HadashiWorld

it was somewhat interesting, then, that three of the four speakers were photographers who deliberately make pictures in this way. they will return to the same spot over years or months and document what it looks like at the time. perhaps the best-known of these is William Christenberry, whose photos of his native Hale County, Alabama have recorded the slow evolution of the rural South. Alex Harris has cultivated long-standing, deeply affectionate relationships with his elderly Mexican neighbours in New Mexico, and makes portraits of their living rooms as the years progress. but it was the work of Chilean-born Camilo José Vergara that most captured me. the exhibit featured selections from his book, How the Other Half Worships, documenting church buildings in poor urban communities.

the "storefront church" has always fascinated me in a passing sort of way -- they seem to pop up on the most random corners in neighbourhoods that are predominantly Latino or African-American. they're usually in squatty concrete buildings and have really great names, like "God's House of Prayer For All Nations" -- that one was near one of T.T.'s former dwellings in Pasadena -- or " Shield of Faith in Victory First Church," which was on the way to my sister's house in Atlanta. when i'm driving through East L.A. i see numerous storefront iglesias that always seem to be right next to a bakery or a butcher (it makes sense; whether Catholic or Protestant, Christians loooooove to eat!). but before listening to Vergara, i never really gave much thought to the secret stories each might have: who worships there, what the building was before it became a church, how many surrounding buildings have been destroyed, how long that little church has survived through sheer stubborness.
Vergara has been documenting urban neighbourhoods across America now for decades. he likes to return to specific corners or buildings and capture whatever is there at that moment. however, there is human interaction: he almost always has spoken to the people there and often develops friendships over time. he has relationships too, he feels, to the places; in fact, after 9/11 he published a book in memoriam of the World Trade Center (all proceeds went to the Red Cross) since he'd been documenting the buildings since their first days of construction, and could tell a very personal story through 30 years of photos.
it made me wonder what my relationship to my places are, especially since i've always seen myself as relatively rootless and transient. it made me wonder how much more i might improve my vision if i would really look at certain places and see them as specific, time-stamped moments: as Vergara said in his accidentally poetic ESL way, to say: look. here. right now. my eyes this place have seen.
i can't pretend that i've been terribly observant of my surroundings, but i take this as a challenge to see beauty where there is banality, and pattern where there is chaos. my longtime photographer friend Zippy certainly understands this; i was reminded often today of his photo essay that captures the odd elegance of blank buildings on a particulary grimy stretch of L.A. street. his eye through the camera often frames the most uninteresting bits into the most astonishing canvas of idea and memory. (thanks, Zippy.)

so. the flock of crows that land on the telephone wires every evening at dusk and soil every single car below: they're a part of my home's landscape, and i should watch them more carefully. when i burst out of the back door and start down the stairs to take out the trash, i should pause...noticing the way the palm trees on the horizon look when all those planes are hovering over them, waiting to land at LAX -- this is a tableau of motion and grace, if i choose to see it. my eyes may need quite a lot of practice, but i think i'll enjoy the places i'll see.