I took this photo in 2009 when I was 14 within the first few weeks of sitting with people in hospice/convalescence. I remember being very nervous, as I took this photo. At the time, asking this man to document his hands was daunting. In the midst of apprehension, I knew that this was the beginning of the greatest love story of my life, documentary photography. This still holds true. So much profound love, but also a journey to purge the seeds of self-hate laid into my soil by men since my first breath #herstory #archives
Last week, I had the privilege of spending time with students at Chicago Public Schools thanks to a group of wonderful students and teachers. Thank you to @pulitzercenter and Mark Schulte for coordinating these visits that are very meaningful to me. We had powerful discussions about gender-focused documentary, feelings and the revolutionary power of story. One student said he was thinking about dropping out of school, but after the presentation, he said it made him reconsider staying. #grateful (above are some of the questions I received that I jotted down in my notebook; there are many more)
One sailboat
Bianca in the hospital a few weeks ago. Bianca has a daughter who she hasn’t seen or talked to in 15 years. I’ve called her daughter a few times over the last 12 years, leaving messages and wanting to connect, but never receiving a response. The reasons behind their estrangement are a mystery to me. An unexamined shadow in my images of Bianca. A “why” that may never be answered. #mother
Happy Mother’s Day to mothers, everywhere
Waiting on the birth of Daisy Mae
There is a poet named Leconte de Lisle from the island of Reunion in the Indian Ocean where my grandmother and maternal family is from. In one of his poems, he writes about how when he is on mainland France, he cries for the island and when he is on the island, he yearns for the mainland. In moments, I relate to his words. When I’m in the city, I cry for the country road and when I’m on the country road, I cry for the city. #countryroad #iphoneography
Antonio, age 12, watching YouTube tutorials about stun guns and videos of pranks today in the the apartment at the housing project where he lives with his mom.
“Put your head on my shoulder Hold me in your arms, baby” - Paul Anka #iphonemoments
Bianca, age 85, on the phone with the front desk office at the retirement home, asking “what the hell kind of a joint is this?” 2010.
Curator and writer on visual culture, power and prisons, Pete Brook @petebrook, (who is also a teacher) has been bringing prison related photography to his class at San Quentin State Prison. He is now touring the country, including last night @aperturefnd, sharing his students’ writings in conjunction with the projects he shares with them. Recently, he shared excerpts of his students’ critical analyses with him of my work shadowing parent-child bonding visits in the state of Florida; in these visits, provided by Children of Inmates, children and incarcerated parent are able to touch, engage and interact in ways that are intimate and negate traditional, detached visitation. Widespread social progress is often the idealistic plateau that documentarians hope for with their work. However, social progress does not always manifest in the most obvious or predictable ways. Social change happens every time someone internalizes a poignant image or story. Taking one minute out of your day to empathize with someone else is part of a greater movement towards compassion, parity and acceptance of the complexities of other humans’ trajectories. I see the shift that happens in people over time when they know their story is being told. When someone continually returns and holds a safe space to express who you are and live your life as is - that “feeling seen” subjectivity is also social change. Documentary storytelling as a feminist praxis means standing with people in their moments of strife and triumph and everything in between. And now, having incarcerated men look at, digest and dismantle documentary photography about children and families confined on another coast is justice making that I have often dreamt of. Greg writes, “these families...seem to be genuinely in the moment, to be enjoying profound connection and - given prisoners many various experiences inside - I wish that these moments of the non-incarcerated self, these moments of temporary escape, were part of every prisoner’s life.” Thank you Pete and all your students. Stay tuned for more from him on this important initiative.
Bianca, age 95, in the emergency room. This week, Bianca slid out of a chair at the nursing home and broke her hip. The staff put her in an ambulance and sent her to the hospital, alone. Some time after, I received a phone call, “is this Isabella? Bianca is in the emergency room.” Entering the building, I realized that I had been there once before with her. 12 years ago, when I first began photographing Bianca, I found out she had fallen in the street and was in the hospital. There, they discovered she had early dementia. Her court appointed guardian decided to place her in a retirement home. When her dementia progressed, she was then moved to a nursing home. In a sense, we have come back to the setting where our journey began when I was 13 and she was 83. Then, I sat next to her with a Mamiya 645 instead of an iPhone in my pocket. She could then get up and look out the window at the LA skyline. She could dance and sing. She can still sing. I think we still have many more evenings of champagne and Billy Holiday’s Lover Man ahead. Loss brought me to photography to begin with. The fear of loss is still palpable. Maybe fear of loss will never be palatable for me. But hope, gratitude and acceptance dominate more today than ever before. So what more can I really ask for? When I arrived at the hospital this time, the nurse asked Bianca, “do you know who this is?” Bianca looked over at me, “Isadora.” “Who is she?” she asked. Bianca says, “my shadow.” #truelove
Jessica, age 18, in Aliesha’s, age 18, arms. “When you started documenting me when I was 12, I was already identifying as a lesbian. I knew when I was like 9 that I liked girls. My auntie (who raised me) kept saying 'maybe you're bi.' I would tell her 'auntie, I am a lesbian, straight up, this is who I am.’ On the streets, to my homies, it doesn't matter that I'm gay. Sometimes people are like are you a boy? No, I'm a girl with short hair who wears boy clothes. But sometimes, in some situations, I am treated differently. When I got jumped recently, the guy was like 'I normally don't hit women, but you're a bitch, so it's ok.’ They beat me and took all my stuff. I stayed in my auntie’s apartment for weeks...one day, they will see me walking down the street, holding hands with my wife.'" - Jessica. #lesbianvisibilityday
Bianca, 2011. #tbt
@latimes put together an exhibit of 5 LA photographers at @photoville Los Angeles, which opens tonight and runs this weekend and next. You can see a short excerpt from “Senior Love Triangle,” the story of Jeanie, Will and Adina, on display. I am thrilled to bring images from the photo documentary to a community event in Los Angeles, the city where I documented these three people. “Senior Love Triangle,” the photo book will be out this Fall 2019, published by Kehrer Verlag @kehrerverlag and available for preorder on the Kehrer Verlag website.
Aliesha, age 18, and Jessica, age 18, 2017.
Blessing the hard drive with my beloved subject-collaborator of many years, wondering how I am so fortunate to work with people who give me a total eclipse of the heart and make me accept the memories of yesteryears that acts as a compass to the golden connections of today.
Keep thinking I see William in the street. But it is not William.