There are so many fires to put out, day after day, that is is hard to find time to do anything else. Call that rep, sign that petition, organize that meeting, work on that project, I forgot the milk, that’s what I went to the store for, manage freelance work, did I forget that appointment?, write letters to city officials because this is urgent, lives are at stake!, work, work, work to grow that business, feed the hens, sit down to eat, out out that next fire, breathe, enjoy the moment, love.
The boys are fine, they are getting a crash course in civics, like me, and activism, like me, last weekend we went to see the Met’s La Traviata at the movie theater and we had to leave early because people would be arriving soon for the meeting, and I had to get the house ready for twenty-five people to find space to sit in my living room, and I didn’t, they sat on the floor and stood in the back, and we had champagne because stepping up the fight doesn’t have to be boring, and the boys were happy anyhow, La Traviata was getting old by the last act for a nine-year-old, Minecraft awaited, and we were tired of popcorn.
Twenty years ago I photographed African seeking asylum in France and refuge in a Catholic church in Paris. The times haven’t changed much. Bearing witness through photography is as essential as ever, maybe more, because this time around the very notion of truth is on the line.
Photography is my truth, and my weapon of choice.
Bring it on.
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