Before my maternal grandmother died, I interviewed her about her life, which included escaping the Holocaust as a fourteen-year-old girl, moving alone from Austria to America, and eventually becoming editor-in-chief of Mademoiselle magazine. These stories revealed a side of her I never knew—as we spoke, she described living in fear every day as a result of her past trauma—and the first time I heard them, I was in shock. I felt like I hadn’t appreciated my grandma the way I should have, and there was so much I wanted to ask her before her time was up…

Yesterday, I went to Belmont Village because my grandfather was putting on an art show there. At 93-years-old, he’s still incredibly creative, with a lifetime’s worth of paintings and doodles and sculptures he wanted to share with his community. He obviously made a huge impression on everyone who attended—they had no idea my Opa was so talented. He is…

I’m about to make a second attempt at photographing the homeless teens at My Friend’s Place (MFP). Last time, I experienced a major technical difficulty—not being able to hear my subject’s stories over the roar of the highway! Now that social distancing rules have been lifted and many people have been vaccinated, I’m allowed to take my subjects’ pictures inside the MFP building. As a result, I will be able to hear their stories more clearly, and, hopefully, go into their narratives with more depth. Last time I felt rushed as I moved from one person to another; this time, I plan to photograph only four subjects (as opposed to seven) and spend at least twenty minutes with each one…

Deciding whether to produce a photograph in black and white or color all depends upon the message I’m trying to convey. When an image is in black and white, the shadows intensify and the picture becomes darker—both literally and figuratively. An almost mysterious filter is added when I take away color, one that makes the viewer more engaged by accentuating everything from a subject’s face shape to her wrinkles…

To the viewer, it must seem so easy—simply taking a photograph and recording a story—but the process entails so much more. Every shoot requires many different kinds of camera equipment, from the light box to the backdrop, and it’s strenuous to carry them to the location of the shoot and set them up—in all, that part of the process takes about an hour. Then, once everything is in place, I talk to my subjects, making sure that they are familiar and comfortable with all that is about to happen…

I am a really friendly person, but also a little shy. The greatest and most unexpected gift this project has given me is the practice of being an active listener. As a portrait photographer—and now, an interviewer—I have begun the journey of becoming a better listener to my subjects. Instead of zoning out and simply focusing on my art, I am learning to pay more attention to their stories and how they’re telling them. Indeed, I capture their facial expressions in my lens, but I am also having my world knowledge expanded by what I am learning from the myriad stories I’m recording. For instance, when I spoke to Leannah, a homeless teen, she told me that, for the past few months, she’s had a voice in her head she calls a “Kokomon Diesel” that tells her what to do. Before speaking with her, I never would have imagined that someone would be walking around on the streets being controlled by somebody other than themselves. From Leannah’s story, I’ve learned that you should never assume things about other people; you never know what’s going on in their lives or in their heads, and you have to be sensitive to that…

Listening to the loneliness that so many of my elder subjects experienced upon the death of their spouse broke my heart. They each described suffering from a profound sense of abandonment by their friends and family members, particularly after the brief period of “acceptable” mourning time had passed. They weren’t angry. They understood that people who haven’t lost a spouse can’t necessarily understand the grieving process or know how to handle it. But they all wished that their loved ones had made more of an effort to stay in touch—that they had reached out with love rather than avoiding them like the plague, as if they might catch something deadly. They also hated feeling pushed to get on with their lives by those who still had meaningful lives to live. As Marsha put it, she wanted to crawl under a rock and mourn for as long as she liked, while still knowing that someone cared enough about her to check in…

Belmont Village, the assisted living facility where my grandpa lives, reached out to me because they saw some of my portraits and wanted me to photograph their residents. I think my grandpa and his fellow residents would make a great contribution to this project—much like the homeless youth I’ve met through My Friend’s Place, they all have stories to tell that lie way below the surface. The sad truth is that many people don’t take the time to listen to the elderly, as they can come across as slow or tedious; this is especially true in America, I think, where we don’t show the same reverence for older generations as some other cultures do. But the elderly have lived through history, have made history, and they have a whole life’s worth of experiences and stories—even my own family members have fought in wars, escaped the Holocaust, and witnessed 9/11. I can’t wait to ask my elderly subjects all about their pasts while also capturing their faces, as I know that every one of the wrinkles imprinted on their skin will tell an important tale…

Hands are so interesting to me, and they express so much. Wrinkly hands, calloused hands, manicured hands, or hands with bitten nails—they all tell a story about someone’s life. For example, my grandfather, who was in the army, has very crinkly and intricate hands that are like a map of all his past adventures. In contrast, my father has very soft hands, which makes sense, since he used to be a hand model…

This shoot has been really tricky to set up and coordinate, and I understand why. The volunteers at My Friend’s Place (MFP), an organization that helps homeless teens get back on their feet, are very protective of their community. The individuals have all been through so much, and the MFP employees want to be sure that my photographs and interview questions won’t be traumatic for the homeless youth. As a result, they requested that I submit my questions beforehand, so they could approve them, and they also said that they would be on hand to run interference. I really get it—I would never want to risk triggering my subjects’ depression or anxiety…

The shoot went so well, and it was awesome to see my old friends—well, two of them, anyway! I asked them questions while recording their answers and taking their picture, all at the same time. I wanted it to be very free flowing and casual, and it went exactly as planned. I asked them to talk about something that defines them that other people wouldn’t necessarily know—it’s a broad question, which leaves room for interpretation and storytelling, and I couldn’t believe how much they shared with me, how honest they were. One friend talked about finding himself after being fat-shamed his whole life, while the other told me about being abused as a child. I have known both of these people for years, but this was the first time that I had heard these stories. I love my friends so much for their openness and vulnerability…

It’s my first day of “practice shooting” for Hear My Story, and I’ve called some trusted friends I haven’t seen in a year—not since the start of Covid. I’m kind of freaking out because it’s been so long and it’s such a weird way to meet up again, and yet I’m also really touched that they agreed to do this shoot with me. When I take photographs, I’m hoping to learn more about my subjects, even my closest friends, and what their faces reveal about their stories. There’s more to people than just their physical appearance, and I want to reveal that truth to the viewer…