Bungalows and No Boundaries... Speaking My Truth

"Joel, Baby Joel and Stephanie On Bungalow Porch #1", Rockaways, NYC, 2011. Juliana Beasley.

I met Joel, Stephanie and "Baby Joel" (as he is called)  this past summer when I went to Joanne's granddaughter's birthday party. I had never met anybody who lived in the bungalows out in the Rockaways. I went about 30 blocks away from my usual location at 116th Street in Rockaway Park. I hope to continue photographing them and other people living in the bungalows during the next year.

They were kind enough to open their door to me.  Joel's parents, his brothers, his two sisters and his nephew share another bungalow in the same complex.

"Joel and Baby Joel in the Sky", Rockaways, NYC, 2011. Juliana Beasley.

"Baby Joel and Mother Stephanie #1", Rockaways, NYC, 2011. Juliana Beasley.

I am posting a loose edit. Why? Sometimes, I am afraid that I do not make the right final choice. But, I'm sure this is a common feeling amongst photographers, especially now that so much is shot in the digital world. I only get 12 shots per roll. And I'm thankful for that. It makes me focus. And I like to focus.

On another and more profound note:

I want to apologize to my readers or those of you who have kept up with me on my blog. I think I apologize at least quarterly for the same reason. I am not writing as much despite the fact that I love to write and generally, it helps me organize my thoughts and get in touch not only with my creative side but just with myself.  Over the last year and a half, I have honestly considered talking very frankly about what has been going on in my life. Some of the stuff is very personal. Actually, most of it is.

In the past, I have written posts that have been brutally forthright about difficult periods (in particular my fight with clinical depression) in my life, as well as joyous ones. I have gotten good feedback. I have also received thankful responses from people going through similar problems. I'll refrain from using the word "issues". So, I hope writing with honesty about my personal struggles, as well as my successes can be of some comfort to someone reading my blog. And open a dialogue about mental illness, irony, stigmatization, inspiration and creativity.

I hesitate only because art does not support me. And how does one present oneself publicly when there is a smoke screen that everything is alright in cyberspace. Facebook is the epitome of creating a persona that is endlessly upbeat and proactive. In the photography Facebook world or network, it's important to keep up this spotless facade of daily success whether it be creatively, emotionally, or most of all financial. One must always be on top of things and informed and super Type A productive. This is by the way, not only my impression.

And yet, many of my photo friends are suffering from personal hardships. Over the last year, I know several artist friends who went on public assistance and food stamps. We don't hear those stories. These are hard working photographers including myself and yet, I still feel like there is this illusion that all is spotless and easy peasy for artists who even have a name in the business. What kind of message is this to show the aspiring young student or enthusiast who doesn't yet understand the sacrifices and endless work that goes into making a living as a photographer?

We as an audience don't see beyond the photo smiles at the gallery openings or the family events. No, one actually talks openly about the economic recession and how it has effected many of their own livelihoods. One friend and fellow blogger, Colin Pantall remarked on this discrepancy of public and private persona and how little photographers talk about the financial difficulties of working and living as a fine art photographer.

The last couple of years have also taken me on a financial and emotional roller coaster of instability. But, I hang on because I love what I do.

I asked Colin, "Should I write about my personal and financial difficulties and even my challenges with depression over a lifetime?"

My concern of a "tell-all diaristic blog" is cemented in the fact that perhaps it would put me at a disadvantage in the editorial, commercial or fine art world-- perhaps, my honesty would hurt my chances at getting the next job that would pay the bills. And so, that is my dilemma. Said and true. Sad and true.

One photographer friend told me that he came out and talked about his battle with anxiety in an interview for a blog. Sadly, he actually lost work because of the blog post and had it taken down. Should I fear the same stigmatization?

Colin's response to my question was something like-- and this is not a quote-- that if we can't be honest about ourselves or in our work "what is the point?". And I agree with that.

Are there any editors out there who would answer this question... or fellow photographers? I would love to hear your feedback.

In the meantime, Merry and Happy Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!!!

Gabby and Tito

Gabby Getting Hair Dyed,  Rockaways, NYC, 11/11. Juliana Beasley

Story to come soon. In the bungalows from my new work out in the Rockaways. Running out the door to walk Howard and then presenting my work in Lori Grinker's class at ICP this afternoon.

Writing, Writing, Not Writing. Just Start.

The Operating Theater

No good can come of this. Photograph, Lauren Simonutti.

OK, I did say full disclosure in the form of self-portraits and writing. I said that in my last post. And I am not delivering this week or at least not yet. Instead of looking inwards. I am looking outside of myself and not necessarily with any objectivity.

Self-portraits... Now, that feels a lot more challenging and daunting than taking photographs of someone sitting in front of me. Just me alone with my camera. Vulnerable performer or liar fool.

Who will I be? Solitude, reflection, no distractions. Just me talking to my camera. My soliloquy, my silence, my boredom, my melancholy and mania. An inescapable meditation.

How do those self-portrait photographers do it? If you are not presenting yourself as someone other than yourself, how do you be yourself with yourself and present yourself as yourself? Do I seem shallow here? Or maybe just in some mild form of a demented state about who I am and what this person "Juliana" does alone?

I have surely done my time alone. Probably far more than most people I know. But, somehow when I do not share the stage with the other actors, I am a little bewildered. I am lost without someone holding up that mirror that reflects and shines an interdependent relationship of shared personalities.

Sure, I know what I do when I am alone. Probably too much staring at the walls. But, my concern in the process and the product is that it will only be a caricature of myself. I can only imagine myself positioning my body and contorting my face in front of the camera while counting down the seconds before the self-timer sets off the shutter.

This gives me a whole new respect for photographers whom have sat alone with the camera. I'm thinking in particular of the photographer Lauren Simonutti's body of work. I learned about her recently when I found out about her precious edition of hand made books called "No Such Thing As Silence". I would love to write more about her but if you really want to read a great blog interview with her and get the inside story, you must go to Colin Pantall's Blog (which by the way is eclectic, well-written and just one of my favorite blogs.) A good read and yes, inspiring.

I will say one thing: this book comes with feathers and bells attached.

Right now, for me, the starting is the hardest part.

So, return to the external. Last week, I entered new territory. I photographed all weekend and did not take my Rollei TLR with me. No, film. No, big bracket with big flash. No, 30 rolls of 120 film. I put my Canon 5D and flash in a bag filled with batteries and memory cards. So, light and carefree. So, modern!

Yes, I actually spent the weekend as an analog traitor. I shot digital and I loved it. I felt naughty and cheap and very very bad. I felt like a junkie and an explorer on a new adventure... so many gigs of storage, so many clicks of the shutter... and never ever never enough images.

I woke up on Saturday around 11am.  Before sitting up in bed, I had rationalized all the reasons of why I should not gather my lightweight equipment and take a two hour commute by subway out to the Rockaways. The best reason I could come up with-- but it would suffice-- was that it was already too late in the day.

By 3:30pm, I waiting in the local Target for my 4X6" print order to be ready for pick up. I wanted to arrive with photographs to give to my friends. When I got on the Path train in Jersey City headed to WTC where I transfer to the A train out to Queens, it was close to 4pm. I had missed most of the good light.

Diana and Mikey were throwing a birthday party for one of their tenant's little boy who lived in their bungalows. I knew the mother Gabby since before she even became pregnant with little Angelo. I remember the first time I met her four or five years ago. She was sitting on a beat up bed, texting and far away on her cell phone while her friends laughed and partied in a small room in a boarding house near the beach. She looked like a 14 year old kid even though she probably was 18. Her face was angelic.

I looked for Gabby for years. I wanted to photograph her again. I had heard from someone in the neighborhood that she had gotten pregnant and had a baby boy.

"Angelo and Gabby", Rockaways, NYC, 9/11. Juliana Beasley

I didn't find her until recently when I learned she rented and lived with her son in one of the bungalows. No matter who I asked or where I looked I could not find her. I should have known that the past often  catches up to the present.  Chance meetings and reunions happen in their own time... the Rockaways does not work on a schedule and the time table that most people apply to their lives does not exist here. Therefore, when you work in chaos, you have to adopt the rules of chaos... there just aren't any rules.

I found Gabby and Angelo, one day by chance when I was invited to one of my friend's daughter's birthday party in July. There she was just sitting on the porch outside of the bungalow, baby blue paint chipping off the facade. She was smoking a cigarette. She still looked like a kid. Time compressed and I felt like I had never lost her.

I finally arrived in the Rockaways, however, late I was. And it's never ever a disappointment however late or early I show up. Sure there are unpleasant days out there but I always meet someone new or learn something that had alluded me for years. I always feel enlightened on my 2 hour trip back to Jersey contemplating a day out in the Rockaways while I sit on the subway eating a bag of Cheetos under a florescent lights.

Oh, Nicole's Cha Cha shoes. Yes, you can find her out there in the neighborhood where she lives in a bungalow with her husband. They are newly weds. Close to 9pm, she was putting herself together for a night out working as a female impersonator in a club somewhere in Manhattan. We walked out the door together. She pulled up her hot pink spandex top and exposed a little cleavage.

"Be careful on the subway platform, " I said as we parted.

"Don't worry, honey. Don't let anyone fuck with me because I will fuck you up."

"Nicole's Cha Cha Heels",  Rockaways, NYC, 9/11. Juliana Beasley

The party was winding down when I arrived. I took some portraits. The sun went down and the partygoers began to disperse. I walked a couple blocks over to my new favorite pub in the neighborhood and befriended the bartender, Sharon. I finally met my Rockaway's kindred spirit. Years of traveling out to the peninsula and finally, I met someone who really got me. And I got her. We knew all the same people. She is boisterous, tough, and a great storyteller. She can "man" her bar and kindly discipline the most difficult of irate drunk customers into submission. I look forward to our next meeting.

You gotta' "ring them bells".