Does the photographer’s presence affect the subject?
I noticed remarkable changes in people during photo-shoots and have no doubt that photography is a powerful healing agent. People are flattered as attention is provided them. Famous people, indigent, or patients facing great odds are no exception.
The picture taking process becomes part of the subject’s recovery. The photographer gifts the subject with the opportunity to see how they inhabit their lives in periods of difficult transitions. The more we look at life in the light of loss, the more we cherish what’s around us—either because it’s lasting or because it is fleeting.
You often photograph the face of “care”, do you tire of it?
Photography is a significant part of my spiritual practice—as in anything we do, again and again, to deepen and sanctify our lives. By this work I am blessed—photographing the face of care illuminates my life with the beauty of the fragile as well as the strong heart. In the end, no matter how embattled our lives, we need each other’s hearts and songs to help one another find the way.
You like to show broken things in a new light, elucidate this for us.
People associate the word “grace” with the ballerina, but I wanted to explore it from the opposite perspective. In my first book, Inner Grace, I focused on the inherent spirituality of disability, and examined the aesthetics of the twisted body. In the natural world, we marvel at the gnarled knots on a tree, but quickly pass by a human with a deformity. There is a photograph in Inner Grace of a teen in a wheelchair, I made it at the Museum of Natural History. The teen’s twisted arm is raised, and behind it was a deer’s antler, part of the museum’s exhibit. The twisted arm and deer’s antler mirror each other, leaving the viewer to ask, is the twisted hand any less beautiful than a deer’s antler?
How do you deal with your ego?
In my early twenties, I realized that I was only a channel, and not the true creator of the work. I believe that the better one is as a conduit, the more authentic the work. One simply has to be in tune with one’s breath and the source of that breath to realize that. André Gide understood this when he said, “Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.”
What equipment do you use?
I use a 35mm camera and a 28mm lens. This lens requires me to be close to the subject. I like the intimacy, and appreciate the subject being aware of my presence. Its’ wide angle gives the photograph “breathing room,” allowing the viewer to “walk into” the picture.
What advice do you have for the amateur?
To cultivate a dialogue with his or her inner voice. Listen to the clues the images offer. Fall in love with the world, shoot a lot, and the technical problems will straighten themselves. Also, don’t chase after expensive equipment. Good photographs can be made with the simplest cameras. If a camera has a flaw, learn to use the flaw artistically. Plastic cameras with plastic lenses are often given to prisoners and homeless kids who make terrific images with them.
We don’t ask writers what kind of typewriters they use, because great ideas have nothing to do with fancy typewriters, and good images have nothing to do with impressive looking cameras.
Some photographers are afraid to approach strangers, how do you do it?
The photographer must believe that the the camera is an affirming tool, the same way a surgeon uses a scalpel. The subject’s fear dissipates when convinced that the photographer is validating the moment. By signaling acceptance with every nuance, the subject’s defenses fall, and will more often than not, invite the photographer closer. The photographer is the subject’s guest and must always be mindful of that.
An example, I was photographing in Mexico inside a graveyard during All Souls Day. Fifty yards from where I stood was an elderly woman strewing petals on a grave. I wanted to take her photo but decided to stand nearby in silence until she noticed me. When she did, I took a few steps towards her and lowered my head to bond with the solemnity of the moment. After a couple of minutes, she pointed to my camera and wanted a photo taken. The resulting image was one that only a family member could have made. Not every moment offers as much opportunity for interaction, but the idea is the same—make the subject more important that the photograph, and you will be invariably surprised at the gifts you will receive.
Which photographers have touched your life?
Lewis Hine, E. J. Bellocq, W. Eugene Smith, Dorothea Lange, Irving Penn, and Gordon Parks.
What are your favorite photography books?
Thomas Merton’s Geography of Holiness; the Museum of Modern Art’s The Family of Man; E. J. Bellocq’s Storyville Portraits; Irving Penn’s Worlds In A Small Room, and Gordon Parks’ Arias in Silence.
And in closing, who are some of the people who have inspired you?