Sometimes, to make meaning, one has to UNmake myths.
“What’s that one’s story?” “Where’s that
one from?” How often do we think about the whole meaning of those questions?
Where I come from “What’s that one’s
story?” generally translates to “tell me about this person so that I can make
decisions about what he or she is like.” The question “Where’s that one from?”
is also about much more than geographic location. It is about a history, a way
of life, a past in which the person of inquiry may have played no direct part
yet still is linked (praised, degraded, marginalized) to a location by way of a
mailing address, familial circumstances, socioeconomic and sociopolitical
strata, and cultural conditioning.
I was born and raised in a place
where work and life are hard, the Appalachian
Pennsylvania Anthracite Region.
Where reality includes black dirt, Catholicism, domestic violence, outmigration, the third highest suicide rate in the state,
alcoholism, drug addiction, a per capita income of $17,230, where almost 89
percent [1]of the population holds no bachelor’s
degree and where, despite all this, one will meet some of the kindest,
friendliest, most unselfish and hardworking folks in the nation. We are still
known as “coalcrackers,” even though the anthracite
mining industry is tiny when compared with what it was in the 19th and
early 20th century.
Analyzing the
photography of and resources about photographers who visited hard coal country
in the 18th, 19th and early-to-mid 20th
centuries, including Frances B. Johnston, Lewis Hine,
the Farm Security Administration-Office of War Information photographers and
George Harvan, a native coalcracker
who became a photographer, led me to considerable introspection about
photography as truth, as art, as story and as a tool for social change. The
photographic record of the socio-industrial problems that continue to affect
northeastern
We have been looking at these photographic representations made by Johnston, Hine, Jack Delano and other artists for more than a century. In the mining era images by aforementioned photographers, we see the sad, monochromatic stares of white-eyed, black-faced breaker boys and at the towering mounds of black dirt that still surround many mine patches – villages built around a colliery. It is my view that these photographs represent more than the preservation of memory. Rather, they have become an element in the current apathy of many individuals in my homeland.
In depth study of
W. Eugene Smith’s
Communities built
on extraction[2]
industries (mining, garment manufacturing) often appear similar in physical
detail as well as in culture. Immigrants teamed to the industrial mecca of western
“The gravest
responsibility of the photohistorian or journalist in
the search through the maze of conflictions to the island of intimate
understanding, of the mind, of the soul, amid circumstances that both create,
and are created by—and then to render with intelligence, with artistic
eloquence, a correct and breathing account of what is found; and popular fancy,
myth can be damned. Meaning: get to the guts of matter and show the bastards as
they are.” (Maddow, Ben. Let Truth Be the
Prejudice. W Eugene Smith: His Life and Photographs.
WOW! “Get to the guts of matter …” That is what counts. “Myth can be damned.” There are various myths – some of them helpful, many of them destructive – in my corner of the world. It is the destructive ones I seek to rewrite, re-story, and negate, through my art and, especially, through this project.
In addition to
Therefore, I designed and implemented a place-based photography contest as a way to test new media theory, use my new media, multimedia skills and to collaborate with fellow coalcrackers to make a new record, to tell a new story, of coal country. Because technology has made photography a relatively easy medium for novices, because it is among the most democratic of the arts mediums in terms of accessibility to tools and affordability, I felt that prospective participants would be less apprehensive about participating in the process.
The project is about artistry and vision. This
is not a community that applauds when the term “art” is used. These are working folks, hard-working, hard-playing,
blue collar and poor people, mainly.
Imagination is not encouraged.
It is there, of course, beneath the weariness
and preoccupations of daily living, but it is not something they cherish and
nurture or a quality they encourage in those young people who express artistic
dreams. We have artists, of course, but our numbers are few. Most of us
practice “on the side.”
I
believe that the act of making and reading photographs can bring photographers
and readers to see in unique ways. I also believe that the photographer, no
matter his or her genre, is an artist. Finally, I hold as truth that all people
have within them the capacity to create art, to making meaning for themselves
and others through their chosen media.
Ultimately,
academics aside, because I operate somewhat outside of the general coalcracker mentality, the citizen artist and teacher
within me wanted to see what they would show me of themselves and their place
in postindustrial coal country. I hoped to foster dreams, self-esteem and,
eventually, action by producing an aesthetic experience through the making and
viewing of art.
Project Organization
Considerations about how to structure the contest occupied considerable time in the weeks leading into its launch. I studied how trade and mainstream publications formed their contests and rules and I set out to establish criteria for involvement, working to remain mindful that I was attempting to acquire participation in an event that many from my homeland consider a leisurely pursuit or, to the extreme, an “arty farty” project.
It mattered not to me whether they used analog, digital or combined technology or whether they made photographs in black and white or in color. The camera, the scanner, the computer, the printer are tools. Nor was I concerned about a lack of formal photographic elements for which professional photographers strive and for which many critics look. I wanted participants to make photographs that depicted their sense of place, to submit pictures that they considered important to coal country and their life within it. It does not take a trained photographic eye to see something new, to find something special, and make a picture of it.
In this sense, I have a Westonian[3] view of the medium of photography because I believe that the photographer can show audiences what they may not see. “… Through this photographic eye you will be able to look out on a new light-world, a world for the most part uncharted and unexplored, a world that lies waiting to be discovered and revealed,” Weston said.
Carrying the association another step, I believe, as did Weston’s contemporary, Minor White, that there is “self-discovery” in making photographs. I identify strongly with White’s contention that landscape photography was the making of “inner landscapes.”
This is likely one the reasons I have a propensity to photograph flowers and place them in context and in content with my field studies of abandoned deep and strip coal mines. I make and convey my inner landscapes not only in my landscape photography, but in most of my art products. Through images, I share my belief in healing and rebirth and my view that there is beauty and a future in this black land.
With respect to
getting My Coal Country under way, next, I had to “get out the word”
about the contest. To accomplish this, I made a marketing outline and set to
work on carrying it out. I employed
traditional and online marketing and advertising strategies, having displayed
print announcements, which I designed, at grocery stores, libraries, retail
outlets and service establishments, and having mailed press releases, a fact
sheet and entry forms to libraries, photography labs and stores, historical
societies, newspapers, and radio and television stations. In all, I sent 134
envelopes and more than 50 emails containing information about the contest. In
the new media market, I used www.minecountry.com
to keep people apprised of the contest and to post the rules and entry forms. Several
of these documents are included in the appendix of this volume.
I wrote a hypertextual
article, similar to the one I crafted for the print Anthracite History
Journal Newsletter, and placed this in the online Anthracite History
Journal[4].
Additionally, I posted sample images at the site with the goal of showing
people that they could be creative in their visual storytelling.
I received one
reply to the land mail “request for support” information that I sent to
photography labs. A Ritz Camera manager wrote back to say he was not authorized
to approve of disposable camera donations. He suggested I write the CEO of Ritz
Camera, which is headquartered in
Print and electronic press coverage was
better than I anticipated. I was successful in landing a 90 second news spot –
a stand alone feature – with Mike Steven’s and his “On the Pennsylvania Road”
segment. This show airs on ABC affiliate WNEP-TV based in
My criteria for judges involved selecting
people who have roots in the coal region, who are photography enthusiasts and
who are committed to understanding the culture of our environs. After all, the
judging would not be prefaced on photographic formalities as much as it would
involve selecting those photographs that best convey a sense of place,
according to the broad criteria outlined in the rules for entry. Therefore, I
asked Erica Ramus, publisher of Schuylkill Living
magazine, Ed Dougert, photographer whose coal work
was recently published in a book titled The Black Land, Steve Varonka, author of coal region fiction and nonfiction
books, former coal region police officer and former wedding photographer, and
Clemson Page, attorney, fiction writer and amateur photographer. Initially, I
was going to judge. This changed when I received a call from Phyllis Gallagher,
photographer and regional museum curator, with an offer to assist in any way.
She had seen the television news feature and read about my effort in the county
tourism bureau newsletter. Consequently, I asked her to judge so that I could
focus on curating the exhibits.
Finally, I solicited physical locations
in which to exhibit the photographs. The Schuylkill County Visitors’ Bureau,
Coal Street Café, a popular bar and restaurant in Shenandoah, and the
Everything was going according to plan. It would be a lot of work, but I had everything under control.
Until word about the project got out, that is.
Process
“Awkwardly central to any discussion of the art process is the question of an artist’s intent for a particular work,” said Timothy Van Laar and Leonard Diepeveen in Active Sights, Art as Social Interaction. (2)
I intended for this project to be a
fresh new collection of contemporary photographs representing coalcrackers, coalscapes, coal
region symbols and events. I had given suggestions for photographs. I had designed the rules to get what I
wanted: a fresh new record of the folks of coal country, art that projected a
future.
By day, I work in law. I should know that intentions are subject to interpretations. Life experience and study have shown me that my truths are not always the truths of others. That what I see through the camera lens is not necessarily what others will see because they bring to their views an entire history of their own life.
Little
did I know that I would experience such a gamut of strong feelings that have
ranged from anger at the apathy I confront to zeal for the commitment some
citizens have made to our history, including its warts.
The practicum became so much more when William E. “Stiney” O'Brien, of Ellengowan,
Mahanoy Township, donated hundreds of his color photographs of many historic
and contemporary sites in Northern Schuylkill County and when Frank Crepack, Shenandoah, shared his collection of historic
photographs, articles and postcards.
“Stiney”
approached me about “pictures” he had been making these last several years. He
steadfastly refused participation in the contest but thought I could use photographs from his
collection.
Mr. Crepack
made a photograph for the contest and allowed me to spend several days with his
vast collection of coal and coal culture memorabilia.
Initially, I decreed I would not use the
historic photographs and found objects because I designed the contest to create
a contemporary record. Fortunately, I rethought this decision and I have used
them in the project collage and throughout the virtual gallery.
“The images that mobilize conscience are
always linked to a given historical situation. They more general they are, the
less likely they are to be effective,” essayed Susan Sontag
in On Photography (17).
A concern for a loss of understanding of
our history among the young of the coal region was also a significant factor in
my decision to use the artifacts. I agree with Camille Paglia’s
observation that “The new generation, raised on TV and the personal computer
but deprived of a solid primary education, has become unmoored from the mother
ship of culture.” [5]
I think it is important that people know
socioeconomic and sociopolitical history so as not to repeat social
wrongdoings. “The past is not only that which happened but also that which
could have happened but did not,” as the poet Tess
Gallagher[6]
opined.
I realized that I could use the contest
as intended – to initiate participation – but that I could also continue to
request submissions of additional photographs and materials through articles in
regional media, at The Mine Country and in a promotional page at the online gallery,
which is hosted at my Internet World Wide Web site.
Herein is one of the values of new media
production. I am able to rework the photo story, specifically to add to it, in
perpetuity, and to use it for additional purposes, such as educational materials,
by employing the medium of hypertext.
Briefly, because the technicalities may
be important to some, I shall explain how I organized – or perhaps
DIS-organized -- my studio and my practice to conduct the contest. It became
apparent that I would have to accept the fact that projects of my own needed to
go on the backburner for a while. Although I did continue to write creatively
and to make my own photographs, I did so sparingly. I was too busy bearing witness to this
project, to its moments that left me exhilarated and to those that exhausted
me.
As contest photographs arrived, I scanned
them at 300 dpi and in 4 by 6 or 5 by 7 formats for printing as well as in 600
by 400 or 418 by 300 pixel format for publication to the online gallery. At no
time did I crop or retouch the photographs from participants. Each is the work
of its maker.
I also created electronic folders to
match paper files I had set up to hold the photographs and entry forms. Each
electronic picture was filed according to its entry classification and titled
by its name and photographer. This would make it easier to locate all
documentation when it came time to judge the contest.
Finally, at least one day each week,
occasionally two or three days each week, I would sit down and make giclee prints of the photographs. There would be no sense
saving this task until the end of the contest.
Meanwhile, I researched print and
electronic documentary and fine art photograph resources and tinkered with
designing the online gallery. Given that broadband Internet access is not yet
an option in many coal region locales and given that fellow coalcrackers
are my primary audience, I knew that the design would be minimalist in style,
though not necessarily in content. The trick would be in using available
hardware and software technology to ensure quality photographs and to provide
simplicity of navigation.
Issues concerning presentation and
design, particularly in the virtual gallery became paramount, maybe even
obsessively so, I realized, when I was drawing prototype gallery pages on a
dinner placemat one evening in Coal Street Café as I sat at the crowded bar
awaiting a meal and conversing with townsfolk who were also patrons.
As Professor of Photography and
Communications at New York University’s Tisch School
of the Arts Fred Ritchin[7]
reminded new media photographers and designers “In order to contemplate its
future role in society and the impact of new technologies, it is necessary to
at least acknowledge that photography is highly interpretive, ambiguous,
culturally specific, and heavily dependent on contextualization by text and
layout.” (72)
So, my task as curator was to decide what
kind of background to use, whether to
“frame” the photographs, whether to include captions, where to put photo
credits, whether to give each photograph a single “wall” (page) and whether to
design as a moving video or to provide attendees with control of the speed of
viewing. Initially, I did make and display a streaming movie in Macromedia
Flash; however, visits to neighbor’s dial-up or low-broadband computer stations
showed me that the movie did not belong – delayed the impact – on the opening page of the gallery and I removed
it.
Although I
possess the technical and artistic knowledge and skill to design multimedia stories
with innovative special effects, I chose to use image compression technology,
simple text and little, if any, sound in this gallery and in most of my other
online art works. Designing digital art for access by all who seek access is
crucial to me because my primary audience is based in rural, and often,
low-income communities, where broadband Internet access is presently not always
available or affordable.
In the interim, as April 2004 ended, activity with the contest increased. At least one newspaper that had initially withheld my February news release about the contest published the content, thereby creating new interest or reminding others who had intended to become involved but had not.
Elizabeth Parker, aged 62 and descended from Irish immigrants, who lives only two doors up the hill from me read news of the contest in her morning print newspaper, The Hazleton Standard Speaker. As I was returning from work one evening, she hollered out her front window: “Do you want old stuff? I got lots of old pictures and things.”
I told her I would be glad to look at her material and asked to borrow what she had. The next morning, I had two photo albums, an envelope containing United Mine Workers membership and dues cards, pay stubs of a mine timber man (her father), and two cases, one containing a set of silverware (her grandmother’s) and another holding a woman’s grooming materials (also a grandmother’s).
The pay stub from the 1930s was the item most remarkable to me. Here was evidence of the pittance these men earned in the deep, dark, dank anthracite mines. This artifact, I believe, relates to the current lack of self-worth and to the resentment as indigenous to my people as are white birch trees to culm banks.
I scanned the
document, torn and faded, at high resolution and made a giclee
of it for Mrs. Parker. I also made a jpeg photograph of the artifact, which,
several days later, I uploaded to the online gallery. 
When
I asked Mrs. Parker, whose only familiarity with a computer is with the card
game Solitaire, to come and see how the online gallery looked so far, she
jumped at the opportunity. When I arrived at the page on which the
representation of the pay stub appeared, she put her right hand to her heart
and began to cry.
I was stunned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Oh, Francie,” she said, speaking to her dead father, “Look how nice she made it.” Then Mrs. Parker told me a story about how her dad, suffering two broken legs from a mine accident, had asked her to “cover” (laminate) his union cards and the pay stub and about how she use to ride the gargantuan coal trucks into the strip mines with him. Mrs. Parker is considering my invitation to become a part of my oral history library, which I began during my undergraduate studies and plan to use in my new media art objects, including this gallery.
“But not withstanding the declared aims of indiscreet, unposed, often harsh photography to reveal truth, not beauty, photography still beautifies. Indeed the most enduring triumph of photography has been its aptitude for discovering beauty in the humble, the inane, the decrepit. At the very least, the real has pathos. And that pathos is – beauty,” Sontag said. (102)
Beyond the beauty of that real-time human moment, I realized that the photograph of that pay stub was important to both of us, but not for the same reason. I am one generation removed from the sights Mrs. Parker witnessed growing up as a coal miner’s daughter. I am witness to what she lived. I am the teller of her story.
I was reminded of the subcultures within a culture. As Ritchin, quoting Pedro Meyer, pointed out, “A picture has many more implications than we are accustomed to admitting. It is not a universal language, since the codes used in a picture can be deciphered in as many ways as the various cultural backgrounds of the observer. As no one can control the circulation of an image, you have no way of being sure that its contents will always warrant the same response. I therefore do not believe that is it too inadequate to consider as I did that
a
picture
is
never
‘objective.’” (89-90)
Conclusion
The contest closed
The project
continues. In my role as curator, I “frame” and “place” photographs in the
online gallery and I prepare and market traditional prints for exhibition in
community locations. As I became extremely ill in July 2004 and as recovery was
not as speedy as I would have liked, I am not as far along in development of
the galleries as I had wanted to be. Submissions continue to arrive
sporadically and I place them in the online gallery promptly.
I have thought
about and discussed with others the possibility of making a book of prints
and/or a compact disk of the gallery. I would use proceeds from sales to
establish a scholarship fund for students who pursue studies in the arts. It
would be titled “The Bernie Coleman Memorial Scholarship Fund” in tribute to
local historian Bernie Coleman who died last March, just after he had written
me a letter that I received in the mail on the eve of his funeral. No matter
where he went, the ever-smiling, always-amicable Bernie had a 35 mm point-and
shoot camera hanging around his neck. He would snap photos and either send them
via mail or deliver them to the people of whom he made the pictures.
Thinking beyond
its initial purpose, the collection for My Coal Country could also
become the framework for a multimedia educational program available on the
World Wide Web or through CD and DVD. Making use of the medium of hypertext, I
might create interactive lessons for students of various ages.
To improve
widespread participation, I need to establish a physical presence in schools
and before social and civic groups. In other words, being present to answer
questions about the project would work better than pushing print press releases
and publishing electronic articles.
"We are rich only through what we give, and poor only through what
we refuse," said the 17th century Russian-French author
Anne-Sophie Swetchine.
It is likely I
shall accept Mr. Ritz’s offer as I would like to seek photographs from students
in primary and secondary grades in the upcoming school year. I would like to supply three classes (one
each in grade 2, 7 and 12) with a certain number of disposable cameras and
request that students make photographs of “their coal country.”
There are yet
other important factors involved in my curatorial role. I am a witness and, as
I seek to make a point, I am, in some ways, as much a muckraker as some of the
photographers who participated. Seeking change is fine, but change usually
carries unanticipated consequences.
For example, when
cogeneration was brought to our area, we learned that jobs would be plentiful
and the process would eliminate the unsightly and sometimes unsafe coal waste
banks. We were not informed that cogeneration would generate a byproduct called
red ash and that mine owners would want to use it to “reclaim” abandoned mine
pits. Using the material as backfill is an issue of significant controversy
that polarizes communities and neighbors.
The artist,
whether in the role of artist or witness or both, must decide the level of
responsibility he or she assumes for the work, whether it was intentionally
activist in nature or interpreted to be so. As word about and contributions to My
Coal Country grow, it will undoubtedly stir differences of opinion and lead
to actions of which not all will approve.
The photograph Height
of Neglect may be read as a statement that the Saint Nicholas Breaker needs
to be dismantled. It can also be read as an assertion that the coal company
needs to restore it as a monument to history or as a museum for interactive
tourism. Many regional history buffs want this to occur.
I am mindful of
the fact that its current representation as a photograph in the gallery could
foster a change and I am well aware that the change may not be what a majority
wants. As Sontag reminded:
“Insofar as the
muckrakers got results, they too altered what they photographed; indeed
photographing something became a routine part of the procedure for altering it.
The danger was of a token change – limited to the narrowest reading of the
photograph’s subject. The particular
Whether I have
achieved success with this project is still subject to judgment. If, as Lippard says, it is true that “armed with a camera, every
tourist is an involuntary artist, learning to frame and focus, if
thoughtlessly” (137), then I have done something worthwhile in starting and curating My Coal Country.
Although I never
intended the gallery as a tourist marketing product, I did want it to spur a
“desire to visit” in natives, those here and those who left and never, or
rarely, looked back. I want it to stir pride of place and self in my fellow coalcrackers.
The truth is the
project has not yet met this objective on the scale I had envisioned. To date,
most of the participants are already proud of their heritage and our gritty
history. They are already industrial and ethnic tourists, whether they are
living here or visit often due to a fondness for or a curiosity about a place.
I am glad to have
undertaken this project as an experiment in new media, as a community art
project and as an inquiry into the contemporary views about coal country. Nonetheless,
I am unsettled because my goal was to do more than give proud natives a space
to share their interpretations of a history that has sown apathy in generations
of coalcrackers.
It
was months before I placed any of my own work in the online gallery. I debated
whether I should participate. By inserting my photographs, such as the one at
right, of the beauty of the hard coal region, I wondered whether I would alter
the overarching tone of the story. Understand that by “beauty,” I refer to a
diversity of subjects: people’s faces, landscapes, group celebrations,
architecture, for example. The realization that I am a member of the community
convinced me to “hang” a few of my images.
On the subject of
success, Smith died thinking his
“Pittsburgh, to me, is a failure … the main problem, I think is that there is no end to such a subject as Pittsburgh and no way to finish it,” Smith said in a 1959 speech delivered to attendees of the American Society of Magazine Photographers’ Photojournalism Conference, according to Stephenson (17).
Smith’s statement
on the lack of closure brought me full circle to thoughts about digital fiction
and, of course, to considerations of My Coal Country. I understand what Smith was saying about
there being no end to such a subject as a study of a particular place and its
people.
My deliberations led me to think about how
designing the online version of My Coal Country could be a “never-ending
story” in the making. The virtual gallery could exist ad infinitum. New media
technology offers me the opportunity to alter and to enhance the “show” because
I can add photographs as often as I want, as often as I receive new photographs.
What’s more, if I retired as curator, another photographer, artist, webmaster
or curator could assume responsibility for the project. This potentiality
excites me beyond measure. It would be a documentary story without an ending, a
record of a place in time in a timeless, in the sense of enduring, place.
Therefore, I am doing with hard coal country
what Smith set out to do with
Looking to the
future, it is my hope that traditional and new media news releases and
increased interaction with community will encourage more citizens to contribute
to the galleries. This practicum did not end with the semester in which I
planned and executed it. Nor does it end with my receiving the Master of Fine
Arts-Interdisciplinary Arts degree.
Call it a labor of
love or call it a long-term research project. In fact, it is both.
It is really the beginning of a never-ending story “staged” in various communities.