Looking at Appalachia | Les Stone

Les Stone is a photographer based in Claryville, New York who has worked extensively in the coalfields of Appalachia as well as Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Kosovo, Liberia, Cambodia, Panama, and Haiti. His images are powerful not only because they bring to our attention important and often overlooked people and events, but because they do so in a visually arresting way. You can see more of his work here.

Les and I got in touch via Facebook, which eventually led to a phone call. It was clear to me from the outset that he was deeply moved by what he saw in Appalachia. The outrage in his voice about miners suffering from black lung disease, his primary focus in West Virginia, was palpable. The passion I heard on the phone is easy to see in his photographs. I asked Les to write an essay to accompany some of his work from Appalachia.

Deep in the Heart of Appalachia

McDowell County, West Virginia is one of the poorest and most remote counties in the United States. Because of coal mining, Welch, had at one time the highest concentration of millionaires in the United States. When I drive down these two lane mountain roads, it feels like another world, far away, perhaps another country, certainly not the wealthiest country on the face of the planet, the USA. For those of you who have never been here, it is truly a special experience and forget all the stupid hillbilly jokes; there are real and great people here with real problems and we are all part of each other’s lives.

Thousands of immigrants from Europe came to find work in the coalfields of Appalachia, to Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Kentucky to name a few. Welch, the county seat of McDowell, is scarcely a shadow of it's former self, but still today more coal is taken out of this area than any time in its history. Mechanization and non-union mining has caused this area has become almost destitute, not to mention that many of these companies have treated the people here with ethical disdain and criminal and moral neglect since the beginning of mining here. Domestic wars have been fought here and hundreds, even thousands, have died in mining accidents and during strikes. Labor history was made here in Appalachia that affects all Americans today.

Black lung, heart disease, diabetes, and drug abuse are endemic in Appalachia. Black lung disease is on the rise among all the miners. Many of formerly wealthy towns in the area are now little more than ghost towns and most of the coal camp towns have fallen into complete poverty. Yet, still to this day the only jobs that pay more than minimum wage are the most dangerous jobs in the world, coal mining. These few jobs are greatly coveted and coal mining, down through the generations, is as so many people have told me again and again, “in our blood.” I’ve met sons who have left the area, gone to college, got an education and come back to mine coal. Mining is not only in the blood, it still pays more than any other job they could potentially get anywhere else. Generations of families have survived and prospered from coal mining.

Few people here have health insurance and or easy access to clinics. Life in many parts of Appalachia almost appears to me to be at third world levels of poverty. It's incredibly difficult, yet Appalachian people are some of the proudest, kindest people I’ve ever met.

In the context of a world economy from which we are all suffering, some of our fellow countryman have had it a lot worse for a long time and they should not be forgotten. In fact, they need to be celebrated as heroes; they're the reason the lights are still on. I don't say that to celebrate coal. We need to find less polluting alternatives and quickly, but as in all decisions involving policy you can't forget that people's lives are deeply affected and directly impacted by those decisions.

Many of these men dying of black lung disease live out the remainder of their lives in pain and heartbreak with little faith left in either the coal companies or the government that has neglected them.  Their eyes have been wide open their whole lives. They know what’s possibly in store for them and they know they’re sacrificing their health for family and they do it proudly. Many are bitter, and rightfully so, about how they are treated after no longer being able to work long hours at hard labor in terrible conditions. Most of us wouldn't work underground no matter what the pay is.

All of these people have so many stories, so profound that I can say that I am greatly challenged as a photographer and storyteller. I can only scratch the surface of their lives and every time I plan a trip back, I make the calls and find out another person has died since I was last with them. I’ve never been so stirred by my work.

I did not grow up in Appalachia. My experiences are completely different and I don’t know what difference I can make for me or anyone and maybe that’s the point. I feel better personally meeting and knowing these incredible people and I think they feel the same. For me, photography is a form of immortality, always living when everyone is gone.

Les Stone April 2013

All photographs and essay “Deep in the Heart of Appalachia” © Les Stone.

Review: Faith, Serpents, and Fire: Images of Kentucky Holiness Believers

CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR WINNER – CAROLYN PARKER!

Hardcover| 9.5 x 9 inches | 128 pages | 88 black and white photographs University Press of Mississippi, 1999 | Scott Schwartz

"And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." Mark 16:17-18, King James Version

As far back as I can remember, well before picking up a camera, I've been fascinated by the serpent-handling faith. This religious tradition has long been ridiculed and used as an example to highlight the Appalachian backwoods stereotype. I've wanted to photograph these services for a while now and though I'm far from the religious upbringing of my Appalachian childhood, I look forward to making some pictures later this summer. Why? I'm simply fascinated by an obedience that would call one to take up a serpent as an act of worship. I'd like to photograph these services as a celebration of faith and tradition.

I picked this book up at the 2013 Appalachian Studies Conference in Boone, North Carolina. At the same time, I was reading Dennis Covington's fabulous 1995 book Salvation on Sand Mountain: Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia (which Schwartz lists in his bibliography). One of the more striking passages from Convington's book is below, and as a photographer, I've mentally substituted 'photographer' for 'writer' and found it to be especially true:

"I believe that the writer has another eye, not a literal eye, but an eye on the inside of his head. It is the eye with which he sees the imaginary, three-dimensional world where the story he is writing takes place. But is also the eye with which the writer beholds the connectedness of things, of past, present, and future. The writer's literal eyes are like vestigial organs, useless except to record physical details. The only eye worth talking about is the eye in the middle of the writer's head, the one that casts its pale, sorrowful light backward over the past and forward into the future, taking everything in at once, the whole story, from beginning to end."

Before I continue, I should let you know that if you're expecting technically superb, sharp images from Schwartz's book, you'll be sorely disappointed. What the book lacks in technical merit, it more than makes up for with the supplemental text and depth of the work in its entirety.

Schwartz notes in the introduction:

"The photographs were taken with 35mm, 400 ASA film, without flash, in an effort to intrude as little as possible upon the services. As a result, the film was "push-processed" two and three stops. The pronounced grain and the strient patterns of light in these images are the result of this process and of my desire to have the photographs represent the mood of the spiritual experiences. The photographs and essays record the complex and sometimes humorous social interactions that I encountered and provide an intimate glimpse into serpent-handling practices and beliefs, moving beyond the stereotypes of Appalachian snake charmers and fire eaters to illustrate the deeply personal and communal spirituality that is an integral element of the services."

It's clear to me that though Schwartz took a scholarly approach to the fieldwork conducted for this book, much like Covington's journalistic approach to Salvation on Sand Mountain, both men experienced far more than they bargained for. I don't think it was an accident that I discovered these two books at roughly the same time I'm doing prep work for my own experience with this community. Together, these books have helped reinforce my interest in the subject and my desire to add another voice to the conversation.

Schwartz writes, "Everything seems so natural, yet the media's blitz about a recent serpent-handling fatality paints a much darker and more sinister picture of these people. However, I am drawn by a brighter image." It's usually then, and only then, that the media's attention is on this tradition. It's important to note that this isn't a widespread Appalachian religious tradition contrary to popular belief. However, when there's a fatality, such as Mack Wolford's in West Virginia last year, the notion that serpent handling is a common part of worship in rural churches throughout Appalachia is once again perpetuated.

Another passage from Salvation on Sand Mountain:

"It's not true that you become used to the noise and confusion of a snake-handling Holiness service. On the contrary, you become enmeshed in it. It is theater at its most intricate - improvisational, spiritual jazz. The more you experience it, the more attentive you are to the shifts in the surface and the dark shoals underneath. For every outward sign, there is a spiritual equivalent. When somebody falls to his knees, a specific problem presents itself, and the others know exactly what to do, whether it's oil for a healing, or a prayer cloth thrown over the shoulders, or a devil that needs to be cast out."

If you'd like a chance to win a copy of Faith, Serpents, and Fire: Images of Kentucky Holiness Believers, please leave your name, city, and state in the comments field by midnight EST, Friday, 26 April 2013. I'll select a winner at random the following day.

Testify: the Kickstarter Project

Hey folks! I'm excited to announce the launch of my Kickstarter project to make Testify a book, something for you to hold in your hands, from me to you. I need your help to make this happen, so please head over to the project page to learn more about it. Please contact me with any questions you may have. Thanks for helping me make this a reality!

Where I'm From

My friend Cindy Shepherd from Oneida, Kentucky posted a poem on Facebook a few days ago, which was an exercise she planned to do with a group of elementary school children. After reading it, I was moved and inspired to write my own version of 'Where I'm From.'

I’m from sitting quietly beneath a great birch tree in the hills, my heart beating in my chest as I watch my granddad nap, shotgun across his lap.

I’m from looking for crawdads in the creek, pant legs rolled up, and cold mud squishing between my toes.

I’m from where the Tug divides West Virginia and Kentucky and where you can’t tell the difference between the two.

I’m from soup beans and cornbread, and my mawmaw asking me to pour her “about this much” coffee.

I’m from church on Sunday, pews full, arms uplifted, and Jesus is coming soon.

I’m from where coal is king and the people are not, but they make their living and don’t complain.

I’m from where the Hatfields and McCoys fought and loved and died.

I’m from where the mountains meet the sky, wild and wonderful, and there’s no place more beautiful.

I’m from wanting to leave and needing to get back.

I also had the pleasure of speaking to my good friend Joy's Introduction to Documentary Studies class at the Center for Documentary Studies. I shared some images from Testify and talked about the process of making the work. A few years ago, I was a student in Joy's class, working on a project and trying to figure out where I was going with it. It was in this class, that I began to rethink my project, step away from it for a bit, and develop it into something altogether different, more personal and nuanced. If you're even remotely interested in documentary work, I can't recommend Joy's class enough. I had a great time and met some great folks. Thanks for having me!

1. The Tug River from the West Virginia side near the Chattaroy Church of God, looking across into Kentucky, 1 March 2013. 2. Joy Salyers' Introduction to Documentary Studies class, 14 March 2013, shot on Fuji Instax film.