I have been taking photos of older people for seven or eight years now, in my hospice and therapy work. I always ask the subject if he or she is comfortable having their photo taken, and I always ask a few other questions to make certain they understand. I tell them I may put their photos up on a blog.
Some are initially uncomfortable with the idea of being photographed, they are concerned they might look old, or that their wrinkles and weathered faces might not be attractive. I tell them their faces are beautiful to me, and full of character, and that is the truth.
No one I have ever asked has declined to be photographed, and I asked one of the people who came to visit from the Mansion Assisted Care Facility today why she thought that was so. “Because we are never seen,” she said, without hesitating, “and everyone needs to be seen.”
Modernization has not demoted the elderly, it tended to disrupt and diminish the family.
The young and the old now have live with more freedom and control, and some of that freedom is the opportunity to live apart from older people. In some cultures, the old are honored, even venerated. In our culture, we celebrate our independence from them, we worship our own independence.
This has caused older people some new and painful problems.
Our society – our planners, futurists, politicians, doctors – seem to have not anticipated the reality of what happens to older people in life, sooner or later. Independence becomes impossible, and illness and infirmity will come. So the new question lingers, and goes unanswered: if independence is what we all live for, then what do we do when it is no longer possible, and our families are no longer responsible?
What do we live for then? I have never heard much of an answer. We tend to hide and look away.
We have chosen institutionalization as the answer. I always ask the people I photograph if they are happy, and almost all of them say yes, or frequently, they shrug. They are happy to be safe. “I love where I live,” one of the Mansion people told me. “I always feel safe there and well cared for and have good friends. I can’t live alone any longer, my husband died years ago and my children have their own lives.”
Still, there is a sadness at times, and an inevitable isolation from the normal comforts of life.
Animals help, visits help, and I believe being seen and known helps. I see my photography of the elderly as the art of the unseen, capturing the images of people who would not otherwise be seen or photographed. And their appreciation of this tells me that it is needed. One day, I’d love to do a photo show of the people in the Mansion and other facilities Red and I visit.
When I asked Joan if I could take her photo, she looked me in the eye and smiled. “Absolutely,” she said, and then told Maria wonderful stories of growing up on a farm and learning to ride the pigs all over the place. I loved the character in her face, it’s integrity and authenticity. She loved her farm, and loved seeing ours.
I will send her a copy of this photograph, to make sure she knows she has been seen. If you wish to send her a note, you can write to her c/o Joan, Resident, The Mansion, at 11 South Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.