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June 9: Breaking the Prime DirectiveTo drive or not to drive them, that is the question. I know photojournalists are supposed to follow Star Trek's Prime Directive and not interfere with a subject's life, EVER, but hey....I care for the people I photograph. Lately I've been photographing Ruth, a resident at the Chinook Clubhouse, a shelter for people with mental illnesses. Ruth has an incredible spirit that has not been dulled by 20 years of medication and the other misfortunes in her life: she lost custody of her children, her brother died of gangrene and her mother died of cancer. My first couple of weeks at the Clubhouse were difficult because I was not used to seeing so many people with difficulties in their life. But as I see how much the clubhouse helps them, how much they are gaining from the company of friends, I feel so much better. So my problem was whether to help someone in need: I find it hard to do so when the line between friendship and subjects becomes blurred by time and affection. A sudden thunderstorm prevented Ruth from getting a bus to see her son at her father's trailer home. I was hesitant to give her the 20-minute ride to the next town because I have been told that a photojournalist should not interfere in any way in a subject's life. But at the same time she is not just a subject I just happen to be photographing. What could I do? I decided to help her out, just this once. Am I wrong? Cast your vote at keivom@rtt.colorado.edu. I met her son Adam, 15, and dad who was transfixed on the WWF Lords of Death match on TV. Her son was reticent, perhaps on my account, but it seems they are silently ashamed of their mother's predicament. I took a few photos without being obtrusive. June 10: Facing the futureI've gotten off my butt and started to pave the road to my dreams. I've already filled four passports with visas from 13 countries and it's time to fill more. I was at the airport two weeks ago and felt sad because it reminded me of all the places I have been.
There's so much I can do. I'd like to follow Jim Richardson's tracks to the Orkney Islands or Gerd Ludwig's to Siberia. It's time to fly. Time to dump Boulder for all the other cities out there. Time to live without a permanent address. I end this journal at 3:58a.m. with Nelson Mandela's 1994 inaugural speech: 'Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born with to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.' PS. What do you think of this photo?
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James
Keivom
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Contributor
since 1998
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Behind
the Viewfinder - A Year in the Life of Photojournalism |
