Portraits / Final.

Obstructions.

Some of my obstructions for this assignment were to use portraits and possibly conduct interviews. I couldn't conduct interviews because most of my subjects are in the middle of taking finals for school or taking care of other things right now, but I still hope to do them in the future. Another obstruction was to take more shots from a far-away vantage point, so I tried to do that, too.

29 Bassett.

I visited Mitch's house a few days after his death. My friend (who lived with him) had to pick up a few last remaining belongings. I stood in the room where he was shot. Afterwards I wish I hadn't gone in. Even though I didn't take any photos while inside, the pictures I took outside still made me angry and I have a hard time looking at them. The candles were put on the front porch by neighbors. I don't think I'll go back there again.

Benefit.

These photos were taken at a benefit show for Mitch Dubey's family, where six bands played. Mitch was an active member of the punk community, was in a band, and had many friends in bands. He and his roommates often opened their home to touring and traveling bands, allowing them to perform in their basement for friends. He was always very supportive of his friends' creative projects, whether they came in the form of music, art, or whatever.

This show took place on April 3, 2011, a little over a week after his death. In my 11 years of seeing bands and making friends via this community, it has become clear to me that the punk community acts like a family when help is needed. This show sold out Toad's Place, which is pretty much New Haven's most sizable venue. About 1,000 people attended. Adding up the proceeds from the show itself, a raffle, and various items sold at the show (baked goods, t shirts, etc), we ended up raising $23,300 for his family, which I consider to be a huge accomplishment. It was a little hard to be around so many of our friends, because I half-expected him to walk through the door at any minute. His presence was felt.

Family.

Before we left for spring break, a lot of ideas about this final project emerged. I was having a hard time visualizing exactly what I wanted to accomplish, and getting hung up on trying to picture the final outcome. I brought my camera with me everywhere and took a bunch of photos, but no clear goal in my image-making came out of it.

One of the ideas I had was to document the ways in which, during your late teens, 20s, and maybe 30s, before you really settle into a family life, your friends become your family. I know that since I moved out of my parents' house nearly six years ago, my friends have sometimes been more of a family to me than my actual family was. I also wanted to incorporate the idea of a "community" and where we all fit in within our own separate worlds. I thought the project could take on a documentary approach, maybe incorporating some portraiture as well. I had a clear idea of what this meant to me, and which people I thought were worthy of falling into this category, of people who were "family" yet not actually related to me.

On Friday morning, I woke up to the worst news of my life. One of my best friends, one of these people I considered to be my "family," was murdered senselessly in his own home. At first, I thought it was some kind of elaborate joke. Anyone who knew this person knew that there is absolutely no one on earth who could be capable of hurting him. This is a person who has eaten at my dinner table countless times, who has fallen asleep on my couch countless times, who has been in my car singing along to stupid songs with me countless times. This is someone I've told secrets to, confided in, shared personal thoughts with, made plans with, and someone who I had called my "little brother" on innumerable occasions. He was a best friend to me, my boyfriend, and others who knew him and knew what an amazing human being he was. How could he be dead?

Since Friday, I've felt like someone has been continually punching me in the stomach. I have felt complete sorrow, regret, nausea, remorse, searing pain, anger, outrage. I have felt unsafe in my own town, and in my own home. I have chastised myself and "what if"'d, and said "it could have been me. I have been at that house so many times." I have been overwhelmed by the incident itself--moved past disbelief, that "this can't be true," and moved into a possibly worse place, where I can't picture existing alongside his void.

However, something really amazing has come from this nightmare. I have learned that this person, who I valued so much, had so many other "families." And these families have become my family now. Friends I already had have gotten closer than ever, and people I never met before in my life have become so close to me that I can't even imagine that just a week ago, I didn't know them at all.

So for now, this project will document the way we cope. It will document the aftermath of terrible loss, and the healing power of support, and the process of finding out exactly what one person can mean to another person. But I also want to deal with the hard parts of it too--the feeling that something is constantly missing, and that nothing can really make that feeling go away.

This is the only photo I took this week that was in any way relevant to this project. I'm just now beginning to feel okay with the idea of documenting something so personal to me.

Word cloud.

Dawoud Bey "Advice To Young Artists"

While reading Dawoud Bey's "Advice To Young Artists," the most striking thing I discovered was how much the tips and information he gave could overlap with my own major. As a journalism major, I often feel a little lost in art classes, despite the fact that I'm really interested. But seeing this article makes me feel as though we're all really heading in the same direction, despite the fact that the work I do will be in a different field than the work most of my classmates do. His advice is extremely valuable and has many different applications, even outside the art world. Knowing what I know about Dawoud Bey, it seem as though he himself applies a lot of "journalism" related skills to his work, as many artists do. He interviews subjects, observes, collects data, and when capturing their essence, he does so with the utmost respect. These are all values that journalists should strive for as well--accurate portrayals of subjects, and respect where respect is due.