I have had this image in my head for about four or five years and the timing was just never quite right for it. Thankfully, since I’ve been working with the multi-talented Travis Weinand, I had the chance to do it the way I’d been picturing it for so long!
Are you all familiar with the Tiananmen Square Massacre in 1989? I’ll give you a rough summary of events. Some of the details still remain repressed though, such as the number of people actually killed, but I’ll do my best.
In April of 1989, the death of Hu Yaobang, the former Communist Party General Secretary triggered massive protests calling for political reform. The protests began peacefully and were led mostly by university students, who gathered in Tiananmen Square to mourn and protest. This went on for several weeks and some of the students took to hunger strikes to express their desire for reform. Since the entire incident has been so thoroughly repressed, it’s hard to get an inside take on what was happening in the minds of the Chinese government – you can’t very well ask about an event which never officially happened.
However, after the protests went on for weeks and showed no signs of slowing, Chinese leaders decided force was called for to disperse the protesters. Marshall law was declared, approximately 250,000 troops were sent in; given permission to use lethal force if necessary.
And, as is so often the case, once lethal force has been approved, means for using it will be found.
By June 5th, the heavily outnumbered and out-armed protesters had been largely slaughtered. Exact numbers remain unknown; official records report 200-300 died; earlier reports fro the Chinese Red Cross on the morning of the 4th recorded 2,600 deaths, which was later retracted. Regardless, the students stood no chance against an armed and deadly militia with orders to make them go away, whatever it took.
And then we come to June 5th.
After weeks of unrest leading to a brutally bloody and deadly fever pitch, by the 5th, one man, at least, had had enough. As the tanks came rolling into the square to continue to get rid of the protestors, one man made his stand in a way which still shocks and awes people today.
With nothing more than a few shopping bags in his hands, he stood in the tanks’ path and forced them to stop. The tanks tried to maneuver around him, he stepped back in front of them. After the massacre he had surely witnessed over the past several days, this goes beyond mere heroism. This was fearlessness. He was angry, and no matter that the tanks could have kept rolling and ran him over, or they could have chosen to shoot him as soon as he came into view, he stood. And for minutes, a single man stopped an entire line of tanks.
At one point he even climbs on top of the tank, bangs on it and demands to speak to the person in charge. After a few minutes, a group of people, who seem to be protesters also, join him and hustle him out of the way, probably fearing, with good reason, for his life.
No one knows who this man is. The world has called him Tank Man, a fitting name. We don’t know what happened to him. Was he arrested, was he killed, or did he simply never know the incredible impact his act of sheer bravery had on the world? With the extend to which the massacre has been suppressed in China, it’s quite possible he never knew his act was recorded or that it became famous. I would love to know what happened to him, but so far no one has come forward claiming to be Tank Man or knowing who he is.
One man against a line of tanks. He knew the events of the days before and how deadly the protests had become. He knew that he would likely be shot or run over.
But his one act of peaceful, quiet defiance stopped an army.
That is what I wanted to celebrate in my image with Travis. I wrapped a mantle of white flowers around his shoulders, both to symbolize purity and peace, which we typically associate them with in America, and also for its association with death in the Chinese culture. I instructed Travis to be quietly, peacefully strong, but unshakeable, and rolled up a piece of craft foam into a tube to shoot the image through, as if you were looking down the barrel of the tank at him. I climbed a ladder to get a view where I’d be higher up than Travis (not as easy as you’d think since he’s so tall and I’m so short!) and shot away. Travis perfectly embodied the exact emotion and look that I’d asked for. It doesn’t get better than that.
I hope that Tank Man is alive and well. I hope that he knows the impact his defiance had on the world. I hope we discover some day who he is. Until then, he will be Tank Man, the many who stopped an army.
I believe I’ve mentioned before that I have a rather, uh, active dream life. My nights are often filled with deeply archetypal storylines, heavy with symbolism and metaphor, which, I suppose, is probably part of why I’m drawn to creating images along the same lines.
Sometimes my dreams are quite silly upon waking, like the dream I had where I was aboard Star Trek’s Enterprise (the original show) and Spock and I had to beam down to an alien planet so I could find my gold bikini (ah la Leia, in Return of the Jedi) which we needed in order to defeat the attacking alien army (different aliens than the ones who lived on the planet my bikini was on) and save the world. I don’t think I was ever clear on how my gold bikini would do this, but it made sense in the dream.
Sometimes my dreams are very serious and are clearly working through problems and fears, current or past. I had a whopper of a dream a week or two ago which I’m going to tell you about, as it relates to my most recent image.
This dream was set in the world of The Hero And The Crown, by Robin McKinley, one of my very favorite books; one of those comfort-food books I turn to again and again, especially in times of trouble. If you haven’t read it, go and do so. I’ll wait.
I was Aerin, the heroine of the story. Geoff was Tor, whom I was betrothed to. We lived in Tor’s parent’s castle (which doesn’t make sense with the book, but never mind) and nobody in the entire kingdom liked or understood me. My only friends were Tor and Talat, my horse, along with the rest of the castle’s horses. They had an entire army of war horses who would fight in formation on their own, without the aid of any human riders. I took great comfort in visiting the stables frequently to get away from the nastiness of all the people and be with creatures who loved me.
The great dragon Maur, easily as big as the castle and made of pure evil, had come back and was laying siege to the castle along with numerous other giant, pure-evil dragon friends of his. We were hopelessly outnumbered and everyone knew there was really no chance of winning this battle, but we had to try. The dragons could only attack us at night, but in this world it became fully dark at about 1 in the afternoon and stayed dark until the regular sunrise of 5-6 in the morning. This meant each night was very long.
Interestingly, Tor already possessed the Hero’s Crown, which ought to have given him the ability to fight the dragons off, but it wasn’t working. It held them off a little, just barely, but it wouldn’t survive another night.
I visited the stables after the first night, thanking the horses, some of whom had been greatly wounded or killed, for their bravery in battle. Quite a lot of them were also pregnant and foals kept popping out every time I turned around. We had a good talk and I felt encouraged after I left them.
I found Tor and told him that I had to travel back to my family’s castle to retrieve two magic rings. If we both wore them, then we would be strong enough to vanquish the dragons. The thing was, I could only tell Tor where I was going and why. I had to keep it a secret from absolutely everyone else. At the end of the dream, I was riding off on Talat to my castle to get the rings, knowing that everyone hated me because they thought I’d just deserted them when they were most in need. Dusk was falling as Talat and I galloped along and I knew I had to really hurry to get the rings and return to Tor’s castle in time to help everyone survive.
A couple things I should point out right away; Tor’s family in the dream is NOTHING like Geoff’s actual family. His family embodies that friendly, easy-going, pull-up-a-chair sort of Midwestern charm you always hear about. They’re truly all wonderful people, so don’t think that that part of the dream had any resemblance to reality! Also, as far as I know, there aren’t any large groups of people who hate me. I suppose I could be wrong about this, but again, the dream is not representing real life in this way.
After mulling it over a lot, talking to my mom (who is especially gifted at dream interpretation), Geoff and my therapist, I came to a few conclusions.
The dragons = ME. Now, to be fair, I actually like dragons, but my brain often uses them as a symbol for big, bad, evil things. (It also often uses Calantha to represent my inner child in dreams, which is just full of Freudian symbolism.) Fighting ME every day often really does feel like you’re besieged by dragons. You’re trapped in your castle (house/body) while an unrelenting assault of badness attacks (all of my ME symptoms; pain, fatigue, etc).
I was confused about the nights being so long until I remembered something I’d said to Geoff a few days before the dream. I had realized that most days I spend 11-12 hours a day in bed sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. If I can get a solid 11 regularly, I feel much better, but since my sleep is so poor, I’m often trying to make up for the bad sleep, so the time spent in bed creeps up higher. I was startled when I realized just how much time I spent every day just trying to sleep. I’d been getting frustrated, feeling like my days were so short and there were never enough hours… and while I know that pretty much everyone feels like there aren’t enough hours in a day, I suddenly knew why it seemed like my days really were getting much shorter.
ME also really messes up your sleep. And if you do find yourself up at 4 am, watching TV, taking a cocktail of pills to try and get back to sleep, as I often do, nights can feel especially long and lonely.
I think that the Hero’s Crown was all the stuff I’ve tried already to feel better, all of which promise to work and cure you, but none ever has. The rings were a hope of future treatments or cures. Going off to get them while things were most dire represented the typical path of trying a treatment, which usually involves over-exerting yourself in some way first (going to the doctor’s office, my several-times-a-year nerve-blocking injections).
I suspect that the crowd of people who disliked and misunderstood me is my fear of people not understanding that I actually am sick, even if I don’t look like it outwardly. This is an extremely common worry from anyone with an “invisible illness;” any sort of sickness which does not manifest in outward signs. I often feel the need to make sure new people in my life know that I have ME and have a basic understanding of what it is so that they don’t think I’m lazy, or that I just didn’t want to go to their party, or have dinner with them. It’s a pretty big fear, to be honest. Almost without exception, everyone who is in my life knows what my deal is and while they invite me to things, they’re all very understanding if I can’t make it, especially if I have to cancel last minute. I really, really hate to cancel at the last minute, but sometimes your body leaves you no other choices. The secrecy of my mission to get the rings was mirroring the invisibility of my case of ME.
As for the more pleasant things about the dream, Geoff as Tor believed me, and he also supported me even though the entire rest of the kingdom wished he wouldn’t. That’s 100% Geoff. He will love and support me, in a fantasy battle with dragons, or in the real world battling insurance companies. He is a fearless protector and someone I can always count on. I also liked that for the magic rings to work, we both needed to wear them. I think that speaks to the importance of having someone caring for and supporting you through this stupid disease. I can fight it on my own, but it’s a million times better to have an ally.
And lastly, the animals will always be with me. I have had a special kinship with animals of all kinds, since before I can remember. My dad likes to tell the story of how there used to be a couple of huge Great Danes in a house behind ours and how they would bark and bay and snarl ferociously through the small gap in the fence if they saw you. One day I came inside and said, “You know those big dogs out there? They’re really friendly!” Alarmed, my dad checked to make sure I still had all my fingers, then came outside with me where he realized that the Danes were causing a fuss because they wanted attention, not because they were aggressive. Then for a while I collected snails in a bucket and kept them as “pets,” which I believe led my parents to get my first dog because it was just so pathetic that I was gathering snails to be my friends. Animals have always been a big part of my life, creatures I can trust and rely on, who are as unchanging and solid as a mountain.
As I was meditating on the dream, I kept being reminded of a few big scenes from the biggest battle in last season’s Game Of Thrones. You don’t really need a lot of context for it, just that the good guys are trying to keep the very bad guys out, and they’re horribly outnumbered and outmatched.
(Sorry, YouTube won’t let you play the videos here, but if you click the little “YouTube” button near the bottom of the video screen, it will take you directly to the videos.)
It may seem silly to those who have never experienced ME, but this is what it feels like to me. Like you’re outnumbered 1000 to 1, the other side has mammoths and giants and all you’ve got is a fairly useless sword to try and fight them all off. There is no end in sight, and barely any hope that you’ll succeed. This is also the way a lot of The Hero and the Crown goes, which is part of why it’s one of my favorite books.
It may sound silly to those who have never know chronic illness’s cruel touch, but I’m willing to bet that everyone who has dealt with it will understand at once. It’s exhausting to fight an enemy every day, who you can’t see or touch. And even more so when some people don’t believe the enemy exists.
So, as I do, I had to take a self portrait to work through my feelings on this dream. What could be more DreamWorldy than an image inspired by an actual dream? I can imagine this being a snippet of DreamWorld’s rich history, perhaps during the Yellow King’s grab for the throne. I edited it with both The Hero and the Crown and Game of Thrones in mind, lending visual inspiration.
We sick will keep fighting. We will hold the gate.
My tripod it balanced on the mattress and the camera would shift slightly whenever Calantha, also on the mattress, moved. There was just enough room between my bed, the closet and all the other things in that part of the bedroom to make this work. Who needs a studio?? 😉
“A wall of flames 40 feet high was sweeping its way up the canyon, 400 yards away. At that point, they would have had about a minute. Since they couldn’t get to the safety zone, they had to make one of their own. Andrew Ashcraft and Travis Turbyfill, the two sawyers, started attacking the brush with their chain saws, while the rest of the guys swung their Pulaskis, frantically doing what they were trained to do: move dirt, and move dirt faster. They dumped fuel from their drip cans around the zone they’d created, then set the chain saws at the outer perimeter, so that when they exploded no one would get hurt.
[The team’s leader,] Eric, got on the radio. The Hotshots’ escape route had been cut off, he said, and they were deploying their emergency shelters.
Eric’s voice was calm – some said the calmest they’d ever heard him. At 4:47, he radioed his last transmission: ‘Deploying.’ And then, just like they’d practiced, the Granite Mountain Hotshots climbed into their shelters.
Finally, at 6:30 – an agonizing 103 minutes later – the helicopter was able to get on the ground. The onboard medic hurried to the site where they’d seen the shelters. As he approached, he spotted the metal blade from a chain saw and a pickax with the handle burned away. The ranch house was unscathed. Everything else was a smoldering moonscape.
Experts estimate that the fire burned between 3,000 and 5,000 degrees. In the end, there wasn’t much left. But what there was told a story.
The 19 Hotshots were all together. No one panicked, no one ran. Travis Turbyfill and Andrew Ashcraft, the sawyers, were at the edge of the group, closest to the flames. They were cutting lines up until the end.
When Juliann [ed – Andrew’s wife] got Andrew’s effects back, his boots and clothes were gone. His metal belt buckle didn’t make it. His pocketknife. The journals that he kept. There was a piece of Velcro from his watchband but not the watch itself. Even the metal plate and eight screws in his leg, from when he shattered it in a rappelling accident a few years back, had disappeared.
Two things, she discovered, had somehow survived the fire. One was Andrew’s wedding ring, titanium. The other, shrunken and black, was the rubber wristband that said: be better.”
I initially created today’s image to be a companion piece for this photo of Katie and I, honoring the fallen firemen in Yarnell, Arizona almost a year ago.
Though it always makes me cry to think about it, there is such beauty in the men’s calm acceptance of their sacrifice, their solidarity, that they were a complete, solid unit until the very end. Josh Eell’s article says it so wonderfully. They stuck together. In the face of immediate, certain death, they did what they could and then turned to each other for comfort. Shoulder to shoulder, they stuck together until the horrific last.
That unity, that love, that solidarity and bravery touched me more deeply than I could, or can, express. The only chance I had at touching on it was through art. I set up a shoot with Katie and Bryce to portray the doomed but brave men. It happened that some tree branches and very tall bushes in my yard had just been cut down, forming what appeared to be a huge, natural nest. Thinking of the Hotshots as birds with broken, burned wings helped me find the metaphor I wanted to use, a way into the truth I was trying to get at.
It was an easy shoot, what with all the branches having been set up for me by the workmen. I lit a few smoke bombs, snapped the frames and it was done. I loved what I had gotten from this shoot as I looked at the images later. All the same, I found I couldn’t face editing the image. It took many, many months before I felt like I could emotionally handle editing working it up.
I didn’t consciously realize we were coming up on the anniversary of their deaths, but I must have felt it subconsciously. I’ve been haunted by memories of Andrew recently and finally felt that it was time, urgently time, to finish this piece. As I finally brought the files into Photoshop and started working on them, more memories flooded my brain. Like how Andrew, as a young child, had always said “Jee Jie Joes” instead of “GI Joes” and frequently got tripped up between “brought” and “brung.” The trip our families took to Mount Shasta together. Their shelties, who seem huge in my mind, but who I know were actually smallish dogs. Drawing together, playing in the sprinklers, going to the beach, sharing snacks, going to the park, getting into fights, crying and making up again… all the things children do.
I’ve said before that one of the things I mourn in this is that I missed out on getting to know Andrew as an adult. I’ve tried to remember that lesson and have made a point to stay in touch, or get back in touch, with people in my life. I won’t get another chance at Andrew, but I can try and apply the lesson to other friendships.
None of these men deserved their fate. They were true heroes, actively running into the worst, most dangerous situations. That is what the Hotshots were there for; an elite team of firefighters comparable to Navy Seals or Spartans. The only thing I can try and do about it is make an attempt to honor them and their sacrifice. I know that I will always fall short in this goal, but it’s important to try nonetheless. I am also keenly aware that this is not about me or my pain. The pain of Andrew’s family and loved ones is something I can only imagine.
The Hotshots were trapped; birds unable to fly away. There was no escape from the flames. But what remained was love. Love triumphing over the flames by preserving Andrew’s wedding ring and bracelet with his personal motto. Love for the people they were protecting, though they would never meet them. Love for their families, though they left them behind in the line of their duty. Love for each other. Love for humanity. Just love.
That love is what I wanted most to capture in this image and I hope it shines through.
Singed Wings
Singed Wings – detail
Singed Wings – detail One of the three smokey roses scattered through the photo. I used a photo I had taken of beautifully carved roses on a tombstone, which felt so fitting. The delicacy and beauty they add are still tinged with sorrow.
Singed Wings – detail
Singed Wings – detail
My heart goes out to the family and friends of all 19 fallen heroes especially as we approach the anniversary of this tragedy. I’m sure it’s an extremely difficult time for all of them.
As a continuation of my last post, this one will also be talking about Andrew Ashcraft, the boy I played with when I was young who grew up to be one of the fallen Hotshot heroes from Arizona’s recent fires.
I created a photo to work through my grief, as I often do, but it didn’t feel like enough. I kept thinking about Andrew’s poor widow, left with their four very young children to raise, all on her own. And then I’d think about the families of the 18 other firefighters and how would they get by, and I had to do something.
There are 19 families left without fathers, husbands, providers. The last thing they need while they’re still reeling from the profound loss is to worry about how the bills are going to get paid. Let’s give them some of the aid they need.
It was last Tuesday, July 2nd, that I found out about the tragic deaths of the nineteen firefighters in Arizona a few days earlier. At the same time, I discovered my childhood friend, Andrew Ashcraft, was one of those lost. It took a while to sink in. Andrew, who I had played with for years, was gone.
Not only Andrew, but eighteen others of Arizona’s finest firefighters were lost. They were called the Granite Mountain Hotshot crew; essentially the Navy Seals of the fire world. They were trained to go into the deadliest, most dire situations and kick the fire’s ass. They went in to make a fuel break for the devastating forest fire when the wind changed and trapped them. There was no escape.
My heart breaks for Andrew’s widow, left to raise their four very young children, the oldest of whom is merely six, by herself. It breaks for Andrew’s mother Deborah, who has to bury one of her children. It breaks for the eighteen others families in the same situation.
Andrew with his family
Andrew was only 29. He had been named the 2011 Rookie of the Year in the Hotshot crew. He’d had to really work to get into the crew. That was what he wanted to do. He chose to be the best, bravest, most worthy of men. I am in awe.
It’s important for me to state that it had been a long time since I’d seen Andrew… I was probably 13 or so. But he and his brother TJ were a big part of my childhood. Our moms were friends and would frequently trade babysitting, so for years my brother and I saw and played with the Ashcraft boys several times a week. My brother was the oldest of us, TJ was next, then me and Andrew was the youngest, even though only four years separated us all. It was just enough of an age difference that the older two boys would want to go off and do Secret Older Boy Things together (mostly involving GI Joes, as I recall) so Andrew and I were often our own group… which sometimes consisted merely of sulking about being left out of Secret Boy Things. But we made our own fun.
I can’t find a photo of the four of us together, but here’s a photo of myself (in front), TJ and my brother in some strange church play.
One of the clearest memories I have of the four of us is arguing heatedly over who played which character when we would play Batman. My brother, the oldest, was naturally Batman. When he and I played it at home, I was Robin, and I felt that was my part. But TJ’s slight age difference made a good argument in the logic of children for him assuming the role of Robin. The debate was settled when we found out about Batgirl, who I would obviously play, leaving Robin to TJ. But poor Andrew was always forced to play Alfred or some random henchmen; he never got to play a really good character. I had laughingly told this story to Geoff quite a while ago, not realizing the irony that was to come.
Andrew grew up to be a real, living, actual hero. He lived his heroism more than any person I know of. He went out doing what he loved, with the men he loved, and if he ever felt fear, he never let it stop him. I am so sad his family has lost him. I am sad that the world has lost such an amazing person. And I am sad that I never got to know Andrew at this age, that we lost touch, and I only discovered what an incredible person he was second hand. The world is nineteen wonderful souls poorer.
As I cried into Geoff’s chest the day I heard the news, one of the first things he asked was how I was going to work through my feelings photographically. This is just one of the many reasons I love him, because I was already mentally hard at work trying out different concepts and trying to figure it out. As I was working through my grief and trying to put my feelings into a visual form, I was also talking a lot with Katie, who had recently experienced a similar kind of loss. It was a great comfort to have her and other people in my life familiar with grief to talk to. Katie and I already had a shoot planned in a few days, so I told her to just expect that we would shoot something to honor Andrew and the other firefighters.
This was another shoot done on a non-budget. It took just a few big, yellow smoke bombs and the fresh flowers. Also, HUGE thanks to Geoff for being my human shutter release!
Usually I edit things in order of them being shot, as that seems fairest, but this got bumped way up in line. I really wanted it to be released today, the day of the big memorial service in Prescott. You’ll see that Katie is playing the role of the rescuer, pulling me to safety, but not far from the danger herself. The smoke wrapping around my body and throat actually happened exactly like that, straight out of camera, and seems to want to pull me back and not let go. Katie is carrying nineteen large orange, yellow and red flowers, symbolizing the fallen heroes, and I like that there are smaller yellow flowers connected to the stalks; they seem to symbolize the fireman’s family.
When I searched for a title for this photo, I immediately remembered what Jimmy in Boardwalk Empire says before each drink instead of the standard “cheers” or “bottom’s up;” he says “to the lost.” For Jimmy it was about his lost comrades during the war, but it seemed to fit here perfectly. This is also only the second time I’ve ever done a square crop on a photo. For the most part I stick very strictly to my 2×3 ratio. This photo just called for something else, so I went with it. There are some detail shots of the photo below.
I hope Andrew’s family heals as quickly as it can, along with the rest of the families. There is nothing I can say or do that can make it better for them. How I wish there was. All I can do is try to honor the fallen heroes, with my words, my photos, and my many, many tears.
Andrew was a badass… but the very best kind, who hasn’t lost his softer side. He was a true hero, like Prince Lir. We didn’t know that Andrew was the biggest hero of us all.
These photos owe their existence to my dear friend Alex, who has been my “online” friend for about seven years, but crossed over into “real life” friend when he traveled to Wichita to be my Man of Honor at my wedding! Hi, Alex!!
Alex’s email signature for a while was the following quote, which I found intriguing:
Lo, there do I see my father/ Lo, there do I see my mother and my brothers and my sisters/ Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning/ Lo, they do call to me they bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla/ Where the brave shall live forever/ Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death.
I learned that it was a Norse prayer, most famously used in the movie 13th Warrior, but very closely based on a real, historic prayer. Every time I got an email from Alex, I would see a vision of a beautiful, strong Norse girl standing with her dog and staff, their backs to the camera, radiating fearlessness. It was quite a while before I was able to bring the concept to life with Katie Johnson, and my neighbors’ dog Gus, an extremely handsome Australian Kelpie.
As much as I love using Calantha in my photos, Gus felt like a better portrayal of a Norse dog; something more muscular, with a thicker coat, more suited for guarding and herding.
That staff… I found that huge branch in my yard one day, back when I lived at my previous place. I stored it in the garage there for well over a year without using it (but knowing it would be perfect for this photo). And when Geoff and I moved to this house, we actually went to the trouble of bringing the stick with us.
The braids were something I just quickly threw together, but apparently they were greatly enjoyed all day 🙂 Enjoy some detailed shots below!
*I will announce the print giveaway winner as soon as I hear who won it from the people running the giveaway!*
Mythic Pictures 