Next week marks the close of an ambitious new show at the University of Arizona’s Center for Creative Photography.
"So we’re looking out across a desert scene, which if you’re from southern Arizona or are familiar with it, will look very familiar to you," says Julie Swarstad Johnson, an an archivist and outreach librarian at the University of Arizona's Poetry Center, and another co-curator for the exhibition.
"And in the foreground there is a small peak or hill, with a white cross on top, that looks like it’s maybe made out of metal. On top of that cross, there are four young boys, that are standing on the cross piece, holding on to the metal, holding onto each other. And very clearly looking like they’re having a good time," Johnson says.
"They sit in the arms. Does their mother know they do this as a game? They perch up there in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost," says a recording of Ofelia Zepeda, a Tohono O’odham poet. "They sit with no fear of falling. They are safe in the arm of the cross. Safe in the prayers that always begin with the words ’In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.’”
I’m in Tucson, at the University of Arizona’s Center for Creative Photography, or CCP. I’m on a tour with Denisse Brito, the learning and engagement manager at the center and the co-curator of the exhibition. Johnson is also a co-curator.
The exhibition I'm looking at is "The Place Where Clouds Are Formed," and it’s on display in two sections — one here at CCP, the other just across the campus at the Poetry Foundation. One of the goals of the show, Denisse tells me, is to allow both mediums to enhance each other.
"Photography and poetry in conversation," Brito says.
That conversation began a few years ago with three artists: Gareth Smit, a South African photographer who took that picture of the boys on the cross you just heard described; Zepeda, who wrote and recorded the poem about the photograph; and Martin Zicari, an Argentine writer and researcher.
"And it didn’t start as an exhibition per se, it started as a project where the three of them were interested in researching the land," Brito says.
The artists wanted to illustrate how the lives of the Tohono O’odham have been transformed by the U.S.-Mexico border, which created a heavily guarded barrier between two regions of the ancestral O’odham homelands.
"And it’s only gotten more complicated for them as the border has gotten more rigid and militarized," Johnson says.
As they began documenting life on the Mexican side of the border, the artists were wary of the power dynamics of a project like this — especially since neither Gareth or Martin are Tohono O’odham. And they wanted the community to see this work as a collaboration.
"Instead of: You, Sam, sit there, I’m gonna take your picture and walk away, then I say whatever I say about you, right? Sam likes to wear pink shirts all the time, or whatever," Brito says.
Admittedly, that may be true.
"Whatever I wanna say, right? I now have this power," Brito says.
I ask if the motivation was to document the community for the community, rather than to show the community to outside eyes.
"Yes. We’re shifting that idea of, it’s a singular point of view. It’s more: everyone’s voice, and ideas are equal," Brito says.
I wasn't expecting Brito to say that. What I was expecting her to say was that, this is giving power or primacy to the community in that dynamic. Instead it seems like Brito is saying there’s an acknowledgement of the community that is being photographed. But there’s also an acknowledgement of the artist being present there and that being a valid thing as well.
"Yes. Everyone will take pictures of whoever they want. But how you approach that, how you go about that, making it more intentional is what matters at the end," Brito says.
We arrive at a photograph taken in a small village, which was largely abandoned in 2015 after an outbreak of cartel violence. The image shows a pickup truck with its rear window smashed.
I ask if the suggestion is that the cartel violence that led to the damage.
"Yeah, or at least part of just the aftermath of that community. On one window, it maybe even looks like a bullet — the strike of a bullet breaking the glass," Johnson said.
I can’t help noticing in this the image is taken from inside the truck, so it’s what the damage to the truck would’ve looked like to the person who owns it, not some outsider going, “Oh my God, that truck has a bullet hole in the window!”
Long before "The Place Where Clouds Are Formed" came to the CCP, it was first shown in a village where many of the photographs were taken. Now, one of the images is a scene from that first exhibition.
"We’re in the interior of a house in Quitovac, Mexico, that looks like it’s maybe like a semi-open kitchen. The walls look like they may be made out of saguaro or ocotillo ribs," Johnson says. "And in the foreground, there is a woman cooking. She looks like she’s probably cooking over a fire, because there’s a cloud of smoke coming up. But she is bent over what she’s working on, and appears to be tasting it — her hand is to her mouth. And she has a look of concentration."
On the wall next to the photo, which Gareth took, Martin has written a recollection of the day the picture was taken. I ask Julie to read it.
"Corn pozole and fresh hibiscus tea. Flour tortillas and beans. Half of the family stayed at Mrs. Jerlinda’s house with the preparations. A van came and went to Sonoyta and Quitovac, with everything needed to feed more than 20 people. The rest of the town came to see the photography exhibition, listen to the poems in O’odham, photos upon photos, familiar faces looking for familiar faces in the images. Someone in the town had died, so mourning was required.
"The event was ending, and the true reason for the art was manifested in that pozole smoke. I remember the afternoon with that smoky flavor of corn, full of pozole broth, the sweetness of the hibiscus, the sun at the end of the day and almost newborn puppies running through the dry dusty street."
We see this woman captured in a very real, authentic moment. She’s cooking food, she’s tasting it, because she wants to make sure that the people she’s going to serve it to will enjoy it. It’s like she’s the reason that we’re here, to take this photograph. Not anything else.
"We have the photograph, but it’s actually that whole story around it that’s important. Having that context really, I think, brings you into that scene in a more complete way. And says this is real life — these are real people that we were with. And they were aware of what we’re doing," Johnsons says.
"The Place Where Clouds Are Formed" is on display through Aug. 31st at the Center for Creative Photography.
