TK-21

Faces of Homelessness II

Jeffrey Wolin — 2021-03-27T18:00:00Z

Homelessness is a worldwide problem. Living in downtown Chicago, I am confronted with it every day as I go about my daily life. I see so many different faces, each with a unique and compelling story about how they wound up on the streets requesting money from strangers. Our society is moving in the direction of shredding the social safety net, which will make the lives of our most vulnerable fellow-citizens that much harder.

Cecilia Cecilia Magaña Flores

Cecilia Magaña Flores, born 5/3/1994, Chicago, IL

I am a single mom of 2 boys. My oldest, his name is Juan ; he is 4 years old and autistic, but not severe. My other son's name is Francisco and he is 2. They are my world. I was living in a domestic violence relationship. I was unhappy for 5 or 6 years. I thank God for my kids and for opening my eyes to help me leave that life. Nothing is easy. I became homeless January 2, 2020. Me and my 2 kids sleep in the living room at my mom's house ; we don't have anywhere else to go. My dad gave me an air mattress. Every night I have to pump it up ; I have to put the covers and sheets on, give the kids pillows. Every morning I have to take the air out, fold it back up.My goal now is to go back to work and back to school to study child development. I want to work at day care, save money and get an apartment of my own. It's been 2 months since I left my husband and moved to my parents' house. Set new goals for your life, especially if you have kids, to show yourself and your kids that Mommy is able to do it.

Louis Rose Andy Villagomez

Louis “Rose” Andy Villagomez, born 2/17/98

I was a troublemaker. I was a gangbanger, doing drugs, hanging with the wrong crowd. I hid it from my parents but my mom caught on. The night I left we had an argument. “What if you get us killed ?” I didn't want to cause any more damage to my family. I love my mom and dad. Everyone got along but me. I was gonna commit suicide. I was hanging myself from a bedpost when my younger brother, Danny, came in, stopped me and hugged me. He said, “Don't go !” I cried with him ; took him back to his room. I packed up my stuff in the middle of the night. From that time I was homeless. I was 9. I chose to be a real gangbanger and street person. At the age of 18, I had a kid. I got out of the gang the next year. I told them, “I'm a family man. I'm done with gangbanging.” They whipped my ass. Pistol whipped me, broke my nose, left me with scars. Most people think homeless live on the streets and are dirty. It doesn't last forever unless you want it to. It's beauty and struggle. It's human. I want to become an advocate for the homeless.

Nikolas Taylor Wilkens Hays

Nikolas Taylor Wilkens-Hays, born 2/18/2001, Evanston, IL

My brother, who is 2 years younger and I were adopted. My biological parents : my mother was a junkie and my dad was a Class X felon, in and out of prison. Someone called the police and when they came there was fecal matter everywhere. I was strapped down. We were taken to a hospital, then to our foster parents. I couldn't walk or talk. We were supposed to stay 2 weeks, then 2 months, then 2 years. I was fully adopted at age 9. I was diagnosed as on the spectrum ; had to get a hearing aid.

Until the age of 14, everything was fun. Then my mom lost her job at IBM and was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went to a Catholic High School. I was closeted. I wanted to come out as trans but knew there were risks. There was a uniform code. I was bullied. I switched to a public high school. My senior year I enrolled at CPS Advanced Arts program in Music, Theatre and Dance. I had a wonderful music teacher.

I left home at 15 and was brought in to Mercy Home for Boys & Girls. They had a rigid structure which has helped me. I take my academics more seriously. Kate, my advocate, always cheered me up. Could turn my frown upside down. I had bad self-worth. I was overweight ; didn't want to change as a person ; kept to myself ; didn't trust anyone.

On May 19, 2018, I began my hormone treatment to transition from female to male and moved out of the group home. I came out in 2017 and everyone was supportive but wouldn't allow me to get a legal name change or move to a boys' home.

I want to be a classical pop musician and be on Broadway. I enrolled in voice classes to develop my vocal range. I'm currently in Triton College as a freshman studying Arts & Music. My goal is to get a Bachelor's in Musical Theatre and minor in Voice.

I'm currently living at El Rascate, a transitional living shelter in the Puerto Rican Cultural Center. The residents range from 18-24 ; I'm the baby. Since moving there, I got to connect with really good case managers who helped with my legal name change and gender transition.

Ronald Matthews

Ronald E Matthews, born 11/06/1954, South side Chicago
I was an operator at ADT Security for 17 years ; custodian at Elmhurst College and Roosevelt University and custodian at North Park University for 10 years, where I earned my Bachelor's and Master's degrees and became an Academic Advisor. Eventually I moved to Loyola University, but on December 15, 2014, after 8 years as an advisor at Loyola, a new Dean came in and wanted to go in a new direction. I was a little resistant and lost my job. My condo in Forest Park went into foreclosure ; they gave me a month to get out. I became homeless in August 2015, due to job loss and mismanagement of funds. For a couple years I lived doubled up with my 80-year old sister in Fox Lake until it became necessary to move on. I spent 331 days at Pacific Garden Mission. Many of the homeless folks there had mental issues ; I had no experience with any of that. I had never slept on an army cot before ; never showered with men before ; had to eat what they served. When the pandemic hit, they got me out of Pacific Garden Mission and took me to Hotel166, an upscale hotel where the city rented rooms to isolate those of us at high risk. I was confined to my room. Lawndale Health Center tested me a couple days later and said I had the virus. My oxygen level was low ; I lost my taste and smell. And then one day I said, “I can smell food !” My temperature, oxygen level and breathing were fine so they sent me back to PGM and quarantined me for 15 days and a month later I got this apartment. COVID-19 has changed everything and I am learning to live with the new norm. Mostly I have to remember to wear a mask and practice social distancing. Being homeless is an ugly, sad and frightening experience. I know most of us never imagined that it could happen to us but in these perilous times, it could.

***

As a photographer, much of my work deals with individuals who have experienced trauma in their lives. I have engaged in long-term portrait series of Holocaust survivors (Written in Memory : Portraits of the Holocaust, Chronicle Books ) ; American and Vietnamese War Veterans (Inconvenient Stories, Umbrage Editions) ; and more recently, Pigeon Hill : Then & Now (Kehrer Verlag), which pairs portraits I made of people residing in Bloomington's Section 8 housing projects between 1987-1991 with portraits of the same folks made between 2011-2016. In all three series I interview the individuals and include their own words with the portraits. This strategy allows audiences to directly connect faces with stories.

I could just wander around the streets and photograph, but given the sensitive nature of this subject, I've decided to work with non-profit organizations that deal with homelessness every day. I partnered with the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless, which helped me identify individuals to photograph and interview. This helps with the issue of informed consent, which is an essential component in all my work. I strive to establish a relationship of trust with the people I photograph and to portray them with dignity. I've learned from CCH and other organizations that homelessness takes many more forms than just living on the streets and that myriad other factors besides mental illness and drug/alcohol addiction are causes for this problem.

In fact, most homeless are invisible. People live doubled up with friends or family (it is estimated that 18,000 kids in Chicago Public Schools are homeless) ; in short or long-term shelters ; in hospitals or SRO's (Single Room Occupancy hotels). There are homeless veterans ; individuals and families who were evicted when their residences were foreclosed on ; people who had sudden and serious medical expenses that insurance didn't cover, wiping out their life savings. Job loss, divorce, death of a parent or spouse, domestic violence, lack of affordable housing, coming out as LGBTQ, leaving the foster care system, all drive homelessness. There are working poor who live in tents or their vehicles because housing near their workplace is unaffordable. I've covered as wide a range of individuals as possible in order to tell an accurate story about this world-wide crisis.

I expanded my series to include homelessness in Los Angeles as representative of some of the unique issues facing the homeless on the west coast. I've been working with Safe Place for Youth and Venice Community Housing to help me identify individuals.

As I began to wind down my work, the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Needless to say, it had a particularly large negative impact on this rather vulnerable population. Accordingly, I added portraits and stories of several homeless individuals who came down with the virus and lived to tell the tale.

My hope is that my photo/text images can contribute to the public conversation about the causes and possible solutions to some of the difficult issues surrounding homelessness and to gain more understanding of this large but rather vulnerable community.

Visages de sans-abris

Jeffrey Wolin — 2020-02-02T22:49:24Z

La plupart de mon travail, en tant que photographe, est lié à des individus qui ont souffert de traumatismes dans leur vie.

J'ai entrepris de réaliser une serie de portraits sur le long terme de survivants de la Shoah (Written in Memory : Portraits of the Holocaust) ; d'anciens combattants américains et vietnamiens (Inconvenient Stories & From All Sides) : et plus récemment, Pigeon Hill : Then and Now, qui met en relation des portraits que j'ai fait de gens habitant dans une cité de Bloomington entre 1987 et 1991 avec des portraits des mêmes personnes réalisés entre 2011 et 2016. Pour chacune des trois séries, j'interviewe les individus et je joins aux portraits leurs propres mots. Cette stratégie permet au public de relier directement un visage et son histoire.

Le problème des sans-abris est mondial. J'habite dans le centre de Chicago et j'y suis confronté tous les jours en vacant à mes occupations quotidiennes. Je vois tant de visages différents qui racontent chacun de façon unique et irréfutable comment ils se sont retrouvés dans la rue à demander de l'argent à des inconnus. Notre société se dirige dans une direction qui voit le filet de sécurité social se déliter, ce qui rendra la vie des plus vulnérables de nos concitoyens d'autant plus difficile.

Je sais que je pourrais juste me promener dans les rues et prendre des photos, mais étant donné la nature sensible du sujet, j'ai décidé qu'il valait mieux travailler avec des associations qui s'occupent des sans-abris au quotidien. C'est dans ce but que je travaille avec le Chicago Coalition for the Homeless, ce qui m'a aidé à identifier les individus à photographier et interviewer. J'ai appris du CCH et d'autres associations qu'il y a beaucoup d'autres façons d'être sans-abri que le simple fait de vivre dans la rue et qu'il y a bien des causes à ce problème en dehors de la maladie mentale ou d'une addiction à l'alcool ou à la drogue.

Les sans-abris ont des amis ou de la famille (on estime que plus ou moins 18000 enfants des écoles publiques de Chicago sont sans abri : ils vivent dans des centres d'hébergement à court ou long terme ; dans des hôpitaux ou des hôtels dédiés. Ils y a d'anciens combattants à la rue ; des individus ou des familles expulsés lorsque leur lieu de résidence s'est trouvé être saisi : des gens qui ont dû faire face à des dépenses de santé importantes que leur assurance ne couvrait pas, engloutissant les économies d'une vie. La perte d'emploi, le divorce, le décès d'un conjoint, la violence domestique, le manque de logements abordables, tout ceci conduit à la rue. Il y a des travailleurs pauvres qui vivent dans des tentes ou dans leur véhicule parce que les logements qui sont près de leur lieu de travail sont inabordables. Il est essentiel pour moi de couvrir une gamme d'individus aussi large que possible afin de raconter une histoire plus précise.

Dans cette perspective, j'ai commencé à étendre mon travail pour y inclure les sans-abris de Los Angeles en tant que représentants des problèmes spécifiques des sans-abris de la côte ouest. C'est dans ce but que je travaille avec Safe Place for Youth et Venice Community Housing, ce qui m'aide à identifier les individus. J'ai aussi commencé à explorer la question des sans-abris ruraux, ce qui présente encore un problème différent de ce que l'on voit dans les grands centres urbains.

Mon espoir est que mes images, faites de photos et de textes, puissent contribuer au débat public sur les causes et les solutions possibles à apporter à certains problèmes épineux qui entourent les sans-abris et que de par mon travail, j'atteigne une meilleure compréhension de cette vaste communauté plutôt vulnérable.

Traduction : Christine Lenormand

* * *

Andon Kostov at the Boulevard homeless shelter for medical recovery

I escaped from Bulgaria on Friday 13, 1985 (?).I was a political refugee. When I escaped, the communists were still in power. People disappeared. I was afraid I would disappear too, so I run. A cousin of mine moved from Bulgaria to Chicago. They found me and I came to Chicago.

I got a job in construction. I had a problem with my lungs and started slowing down. I have COPD, arthritis and back pain. I didn't have the means to see a doctor. I came home one day after work and found all my possessions in the alley—I had fallen behind on my rent. I became homeless.

* * *

April Harris

Our neighbors were selling drugs. I reported them but instead of the housing authority kicking them out, they told the neighbors I reported them and I started getting death threats. I wasn't safe ; they attacked my husband, harassed our kids. We went to a shelter and decided to relocate to Chicago.

* * *

Charlene Daniels, 2/17/75

I became homeless about 5 years ago. I'm a hillbilly. I lived in a small town in Tennessee where everyone was kin to me. My mom never did like me. I wanted to come to Venice because I knew my family wouldn't come here. You have to watch it—the gangs and stuff. I'm here with my husband. I've had my dog, Sadie Mae, for a year. Got her for my birthday.

I live in a tent behind Gold's Gym. This is the only place that can fit all my art stuff and clothes. I like decorating and drawing. What the cops don't take I manage to keep. I'm waiting for my Section 8 voucher. I want to get off the streets like everyone else. The shelters split couples up. No pets.

We stay at the Lincoln Inn for almost a week after I get my Social Security check. The rest goes to food. We try to keep an eye on everyone. Help them out with food. Everyone comes to me. We give them snacks, money if they need it. When me and Laz have no money I'll panhandle. I tell people exactly what I'll use it for—I won't lie.

It's not fun to have people look at you like they do. One time I was just walking when a man called me “garbage.” I was really depressed.

It's dangerous on the streets It'll drain everything inside of you.

* * *

C., born 7/13/1983(?), NY

I had a job soldering pinball machines. I was a vocalist in New York. I sang in church choir and passed my first audition. I didn't study music ; you don't always have to. I liked school and books and studying. I miss the music and nightlife. I became homeless months ago. I live outside. It's harsh but peaceful. Our current political climate makes homelessness harder and harder for people to understand and sympathize with. It's easier to castigate and find disdain. Living outside in nature is harsh but nature's forces will not judge you.

* * *

David Ernest Busch, b. 1955, Homeless Activist in Venice Beach

After working as an auto and bus mechanic for 20 years, 10 as a union mechanic, I returned to writing. I worked in the family business until it failed in 1992. I was 37. I started living in my car. 80% of my meals the past 20 years have come from dumpsters in part because I refuse to take money from the government because conservatives are always accusing poor people of taking handouts. So I only eat food that society throws away. I also organize 4 different “Food Not Bombs” collectives. They are a global anarchist movement. When I was a working class bus mechanic and a typical American consumer, I would go to a market and buy foods advertisers wanted us to eat and my health was not good. I wasn't eating nutritious food and my budget didn't allow me to buy more nutritious organic foods wealthy people could afford. But as a homeless person, I discovered eating from dumpsters of wealthy people's markets like Whole Foods was healthier than the food marketed to the average American.

* * *

Janine Perez, born 9/21/1971, Harwood Heights, Illinois

I first became homeless when my mother died ; then my dog died. My stepdad is an alcoholic ; he's evil. I'm a Certified Nurse's Assistant. I told him to bring my mom to the nursing home where I worked, but he wouldn't. She had diabetes, always helped me with money. When she died I couldn't go back to her house, which was my grandparent's home. I left my boyfriend—he cheated on me. I got a new job as Certified Nurse's Assistant at Harmony Healthcare at Pulaski and Foster. The residents are elderly.

I met my fiancé last January. He knew people here in the tent city. We got here in the spring. We were living in my truck near my job in Niles. During the polar vortex we had to run the engine to keep warm until it ran out of gas. We had a lot of blankets ; had to cuddle up together. It was brutal. I'm not going to stay out here next winter. My plan is to rent an apartment and get out of tent city. I want to come home to a nice warm place.

* * *

Maxica Williams Stage 3 Cancer Survivor

Three years ago I had a double mastectomy and 16 nodes removed from my left arm. I had 6 months of chemotherapy. I was in the process of buying a house but had to use the money for my chemo. During that time I cared for my kids, took them to school each day.

I'll graduate in May 2019 with a degree in Business Administration and then go on for my Masters. I want to work with homeless and cancer survivors to help them deal with their problems and to pay back what people did for me.

* * *

Melodi Serna, born 10/10/1977, Chicago

I was a Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class in the U.S. Navy. I was a 5th generation veteran. My great-great-grandfather served in “Big Red One” in WWI. He was from Belleport, ND, Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Tribe. He wasn't considered a citizen. Citizenship wasn't granted to Native Americans until 1924. My great aunt was a WAC in WWII. My great uncle served in Vietnam. I served at the tail end of Desert Storm/Desert Shield. I served in a conflict zone in Haiti in 1998. I was sexually assaulted by another corpsman at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego after being roofied. I was taken back to my room. The rape kit is pretty invasive. Everyone on the base started pointing at me—“She's a liar ! She deserved it !” I convinced them to transfer me to another base. There was an altercation at a bar and I was wrongfully charged. I was convicted and received an “other than honorable” discharge. The Innocence Project intervened and I got out in 1½ years. I got pregnant with my first son right after I got home. I stayed in San Diego 6 years after that. My husband was an abusive drunk ; tried to kill me. I moved back to Chicago in 2006. I got into another abusive relationship. Since 2008 we've had small bouts of homelessness. I wound up staying with my abusive boyfriend. When we were homeless we stayed doubled up with friends and family. When I couldn't stay with friends I'd call my ex and ask for help with rent, food, rides. I know I shouldn't have called him—he beat me, stalked me ; tried to kill me. I had no choice. My kids have special needs and need therapy. I finally got into the VA system last year. We got a place through Volunteers of America. I go to job fairs looking for work in management. I ran a salon. I'm also a licensed phlebotomist. I do volunteer work at my kids' schools. I volunteer for Homeless Veterans in America Foundation. I can work from home. I don't need a dollar, I need a job.

* * *

Robert Henderson at a Chicago Housing Authority Senior Residence

After prison I dealt crack cocaine for 5 years. I got hooked—thought I could break away from it, but I couldn't. It was just a matter of time before I lost everything. I'd ride the train all night, or stay at O'Hare Airport or in parks, depending on the weather. I didn't like the shelters.

I was a bodyguard for a street chief. He thought I was cheating him on the dope money and shot me in the head but I survived. That's when I started to turn my life around. You ain't gonna beat them streets—sooner or later they're gonna catch up with you.

I still had an addiction issue at first but nine years ago I checked myself into a treatment center at Salvation Army. I've been clean for 9 years.

* * *

Thomas Gordon, Mayor of Uptown Tent City

First time I was homeless I was 14 years old. I was kicked out of the house. There were 7 of us kids—I was the oldest. My dad died when I was 6, my mom when I was 12.

I'd heard about Uptown Tent City and I wanted to totally get involved ; got a propane stove and tank and I started cooking for the community. Set up a storage tent to keep things for survival purposes. There were about 25 of us under Lawrence viaduct and about 20 under Wilson.

I got elected mayor of Tent City. I'm homeless but I'm happy. I'm doing what I enjoy doing : helping people.

* * *

Vincent DiGaetano, born 2/6/1969, Brooklyn, NY

I left New York when 9/11 happened. I wanted to see America. Went from NY to Vegas, started painting on the walls there with Magic Markers. A friend suggested I come to Venice Beach. I've drawn my whole life. Got into tattoos. Started to paint here in Venice. An oil painter on the boardwalk taught me painting techniques. I learned different techniques from different artists who shared brush strokes. I've slept everywhere from alleys to parking garages to sidewalks. I've stayed on friends' sofas. The community takes care of me. They look at me as a resident who lives outside. Homeless has become a dirty word. It should be a hate crime to use that word. I don't like the stereotype ; we're not all the same. I'm not a shitty homeless person. I'm an artist. I've earned that right. I have my art supplies and my bass guitar and that's it. I don't have piles of stuff. I'm not a hoarder. My work is fun. I like a certain depth of texture. I get canvasses donated and I just paint over them. I paint a lot of clowns. They scare the shit out of kids. Scared me when I was a kid. I sold a big painting the other day and a leather trench coat that I painted a mural of clowns on. If I had my own place I'd fill every square inch with murals because that's what my life is : one big painting.

Frontispice : Ali Al-Hassan 10/18/1984

I been trying to figure out myself. I researched best places to be homeless. I said, “I'll go to Venice.” I was contemplating living in an RV. On October 6, 2017, my cousin died—he was 18 years old, a swimmer. He died in practice.*

After his death I came here to figure out who I wanna be while doing what I love, which is working with my physical intelligence or gift and try to cultivate my emotional intelligence. I'm trying as hard as I can to be a better human being.

*I had my own business in Pittsburgh—prepackaged healthy foods. I booked a one-way ticket to LAX. From the time I made the decision until the flight was 6 hours. Left my house, left my business. I wanted to find myself. I'm doing what I love—working out. Researching, reading. Marcus Aurelius' Meditations means a lot to me. He was emperor of Rome who let go of everything. The idea of stoicism. To live minimally.

I'm living in a van that I rent. When I came here I challenged myself to stop social media. It's over a year. I use the public library and read articles. I take challenges on food—I fast for 24-48 hours. Just coffee, water, cigarettes. I still have a house in Pennsylvania. I'm still in touch with my family. My brother is a PhD electrical engineer. My mom visited last year from Saudi Arabia. They came to Pennsylvania and she had a panic attack. They bought me a ticket. I went to Pennsylvania for 10 days. My mom didn't judge me and said, “I hope you find yourself.”

Don't judge people. You don't know their story. Everyone is on their own journey.

Jeffrey Wolin

Jeffrey Wolin — 2017-11-07T23:55:38Z

Vendredi 10 novembre 18h-22h
Atelier Boba a réalisé en collaboration avec Jeffrey Wolin des tirages uniques en Piezography (encres au charbon) à l'occasion de Paris Photo et de la sortie de son livre Pigeon Hill : Then & Now. Venez découvrir ces tirages et visiter notre studio en présence de l'artiste.

Pigeon Hill : Then & Now fait le portrait des résidents d'un lotissement de logements sociaux typiquement américain où la pauvreté, l'abus de drogues et le crime sont des réalités quotidiennes. Wolin y a photographié des centaines de personnes puis il est retourné sur les lieux 20 ans plus tard pour les rencontrer de nouveau. Il les a interrogés sur leur chemin de vie et a écrit leurs mots à même les tirages.

Adresse
Atelier Boba
189 rue d'Aubervilliers
CAP 18 - Porte 36 - Niveau 2
75018 Paris

Les Portraits de Pigeon Hill : Hier et Aujourd'hui

Jeffrey Wolin — 2013-09-28T03:00:00Z

De 1987 à 1991, j'ai photographié les résidents de la cité Bloomington, une région de la côte ouest connue sous le nom de "Pigeon Hill".

A l'époque, il y avait de grands débats chez les politiciens et au sein des médias au sujet des problèmes de l'Etat-providence avec le crime et l'abus de drogue (l'épidémie du crack était à son apogée) et la pauvreté persistante. Comme mon père avait grandi dans de vieux immeubles insalubres new-yorkais avec une mère célibataire et quatre frères, je ressentais une sorte de lien avec la question. J'ai fait presque 3 000 négatifs avec mon appareil photo moyen format sur presque cinq ans.
En 1991, je me suis tourné vers deux autres séries qui ont occupé la plus grande partie des quinze années suivantes de mon travail : "Written in Memory : Portraits of the Holocaust" ("Gravés dans la Mémoire : Portraits de l'Holocauste") et "From All Sides : Portraits of American and Vietnamese War Veterans" ("Des Deux Côtés : Portraits de Vétérans de Guerre Américains et Vietnamiens"). Je suis extrêmement intéressé par la mémoire et le traumatisme et une partie importante de mon travail utilise l'inclusion d'un texte dans l'image.

Angie w/ Cigarette, Pigeon Hill, 1990

“I always went barefoot in those days. I was 13 or 14. I was a troublemaker—on probation for skipping school. I'd stop at Tri-North Middle School, pick up money from kids who wanted cigarettes, take the bus to the mall and shoplift. I got pregnant at 15. I knew I wanted better. I looked for a boyfriend to get me off the Hill.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

A l'automne 2010, une femme a été assassinée à Bloomington et sa photo a fait la première page du journal. Je l'ai reconnue pour l'avoir choisie comme sujet de plusieurs de mes portraits d'il y a bien des années et j'ai essayé d'en savoir plus sur sa vie en faisant parler ses proches. J'ai alors compris que je voulais retrouver les résidents de la cité que j'avais photographiés plus tôt et les re-photographier et en apprendre plus sur la façon dont se passait leur vie, une génération entière plus tard.

Angie at Lenzy Hayes Trailer Park, Ellettsville, 2011

“In 2000, I got the Holy Ghost. I had been looking at different Pentecostal churches where they talk in tongues. Then I did some time in jail. I'm on home detention now. I started up again at the church. I haven't cut my hair in 17 years. It was easier being a bad teenager. I see myself as happier now.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Au début, il s'avéra difficile de retrouver ceux qui avaient posé. Pour favoriser cette démarche et remercier les gens de la communauté de m'avoir permis d'entrer dans leurs vies vingt ans plus tôt, j'ai donné un cours de photographie aux enfants dans le local le "Boys and Girls Club". Après le cours, j'ai parcouru le quartier avec une boîte de portraits datant de vingt ans plus tôt, demandant à tous ceux que je rencontrais s'il pouvait identifier l'un des visages. Finalement, j'ai retrouvé une des personnes que j'avais photographiées il y a des années - c'était étrange et excitant de se retrouver enfin face à face avec quelqu'un que j'avais photographié de nombreuses fois dans un passé lointain et de voir comment avait changé son visage d'adolescente devenue femme au cours du temps.

Danny w/ Tina & Willard, Pigeon Hill, 1988

“Those were good times back then. I had a great dog, Willard, my girlfriend, Tina, and a car.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Elle m'a aidé à en trouver d'autres qui m'ont à leur tour mis de nouveau en contact avec d'autres que j'avais photographiés dans le passé. J'ai re-photographié environ soixante-quinze individus jusqu'ici. Certains résident toujours à Pigeon Hill tandis que d'autres ont déménagé vers des appartements non loin de là ou des terrains pour mobile-homes. Malheureusement, certains sont décédés ou en prison ou sont partis loin et ne peuvent pas être localisés.

Danny at 7-Eleven, Pigeon Hill, 2012

“You can find me up here at the 7-Eleven visiting friends on the Hill. I get meals at Shalom Center. Sometimes I sleep in a ditch at Twin Lakes Rec Center.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

La condition économique de beaucoup de ces individus reste pauvre tandis que d'autres vivent maintenant dans la stabilité d'une vie de classe moyenne. Un nombre non négligeable de ces résidents est piégé au sein du système judiciaire criminel, souvent pour des crimes sans violence tels que le non-paiement de pensions alimentaires ou l'usage de drogues - l'Amérique détient le plus grand taux d'incarcération du monde. Bien que ces problèmes soient abordés dans ces séries, mon intérêt porte principalement sur les visages eux-mêmes, particulièrement lorsqu'ils sont juxtaposés aux anciens portraits. On peut voir les effets du passage du temps et les manières dont les expériences vécues (bonnes ou mauvaises) sont gravées sur ces visages découverts et expressifs.

Revenants

Jean-Louis Poitevin et Jeffrey Wolin — 2013-09-28T02:30:00Z

Wendi on Illinois Circle, Pigeon Hill, 1990

“I was only four when I saw my first stabbing—a drug deal gone bad. I knew I had to be tough just to survive on Pigeon Hill. My mom was a nurse but she got into drugs and left when I was nine. Odds were I'd have a kid by the time I was fifteen, like many of my friends. But I didn't want that—I wanted to get off the Hill.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Wendi at Lyons Raceway, 2013

“I live out in the country with my husband, Luke, and sometimes my daughter. She has a more protected childhood than I did. I'm employed as a Water Quality Engineer at the Indiana American Water Plant in Terre Haute—it's a 54.4 mile commute from home to work each way. I've taken up drag racing on the weekends in a 1973 Plymouth Scamp that Luke modified for me.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

L'œuvre de Jeffrey Wolin, essentiellement un travail de portraits dans lesquels les mots, souvent écrits à la main sur l'image jouent le rôle d'un détonateur dont l'image est la grenade, cette œuvre est habitée par la mémoire. On devrait dire plutôt qu'elle est hantée par les survivants. Les images de Jeffrey Wolin sont des portraits et ceux qui acceptent de poser pour lui sont vivants, mais tous reviennent de « loin ».
La raison pour laquelle il est allé vers ces hommes et ces femmes tient en ceci qu'ils sont porteurs de morceaux de mémoire que l'on n'évoque guère dans les journaux ou dans les livres, la mémoire des événements vécus par des individus singuliers.
Car il y a un écart qui souvent vire à l'écartèlement, entre la réalité vue par les médias ou accréditée par l'histoire et l'inscription des faits dans la chair et les corps. Cette mémoire-là ne se décrypte qu'au prix de la reconnaissance de son caractère fondamentalement insaisissable. Plus exactement, elle n'est appréhendable qu'à prendre en compte, en plus de l'aveu aveuglé d'évidence de l'image, ces gravats de la douleur que recrache la bouche des hommes sous forme de mots.

Darlene, Buck + Zeke, Spring Street, 2012

“Buck and I have been together for 21 years—we don't even argue any more. We got Buck's daughter, Lacey, out of Owen County Jail when she was 4 months pregnant with Zeke and put her up until she could get back on her feet. When Zeke was 6 days old, Lacey went drinking with her friends and didn't return. Buck and I love raising Zeke and wouldn't change a thing.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Darlene + Larry, Pigeon Hill, 1988

“When I learned Larry had molested my daughters, Vicki and Trish, I checked the .357 in my boot. I drove 100 mph from Martinsville where I worked to Bloomington Hospital where they took Trish. Then I drove to the gas station where Larry worked but the sheriff was already there and he was arrested. Judge Dixon gave Larry 5 years but he got out in 2 ½.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Voix

Chacune des personnes photographiées par Jeffrey Wolin a directement vécu un drame. Chaque série de portraits est une approche à partir du paradigme de la mémoire individuelle d'un de ces drames qui ont déchiré l'histoire. Plonger à travers les mémoires individuelles, c'est faire remonter à la surface, celle de l'image qui est aussi celle de l'oubli, des souvenirs qui travaillent encore et toujours la chair de chacun des protagonistes, malgré les années. C'est tenter de faire advenir des éléments qui pourraient ressembler à des touches de couleur chair et sang sur un tableau abstrait ou sur des scènes d'une BD en noir et blanc.
Beaucoup de ceux qu'il photographie reviennent de loin. Ils ont vécu les camps ou la guerre du Vietnam et y ont survécu, non sans avoir passé les années qui suivirent la fin du drame proprement dit dans la spirale destructrice d'un impitoyable destin.
D'une certaine manière la photographie leur offre un corps, une surface, un support magique à partir duquel leur voix peut se faire entendre. Elle se fait entendre par le truchement des mots qu'ils ont prononcés et qui se retrouvent écrits le plus souvent à la main sur l'image sur laquelle ils apparaissent.
Ces revenants sont donc des fantômes ou des spectres capables de se faire entendre. La photographie, à travers des apparences réalistes et documentaires, est cependant reconduite à l'une de ses fonctions majeures, l'évocation des esprits. Car au-delà du témoignage de ces personnes vivantes, c'est précisément le fait qu'ils sont devenus à eux-mêmes des fantômes qui importe. Et au-delà de leur statut de spectre, ce sont les morts qu'ils ont connus et qu'ils ont laissés dans les camps ou sur les champs de bataille qui trouvent ici, à travers les souvenirs d'un être singulier, une justification posthume.

Jeff in Lawrence Hollow, 2012

“I work for a moving and storage company. I'm stressed to the max. I should have stayed in school. My house is falling apart. I live in the country now. I didn't want to leave the Hill at first but it's peaceful out here. I have a garden out back. We're renting to own. In about a year this land will be ours.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Jeff w/ “Dangerous Toys” Tattoo, Pigeon Hill, 1990

“My tattoo was from an album cover by a heavy metal band called, ‘Dangerous Toys.' We didn't go to school much. I was just surviving—not thinking about my future. I was just an empty shell. We moved around a lot. I didn't stay in any one school very long but we always came back to the Hill.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Doubles

Magie et justification, telles sont deux des grandes fonctions de la photographie. Jeffrey Wolin y a recours en vue de conférer à un certain type de mémoire une reconnaissance qu'elle ne trouve guère ailleurs. Son point de vue est agnostique, mais l'existence croisée et complémentaire des deux médiums principaux que sont pour les hommes la parole et l'image, permet, au-delà des croyances personnelles, d'explorer ces productions mentales singulières que le paganisme, mais surtout le christianisme n'ont cessé de convoquer sous le masque de la promesse. La mémoire est coessentielle à l'image comme au texte.
C'est donc du côté de leur différence fonctionnelle qu'il faut chercher à comprendre le dispositif mis en place par Jeffrey Wolin qui trouve dans les photographies « doublées » qu'il vient de réaliser, à vingt ans d'intervalle, et qu'il montre pour la première fois, ici, à Lyon, un accomplissement évident.
Spectres et fantômes sont des doubles des êtres qu'ils représentent. L'image est un double de celui ou celle qu'elle donne à voir. Le texte, à fortiori lorsqu'il est inscrit à même la peau de l'image, constitue un double de ce que l'image rend visible. Et en même temps son envers ou son revers.
Dans la nouvelle série qu'il consacre aux habitants de Pigeon Hill, Jeffrey Wolin ne se contente pas de poursuivre un travail réalisé il y a une vingtaine d'années sur ceux qui vivent aux États-Unis en étant apparemment plongés de toute éternité dans le combat quotidien contre la violence de la pauvreté. Il lui confère une dimension nouvelle, celle d'une réflexion radicale sur ce que nous appelons le temps.
Il faut bien percevoir que c'est à partir de la pratique du « double » que ce renversement de notre point de vue sur le temps est rendu possible. Ce renversement implique une mise en perspective de cette structure bipolaire de l'image qu'il n'avait jusqu'alors mise en scène qu'en ayant recours à l'autre de l'image que sont les mots.

Justin Held by His Mother w/ Stormy, Pigeon Hill, 1988

“We moved around a lot when I was growing up. My mother, Rhonda, was a single mom raising two children. She was just 18 when I was born. My mom suffered from mental disability due to eating seizure medicine when she was a kid. She literally died twice and has had mental issues. I don't see much of my mom anymore.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Justin after his Fiancée Died, Pigeon Hill, 2011

“I own a demolition and salvage company. I do some tree work, some subcontracting. I've been unstable for the past two years since my fiancée, Chris, passed away. This photograph was taken a little after she died. I'm a loner like the wolf tattooed on my chest. I'm also a patriot, protecting me and my family.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Stupeur

Cette fois, c'est l'ensemble de son dispositif qui est à la fois dédoublé et redoublé. Ceux qui étaient des « spectres » en tant qu'image et des spectres pour la société américaine qui, comme les autres sociétés développées, ne veut pas voir ceux dont l'apparence et le mode de vie dérangent son bel ordonnancement imaginaire, ces gens-là en étant photographiés une seconde fois vingt ans après, se retrouvent confrontés avec un double d'eux-mêmes. C'est comme s'ils se voyaient ou étaient vus par nous dans un miroir, mais un miroir qui, aux qualités de réflexion iconique, ajouterait des qualités de réflexion temporelle. Ils sont devenus à eux-mêmes leur propre miroir.
Les photographies de Jeffrey Wolin ne sont plus à voir uniquement comme des images de personnes mais comme des images d'images, des images de spectres, des spectres de spectres, des fantômes au carré. Et les brefs textes qui les accompagnent, en donnant en quelque sorte des nouvelles sur ce qu'ils sont devenus ou ce qui leur est arrivé pendant ces vingt ans, ces textes nous plongent dans une stupeur irraisonnée.
Certes, il n'est pas besoin d'être un grand devin pour savoir que ces personnes n'avaient que peu de chance d'échapper au destin que promet toute société à ceux qui sont nés pauvres. De le vérifier en regardant en quelque sorte ces personnes-là, les yeux dans les yeux, leur confère un statut de preuve vivante de l'existence implacable d'un destin social à défaut d'être un destin de conte de fées.

Marvin Jr & Marvin Sr., Pigeon Hill, 1991/2013

“I remember my mom and dad told me stories about a guy who came around and took pictures of me and dad and made a big, giant picture. I remember seeing it until I was 12 or 13 and I remember my baby brother, Kyle, tearing it up. By then dad was with Darlene, the one he's with now. I don't really have a whole lot of memories from back then.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

“Marvin Jr. at Group Home, Bloomington, 2012

“I got myself in a little trouble when I was younger. I had two options : either a group home or juvenile detention and boot camp. I chose the group home. People with all kinds of issues, mental and criminal, live there. I'm into skulls. I've got one tattooed on my leg. My fiancée, Caitlyn's, name is tattooed on my back. We met through mutual friends and before long I proposed to her. Caitlyn is expecting. I'm looking for work—I had an interview last week with Walmart for the night shift.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Temps

Vingt ans, le temps de passer de l'état de bébé à celui de jeune homme fier de sa force ou de celui de femme jeune et séduisante à celui de femme sur le visage de laquelle on peut lire à ligne ouverte le destin écrit. Celui encore de passer de la liberté à la prison ou l'inverse d'ailleurs. Et pourtant, malgré ces événements marquants racontés avec la brièveté d'un aveu, face à ces images, il est impossible de ne pas éprouver que le temps d'une certaine manière est une donnée biaisée, voire fausse. En tout cas sans correspondance avec ce qui est réellement vécu.
À s'en tenir au propos sociologique des photographies de Jeffrey Wolin, on risque de conforter cette thèse selon laquelle le temps est mesurable et que ce temps mesurable constitue l'aune à laquelle finalement toute vie doit être évaluée.
L'illusion centrale est à l'évidence celle du temps comme continuum, comme succession, comme ensemble de points formant une ligne, ligne constituant un texte dans lequel il serait possible de lire le sens de la vie de chacun.
Et c'est paradoxalement cette illusion qui est comme remise en question de manière radicale par ces images.
Rien de plus évident que la reconnaissance par tous que le temps passe et que le fil du temps est ce qui relie les moments de la vie de la même personne. Mais le temps n'est pas une donnée uniforme et encore moins une mesure efficace dès lors que l'on se penche sur les aspects sociaux ou sur les aspects affectifs de l'existence. Norbert Elias, dans son livre Du temps, a montré que notre notion de temps n'était pas uniforme et qu'elle recouvrait un décalage entre temps physique et temps social.
« La construction des théories du temps a été ainsi presque exclusivement la tâche des théoriciens de la physique ou de philosophes se faisant leurs interprètes. Par contraste, le "temps social" est demeuré insignifiant en tant que thème de recherches théoriques ou, plus généralement, en tant qu'objet d'investigation scientifique. Et pourtant son importance dans la coexistence sociale des hommes n'a pas cessé de croître. On pourrait même dire que, par une sorte de renversement du cours effectif des événements, il est apparu comme un dérivé quelque peu arbitraire du "temps physique", lui-même bien plus solidement structuré. » (Norbert Elias, op. cit., p. 146)

Robert w/ Tracy, Pigeon Hill, 1989/2013

“Tracy was my best friend. When we first came home from school we'd just terrorize the Hill. We never did our homework—we'd go out and ride bikes and play football. We were always at each other's house at dinnertime. We were carefree. Life wasn't easy. My family was completely dysfunctional but I still love them.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Robert, N. Oolitic Drive, 2013

“It's been a long, tough road. I've been in and out of prison for 20 years—attempted murder, 60 batteries. When I was 15, I beat a man's head in. I was tried as an adult and given 40 years. I got out in 11 ½ because I got my GED and college degree. 3 weeks later I got in a fight at Legends Bar. A cop tried to arrest me and I hit him. I got 10 years and did 5. Then all the batteries. I've been out now for 7 weeks. I have no intention of getting in trouble ever again. I don't want them to take me from my kids again.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Discontinuité

Les photographies de Jeffrey Wolin constituent une plongée dans le temps social et une exploration des modalités de sa formation et de son existence propre.
À la différence du temps des horloges, qui égrènent une infinité d'instants à partir du présupposé qu'ils forment une ligne continue, le temps social est un temps formé d'éléments discontinus. La force de ces photographies faites à vingt ans d'intervalle, c'est de rendre perceptible cette discontinuité en donnant à voir une contiguïté d'instants ne présupposant rien au sujet de leur continuité supposée.
Il faudrait dire plutôt que ces images parviennent à nous faire mettre entre parenthèses notre croyance en cette continuité grâce à ce dispositif de la double image qui est à la fois d'une simplicité manifeste et d'une richesse signifiante extrême.
Chaque couple d'images nous met littéralement sous le nez comme ne relevant pas de la dictature du temps physique, ces autres aspects du temps que sont le temps vécu, le temps psychique, le temps des affects, le temps social.
En effet, chacune de ces images est un instant. Il ne s'agit pas ici de faire référence au temps physique et technique de la prise de vue, mais au fait que chaque image est accompagnée de la « voix » des protagonistes par le truchement du texte et que, redoublée, elle rend matériellement sensible la discontinuité des instants.
Le texte sert de révélateur à une vie individuelle, mais cette vie, quoique brutalement résumée en quelques phrases, ne devient histoire que parce que nous relions ensemble ces deux instants. C'est nous qui, supposant la continuité nécessaire, jetons entre ces deux phrases un pont que nous nommons l'histoire et prenons pour le temps.

“Junior”, Pigeon Hill, 1990

“I hate this photograph because it's just not me. I'm transgendered and I knew it from the time I was six. I was raped when I was fifteen while dressed as a girl. That's why I hate men.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Shannon after Gender Change, Pigeon Hill, 2012

“I see who I'm supposed to be. I see success now. I went from having nothing to having a home and a significant other who loves me. Being out of the closet, being in public as a female, I don't have suicidal tendencies any more. I've begun hormone therapy. February 10, 2010, was when I went to court and was granted a name and gender change. I ceased to be ‘Junior' and became ‘Shannon'.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Ce que nous voyons

Or ce que nous voyons, c'est en quelque sorte le contraire d'une histoire. Ce que nous regardons, ce sont précisément deux événements distincts et donc discontinus, deux instants disparates liés par la seule rigidité du lien social forgé par un « regard social ». Ce que nous voyons ce sont les traces du vécu inscrites à même la chair comme des marques au fer rouge sur la peau des réprouvés d'autrefois. Ce que nous voyons, c'est l'hésitation du destin alors même qu'il semble s'être soumis ces corps. Semblant insister pour que nous acceptions l'identité des protagonistes, ces images montrent que rien d'autre n'était possible que ce qui était déjà inscrit dans la chair des gens par le contexte social dans lequel s'enracinait leur existence. Le déploiement de la vie a suivi un chemin qui n'est pas porté par le temps, mais bien par son absence, en tout cas comme force de transformation. Ce que nous voyons, c'est le fantôme du soi à travers le fantôme de l'autre. Ce que nous voyons, c'est la non-vérité du temps comme vecteur d'orientation. Ce qui a lieu devant nous c'est une démonstration de l'existence d'une force d'inscription et d'écrasement qui existe en dehors des formes habituelles du temps. Ce que nous voyons, c'est l'écrasement du temps comme distance et l'apparition d'une dimension nouvelle de l'existence, une dimension strictement psychique indépendante des conditions réelles d'existence dans laquelle une vie se construit à mesure qu'elle se détruit. Ce que nous voyons, c'est quelque chose que nous savons depuis peu, que les rêves ne sont pas des « films » mais des successions d'images fixes et que c'est nous qui inventons, construisons, imposons une continuité en plongeant ces unités distinctes dans la soupe de grumeaux du temps rêvé. Ce que nous voyons c'est que cette continuité ne fait pas nécessairement sens, mais que sans elle nous sommes perdus. Ce que nous voyons, c'est la vie lorsqu'elle est appréhendée par un regard discontinu. Ce que nous voyons, c'est la tempête de l'éternité voler en éclats et s'abattre sur la terre comme une nuée de crickets. Ce que nous voyons, c'est l'impossibilité de décider si nous sommes morts ou vivants. Ce que nous voyons c'est que « Nous sommes de la même étoffe que les songes, et (que) notre vie infime est cernée de sommeil ». (W. Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 4, scene 1).

Timmy w/ Ferret, Pigeon Hill, 1991

“Around this time I was expelled from high school for fighting and smoking in the boys room. I wanted to race Sprint cars for World of Outlaws—my uncle had one and I got to work on it sometimes. But when he died I didn't want to race any more.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Timothy, Wabash Valley Correctional Facility, 2012

“I am serving a two and a half year sentence at Wabash Valley for non-support of a dependent. It's my third time for the same offense. I'm supposed to get out on work release in April.”

1970-01-01 01:00:00

Voir en ligne : http://www.jeffreywolin.com/

http://www.jeffreywolin.com/