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I’ve had this post on my list of to-do’s for a while now. I reckon it’s about time I get to it.

For the last year or so I’ve had the good fortune to work with Delta Magazine on some wonderful documentary projects. They pretty much let me roam about, find something I want to explore, and then run the images. It’s been a great partnership and I’ve learned so much about my home.

Even though they run a great number of the images I create, there’s no way they can run them all. That’s what this space is for.

I began visiting Po Monkey’s with the project in mind last spring. I visited quite often (and still do) in preparation for the November issue of the magazine. It was such a pleasure having months to study and create this body of work. That’s not all that common in editorial work anymore. The beauty of my partnership with Delta magazine, however, is that the projects they run are actually meant to be explored over long stretches of time. I live here. I have access to these places that others may not. It makes sense not to rush things.

After all, isn’t that the southern way?

Above are excerpts from my essay. Some were in the magazine. Many were not.

I hope you enjoy viewing them as much as I enjoyed creating them.

~wj

What’s seems awful at first is often better than we realize.

Earth shattering statement, right?  I suspect you probably have never heard that before.  Just like you’ve probably never had chicken soup after catching a cold, held your breath while crossing a bridge, or made a wish while blowing a dandelion.  I know it’s true.  You know it’s true.  But it still doesn’t make things any easier when we’re in the midst of a struggle.

This week I’ve been revisiting lots of my early work.  When I first decided to become a photographer I had no idea what it took to do this.  More importantly, I had no idea what “being a photographer” really meant.  I just knew I liked the sound of it and wanted to give it a go.  My friends and family told me I was pretty good.  I’d had eighteen months of access to gear while in graduate school.  My work had been published in small newspapers and even a magazine or two.  I’d always fancied myself somewhat creative, so I said “What the heck.  I can do this.”  I moved back home, bought my own camera, and hung a shingle.  I was now a professional photographer.

It didn’t take me long to start worrying that perhaps I’d make the wrong choice.  After a few months of giving things a go I realized how vastly inferior my skill set was.  I met other photographers and was paralyzed when they began using technical terms that were foreign to me.  I put on a good show for folks that didn’t know any better.  I even managed to find work.  But inside I was scared to death that someone would pull back the curtain and reveal the wizard who really had no idea what he was doing.

I gradually got better and gained a bit more confidence, but still had this nagging feeling that I wasn’t really a photographer yet.  I refused to look at work I’d created in the first year or two of my career.  I’d begun a new journey and entered it with determination.  I’d heard more and more chatter about “finding my voice” and “being unique”.  To me, that meant creating work that had impact, and I searched constantly for photographs that would impress others.  Photoshop – in heavy dosages – became my frequent crutch.  I kept looking for a deep, meaningful opportunity to go to foreign lands and create images from newsworthy happenings.  Which, of course, never really happened.

Voice.  Voice.  Voice.  What the hell did that mean, and how the hell could I find it?  Did I even have one?

Then the iPhone was invented.  What I originally thought would become my new cell phone actually became my most used camera.  I began photographing everything around me.  Slowly, I realized that the things around me,  the things I knew most intimately – my home, my family, my community, my roots — were my voice.  I didn’t have to go find my voice in some far away place.  It was here with me the whole time.  I just needed to trust it a bit more, and realize that the work I create first has to mean something to me before it can mean something to someone else.

So this week as I’ve begun sorting through old images, it’s been great fun seeing that my voice was here all along.  Sure, my technical skills have improved a good bit in the last 14 or so years – and goodness knows the cameras have changed (I’m not sure if that’s such a good thing anymore, though) –  but the instinct I had in my fist month of my career is the same instinct I rely on today.  The biggest difference is that I trust myself now.  I don’t push as hard, and I don’t feel like very image I make needs to change the world.  It simply needs to be the best it can be in the moment it is created.  If I do that enough – push myself to truly make the bet images possible each time I click the shutter –  and then repeat it enough,  I’ll make images that connect with others. Not everyone, of course,  And that’s OK.

A photographer’s voice is not like the lottery — it doesn’t just show up suddenly and eventfully one day through the simple purchase of a ticket.  Its there all along, but only time can peel away the layers required to see it — hard work, study, pushing our boundaries, and perhaps most importantly, trusting ourselves.

The images above were made about 9 months into my career.  In 1998 I finagled my way into a press pass for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s tribute to Robert Johnson.  It was part of their American Music Master’s series.  It felt important at the time.  It was a rush having access to the events the way I did.  My gear was rudimentary – a Nikon F2 with a 120 manual focus lens.  No flash (oh, how I was afraid of flash at the point in my career!)  I used TMAX 3200 speed film.  When I returned home I was in orbit.  I thought the images were incredible.  Then I began to look at the work of other photographers.  I began to see crisp, clean images with dramatic light.  And I began to feel inferior.  So I tucked these images away and declared them inept.  I could do better.  I MUST do better.  I wouldn’t be a “real” photographer until I found . . . . . “better”.

As I look back at the work now, I see the foundation of a voice that still exists.  I actually prefer the technical imperfections and long for a bit more of this in my current work. (As such, Ive begun shooting more and more film not only in my personal work, but also in my commissions)   I am as enthralled now with the music of my home, the Mississippi Delta, as I was in September of 1998.  I still find inspiration in music as much as anything else in this world, and I wish that I could play and express myself the way a truly talented musician does.  Perhaps one day, right?  But I’m no longer ashamed of these images.  They are as much a part of the photographer I am now – the voice I’ve learned to trust — as they were part of the photographer I was 14 years ago.  It’s almost like reconnecting with an old friend you haven’t seen for years.  And what a wonderfully satisfying reunion it is.  It’s a reunion of self.  Of realizing that a person I viewed at one time to be a fraud and a failure, actually had value all along.

Finally, Ive added three images to the end of the gallery.  They are images that were created fairly recently.  I did this to illustrate, hopefully, how we’re never as far away from our voice as we often tend to think we are.

I wish you well on your own journey to finding whatever your voice may be.  Because it’s there.  Whether you realize it or not.  Whether you are an artists or not.  Whether you are “accomplished” or not — and sometimes even in spite of your accomplishments.  It’s there. recognizing it starts with the simply act of trust.  And trusting ourselves in sometimes the hardest thing we can do.

~wj

I spent this past Saturday teaching a photo class to a few children in town, and afterwards decided to take a drive along the county backroads.  Most of the images I made were created with my twin lens, so I haven’t had a chance to process the film yet.  I did, however, find one image that I captured with both my Yashica and my Nikon DSLR .  As I was driving along Highway 1 just north of Benoit, an old church caught my eye.  The late afternoon light was striking it in an intriguing way, and it appeared abandoned, which always seems to pique my curiosity.  As I approached, I realized it wasn’t abandoned at all.

~wj

Cleveland, Mississippi

11:41PM

January 10, 2011

We received about four inches of snow last night here in the Delta. I was returning from New Orleans and crossed the bridge in Yazoo City right at dusk. Up to that point I had driven mostly in scattered rain, with a bit if sleet here and there. But as soon as I crossed the bridge spanning the Yazoo River and had my first look at the sprawling flatland that is the Delta, I saw white. Pure, untouched white snow, not entirely unlike the blankets I’ve witnessed in Colorado.

By the time I hit Indianola even the highway was covered. I was pretty much the only car on the road, so I had no tracks to follow. It was a bit nerve-wracking at first, but I slowed to a crawl, rolled down my window, and enjoyed the site. A site that is extremely rare here in Mississippi. It reminded me of the song above, written and performed by Cary Hudson, and recorded outside the Rootbeer Saloon in Sumrall, Mississippi by The Green Couch Sessions. It’s one of my favorites, so I thought I’d share it here. I hope you enjoy it as well.

I love this story from this morning’s Today Show.  My friend Kathy Cox shared it with me, as she said it reminded her of some of the programs we are doing through the Delta Arts Alliance.  I think she’s right, and I hope we can encourage the thoughtfulness and smiles that the children in this video display.  To me, this is what art is all about.  And it’s even better that they are using photography as the vehicle for these children to express themselves.

I’d love to hear some of your stories about ways your communities are embracing the arts.  Feel free to make a comment below and / or list any pertinent information for your organization.  Perhaps we can all find a way to support one another’s endeavors.

~wj

————————————————————-

I need your votes.

Not for me, but or an arts non-profit that I am a part of.

The Delta Arts Alliance is a non-profit organization based out of my hometown (Cleveland, MS). This organization has slowly grown from an idea of a handful of folks 12 years ago to the point where we now provide free arts education to nearly 3000 underprivileged children in our region. Our state no longer offers arts education in our public schools. In the Mississippi Delta, we are the group that has taken on the task of insuring those classes have remained in our schools.

We employ 25 artists in residence. We also offer after school programs, field trips, and one-on-one mentoring to children interested in exploring the arts a bit deeper. We are in the final stages of renovating an old theater that was falling down 10 years ago. It houses a gallery and meeting space, a workshop area, and a recently completed outdoor performing area for musicians. Soon it will also have the theater and stage ready for community performances as well as other arts-based events.

We are also very close to establishing a place where working artists can live and practice their craft. It’s a beautiful old home that we hope to transform into studio spaces and living quarters for artists. We are so close to doing this I can taste it. We’ll be able to provide grants so that artists can come to the area and focus solely on their craft. We’ll be able to house artists as they pass through the area. We’ll have the tools needed for them to practice their craft. We’ll help them find ways to support themselves financially from their craft, and give them an outlet to do so.

The problem is, our region is broke. Broke ass broke. And we have been for a long, long time. The median income for the entire region is barely $15k a year. In some of the towns we serve it’s only a hair above $6k.

There is only so much corporate and private funding we are able to raise. And we need more. So much more. For many of these children, we are the only sign that their lives can be more than the poverty that surrounds them.

We don’t just provide arts education. We provide hope. And opportunity. And friendships. And — at the risk of sounding a bit Hallmark-ee — love.

The good news is that the Delta Arts Alliance is a finalist for the Foundation of the Mid-South Do-Gooders award. This is a grant that could provide as much as $50k in operating expenses for us. This would be enough for us to run the organization for two years, whether no other income came in or not. That would be HUGE.

But it’s a damn popularity contest (a debate for another time) — you vote on the web for the organization you feel is most deserving. And everyone can vote as many times as they wish. You just can’t vote more than once every five minutes. So the potential is there for one person to cast 12 votes in an hour! As much as I hate this structure, it is the one in place, and we have to find a way to succeed within it.

So . . . .

Will you guys help me? We’re currently in second place. The voting ends October 29. I cannot begin to tell you what receiving this grant would mean to our community. To our region. To the artists that live and visit this area.

To me.

As humbly as I possibly can do on blog post where you guys can’t see the emotion that flows as I type this, I’m begging for your help.

All you have to do is click the link below and vote for the Delta Arts Alliance in Cleveland, Mississippi. And you can do it as many times as you’d like And then, maybe encourage your friends to do so?

http://www.fndmidsouth.org/do-gooders/vote-mississippi/?entry_id=633

Thank you all for taking the time to read this and for taking the time to help out.

~wj

Oh, and just in case I need to pull your heartstrings a bit more , the photos above are from a recent workshop we did back in July. We spent a Saturday with children from western Bolivar County, letting them explore photography a bit. We’ll be producing a book from their work, providing them with prints, and having a gallery show at the Ellis Theater very soon.

A big thanks goes to our friends at Pictage , the Crosstie Arts Festival Foundation, as well as the many volunteers who came out to assist and spend the day making images.

The fields are always burning this time of year in the Delta. It’s a natural part of the agricultural process, but it’s something I’ve always found fascinating. But it seems I am especially drawn to the flames this year, as I’ve found myself repeatedly wandering these smoke-filled expanses. I am especially proud of this image, as it’s the first where I’ve successfully captured the flames. I also love the abstract quality and layered appearance of the image, though none of that was added. What you see is what the camera saw, with a slight tweak of the color.

I’ve posted a bit more about this at our Rebirth Workshops & Retreats blog.

I admit I’ve borrowed the term iHolga from my buddy Chris Williams.  But, hey, it’s a great term.  And like Chris, I probably use my ipho — err, iHolga — as much, if not more, than any camera I own.  It’s almost always with me, and the camera keeps getting better and better.  So I think I’ll do my best to share some of these images here.  Hopefully I’ll do it each week, but I’m not going to make any promises.  You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.