Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Carbondale


Julie in front of the old chicken coop in Carbondale.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Update from Kielbasy

Kielbasy Update April 1, 2010

Things have been exciting. This morning I woke up and went to photograph the owner of a Mexican bakery in downtown Wilkes-Barre. We discussed how he arrived in PA via Nueva York. He is a hard worker with an air of superiority about his success, a trait I think is very American. That's what I am thinking about here: What it means to be an American. At my lowest moments today, I thought that we are competitive and lacking in compassion.


Today we visited Carbondale, a small town where Julie's grandmother grew up. We spoke to a man who blamed the downfall of his neighborhood (and every other one) on "colored people". We also discussed joblessness, hopelessness, drugs and machines taking the jobs of humans.

As I sit here on the porch, I listen to the African American neighbors discuss politics; Obama, Hillary, Palin and I yell over the fence to them in agreement about something. They answer back and we greet each other. I feel the divide between us. The lack of trust. I keep seeing this here. In downtown Wilkes-Barre, I notice how people do not make eye contact. I know this can be overcome.

It is the first warm night. Tomorrow is Good Friday. The night is clear and full of laughter, motorbikes and barking dogs.

How come we don’t look at systems? How come we always look to blame people? I guess that is easier. Our default. How we all got to where we are, on the backs of everyone else. That is the story I am seeing here in Northeaster Pennsylvania. A city of immigrants: Eastern European and now Latino, third and fourth generation Poles, Russians, Lithuanians and African-Americans. There is a church for every ethnicity. No one really seems to get anyone else’s deal, but everyone has a deal. (As Choygam Trungpa says). I am fascinated by everyone’s deal. I want to get all the deals in a room together.

When I photograph people, I find them difficult, I have trouble with the things they say, the way they shape things, but I want to be open. I want to document this experience of being American. This obsession with race and the entrapment of class. I want to create more understanding and my anger (or guilt) has no place in that process.

A dinner we discuss the history of industry here, the patterns of migration, the path of profit.

The mornings are lush with bird song. This evening I saw the sun set over the Lackawanna River. I am going to bed without any resolution about how I can fit my work into these complexities I seem to seek out.

Goodnight.
Mea