We are the Other - Young Girl Wrapped in Dora the Explorer Blanket, South Minneapolis, MN (2012) I think the meanings of a photo are the least clear when I’m actually taking it. I was photographing members of Light of Faith and Hope in Jesus Christ, a small storefront church where most, if not all, of the members are Latino. There were a variety of after-the-service-activities that I shot, including a birthday party, a pinata smashing, and basement buffet, before I saw this girl wrapped up in a cartoon character who really resembled her (as much as a real person can look like an oversimplified caricature of a human being). Over the years I’ve come to realize that I’m attracted to photographing the various ways people are mirrored (or not mirrored) culturally. I’ve never watched any episodes of Dora the Explorer, but when I was growing up there weren’t any Asian cartoon leading characters, so I related to white characters like Jonny Quest and his father Race, rather than his brown exotic sidekick, Hadji. The World of Disney, I’m sure, had a lot to do in shaping my world and my view of myself. How long did it take to finally have a major cartoon character like Dora that reflected America’s now-minority-but eventual-majority Latino population? Changing Lenses is the product of an ongoing conversation between eminent sociologist Doug Hartmann, Ph.D. and myself. In each post, we exchange what’s seen behind a camera lens and what’s seen through a sociological lens to get at the diversity of perspectives and cultivate a unique look at the human experience. Below is my perspective. Read Doug’s reaction here.
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We are the Other - Young Girl Wrapped in Dora the Explorer Blanket, South Minneapolis, MN (2012)

I think the meanings of a photo are the least clear when I’m actually taking it. I was photographing members of Light of Faith and Hope in Jesus Christ, a small storefront church where most, if not all, of the members are Latino. There were a variety of after-the-service-activities that I shot, including a birthday party, a pinata smashing, and basement buffet, before I saw this girl wrapped up in a cartoon character who really resembled her (as much as a real person can look like an oversimplified caricature of a human being).

Over the years I’ve come to realize that I’m attracted to photographing the various ways people are mirrored (or not mirrored) culturally. I’ve never watched any episodes of Dora the Explorer, but when I was growing up there weren’t any Asian cartoon leading characters, so I related to white characters like Jonny Quest and his father Race, rather than his brown exotic sidekick, Hadji.

The World of Disney, I’m sure, had a lot to do in shaping my world and my view of myself. How long did it take to finally have a major cartoon character like Dora that reflected America’s now-minority-but eventual-majority Latino population?

Changing Lenses is the product of an ongoing conversation between eminent sociologist Doug Hartmann, Ph.D. and myself. In each post, we exchange what’s seen behind a camera lens and what’s seen through a sociological lens to get at the diversity of perspectives and cultivate a unique look at the human experience. Below is my perspective. Read Doug’s reaction here.

We are the Other - David and Lou, South Minneapolis, MN (2012) They were like an echo. Whatever question I asked one would answer and then the other would nod in agreement or repeat the answer. They met seven years ago when Lou (right) moved here from Chicago. “I don’t ever want to go back,” he said. “It’s hard for a young black man there. Mofos robbing each other.” David lives a block away in the house he grew up in. They are “brothers from another mother” they said. Some other things they are: “We love women.” “Real recognize real.” “We’re two bosses, entrepreneurs. We’re always gettin’ it.” “Whatever gets the money, that’s what we’re into. And family. That’s about it.”
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We are the Other - David and Lou, South Minneapolis, MN (2012)

They were like an echo. Whatever question I asked one would answer and then the other would nod in agreement or repeat the answer. They met seven years ago when Lou (right) moved here from Chicago. “I don’t ever want to go back,” he said. “It’s hard for a young black man there. Mofos robbing each other.”

David lives a block away in the house he grew up in. They are “brothers from another mother” they said. Some other things they are:

“We love women.”

“Real recognize real.”

“We’re two bosses, entrepreneurs. We’re always gettin’ it.”

“Whatever gets the money, that’s what we’re into. And family. That’s about it.”

From the Archive - Real Cowboys, Minneapolis, MNLake Street USA (1997 - 2000) [When I met this man he had lost the use of his vocal chords and was using a device that he held to his throat called an electro-larnyx, which amplifies the tissue to create a synthesized, sort of electronic-sounding voice.] Most of ‘em here call me cowboy and that’s it. There must not be too many around. At least not real ones. I’m from El Paso, but I’m here because I’ve had two cancer operations at Abbott. When they found the cancer everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think about it long. By the time I went to the hospital they told me we’ve got about thirty minutes to cut you open or you’re going to be gone. The cancer had wound around my vocal chords. Now I have tubes down there that I breathe through. But I feel lucky. When I get up in the morning and my feet feel the carpet I know I’m still here. I can still communicate. I don’t even consider this much of a handicap. I made most of my living as a heavy equipment operator. But music was my passion, still is, but I can’t find one of these things that sings [points to the electro-larnyx]. I sang with Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys out of Nashville, Tennessee. Sang for 35 years. In a month I’m going to Chattanooga. I’m just going back to see if some of those people are still around. I miss singing. It was a big part of my life. I also trained horses when I was young. I still do, even though I’m not supposed to be doing it. I don’t know if I would want to live if I couldn’t have something to do with horses. Most of my family, my dad and my brother–well they’re all dead now–we were all horse people.
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From the Archive - Real Cowboys, Minneapolis, MN
Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

[When I met this man he had lost the use of his vocal chords and was using a device that he held to his throat called an electro-larnyx, which amplifies the tissue to create a synthesized, sort of electronic-sounding voice.]

Most of ‘em here call me cowboy and that’s it. There must not be too many around. At least not real ones.

I’m from El Paso, but I’m here because I’ve had two cancer operations at Abbott. When they found the cancer everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think about it long. By the time I went to the hospital they told me we’ve got about thirty minutes to cut you open or you’re going to be gone. The cancer had wound around my vocal chords. Now I have tubes down there that I breathe through. But I feel lucky. When I get up in the morning and my feet feel the carpet I know I’m still here. I can still communicate. I don’t even consider this much of a handicap.

I made most of my living as a heavy equipment operator. But music was my passion, still is, but I can’t find one of these things that sings [points to the electro-larnyx]. I sang with Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys out of Nashville, Tennessee. Sang for 35 years. In a month I’m going to Chattanooga. I’m just going back to see if some of those people are still around. I miss singing. It was a big part of my life.

I also trained horses when I was young. I still do, even though I’m not supposed to be doing it. I don’t know if I would want to live if I couldn’t have something to do with horses. Most of my family, my dad and my brother–well they’re all dead now–we were all horse people.

From the Archives - Father and Sons, The Springs, CaliforniaInside The Springs (2007) Several years ago, in an area called The Springs (adjacent to wine-rich Sonoma), I took this photograph of a father and his two adult sons—all migrant workers— sitting on a bed in a small, low-rent apartment they shared with a dozen other men who also worked in the wine fields. Each is holding a photo of loved ones still back in Mexico. Behind them on a wall is one lonely indulgence—a poster of Disneyland, in front of which a votive candle was carefully placed. Through an interpreter I asked why, of all things, are Mickey and Minnie placed in such altar-like reverence? The answer, of course, was that when they were in Mexico their dream was one day to visit the home of the famous mouse. Only then would they know they had truly arrived. They were still waiting.
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From the Archives - Father and Sons, The Springs, California
Inside The Springs (2007)

Several years ago, in an area called The Springs (adjacent to wine-rich Sonoma), I took this photograph of a father and his two adult sons—all migrant workers— sitting on a bed in a small, low-rent apartment they shared with a dozen other men who also worked in the wine fields. Each is holding a photo of loved ones still back in Mexico. Behind them on a wall is one lonely indulgence—a poster of Disneyland, in front of which a votive candle was carefully placed.

Through an interpreter I asked why, of all things, are Mickey and Minnie placed in such altar-like reverence? The answer, of course, was that when they were in Mexico their dream was one day to visit the home of the famous mouse. Only then would they know they had truly arrived. They were still waiting.