Street friends

A few years ago I was asked to shoot photos for a Knoxville homeless shelter. They needed photos for marketing purposes. I came in and would meet these people on the street next to the shelter in downtown Knoxville, and got to know them. Sometimes we would walk down the street together or sit on closed storefront ledges and they would tell me about their life. They all called me the “picture lady” and I would print off their photos and hand them out a few days later. Those photos found themselves all over town, and they would trade them like trading cards with eachother.

They would give these photos out to people who knew cared about them, and sometimes these stories would find me in the strangest places, and I would remember what it felt like to be fully alive again. I loved those people, and I loved that those photos made them feel important.

I was not prepared for what I saw. Holding hands and praying with a lady on the curb of a street who had been raped the night before in a homeless camp. Active prostitution, people who preyed on children, addiction that stripped away the dignity of people beyond what I had ever seen, extreme mental illness. One of the more well-known members of this community had been held down, beaten with a brick, and had 666 tattooed in huge numbers on her forehead.

But what I experienced more than anything was the great humanity, courage, and authenticity of these people that I so craved. I quit getting photo releases and just started shooting after a while, and they became my friends. I would see them at the grocery store and around town and my world became so much bigger.

Michael, a friend I made, did back flips for me all over Krutch Park until his hands were about to bleed. Marilyn sat on Gay Street, the main thoroughfare that runs through downtown Knoxville on a Monday and we sat in a closed storefront and she sang me the entire hymn of “Beulah land” at the top of her lungs while people scurried by, uncomfortable with the disruption of business and downtown city sounds. It was the most beautiful thing she could have done for me.

Beulah Land I'm longing for you 

And some day on thee I'll stand.

There my home shall be eternal.

Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land

I don’t have words on how to end stories like these...I guess I just hope they never end.