We Wish to See God: Places of Worship

The primary function of a place of worship is to inspire an intimate relationship between man, woman and God. The place of worship transcends religious boundaries as a sacred structure. It reflects the solace of sanctuary that is found in communion with the Divine. 

One aspect I enjoy about exhibiting my work is discovering the various reactions of my audience because some immediately recognize the “church” environment while others do not see it at all.  They simply see an abstracted space or object. It doesn’t take long for either to pose questions concerning the message of my work. It seems that the human mind cannot resist the urge to attach some social commentary to my photographs in an effort to compartmentalize and simplify my view on religion and spirituality. 

I do not propose any particular point of view on religion or spirituality, except to present the simple fact of its invariable presence manifested by the architecture that is the main subject of my work. The objects depicted in my photos are proof of the mortal human, in this case the men and women who built the place of worship, attempting to express in matter the intangible qualities of God, such as Grace, Love, Spirit, Power, Beauty, Simplicity, and Peace.  The human desire to seek these experiences is universal and independent of any particular religious or cultural alignment.

This work is representative of my experiences in these places. When I go into a place I take time to walk around and use all of my physical senses to absorb the space. Most of this is looking and looking again. Each place has a certain smell, temperature, and a spiritual and visual lightness (or darkness and heaviness).  Some of the nuances of the spaces are highlighted in my work.  The reoccurring themes of elements used in worship, irrespective of faith, like hymnals, pews, pulpits, pipe organs, and general similarities in structural design are acknowledged. It is not, however, just the object’s meaning that is important to me, but also its physical and formal qualities as well as how it connects and functions within the space overall.   

I try to capture the serenity of the spaces in the photos. These places of worship are rich with a spiritual fervor that is expressed in the architectural craftsmanship of centuries past and the loving maintenance of the well-used implements for connecting with God. 

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About Homesteading 

I met Jenny this winter when my husband and I traveled to the Northeast Kingdom to experience Alaskan dog sledding.  She and her partner, Anders, live nearby, and she would help Keith, the sled driver, from time to time for a bit of money.  She was strong and attractive, with a calm purity about her. We agreed that I would return to photograph her and Anders in their home and on their homestead, the space from which they harvest their food, shelter, and water.

There is no phone.  Jenny and I exchange postcards; it’s a pleasant, slow, and deliberate thing to put pen to paper. Something few of us do anymore. She sends directions “follow the footpath on the left side of the road. At the foot of the steep section of the hill, through the old log landing and into the woods. Our homestead is about 100 yards in.” I am carrying my cameras, tripods, film, and food.  It is cold and rainy. There are many footpaths and old roads, as this area has been logged for generations. I go the wrong way several times, reading and re-reading the postcard in the rain. “She added the word ‘old’ there for a reason. Is this the steep section?” I think to myself.  I am alone in the woods; struggling to discern the natural landmarks she’d given me. At last I find the path. It travels through a stream, past some compost piles, across a bridge and into a clearing.  

Jenny and Anders live in a house they built together while living in a lean-to dug out of the side of the mountain.  They built the entire house by hand, with hand excavated stones, cedar, clay, hay, linseed, milk paint, and tin roofing.  I approached the door to the cottage; I noticed that it’s latched with just a lever, no lock.  I knocked and heard Anders’ voice inviting me in. He is sitting on the carving horse. He is fair and I am distracted by his hands, which are stained black from working without gloves. The room is neat and spare- nothing decorative.  It is a kitchen, essentially. There is no table, just a wood cook stove, two woven chairs, and a ladder to the loft. Stacks of wood line the walls; large windows are filled with this season’s seedlings. The plants must thrive for Jenny and Anders to have food for the winter.  Dandelion leaves lay on drying screens suspended from the ceiling.  Everything is either hand-made or salvaged from the local landfill (or both).  The space is cool, but cozy. Jenny and Anders live in several layers of clothing to avoid heating the space on all but the coldest of days. The house is heated all winter on less than two cords of wood.  An oil lantern sits on a small bookshelf filled with plant identification, gardening, and other topical books.  Upstairs Jenny is sewing scraps of screen together to protect their adolescent orchard.  The peddle-driven machine sits nestled in the corner of the loft, which also serves as a sleeping and storage area. 

There are no photographs of family.  No mirror, no bed, no radio, no TV, no car. In fact there isn’t one machine-driven item on the property save for my camera.  A nearby spring provides cold, fresh water and occasional ‘refrigeration’. They keep a beehive. Food is stored in a root cellar, canned and dried.  They brush their teeth, wash their clothes and bodies with homemade soaps and they sleep on the floor. There is an outhouse, with paper for guests. Bread is baked twice a week from a several-year-old sourdough starter and flour from a neighbor. Most of the tools are handmade. Meals are mostly raw, simple foods served in a single bowl, and eaten with the hands. A spoon is used occasionally. They each have a jar from which to drink.   

I spend the day talking and making photographs, first with Anders, then Jenny, then back and forth again.  Both are very well spoken and approachable despite their solitary lifestyle.  I am tired when I leave. I think they must be tired too. 

Jenny and Anders rise early, work hard and take long, leisurely meals with one another.  It is this activity of taking food that they spend almost every waking moment preparing for. It seems extreme, but isn’t that what we all do but in a more indirect manner? They have cut out the middleman in the game of survival.  They are immune to gasoline prices, the credit debacle, and pension collapse. 

Of course, true homesteading no longer exists. Jenny and Anders sugar, perform the occasional odd job, and sell firewood and handcrafts made from things they find at the local landfill to make enough money to pay property taxes.  They do not have insurance or a car, but they have bicycles. Jenny and Anders enjoy daily the things we society folks think we’re working toward everyday-time freedom, autonomy, independence, peace, communion with each other and the earth.   They live and work as they see the need, and nature is their “boss”.  No weather forecasts, just now. They are secure in their solitude. As Anders put it upon my arrival, “One visitor a week is a lot. We live this way because we like being alone.” Jenny says, “we treat the Earth like a living organism, feed it and it feeds us.”  She talks to the plants as she’s places them in the ground, “I hope you like living here ginger”.  §

About the Images

Jenny, Anders, and I have begun to forge a relationship. I am planning to return several more times throughout the year in an effort to capture them engaged in each season’s activities.  This is my first medium format film project and also my first portraiture series. I experimented with movement in the images to impart a sense of informality, ease, and familiarity that is life with your hands in the earth. Between my visit and the fruition of this exhibit, I couldn’t help but realize the extreme relevance of what I’d stumbled upon. With each generation the human race wanders farther from the sacred connection with the earth that sustains us. Technology and mechanization are invasive. The need to return to more earth aware practices is manifesting itself more and more. This young, college educated couple have made the choice to remove themselves from modern society. They have trained themselves in wild crafting and subsistence farming, and living wholly from their direct partnership with the Earth. Is this true progress? Is this shift inevitable for us all?