Testify

Testify is a visual love letter to Appalachia, the land of my blood. This is my testimony of how I came to see the importance of home and my connection to place. After moving away as a teenager, I’ve struggled to return, to latch on to something from my memory. These images are a vignette into my working through the problem of the construction of memory versus reality. My work embraces the raw beauty of the mountains while keeping at arms length the stereotypical images that have tried to define Appalachia for decades.

The word ‘testify’ carries both a religious and legal meaning. In the churches of home, it's common for a portion of time during a church service to be devoted to allowing members to share publicly what God has done in their lives; to give their testimony. In legal terms, one’s testimony is a statement accepted, sworn under oath, believed to be true and acceptable.

I am both an insider and an outsider and though I maintain a safe distance in my photographs, I attempt to invite you into the intimacy of family, of sacred space. Testify is my bearing witness of a personal journey, of never truly being able to go home again, to seek answers from my ancestral home. Appalachia testifies of timelessness and natural beauty. The mountains testify of protection and sanctuary and at the same time the horrible destruction of mountaintop removal mining. The people of Appalachia testify of their pride and resilience. Old time religion testifies of the power in the blood and a heavenly home just across the shore.

My grandfather told me that I have two ears and one mouth, which means that I should listen twice as often as I speak. Through these images, I’ve tried to do just that - to listen more than I speak, both with my voice and my cameras. These images arise out of my pride of where I am from and where I am of, and an enduring love for Appalachia.

This is my testimony.

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Brushy Creek Baptist Church, Varney, Kentucky. (2012)
War, West Virginia flatfoot dancer, Manuel Collins, dances in his living room. Flatfooting is a tradition that goes back in Appalachia to the 18th century. (2012)
In June 2010, my dad gave me my grandfather's "dinner bucket" from his time in the coal mines. My grandfather, Cecil May, worked in the mines for 41 years after serving in the Navy during WWII.
YES, COAL. A billboard on I-77 greets travelers as they arrive in Charleston, West Virginia, the state's capitol. (2008)
May Fork Hollow, Pike County, Kentucky. (2010)
Sun burns through morning fog in Logan County, West Virginia. (2009)
JESUS IS COMING SOON. The Reverend Harrison Mayes was a coal miner from Middlesboro, Kentucky. While trapped in a mine, Mayes made a promise to God that if he let him live, he would spend the rest of his days spreading his word. The Museum of Appalachia in Clinton, Tennessee has a rich exhibit about the life and work of Mayes. This sign, in Maher, West Virginia, is one of countless signs placed by Mayes in more than 40 states. (2010)
Sarah Ann, West Virginia. (2005)
Joe Kerekes, 56, of Berwind, West Virginia, talks in his kitchen about the future of McDowell County. “I always said, if you can give a man a job instead of giving him a pill, I believe he’d do better with a job. They (the state government) don’t want to try that. They figure if they can keep a poor man down, then keep him down. The people around here are willing to work, if they just had the opportunity.” (2012)
Day shift mines 6-7-9 from the Sycamore Coal Company in Cinderella, West Virginia, 5 October 1939. Note the diversity of these men. In two year's time, it's likely some of these men left the hills to fight in WWII. West Virginia saw more than 218,000 men and women join the war effort, including more than 11,000 African Americans. At war's end, 5,830 West Virginians were killed.
GOD BLESS AMERICA. The Cinderella Theater, located on Third Avenue in the old Patterson Building, was once the largest theater in Williamson, West Virginia. In 1979, when I was 4, my mom took me to see "The Amityville Horror" here. (2008)