Suomenlinna is an island fortress in the outer harbor of Helsinki. It was built in 1748 by the Kingdom of Sweden in a bid to strengthen naval rule over the Gulf of Finland and it’s shores; land which has long been known as Ingria. Ingria was once host to the Izhorians; a Finnic people who came early to seafaring sciences relative to others in the region. Meanwhile, the Votes; a people whose ties to the land trace back furthest in the past, were once the significant cultural presence in Ingria, thriving off of a sardo (slash-and-burn) based agricultural economy. Today Ingria is shared by Finland, Russia and Estonia.
Today the fortress is still occupied,
but not militarily. Instead,
mostly just families roam the fortress -
the children being almost certainly oblivious of the land’s past, but I would bet and hope that someday they’ll know it.
And of course there is park management present,
who declined to be photographed.
Finally, there were some who seemed like visitors -
just walking around in the cold,
taking photos, and remarking on their surroundings.
A lot like me I suppose.
Except I was with no-one to whom I might remark.
I did video call someone I loved while I was there,
but that doesn’t really count.
On the ferry back,
meandering across the harbor, I saw more like me.
But I saw even more who were together.
Seeing the two side by side
- the alone and the together that is -
made me realize, either right then,
or later as I looked back,
that there is not
much of a point
making the distinction
between alone & together.
On the mainland,
I met a jewler, whose blog I later found.
I approached my next destination:
the Uspenski Cathedral. At 1 p.m. on August 16th, 2007, amidst crowds of tourists, the icon of St. Nicolas; “The Wonder Maker”, was stolen. In June of 2010 another icon was stolen, that August, the third time, two were caught and after months of denial, the second icon was found, and shortly after, the two revealed the location of the buried “Wonder Maker”.
It was dark in there.
My conversations with students gathering for an engineering conference gave me an image of, as well as, a reminder of my distance from home, in the form of a masculine expression of affection.
And in the streets there was some gentle mayhem.
In the institutions of visual art,
there were pensive,
and creative beings.
Next I marched to Temppeliaukion kirkko: a semi-subterranean lutheran church in the wealthy Töölö neighborhood of Helsinki, designed by the brothers Tuomo & Timo Suomalainen.
As I stood in line to board the massive ferry line,
at 6:00 a.m.,
the following day,
I read about the proposal
to build a sub-marine tunnel,
and therefore make these liners
obsolete.
Then I thought about the memories
that have been made
on these monstrous vehicles.
Memories
made alone,
or together.
Looking back,
I think I felt together.
Old town Tallinn, Estonia was
distant,
quiet,
defensive,
glamorous,
and seemingly askew.
Nearby is Linnahall:
a “multi-purpose venue”.
Linnahall was originally built
as a host location for the 1980 Moscow olympics’ sailing event,
and has since served as a concert venue,
over the years the venue hosted Savage Garden, Duran Duran, Emma Shapplin, Lou Reed, Bryan Ferry, Apocalyptica, Chris de Burgh, Scorpions, Alphaville, A-ha, Toto, Garbage, Kim Wilde, The Sugarcubes, Electric Light Orchestra, Uriah Heep, Celine Dion, Bonnie Tyler, The Manhattan Transfer and Jennifer Rush.
Perhaps the restorations that are being discussed will go through,
but as Christopher Nolan used the delapidated location in his 2020 film Tenet,
it becomes more and more likely that this current image of this place might be preserved,
as it might then appeal more to outsiders; tourists, Americans.
In March of 2016 I went to Havana, Cuba to photograph and interview locals in regards to ‘Cuban Thaw’; the term adopted by journalists to refer to the normalization of US relations with Cuba and the consequent re-opening of the country to American tourists. This easing of over half a century’s worth of tensions came in the form of international policies put in motion by a liberal administration, which were shortly thereafter were walked back by the conservative administration that came to power in January of the following year. Out of pure unplanned chance, president of the US at the time; Barrack Obama, at the same time as my visit, scheduled his own, which became the first visit of an US President to the Cuban nation since before 1959, when a rebellion led by Fidel Castro succeeded in toppling an American-backed regime. The Cuban leader had been actively idolized in Cuba, and actively villainized in the US in the 57 years since, and there I found myself, as an American tourist already taking advantage of the easing of these tensions (by way of a loophole by which American tourists could at the time go to Cuba by flying from Canada and simply not have their passports stamped upon arrival in Cuba). During this seemingly pivotal moment for the people of Cuba, wherein their economy, culture, and landscape faced dramatic change, I had turned myself - by means of my tourism - into an political actor in the very process of ‘deshielo’ which I had set out to study.
Regardless of the fact that I only briefly saw the president, from a not insignificant distance, walk from a limousine into a building, his impending visit and ultimately his presence in the city was palpable. The day he met with then Prime Minister of Cuba; Fidel Castro, the streets emptied and my father and I joined our host beside the TV to briefly watch the moment unfold. I had not expected to be where I was in such a particular moment, and the effect it had on all conversations I had with locals was potent.
This first few images here are of my host; Oralia Lopez. She was one of the few people who I managed to muster the courage - at 17 years old - to conduct a small interview with. I asked Oralia about what she thinks might begin to change in the coming years, and she replied; "Más turistas Americanos vendrán y Cuba y Coca-Cola y más capitalismo también, pero nada puede cambiará la cultura cubana. La gente en las calles se ven igual hoy que cuando tenía 20 años y eso me hace sonreír", roughly translating to: “More American tourists will come and Cuba and Coca-Cola and more capitalism too, but nothing can change Cuban culture. People on the streets look the same today as they did when I was 20 years old and that makes me smile”. That conversation (which I conducted as I asked her to move into various frames of her warmly lit home) was one of two interviews I ended up conducting during the 10 days my father and I spent in Havana and nearby Guanabo, though, they are perhaps more accurately described as timidly attained statements.
The experience permanently re-shaped my habits as an artist, an American, a son, and a tourist.
Most of these shots are available for purchase as prints here.
Wandering the grounds,
I felt a constant presence.
It was comforting,
as though I had been accepted into a small community.
But, returning day by day,
I realized, that this was not a cohesive community.
Instead, the park’s occupants were forced to take turns,
after the park was groomed, guests were ushered in.
It was clear they were most welcome of the bunch.
Few and far between, there were some locals it seemed,
but that was the night.
when the guests of honor had already long gone,
and the rabble could return,
for recreation,
or to sleep through the night.
It would all begin again the next day,
and over time, I’m sure,
that images of this park,
will be shared, and continue to build an expectation that
this place is for guests,
that it serves a sole purpose.
I hope
it retains it’s ensemble.
In the summer of 1976, in Fire Island Pines, New York, an establishment denied entry to a visitor named Terry Warren because he was dressed in drag.
In 1976 the town was a wealthy and conservative community, but not for long.
In retaliation for the injustice, on July 4, 1976 friends of Terry Warren dressed up in drag, and sailed in mass to the Fire Island Pines.
This was the first of many invasions, which has now become an annual 4th of July ritual on the Island.
Today Fire Island Pines is a beach community on Fire Island, a few miles east of New York City and is known for it’s gay majority population.
These photographs were taken on July 4th, 2017 in the Fire Island Pines.
A work in progress.
