Dear Anonymous,
He stands in the light for me. And this is enough.
I bring a turkey dinner. A casserole with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes and stuffing. Hot. All homemade.
No one wants any. This is the truth.
'But, you have any of that coffee cake?', one asks.
Everyone on the run. Needing to move. Or agitated. Or needing a drink or a cig or a fix or a strip. As one young man who drops everything at least twice and drops something else each time he picks something up says, 'We're all just human piñatas out here.'
A good lesson. What is needed is not always what we think. It is not always what we believe. Or what will make us feel good. Amen.
That turkey casserole? It found a welcome home elsewhere. Nothing wasted. And deeply appreciated.
Another morning like many but then as the guys disperse...
Dear Anonymous,
Another morning like many but then as the guys disperse and I am getting into my car a woman walking by, a pedestrian, stops. Apparently she's been watching.
'Are you helping out here?' she asks me.
Inside I never know if this is help, but it is connection.
And it's not me, it's a lot of us... a lot of Dear Anonymous's.
She smiles, fumbles in her pocket and hands me cash. And a big smile. I immediately walk into the coffee shop and translate that into more coffee cards...and hand them out.
And so it goes. The words of a recent contributor ringing in my ears:
'If we all just did a little more we could turn this ship around.'
Amen.
Not too many words this morning.
Dear Anonymous,
Not too many words this morning. Some socks and a few other items. A coffee card. A chance to gaze into the lens the way he does.I notice the scarf, bright white when he claimed it from the pile in my car a few weeks ago,is now worn, and stiff and dingy. He wears two hats. He takes an extra piece of cake...and smiles. A hug. And then he's off.
Quiet today. Trying to organize his gear...
Dear Anonymus,
Quiet today. Trying to organize his gear.
So quiet. And then he looks into the lens.
And a story, not word ripe, begins.
It is very cold. Some were unable to get a bed last night because 'the inn was full'.
Dear Anonymous,
It is very cold. Some were unable to get a bed last night because 'the inn was full'. Some were kicked out. Some had shelter but are now on their daily 'beat' to make it through another day.
This friend, lovely as usual, needs a few items and allows me to photograph before he hurries on to warm up.
It is not a morning given to lingering, everyone is too cold.
Any coat I had is gone. I see a few of 'the boys' wearing the thermal lined hoodies you provided. Those Carhartt hats are a hit. I see your Dear Anonymous signature in the scarf around a neck, a layer of clothing, a hat.
What was scooped up this morning? New Mens Boxer Briefs.
'Oh! Clean underwear!', they sighed with relief.
By now my own hands are pounding with pain. Me, who slept in a warm, dry, safe bed. I look around the street. All have scattered looking to warm up.
He seemed pretty happy with a new coat, or two.
Dear Anonymous,
He seemed pretty happy with a new coat, or two. A brand new hat and gloves...and a cup of coffee to go with the pumpkin bread, also donated today. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
He was jumped again last night. Back pack stolen. Money stolen. Again. He knows he's a bit of a target. Take care of yourself, Tyler. Please. You're worth it.
Damn cold out there.
Photography is a currency of connection.
Photography is a currency of connection.
In a world heading toward escalating conflict, climate emergency, mass immigration, water wars and growing economic disparity, photography allows me to connect to the immediacy of my environment and grounds me to the present moment.
Reaching out to photograph the marginalized populations I encounter in my landscape connects me unexpectedly to a beauty and to a humanity that eases my own sense of isolation and despair.
An exposure can become an intimate 1/500th of a second relationship, allowing access to our shared humanity. My ongoing encounter with populations experiencing homelessness, drug addiction, incarceration and recovery help me see what I would otherwise refuse to acknowledge. It would remain overlooked and ignored.
These fractions of a second relationships of intimacy, the time it takes for an exposure, are an invitation to the Family of Man, even though it is a crazy and dysfunctional family filled with brokenness and beauty, sinners and saints.
-Joanne Arnold
Tyler
Tyler, arrived this morning just a few minutes later than most.
Dear Anonymous,
Tyler, arrived this morning just a few minutes later than most. He was happy to receive some socks. And a coffee card. But I had run out of damn coffee cake. And that always puts a hairline fracture on my heart.
But I had a small little notebook he had asked for.
The need is great and will never be filled. There is a man here this morning who is very quiet and who I have seen for months. This morning he is exasperated. Uncharacteristically flustered. He tells me all his belongings were stolen, the latest victim of theft on the street. Backpack, sleeping bags, coleman stoves, all his earthly belongings. POOF. Gone.
He takes a pair of very worn sneakers and replaces his worn ankle high shoes with them, reusing the shoe laces from his old pair.
Before I leave he walks over calmly holding those old battered shoes as if he were displaying new Gucci Loafers, one hand holding the pair beneath the soles and one hand grasping the heel end of the pair with his forefingers.
He asks quietly, 'Maybe you can pass these along? '
And I will. And he walks away, only to turn after a few steps and offer, 'Thank you.'.
Standing up straighter this morning. His aspirations spoken out...
Dear Anonymous,
Standing up straighter this morning. His aspirations spoken out...to get an apartment, go back to school, get a degree, be a counselor, a journalist....
Tough to have aspirations when you are in the jungle of despair, with substances calling you like sirens, with complicated mental health history, with the numbing effect of street life on top of all that. With anger. With anxiety. Hard to even stand up.
Today he is showered, shaved and I may have heard a whisper of hope.
Stand tall, Tyler...we see you.
There is no romanticizing any of this.
Dear Anonymous,
There is no romanticizing any of this. The weight of health issues, mental and physical, the interplay of substances and the toll it has taken over time, the lack of sleep, irregular nutrition, and hopelessness takes it's toll.
What does he really want? To be able to have someone listen. He asks for a little journal and pen to organize his day, his thoughts, his world. I hope he fills it up and I will replenish it again and again, because in the absence of a listening heart there is the page to help us through.