Predators rush.
Foragers linger.
Street Photography Is Gathering, Not Taking
A predator takes the moment.
A forager receives it.
When Bob photographs a couple on their wedding day in winter, he’s not stealing anything. He’s witnessing something that already exists. That moment doesn’t disappear because Bob clicked a shutter. If anything, it gets remembered a little longer.
Same with workers, artists, vendors, photographers, and strangers crossing paths for five seconds of shared time.
Bob doesn’t manufacture moments.
He notices them.
Bob Reads the Street Like a Trail
Foraging means learning the land.
Bob learns:
where people pause
where light falls
where stories repeat
where something unexpected might grow
A bench becomes a blind.
A corner becomes a stage.
A quiet street becomes a page waiting to be filled.
Bob doesn’t ambush the street.
He reads it.
The Camera Is Not a Weapon
A predator’s tool is meant to overpower.
Bob’s camera is a notebook.
It’s there to say:
“I was here.”
“This happened.”
“This mattered, even for a second.”
If someone doesn’t want their photo taken, Bob moves on. There’s always another story. Another corner. Another moment that wants to be found.
Foragers don’t force the harvest.
Bob Belongs to the Street
This is the important part.
Predators don’t belong to the environment — they dominate it.
Foragers are part of it.
Bob blends in. He dresses for the weather. He carries what he needs. He respects the rhythm of the place. Some days the street gives a lot. Some days it gives nothing at all.
And that’s okay.
You don’t come home empty-handed every day.
But you always come home with experience.
Final Answer
So is Bob a forager or a predator?
Bob is a forager with a camera.
A collector of moments.
A witness, not a hunter.
And the streets of Toronto?
They’re not prey.
They’re a shared landscape — and Bob is just passing through, paying attention.
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