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.

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. From the Archive - Politician, St. Paul, MN Frogtown (1993 - 1995) I haven’t photographed that much in the political sphere. I’m not sure why. Partly perhaps because the circus surrounding politics are often orchestrated media events and I’m interested more in what is usually not covered by the press. Also I’ve been apolitical most of my life, just as I’ve been areligious, although I’ve photographed in a lot of churches and faith-based places, so I guess I can’t use that as an excuse.  I’m more interested in the sociology of politics than politics itself. For instance, do aesthetics determine political beliefs or is it the other way around? Why do liberals and conservatives dress the way they do? Can knowing whether or not you like to color outside the lines as a kid be a predictor of your opinion on abortion? I assume that sociologists are plagued with the same biases that challenge every field of study that supposes objectivity, unlike artists who are expected to flaunt their point of view. I guess in that sense I’m more like a sociologist than an artist, in that I want my point of view to seem transparent.  This photograph doesn’t have much of a back-story. The image is really my only memory of it. I went back to the contact sheet and realized it was on one of the first rolls I shot for Frogtown, which was my first project. It put me on the artistic map, so to speak.  I believe I was just walking around and bumped into this scene. I only took two shots of the politician, both from the back. Amazing how few of the children, who became unwitting political advertisements, are actually looking at the politician. 
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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.

From the Archive - Politician, St. Paul, MN
Frogtown (1993 - 1995)

I haven’t photographed that much in the political sphere. I’m not sure why. Partly perhaps because the circus surrounding politics are often orchestrated media events and I’m interested more in what is usually not covered by the press. Also I’ve been apolitical most of my life, just as I’ve been areligious, although I’ve photographed in a lot of churches and faith-based places, so I guess I can’t use that as an excuse. 

I’m more interested in the sociology of politics than politics itself. For instance, do aesthetics determine political beliefs or is it the other way around? Why do liberals and conservatives dress the way they do? Can knowing whether or not you like to color outside the lines as a kid be a predictor of your opinion on abortion?

I assume that sociologists are plagued with the same biases that challenge every field of study that supposes objectivity, unlike artists who are expected to flaunt their point of view. I guess in that sense I’m more like a sociologist than an artist, in that I want my point of view to seem transparent. 

This photograph doesn’t have much of a back-story. The image is really my only memory of it. I went back to the contact sheet and realized it was on one of the first rolls I shot for Frogtown, which was my first project. It put me on the artistic map, so to speak. 

I believe I was just walking around and bumped into this scene. I only took two shots of the politician, both from the back. Amazing how few of the children, who became unwitting political advertisements, are actually looking at the politician. 

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.From the Archive - Roosevelt High School Students, Minneapolis, MNLake Street USA (1997 - 2000) When I took this photograph in 1998, nearly half of the student population at Roosevelt High School, located in the urban core of South Minneapolis, was Somali. Perhaps school district officials thought it best to keep all of the refugees together; that’s what they’d done with Southeast Asians in the mid-‘70s, too. All of the students pictured here are Muslim and, as required by their faith, pray five times a day. This could be problematic during school hours, and they’d pray as discreetly as they could under stairwells or in bathrooms. Whether it was the separation of church and state that legally prohibits prayer in schools or the distinctly not Christian spectacle of prostrated Islamic worship, the Somali students banded together to find an alternative place to pray. Racial tensions flared between these students and both white and other black students at Roosevelt. Ironically, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church (across the street from the school) became the safe haven for these kids. Every Friday during their lunch hour, Somali students transformed the basement of Our Redeemer into a mosque. First the boys prayed, then the girls. Fourteen years later, I wondered if a Muslim prayer group still meets. I was surprised to see that the church marquee now reads: Our Redeemer Oromo Evangelical Church. The cultural cross-pollination continues: the Oromo, ethnic refugees from Ethiopia, now occupy the sanctuary and hold services in both Oromo and English (for the young Oromos who don’t speak the mother tongue). The Roosevelt Muslim student group is still going strong and has moved its services several doors down to the YMCA. One school administrator told me that they are now joined by a significant African American contingent that has converted to Islam.
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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.

From the Archive - Roosevelt High School Students, Minneapolis, MN
Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

When I took this photograph in 1998, nearly half of the student population at Roosevelt High School, located in the urban core of South Minneapolis, was Somali. Perhaps school district officials thought it best to keep all of the refugees together; that’s what they’d done with Southeast Asians in the mid-‘70s, too.

All of the students pictured here are Muslim and, as required by their faith, pray five times a day. This could be problematic during school hours, and they’d pray as discreetly as they could under stairwells or in bathrooms. Whether it was the separation of church and state that legally prohibits prayer in schools or the distinctly not Christian spectacle of prostrated Islamic worship, the Somali students banded together to find an alternative place to pray. Racial tensions flared between these students and both white and other black students at Roosevelt.

Ironically, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church (across the street from the school) became the safe haven for these kids. Every Friday during their lunch hour, Somali students transformed the basement of Our Redeemer into a mosque. First the boys prayed, then the girls.

Fourteen years later, I wondered if a Muslim prayer group still meets. I was surprised to see that the church marquee now reads: Our Redeemer Oromo Evangelical Church. The cultural cross-pollination continues: the Oromo, ethnic refugees from Ethiopia, now occupy the sanctuary and hold services in both Oromo and English (for the young Oromos who don’t speak the mother tongue). The Roosevelt Muslim student group is still going strong and has moved its services several doors down to the YMCA. One school administrator told me that they are now joined by a significant African American contingent that has converted to Islam.

We are the Other -Roland (Hoodie Diptych), Minneapolis, MN (2012) 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 -Roland (Hoodie Diptych), Minneapolis, MN (2012)

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.

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. From the Archive - Demolition Derby, Baker Montana, 2001Looking For Asian America: An Ethnocentric Tour I had never been to a demolition derby or to rural Montana before. When we first pulled in it resembled a scene from an apocalyptic movie: tidy, rustic shops lined main street, but where was everybody? A lone soul finally appeared to inform us that the derby was in town. Apparently the entire populace of Baker was at this car-as-gladiator spectacle.  An accommodating elderly gentleman in a cowboy hat excitedly explained the intricacies of the sport to us. The sight and sounds of smashing metal contrasted with the somewhat languorous audience that occasionally emitted a cheer. In many ways it didn’t seem all that different from a crowd at an outdoor Saints baseball game in St. Paul, Minnesota. When my attention turned to photographic possibilities, I was excited to spy the only Asian face in this communal outpouring. He and his wife, both Cambodian, had settled there a while back. In dress and deportment he blended right in, with his worn blue jeans, short sleeve shirt and pocket wallet. But to me, when I look at this photo, he appears to be Photoshopped in. And then I wonder, why do I think that? Is that what I look like when I’m walking around the land of Lake Wobegon—as though I’ve been Photoshopped onto the landscape?
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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.

From the Archive - Demolition Derby, Baker Montana, 2001
Looking For Asian America: An Ethnocentric Tour

I had never been to a demolition derby or to rural Montana before. When we first pulled in it resembled a scene from an apocalyptic movie: tidy, rustic shops lined main street, but where was everybody? A lone soul finally appeared to inform us that the derby was in town. Apparently the entire populace of Baker was at this car-as-gladiator spectacle. 

An accommodating elderly gentleman in a cowboy hat excitedly explained the intricacies of the sport to us. The sight and sounds of smashing metal contrasted with the somewhat languorous audience that occasionally emitted a cheer. In many ways it didn’t seem all that different from a crowd at an outdoor Saints baseball game in St. Paul, Minnesota.

When my attention turned to photographic possibilities, I was excited to spy the only Asian face in this communal outpouring. He and his wife, both Cambodian, had settled there a while back. In dress and deportment he blended right in, with his worn blue jeans, short sleeve shirt and pocket wallet. But to me, when I look at this photo, he appears to be Photoshopped in. And then I wonder, why do I think that? Is that what I look like when I’m walking around the land of Lake Wobegon—as though I’ve been Photoshopped onto the landscape?

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. — Big Geno and Little Geno, Minneapolis, Minnesota Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000) When photographing I try to present people as they present themselves and let viewers form their own narratives. A photograph, however, is just a snippet of that person. If you took a thousand photographs of someone, which photograph would be truest? And who decides the truth about any photograph—the person in it, the person who took it, or the person looking at it? You never know how a photograph will be interpreted. I have photographs that seem innocuous to me that instill fear in someone else. This photograph of a man and his dog, though, often gets a visceral reaction. Recently an installation of about 50 photographs from my Lake Street USA series that included this one was being permanently installed in a public building. We laid them out along the wall deciding which ones should go where. Perhaps because the scandal concerning Michal Vick, the professional football player whose abuse of fighting dogs was still fresh in the public’s consciousness, or perhaps because I’ve become more cautious in what photographs I deem proper to show in public settings, I voiced that this one might cause trouble. A few moments later an African American man walked by and became upset at what he saw. “This is really offensive to me,” he blurted. “This only perpetuates what people already think of us.” We ended up putting the photograph in a basement room that is less trafficked. Here’s an excerpt from an interview I conducted with the person in the photograph:“This is little Geno. I’m big Geno. He’s going to be a security dog. I’m going to take my time with him. I’m just trying to get his neck to be strong. The chain is to put muscles in his chest. Right now he’s young. As he gets old he’ll get used to it. “Once he sees me with it he know he’s got to put it on. At first he didn’t want to have it on, but now he’s used to it. It’s not being abusive. You can train a dog how you want to train a dog, just like a child. You can raise a child up to cuss out grown people. You know, you just raise your dog just the way you want to be raised up. That’s all that is.”
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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.

—

Big Geno and Little Geno, Minneapolis, Minnesota

Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

When photographing I try to present people as they present themselves and let viewers form their own narratives. A photograph, however, is just a snippet of that person. If you took a thousand photographs of someone, which photograph would be truest? And who decides the truth about any photograph—the person in it, the person who took it, or the person looking at it?

You never know how a photograph will be interpreted. I have photographs that seem innocuous to me that instill fear in someone else. This photograph of a man and his dog, though, often gets a visceral reaction. Recently an installation of about 50 photographs from my Lake Street USA series that included this one was being permanently installed in a public building. We laid them out along the wall deciding which ones should go where.

Perhaps because the scandal concerning Michal Vick, the professional football player whose abuse of fighting dogs was still fresh in the public’s consciousness, or perhaps because I’ve become more cautious in what photographs I deem proper to show in public settings, I voiced that this one might cause trouble. A few moments later an African American man walked by and became upset at what he saw. “This is really offensive to me,” he blurted. “This only perpetuates what people already think of us.” We ended up putting the photograph in a basement room that is less trafficked.

Here’s an excerpt from an interview I conducted with the person in the photograph:
“This is little Geno. I’m big Geno. He’s going to be a security dog. I’m going to take my time with him. I’m just trying to get his neck to be strong. The chain is to put muscles in his chest. Right now he’s young. As he gets old he’ll get used to it.

“Once he sees me with it he know he’s got to put it on. At first he didn’t want to have it on, but now he’s used to it. It’s not being abusive. You can train a dog how you want to train a dog, just like a child. You can raise a child up to cuss out grown people. You know, you just raise your dog just the way you want to be raised up. That’s all that is.”

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. From the Archive - Chinatown Bar, San Francisco, CaliforniaLooking For Asian America: An Ethnocentric Tour (2001 - 2002) In the nine months I spent driving through 39 American states photographing the cultural landscape, this scene as much as any reflects my confusing, idiosyncratic hyphenated American experience. I was born and formed in Duluth, Minnesota, the youngest in my family and the only one not from China. I had never even been to China. In America, the closest you could get to anything resembling my Motherland is Chinatown, and the mother of all Chinatowns is in San Francisco (sorry NYC). Of course, this tourist-infested Chinatown with its trinkets and Buddha Bars is as authentic as Kwai Chang Caine. But it seems that a lot of how America thinks about Chinese people has to do with such faux-exotic destinations, even to a Chinese boy from Duluth. So it was with peculiar pleasure that I enjoyed an afternoon beer at this Chinatown bar (don’t recall the name) and watched Michael Jordan tearfully announce yet another retirement from the Washington Wizards. Basketball has been a life-long passion (I’ve played in a weekly, organized pick-up game for 30 years) and to most Americans and myself there is little doubt as to which icon behind the bar we worship. Buddha however was a bit of a foreign concept to me, having been weaned on Snoopy, Mary Tyler Moore, and the Vikings. I grew up Presbyterian after all.
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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.

From the Archive - Chinatown Bar, San Francisco, California
Looking For Asian America: An Ethnocentric Tour (2001 - 2002)

In the nine months I spent driving through 39 American states photographing the cultural landscape, this scene as much as any reflects my confusing, idiosyncratic hyphenated American experience. I was born and formed in Duluth, Minnesota, the youngest in my family and the only one not from China. I had never even been to China. In America, the closest you could get to anything resembling my Motherland is Chinatown, and the mother of all Chinatowns is in San Francisco (sorry NYC).

Of course, this tourist-infested Chinatown with its trinkets and Buddha Bars is as authentic as Kwai Chang Caine. But it seems that a lot of how America thinks about Chinese people has to do with such faux-exotic destinations, even to a Chinese boy from Duluth. So it was with peculiar pleasure that I enjoyed an afternoon beer at this Chinatown bar (don’t recall the name) and watched Michael Jordan tearfully announce yet another retirement from the Washington Wizards.

Basketball has been a life-long passion (I’ve played in a weekly, organized pick-up game for 30 years) and to most Americans and myself there is little doubt as to which icon behind the bar we worship. Buddha however was a bit of a foreign concept to me, having been weaned on Snoopy, Mary Tyler Moore, and the Vikings. I grew up Presbyterian after all.

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 - Bobby & Reggie, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) Last November Bobby Hull opened the door of his modest home to a young Occupy Wall Street activist who was canvassing the neighborhood. She asked him if he knew anyone with foreclosure problems. Bobby, a 57-year-old plasterer and former Marine who had fallen behind on his mortgage after a series of health problems, said, “You’re looking at one.”  Three months later Bobby’s plight has gone national, becoming the forefront of the Occupy Homes movement with coverage from ABC News and the Huffington Post. On February 17th, 2012, his house was the center of a block party “Foreclosure Free Fest” that drew 300 supporters throughout the night, with a line-up of well-known local musicians who performed in his small living room and on a stage in his front lawn. There were many that night that he didn’t know, but in this photo he’s sitting (on the right) talking to Reggie, who he met in the 7th grade. They both grew up in South Minneapolis. “We ran the neighborhood,” says Bobby. “We fought each other and fought everyone else. But that’s the way it was, you beat someone up and they end up your best friend.” Bobby, one of nine children, has been in this house since his mother bought it in 1968. She ended up adopting five more before she passed away New Years Day in 1999. Bobby helped raise 47 nephews and nieces. “They all call me mean uncle Bob,” he says. “Children like discipline. It’s a sign of love.” Having this kind of support seems miraculous to Bobby. “It’s like I fell in the mud and can now come up for clean air all the time.” According to a post six days go in the Huffington Post, Bank of America has offered him a mortgage modification that will allow him to keep his home, thanks partly to the Occupy movement.
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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 - Bobby & Reggie, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

Last November Bobby Hull opened the door of his modest home to a young Occupy Wall Street activist who was canvassing the neighborhood. She asked him if he knew anyone with foreclosure problems. Bobby, a 57-year-old plasterer and former Marine who had fallen behind on his mortgage after a series of health problems, said, “You’re looking at one.” 

Three months later Bobby’s plight has gone national, becoming the forefront of the Occupy Homes movement with coverage from ABC News and the Huffington Post. On February 17th, 2012, his house was the center of a block party “Foreclosure Free Fest” that drew 300 supporters throughout the night, with a line-up of well-known local musicians who performed in his small living room and on a stage in his front lawn.

There were many that night that he didn’t know, but in this photo he’s sitting (on the right) talking to Reggie, who he met in the 7th grade. They both grew up in South Minneapolis. “We ran the neighborhood,” says Bobby. “We fought each other and fought everyone else. But that’s the way it was, you beat someone up and they end up your best friend.”

Bobby, one of nine children, has been in this house since his mother bought it in 1968. She ended up adopting five more before she passed away New Years Day in 1999. Bobby helped raise 47 nephews and nieces. “They all call me mean uncle Bob,” he says. “Children like discipline. It’s a sign of love.”

Having this kind of support seems miraculous to Bobby. “It’s like I fell in the mud and can now come up for clean air all the time.” According to a post six days go in the Huffington Post, Bank of America has offered him a mortgage modification that will allow him to keep his home, thanks partly to the Occupy movement.