Last weekend, I had the honor of being the featured storyteller at a gathering of Appalachian faith leaders, community workers, and change-makers in Pittsburgh. Hosted by the Catholic Committee of Appalachia, the event honored the 50th anniversary of the publishing of This Land is Home to Me by Appalachian Catholic bishops and facilitated conversations about the future of Appalachia and its people.
While I’m not Catholic, I’ve long admired the letter This Land is Home to Me. It was put into the world the same week as I was in February 1975 and addressed not only the struggle and poverty in Appalachia at the time, but what the root causes were (and are). If you’re unfamiliar with it, I highly recommend giving it a read.
I’ve spoken about and presented my work for years; from large auditoriums to the back room of the Shoney’s in Grayson, Kentucky. But, no matter how many times I’ve done it, I doubt myself and my ability to deliver a compelling presentation. This is probably not the recommended way to market one’s public speaking skills, but it’s the truth. I’d like to believe it’s part humility and nervousness, but it runs deeper than that. Believe me when I tell you imposter syndrome is a real.
Here’s the thing: the talk went really well. As soon as I started sharing about photography and where I’m from and why I do what I do, it felt natural. It felt like telling a story to a large group of friends. And that’s really what it was. It was a group of people who have seen many of the places reflected in my photographs, who have sat with people in hospitals or courtrooms in their worst moments, and who are committed to making Appalachia better as a whole.
Probably two dozen people approached me during breaks to tell me how much they appreciated not only my work, but my ability to convey the why of what I do. An older lady stopped me and asked if I was familiar with Wendell Berry, to which I replied, “Yes ma’am. I keep two of his books - The World Ending Fire and Home Economics - on my desk.” She smiled and said, “I think you do with pictures what Wendell Berry does with words.” When I tell you tears streamed down my face, I mean it. I can’t think of a greater compliment.
I’m sharing this with you because I think it’s easy to not be genuine online. Most of us who use social media (and are used by social media), tend only to share the highlights, the glossy, smiling moments, funny videos, and memes. And while I by no means suggest we all should use social media like a private diary shared publicly, I think it’s important to acknowledge how disingenuous and consumptive social media really is. I write this weekly newsletter for a number of reasons. One, it keeps me accountable to myself to do something fun and creative on a regular basis in a way that also keeps me accountable to others. It also provides a space for me to share things in a way that feels different than Facebook, Instagram, and all the other platforms vying for our attention.
I reckon most of what I’m talking about is vulnerability. The vulnerability of sharing my work in a crowded conference center room. The vulnerability of believing I have something to say and show that matters. The vulnerability of creating and putting those things out into the world whether it’s in print or online. The vulnerability of doing something you believe in before (and after) anyone was paying attention.
“No art ever came out of not risking your neck.” - Eudora Welty
One of the joys of making pictures is also getting to print them. For more than a decade, I’ve been using an Epson 3880 which was first released in late 2009. Sadly, it’s reached the end of its usefulness and I can no longer rely on it for the sharpness and quality I’ve relied on for so long.
I print all my own exhibit prints as well as all the prints I sell individually, so it’s a critical part of my workflow. I’ve always appreciated those who have invested in my artistic practice.
I’d like to upgrade to the Epson P900, which with a full set of inks, runs about $1,600. As someone who’s recently been laid off and actively looking for work, this is a bit of an investment. I’ll launch a print sale in the near future to offset the cost.
As always, thanks for reading, liking, commenting on, and sharing this newsletter. While it’s free to subscribe, know that I appreciate your support and investment in my time and the bandwidth it takes to write and edit this each week.
Now, go be vulnerable in the world and be open to all its possibilities.
- Roger
Yes…go be vulnerable (and print your work!)
A delight to read and think about. I think the best art begins with vulnerability, that bridge between the artist and the audience. Everything else follows from that honesty.
Thanks for a morning meditation on this hillside in the WILDS of Pennsylvania.