Lately I've noticed a pattern among the work of award winning photojournalists where the themes of domestic abuse, the ills of poverty, conflict and desperation in the Arabic world and the tragedy of addiction creates buzz and brings recognition to the creators of the work. Regardless of one's relationship to the events, whether you are a participant, a bystander, the photographer or the observer, there is a kind of sensationalism and sorrow at the same time.
It creates waves of confusion in me as I am not drawn to matters foreign as a way of exploring what I long to express. I'm interested in exploring what is my truth, however unsensational it may be. I don't imagine I'll be photographing any of my children performing sexual acts for money because of a shortage of other economic opportunity, to date there have been no unintended pregnancies with men who seem to alternate between the street and jail. Domestic squalor does not prevail. So where does that leave me? In the tradition of a Kerterz? Dahl-Wolfe? Avedon? Penn? I know I am one of the lucky ones- a female educated and encouraged to have goals and ambitions and I try to use my talents to portray a world I think is worth living in, nothing more, nothing less in the end.