29 June 2009

The Art of Storytelling

Storytelling. It's not a new concept. In fact, storytelling is one of the reasons photojournalism was born; back in the late 1800s when photos began to appear in newspapers because editors realized photos sold papers.

 Henry R. Luce’s Life Magazine was one of the first national publications that used large photos to tell stories. It was first published in 1936.

I remember sifting through those huge pages and thinking how great it would be to be published in Life. I came close once. I shot a story for the Associated Press on Mexican farm workers who would take their children to the fields with them. I spent days in the Northwest Ohio fields documenting babies and toddlers confined in playpens surrounded by wheat and corn. The story went national, but in newspapers, not Life.

Remember when you first learned Life was going to stop the presses? Sadly, it was just the beginning of the continuing steady demise of magazines and newspapers.

After relentlessly documenting the job losses of other people, like autoworkers and mortgage brokers, we are now tragically covering ourselves. I use the word tragically, because photojournalists are the eyes of the world. Our world needs photos to continue documenting job losses, discrimination, health crisis, war, poverty and political corruption.

It’s our job to bring these atrocities to light, because the average citizen doesn’t have the power or the stage to do it. How would we know about hunger in Ethiopia or the existence of the KKK without photos to prove these things exist?

Storytelling can be done with just one photo (think firefighter carrying the baby during the Oklahoma bombing) or a whole series of photos. These captured stories can be printed in newspapers/magazines or on-line. Either way, it’s an art form that should absolutely never die.

In another posting, I'll highlight a few schools and organizations that are raising the bar on the art of storytelling.

 

 

 

22 June 2009

Warning: Protect Thyselves


I covered a fire safety meeting tonight for the Blade. I actually couldn't wait to attend because I'm a freak about fire safety, and seat belt safety, and water safety, stranger danger, etc. I'm convinced that anyone who does this job for a long time eventually suffers from post traumatic stress disorder. 
Photojournalists are up close and personal to so many disasters that we understand trauma and accidents can happen to anyone, anytime. I fear because I drive my children crazy with my hovering when they're riding bikes, swimming or playing on the jungle gym, they won't take me seriously when the danger is quite high, like when we walked the rim of the Grand Canyon last month. I was a maniac. "Watch your step!" "Don't walk too fast!" "Stay close to the left side!" I even got tired of hearing myself.
Despite my paranoia, I wouldn't change a thing, because I need to be able to sleep at night, knowing I did my best to protect them as much as you can prevent accidents, and that multiple smoke alarms strategically placed throughout my house are functional.
So I say this with motherly intuition: Make sure you have smoke alarms with fresh batteries in every bedroom and hallway; at least one fire ladder on the 2nd floor; and an escape plan that's well rehearsed. 
And please, take me seriously just this one time.

01 June 2009

Unplugged...


   Welcome to summer. An Air France plane crashes. A Monroe, Mich. 5-year-old girl is missing. Prop 8 in California continues. And my RV mechanic bill is $1,000. There's never a shortage of news (okay, my RV isn't news but the price tag is still shocking!) 
   I took a break from the news business last week, when I went to Arizona on vacation. My cell died the 1st day and I didn't recharge it. I didn't take my computer, either. I rarely read or watched the news. And my pair of Canon Mark II cameras were left at home. But you know what? News continued without me, and it always will. 
(Photo by my daughter, Quinn)    
                       
Sad update on the missing girl: Nevaeh Buchanan was found murdered, cased in cement on the bank of the River Raisin in Monroe, Mich. The suspect is still at large.