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Interview
with Documentary Photographer Ken Hassell
Elon University, 6 January 2006
Nantahala: Having grown up in Chicago, has living and working in
Appalachia changed your approach to image making? When you began photographing in the coalfields of Appalachia,
you came to those communities as an outsider peering into the "other"
culture. Over time, though, you
became a member of the community in which you were working. What does this say about the idea of a
document being an objective record of the external world?
Ken Hassell: My adolescence in Chicago during the 60's and 70's was at
once a tumultuous and halcyon time in my life. I had dropped out of college to
work for peace and civil rights, themes that had always been an integral part
of my way of relating to the world. I lived almost entirely in the moment with
little income and no significant plans for the future. Rent and a few amenities
were supported by working in factories doing physical labor for about ten
years. The people I worked with were intelligent, humorous, and kind, the
antithesis of the way our mass media portrays laborers and some of my own
latent prejudices. They were a mixture of Poles, Bohemians, Germans, Italians,
South Americans, African Americans and Asians who worked hard to have a life
with some pleasure and dignity. We
became good friends, kidding one another at work, and talking about everyday
life.
Management was not always kind to these workers. They were
perceived simply as hands and bodies – objects - that produced things for
profit and must be treated like the commodities they made. It was Honore Balzac
who said, "Behind great wealth is usually a great crime." In spite of or, perhaps, because of
these conditions, the people I worked with had developed their own culture and
support systems .
These working experiences led me to documentary or, as my
mentor Walter Rosenblum would insist, social photography when I returned to
college as an art student. It was clear to me from the outset that my role as
an artist was to be an activist making images that addressed the human
condition in general and the plight of the common worker in specific.
In the past twenty-five years, I have photographed in a
foundry, steel mill, crane manufacturing plant, calfskin tannery, garment factory,
furniture plant, knitting mill and migrant farmworkers. While each workplace
had a different geographical location and laborers with different skills, there
has always been the common thread of human complexity, dignity and spirit that
united them all. While my current
work on Appalachian and coal mining culture requires a profound and long-range
immersion in the communities and research, the central thesis is still closely
connected to the recurring themes of my earlier work.
N: How do you view the role of photographic art in general and your work
in particular as a visual instrument of social change?
KH: Artists are authors skilled in combining technique and aesthetics to
create images that connect with their audience. That connection – that relationship – must serve
some important purpose. The power of art to both critically reflect and effect
cultural values is clearly demonstrated by its importance across all cultures
and its censorship during oppressive times.
Documentary photography is often seen as fitting the
objective social science model of recording reality: an almost statistical,
anti-artistic approach to collecting data. In reality, the genre has always
been a highly subjective interpretation of human events mediated by the photographer's
own motives and aesthetics commingled with viewer expectations. The history of
photography is riddled with colonialist gazes and oppressive discourses. That
is why artists need to carefully deconstruct their own intentions as well as
the context in which their work will be examined.
My work is mostly shown in galleries and publications that
are associated with academics, scholars and audiences that are already part of
the congregation. They do stimulate discussion and awareness of our culture's
obsession with Appalachian stereotypes and the need for social and political
change right in our own backyard. It is this critical exchange of ideas that
truly creates homeland security. The most important exhibition of A Life of
Coal appropriately
took place in the vacated Clinchfield Coal Company office building in the
middle of Dante. I was more nervous about this display than at any prestigious
gallery, because it was going to be viewed by those who are being represented
by the project.
N: Stereotypes. You
explained that you wanted your work to show the complexity of those who work in
the coalmines and in other industries.
But isn't there a danger that the image will act as "mirror" rather than
"window" into their lives and thus reinforce the stereotypes you intend to
dismantle? In this light, do find
the use of text in support of the visual image an aid to understanding the
depth of your subjects? Or can
that depth be conveyed through images alone?
KH: As stated earlier, photographs are always subjective. The one who wields
the camera mirrors their life as well as the lives represented in the images.
Our sensibilities and cultural assumptions always enter into the process.
Walker Evans defined documentary style photography as, "the poetic apprehension of pure fact". The
poetry part is what makes the images both compelling, an interpretation of the
photographer, and art.
Combining images with oral histories is a critically
important means of incorporating "direct voice" while providing greater insight
into peoples' lives. Here again, I make the choices as to which oral histories
are presented and how they are edited. I try to make images that are complex
that, in turn, reflect the complexity of all cultures and human endeavors that
needs to be appreciated.
N: Walker Evans said, "You see art is really useless, and a document has
use and therefore art is never a document, but it can adopt that style. I do it. I'm called a documentary photographer. But that presupposes a quite subtle
knowledge of the distinction."
Evans points out that there is a distinction between art and
documentation. In your own work,
have you found a distinction between making art and making a document? Where does your work fall within this
framework?
KH: I don't believe that any photograph can simply exist as a document. We
know that someone selected the subject and made the picture in a certain way
for specific reasons and uses. That means all photographs, no matter how
innocuous or innocent they might seem are discourses on their cultural
milieu.
N: Discuss the difficulties of facing your pre-judgments and
stereotypical views of the people and culture you are documenting. You began this project in hopes of
breaking the stereotypes associated with Appalachian people, but we all carry
stereotypes: did you find your assumptions change during the course of the
project?
KH: Women are some of the most outspoken activists for change in Appalachia.
They are galvanized to address such issues as environmental degradation, drug
abuse, domestic violence, women's rights, better education, healthcare and
community. The part of Appalachia I am working in is more of a matriarchal
culture than I expected where women are empowering themselves by organizing for
the sake of their communities, children and themselves. There is a long history
of community involvement by women
while men tended to their work in the coal mines.
N: It takes courage to approach complete strangers in an alien culture and
to ask them to submit to such an intimate act as being photographed. Describe your experience facing your
own anxieties and overcoming them because of your desire to document fully the
cultural subject. Can you
offer advice to those interested in culture but feel unable to get beyond their
outsider status?
KH: Each time I begin a new project on a different community of workers,
there is an uneasy feeling about whether I can establish some kind of
meaningful relationship with the people.
This tension could be perceived as negative and a possible barrier to
connecting with individuals. However, I find it is also a source of great
energy that pushes me and gives me the courage to continue and overcome most
doubts. Work that is motivated by a real interest in what is being documented
and a profound relationship with the issues and people will assure an
insightful experience and support articulate and meaningful images.
My first couple of nervous weeks wandering the hollows in
Dante revealed more about my own deep enculturation in the myths about mountain
people than about the actual place. What arose in my mind was vividly
disturbing images of a violent people who wanted nothing to do with outsiders.
These thoughts prompted reactions of shame followed by absolute suppression and
denial of my prejudices. Later, upon contemplation, I realized that I could
better understand myself and the sources of all kinds of prejudice if I
confronted and analyzed them. Those very thoughts and concepts that seemed to
undermine the sense of my own humanity became the impetus for my long-term
commitment to A Life of Coal.
One of the first people I spoke with, Charlotte, invited me
into her home for soup beans and cornbread, a meal staple in that part of the
country. She told me that she had consulted with the spirits and they had said
that I was alright. She then looked me straight in the eye and said that she
was not afraid of me. That poignant encounter with Charlotte was the beginning
of a long and close relationship that has allowed me to make Dante my home
every year during the summer.
