Twenty Three Days to A New World

Twenty-three days and 7409 miles ago, I left my home, my family, my kids, in search of imagery to help capture the American landscape at the time of the 2016 presidential election.  I was in search of basic signage that marks our time and categorizes Americans into political factions.  What I found was something else.

Of course, if you've been paying attention (or if you're reading this in the future and you've forgotten), American politics has shifted significantly in the last two years - okay, eight years.  In light of this election, this particular election, hundreds of years of democracy and political correctness is now up for grabs.  These 23 days I've spent on the road,  a lot of this has played out. Twenty three days on 'The Middle Road' - the first 14 of which I was solo - I drove through 23 states to round up American sentiment and capture the American political landscape.

I've still got a couple hundred miles to go, just a few more miles to home.  My blue 2003 Prius, with 262,839 miles on it so far who only needed one visit to the car-ER - yesterday - all fixed. The inverter failed, or something, and so I've got a freshie.  I'm so grateful for that 40 mpg car. She's a champ - and for that she finally earned her name - Champ. I'm grateful for so much beyond just my car, of course, though the enormity of gratitude doesn't exactly fit in this tiny box of a screen, my boy Kalen, my mother-in-law Mary, my kitty Meko, R.I.P. And much more. 

I didn't set out on this trip to be documenting such a pivotal moment in the history of America, though I'm not sure why I didn't think so. I've photographed the last two elections during which votes for the first black president surpassed old white men both times. That's pivotal. But I had known of Obama for a while - I had cried at a poetic speech he made as a senator - spontaneously - I had no idea who he was or what he looked like, I happened to have the radio on when I was circling the a block (or three) in San Francisco looking for parking- and some of you know that sometimes takes a while. The radio was on, I heard him. It was poetic.  

This time around, this election, I guess I anticipated something a little more even keeled and respectful, political, when it came time for election day. I'm not sure why. I'll blame it on the red and blue map. None of the foreshadowing pointed to reality.  So now, in these last 23 days I've been on the road photographing America, not only has this new President-elect been selected, we now have an entirely new political scene, a completely different American reality, a new American political landscape. The difference is palpable. Great? Not so sure.  I think I surely get why successful politicians try to steer to the middle road now, like it or not.  It keeps families together.

Imagine sitting in a moving box being propelled through foreign lands with cup after cup of coffee, listening to the news of the last few weeks, alone, sometimes driving through the darkness.  Granted, I limited myself to two hours a day of news, but still, it was some challenging news of all sorts. I'm not talking about the isolation chamber or anything, I'm just trying to paint a picture of some intense moments.  I describe this so you can see where I've been.

I'm trying to photograph from a non-partisan place, listening to local radio, listening to all kinds of perspectives.  At the same time, these images I found in America, they are part of me, and my superficial understanding of American history and culture as an educated white woman.  So these images aren't documenting an un-biased view of the American political landscape. I can't necessarily say they are not telling a story that doesn't include my own.  But as this election and even the last two elections have been about race, my white skin has allowed me a certain comfort and insight into the picture we are painting.  

These photographs are just one little piece of the picture, telling a little bit of the story.   I am privileged to have been able to capture this moment in time, this fascinating time, this painful time, this triumphant time, this exacerbating time.  I'm hoping that, at some minute level, seeing America through my lens can be one more way to get us all to bridge the divide. We shall see. 

Here's a sneak-peek into some of the images I've captured.  

There will be more.

You Can Get There

The commentators are talking about what I've been exploring the last few weeks - political signs.

I've hit 20 states in the last 19 days on the road - close to 6,000 miles so far this trip.  I've seen an overwhelming amount of support for Trump, remarkably few signs for Hillary, and about 4 signs for Bernie. Something is fishy here. (I wrote that last sentence 5 days ago.) I mean, way fewer signs, and a complete imbalance of imagery which I have tried to keep balanced, as an artist, trying to be non-partisan in this project. But I've had to abandon that.  

I was suspecting that the reason I hadn't seen signage was because of our ongoing technology revolution, our social media revolution in the last few years. I was suspecting that the urban voters, democratic voters were headed to display their support in the political landscape online where I can't see it.  But at this point, late into the night on election night, it's seeming that my suspicion was false.  No, I was not seeing signage in the landscape in support of Hillary because there just wasn't any.

While the urban and educated remain flabbergasted, while the rural communities across the country remain flabbergasted that they finally feel 'heard' - while things iron out either way, a few truths remain about the United States, truths that I've figured out along my drive, this being my sixth cross-country drive, what I've learned first hand as I've been focusing on the political landscape of America.  

1. America is very very very very very very large.  There are wide swaths of land stretching for miles with only fences, brush, and sky.  It's easy to forget how huge the country is - the simplicity and relative affordability of hopping on a plane to be transported to a place that is half a week away - all while you're sitting cozy watching a movie.  But driving gives the real scale, the interaction with the landscape that most of us urbanites have lost, the vision of the variety of people throughout the country. It is an education in our individual smallness, in the sense that we are one of many, many, many, many people in this country.  

2. The road is long.  Somehow, we have managed to pave the way to here and there and everywhere. There are, quite literally, paved roads crisscrossing the United States in a surprising fashion.  I can get just about anywhere in the car - my itty bitty little 2003 sedan.  I can get there relatively easily.  I can get there comfortably, driving solo, a mom. There are Starbucks along the way - just about everywhere - so no complaining about how tiring that long road is, no complaining about finding a decent bathroom.  Yes, the road is long, but there is a road, and it's more comfortable than it's ever been.

3. There are invisible boundaries.  Sure, America is big, but everyone (pretty much) has a car.  Everyone can get in the car and drive pretty much anywhere.  But as I chat with people scattered around the country, people are trapped.  For whatever reason, people don't reach beyond their own communities, don't drive beyond the boundaries of their city, don't explore the next town over, don't go to that new place, don't explore new (to them) communities, don't talk to new (to them) people. Perhaps to an urban center, perhaps to an ocean, perhaps to visit Cousin Jenny - the new experiences that could potentially open up perspectives of people from all walks of life - there is a boundary, a limit.  It's invisible, but it's there. And it's surmountable.

I talked to a few people in Upstate New York, the upper section of Appalachia.  These are people in a small town. We all know New York as one of the biggest and most diverse cities in the world - the drive to New York from this little town in Upstate New York is about five hours.  Now, five hours to an urbanite is no big deal.  Five hours is about how long it takes to get to Tahoe from San Francisco. It's not a big deal. There are buses. There are trains.  But as I was there, one woman virtually begged to join me on my overnight stay into New York City since she'd never been and had always wanted to go, but never had.

I know there are many factors that keep people limited within the boundaries of their comfort zone, within their city limits, their personal boundaries.  But what is the defense for not going beyond that boundary?  Tell me what is holding you back from driving beyond the city limits, talking to new people, and reaching out.  It is what is limiting so many from the big-picture, from seeing the world, from knowing how much kindness is actually in the world and in other people and other communities throughout the country. The road is paved.  The path is there. But this 'boundary' is what keeps people listening to the same radio, watching the same TV, putting up with the same abuse day in and day out.  It's what keeps Americans divided.  

But there's a path, multiple paths, multiple and accessible roads, to traverse the country and go beyond our limitations to bridge the divide and share humanness.  These boundaries, these walls, they are put up by us - as individuals.  But they are not real - it's imagined.  Pick a new place and talk to a new person, you know, like a friend, like a human, even when they're different or unusual or too urban or too rural or too educated or too uneducated. 

One by one - I think we can get there.    

America is Raw and Unedited and Lovely

I've taken an insane amount of photographs on this journey.  I've got an overflowing baggie of film to send in to be processed, and this is the fifth batch. (I'll be requesting monetary support from you later. It's worth it, I promise.) I've only seen the results of maybe one third of what I've done on this trip. I've been posting my iPhone photos on Instagram so that you can keep up with what I'm seeing.  

But what I want you to know ultimately, is (though I don't have the images yet to prove it just yet): America is beautiful, and relatively united, and respectful, and lovely, and enormous.

As the political scene has broached unprecedented territory, I have abandoned I-80, abandoned 'The Middle Road' to visit the southern United States.  This new political territory that America is covering, this new (to me) territory that I'm covering, is, in a broader sense, a reflection of ourselves - a mirror - where things are backwards and upside down for a moment as we see what we have forgotten for a while.

And so, at this point, I'm beyond signage; symbolism is everywhere now.  Visiting historic territory, with tragic roots and lingering pain, I photograph the left over landscapes.  The people have fled, some have stayed. The beauty is still there. Political signs are absent, not surprising. It's like the past, present, and future embodied in one beautiful, expansive, amazing place. It's raw and unedited, except perhaps by time. And it's beautiful.

I photographed Money, MS. I photographed Hopewell Baptist Church that has 'Vote Trump' alongside the burned out shell of church from the fire just a few days ago. I photographed cotton fields. There are more places to visit - many, many, many more.  I'm headed to all of them tomorrow - election day (and beyond). And then I'll head to the border and photograph that. And head back to California.

Historical significance abounds. But this capturing of time and place around the presidential election is an endless conundrum. Where does it end?  When?  Perhaps not for a while. Each time is a new ball game.  Clearly, though, we've all been affected by this one.  And maybe that means we'll pay more attention from here on out.