Here's what I haven't been able to write about New Orleans. It broke my heart.
If you've been following my photo adventures at all you know I spend lots of time alone photographing abandoned places: children's amusement parks that closed down 20 years ago, Coney Island in winter, boarded up schools, and so on.
Well New Orleans is empty, but as I walked I couldn't erase the fact that it was emptied in such a violent way. The hurricane might not have had an agenda, but the fact that the poor, old, and vulnerable were left to fend for themselves speaks loud and clear.
Many homes are in exactly the same state as when people fled. TVs, computers, books, clothes and toys are still piled up on the sidewalk. Some blocks have a house or two under construction, but you can walk down some streets and not see another soul. At least three-quarters of the city has not come back.
I found it very hard to take photos, although I did talk to all kinds of folks.
Some people took the attitude of just getting on with it - using the time - and space - to make art, to find and reconnect with friends, to clean up and help out. Folks were moving back in with their parents (or their parents in with them), working to save their businesses, and celebrating the little miracles, like the puppy one man found on the side of the interstate. I even found some magic, literally, at the monthly magician's society meeting at Oswald's Speakeasy.
But other people were tired, deeply tired. I met James at the chapel at Our Lady of Guadelupe. He'd been back in New Orleans only 48 hours. The news wasn't good. He grabbed my hand, held it, and told me "I'm going back to Houston to die. Pray for me. Pray for me."
I think photojournalists have to have a thick skin and I just haven't grown mine yet.
If you've been following my photo adventures at all you know I spend lots of time alone photographing abandoned places: children's amusement parks that closed down 20 years ago, Coney Island in winter, boarded up schools, and so on.
Well New Orleans is empty, but as I walked I couldn't erase the fact that it was emptied in such a violent way. The hurricane might not have had an agenda, but the fact that the poor, old, and vulnerable were left to fend for themselves speaks loud and clear.
Many homes are in exactly the same state as when people fled. TVs, computers, books, clothes and toys are still piled up on the sidewalk. Some blocks have a house or two under construction, but you can walk down some streets and not see another soul. At least three-quarters of the city has not come back.
I found it very hard to take photos, although I did talk to all kinds of folks.
Some people took the attitude of just getting on with it - using the time - and space - to make art, to find and reconnect with friends, to clean up and help out. Folks were moving back in with their parents (or their parents in with them), working to save their businesses, and celebrating the little miracles, like the puppy one man found on the side of the interstate. I even found some magic, literally, at the monthly magician's society meeting at Oswald's Speakeasy.
But other people were tired, deeply tired. I met James at the chapel at Our Lady of Guadelupe. He'd been back in New Orleans only 48 hours. The news wasn't good. He grabbed my hand, held it, and told me "I'm going back to Houston to die. Pray for me. Pray for me."
I think photojournalists have to have a thick skin and I just haven't grown mine yet.
