Hank Willis Thomas: I'm Deb's son.
Henk Vilis Tomas: Ja sam Debin sin.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Deborah Willis: And I'm Hank's mom.
Debora Vilis: A ja sam Henkova mama.
HWT: We've said that so many times, we've made a piece about it. It's called "Sometimes I See Myself In You," and it speaks to the symbiotic relationship that we've developed over the years through our life and work. And really, it's because everywhere we go, together or apart, we carry these monikers. I've been following in my mother's footsteps since before I was even born and haven't figured out how to stop. And as I get older, it does get harder. No seriously, it gets harder.
HVT: Toliko puta smo to rekli, da smo napravili delo od toga. Zove se „Ponekad vidim sebe u tebi“ i ono govori o simbiotičkoj vezi koju smo razvili tokom godina kroz naš život i rad. Zaista, to je zato što gde god idemo zajedno ili odvojeno, mi nosimo ova preuzeta imena. Ja sam krenuo majčinim stopama još pre nego što sam se rodio i nisam otkrio kako da se zaustavim. A kako starim, postaje teže. Ne stvarno, postaje teže.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
My mother's taught me many things, though, most of all that love overrules. She's taught me that love is an action, not a feeling. Love is a way of being, it's a way of doing, it's a way of listening and it's a way of seeing.
Ipak, moja majka me je naučila mnogo čemu, a pre svega da ljubav pobeđuje. Naučila me da je ljubav delo, a ne osećanje. Ljubav je način bivstvovanja, način postupanja. Ona je način slušanja, i ona je način gledanja.
DW: And also, the idea about love, photographers, they're looking for love when they make photographs. They're looking and looking and finding love. Growing up in North Philadelphia, I was surrounded by people in my family and friends who made photographs and used the family camera as a way of telling a story about life, about life of joy, about what it meant to become a family in North Philadelphia. So I spent most of my life searching for pictures that reflect on ideas about black love, black joy and about family life. So it's really important to think about the action of love overrules as a verb.
DV: I takođe, ideja o ljubavi, fotografi... oni traže ljubav kada prave fotografije. Oni traže, traže i pronalaze ljubav. Odrastajući u Severnoj Filadelfiji, bila sam okružena ljudima u porodici i prijateljima koji su pravili fotografije i koristili porodični fotoaparat kao sredstvo da se ispriča priča o životu, o životu radosti, o tome šta znači postati porodica u Severnoj Filadelfiji. Tako da sam provela veći deo svog života tražeći slike koje prikazuju ideje o crnačkoj ljubavi, crnačkoj radosti i o porodičnom životu. Tako da je veoma važno da mislimo o činu ljubavi koja pobeđuje kao o glagolu.
HWT: Sometimes I wonder if the love of looking is genetic, because, like my mother, I've loved photographs since before I can even remember. I think sometimes that -- after my mother and her mother -- that photography and photographs were my first love. No offense to my father, but that's what you get for calling me a "ham" wherever you go. I remember whenever I'd go to my grandmother's house, she would hide all the photo albums because she was afraid of me asking, "Well, who is that in that picture?" and "Who are they to you and who are they to me, and how old were you when that picture was taken? How old was I when that picture was taken? And why were they in black and white? Was the world in black and white before I was born?"
HVT: Ponekad se pitam da li je ljubav gledanja genetska, jer, kao i moja majka, ja sam voleo fotografije od kad znam za sebe. Ponekad pomislim, posle moje majke i njene majke, da su fotografija i slike bile moje prve ljubavi. Bez uvrede mom ocu, ali to je ono što dobiješ kad me zoveš „šunka“ gde god ideš. Sećam se da, kad god sam išao u kuću moje bake, ona bi sakrila sve foto albume iz straha da ću je pitati: „A ko je ovo na ovoj slici?“ i „Ko su oni tebi, a ko su oni meni, i koliko si godina imala kad je ovo uslikano? Koliko sam ja imao kada je uslikano? I zašto su crno-bele? Da li je svet bio crno-beli pre nego što sam se ja rodio?“ DV: Pa, to je interesantno,
DW: Well, that's interesting, just to think about the world in black and white. I grew up in a beauty shop in North Philadelphia, my mom's beauty shop, looking at "Ebony Magazine," found images that told stories that were often not in the daily news, but in the family album. I wanted the family album to be energetic for me, a way of telling stories, and one day I happened upon a book in the Philadelphia Public Library called "The Sweet Flypaper of Life" by Roy DeCarava and Langston Hughes. I think what attracted me as a seven-year-old, the title, flypaper and sweet, but to think about that as a seven-year-old, I looked at the beautiful images that Roy DeCarava made and then looked at ways that I could tell a story about life. And looking for me is the act that basically changed my life.
da mislimo o svetu kao crno-belom. Odrasla sam u kozmetičkom salonu u Severnoj Filadelfiji, kozmetičkom salonu moje mame, gledajući „Eboni magazin“, pronalazeći slike koje su pričale priče koje nisu često bile u dnevnim vestima, već u porodičnom albumu. Želela sam da porodični album bude energičan za mene, način da se ispričaju priče. Jednog dana naišla sam na knjigu u filadelfijskoj državnoj biblioteci koja se zvala „Slatka zamka života“ od Roja Dekarave i Lengstona Hjuza. Mislim da me je kao sedmogodišnjakinju privukao naslov, zamka i slatka, ali razmišljati o tome sa sedam godina... Gledala sam prelepe slike koje je Roj Dekarava napravio i onda pronalazila načine kako bih mogla da ispričam priču života. Posmatranje je za mene čin koji mi je suštinski promenio život.
HWT: My friend Chris Johnson told me that every photographer, every artist, is essentially trying to answer one question, and I think your question might have been, "Why doesn't the rest of the world see how beautiful we are, and what can I do to help them see our community the way I do?"
HVT: Moj prijatelj Kris Džonson mi je rekao da svaki fotograf, svaki umetnik, u suštini, pokušava da dȃ odgovor na jedno pitanje, i mislim da je tvoje pitanje možda bilo: „Zašto ostatak sveta ne vidi koliko smo lepi, i šta mogu da uradim da pomognem da vide našu zajednicu onako kako je ja vidim?“
DW: While studying in art school -- it's probably true -- I had a male professor who told me that I was taking up a good man's space. He tried to stifle my dream of becoming a photographer. He attempted to shame me in a class full of male photographers. He told me I was out of place and out of order as a woman, and he went on to say that all you could and would do was to have a baby when a good man could have had your seat in this class. I was shocked into silence into that experience. But I had my camera, and I was determined to prove to him that I was worthy for a seat in that class. But in retrospect, I asked myself: "Why did I need to prove it to him?" You know, I had my camera, and I knew I needed to prove to myself that I would make a difference in photography. I love photography, and no one is going to stop me from making images.
DV: Dok sam išla u umetničku školu - verovatno je tačno - imala sam profesora koji mi je rekao da zauzimam mesto dobrom muškarcu. Hteo je da uguši moj san da postanem fotograf. Pokušao je da me postidi u razredu punom muških fotografa. Rekao je da meni kao ženi nije tu mesto, i nastavio je rekavši da sve što mogu i što ću da uradim je da rodim bebu dok bi na mom mestu u razredu mogao da sedi neki dobar muškarac. Zanemela sam od ovog iskustva. Ali sam imala svoj fotoaparat i bila sam rešena da mu dokažem da sam vredna mesta u tom razredu. Ali gledajući unazad, pitam se: „Zašto sam imala potrebu da mu dokazujem?“ Znate, imala sam moj fotoaparat, i znala sam da treba da dokažem sebi da ću učiniti nešto u fotografiji. Obožavam fotografiju i niko me neće zaustaviti u tome da stvaram slike.
HWT: But that's when I came in.
HVT: Ali onda ja ulazim u priču.
DW: Yeah, that year I graduated, I got pregnant. Yep, he was right. And I had you, and I shook off that sexist language that he used against me and picked up my camera and made photographs daily, and made photographs of my pregnant belly as I prepared for graduate school. But I thought about also that black photographers were missing from the history books of photography, and I was looking for ways to tell a story. And I ran across Gordon Parks' book "A Choice of Weapons," which was his autobiography. I began photographing and making images, and I tucked away that contact sheet that I made of my pregnant belly, and then you inspired me to create a new piece, a piece that said, "A woman taking a place from a good man," "You took the space from a good man," and then I used that language and reversed it and said, "I made a space for a good man, you."
DV: Da, te godine kada sam diplomirala, ostala sam u drugom stanju. Da, bio je u pravu. I dobila sam tebe, i odbacila sam taj seksistički govor koji je on koristio protiv mene, uzela sam svoj fotoaparat i pravila fotografije svakodnevno, pravila fotografije mog trudničkog stomaka dok sam se spremala za postdiplomske. Ali sam takođe mislila i o tome kako crnih fotografa nema u knjigama o istoriji fotografije, i tražila sam načine da ispričam priču. Naišla sam na knjigu Gordona Parksa, „Izbor oružja“, njegovu autobiografiju. Počela sam da fotografišem i pravim slike, umetnula sam tu rolnu koju sam napravila sa mojim trudničkim stomakom, i onda si me ti inspirisao da stvorim novo delo, delo koje je govorilo: „Žena koja zauzima mesto dobrom muškarcu“, „Ti si zauzela mesto dobrom muškarcu“, Onda sam iskoristila taj govor, preokrenula ga i rekla, „Napravila sam mesta za dobrog muškarca. Za tebe.“
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
HWT: Thanks, ma. Like mother, like son. I grew up in a house full of photographs. They were everywhere, and my mother would turn the kitchen into a darkroom. And there weren't just pictures that she took and pictures of family members. But there were pictures on the wall of and by people that we didn't know, men and women that we didn't know. Thanks, ma.
HVT: Hvala, mama. (Aplauz) Kakva majka, takav sin. Ja sam odrastao u kući punoj fotografija. Bilo ih je svuda, i moja majka bi pretvorila kuhinju u mračnu komoru. Tu nije bilo samo slika koje je ona pravila i slika članova porodice, već je na zidovima bilo i slika ljudi koje nismo poznavali, muškaraca i žena koje nismo poznavali. Hvala, mama.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I have my own timing.
Ja imam svoj tajming.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Did you see her poke me?
Da li ste videli kako me je gurnula?
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Puppet strings.
Marioneta. (Smeh)
I grew up in a house full of photographs.
Odrastao sam u kući punoj fotografija.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
But they weren't just pictures of men and women that we knew, but pictures of people that I didn't know, Pretty much, it was pretty clear from what I learned in school, that the rest of the world didn't either. And it took me a long time to figure out what she was up to, but after a while, I figured it out. When I was nine years old, she published this book, "Black Photographers, 1840-1940: A Bio-Bibliography." And it's astounding to me to consider that in 1840, African Americans were making photographs. What does it mean for us to think that at a time that was two, three decades before the end of slavery, that people were learning how to read, they had to learn how to do math, they had to be on the cutting edge of science and technology, to do math, physics and chemistry just to make a single photograph. And what compelled them to do that if not love? Well, that book led her to her next book, "Black Photographers, 1940-1988," and that book led to another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another book, and another.
Ali one nisu bile samo slike muškaraca i žena koje smo poznavali, već i slike ljudi koje nisam znao, Zapravo, bilo je prilično jasno po onome što sam učio u školi da ih ni ostatak sveta nije znao. Trebalo mi je dosta vremena da shvatim šta to ona sprema, ali nakon nekog vremena, shvatio sam. Kada sam imao devet godina, objavila je knjigu „Crni fotografi, 1840-1940: Bio-bibliografija“. Zapanjuje me kad pomislim da su 1840. godine Afroamerikanci pravili fotografije. Šta to za nas znači kada pomislimo da su dve, tri decenije pre završetka ropstva ljudi učili da čitaju, morali su da nauče matematiku, morali su da budu u toku sa razvojem nauke i tehnologije, da se bave matematikom, fizikom i hemijom da bi stvorili jednu jedinu fotografiju. A šta ih je navelo da učine to ako nije ljubav? Ta knjiga je vodila njenoj drugoj knjizi, „Crni fotografi, 1940-1988“, a ta knjiga je vodila još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj knjizi, i još jednoj.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
And throughout my life, she's edited and published dozens of books and curated numerous exhibitions on every continent, not all about black photographers but all inspired by the curiosity of a little black girl from North Philadelphia.
Tokom celog mog života, uređivala je i objavljivala na desetine knjiga i organizovala bezbroj izložbi na svakom kontinentu. Nisu sve bile o crnim fotografima, ali su sve bile inspirisane znatiželjom male crne devojčice iz Severne Filadelfije.
DW: What I found is that black photographers had stories to tell, and we needed to listen. And then I found and I discovered black photographers like Augustus Washington, who made these beautiful daguerreotypes of the McGill family in the early 1840s and '50s. Their stories tended to be different, black photographers, and they had a different narrative about black life during slavery, but it was also about family life, beauty and telling stories about community. I didn't know how to link the stories, but I knew that teachers needed to know this story.
DV: Ono što sam otkrila je da su crni fotografi imali priče da ispričaju, i trebalo je da ih slušamo. A onda sam pronašla i otkrila crne fotografe kao što je Ogastus Vašington, koji je pravio prelepe dagerotipije porodice Mekgil ranih 1840-ih i 50-ih godina. Njihove priče su nekako bile drugačije, priče crnih fotografa, i imale su drugačiji narativ o životu crnaca tokom ropstva, ali su bile i o porodičnom životu, lepoti, i pričale su priče o zajednici. Nisam znala kako da ih povežem, ali sam znala da je potrebno da nastavnici znaju njihove priče.
HWT: So I think I was my mother's first student. Unwillingly and unwittingly -- puppet strings -- I decided to pick up a camera, and thought that I should make my own pictures about the then and now and the now and then. I thought about how I could use photography to talk about how what's going on outside of the frame of the camera can affect what we see inside. The truth is always in the hands of the actual image maker and it's up to us to really consider what's being cut out. I thought I could use her research as a jumping-off point of things that I was seeing in society and I wanted to start to think about how I could use historical images to talk about the past being present and think about ways that we can speak to the perennial struggle for human rights and equal rights through my appropriation of photographs in the form of sculpture, video, installation and paintings. But through it all, one piece has affected me the most. It continues to nourish me. It's based off of this photograph by Ernest Withers, who took this picture in 1968 at the Memphis Sanitation Workers March of men and women standing collectively to affirm their humanity. They were holding signs that said "I am a man," and I found that astounding, because the phrase I grew up with wasn't "I am a man," it was "I am the man," and I was amazed at how it went from this collective statement during segregation to this seemingly selfish statement after integration. And I wanted to ponder that, so I decided to remix that text in as many ways as I could think of, and I like to think of the top line as a timeline of American history, and the last line as a poem, and it says, "I am the man. Who's the man. You the man. What a man. I am man. I am many. I am, am I. I am, I am. I am, Amen.
HVT: Mislim da sam bio majčin prvi učenik. Nevoljno i nesvesno - marioneta - odlučio sam da uzmem fotoaparat, i smatrao sam da treba da napravim svoje slike o nekada i sada, i o sada i nekada. Razmišljao sam o tome kako mogu da upotrebim fotografiju da ispričam o tome kako ono što se dešava izvan okvira fotografije može da utiče na ono što vidimo unutar okvira. Istina je uvek u rukama onoga ko pravi slike, a na nama je da razmotrimo šta je izostavljeno. Pomislio sam da mogu da iskoristim njeno istraživanje kao početnu tačku za ono što vidim u društvu i počeo sam da razmišljam o tome kako da iskoristim istorijske slike da pričam o prošlosti koja je prisutna i da pronađem načine da se obratimo višegodišnjoj borbi za ljudska prava i ravnopravnost, kroz moje iskazivanje fotografija u formi skulpture, videa, instalacija i slika. Ali prolazeći kroz sve to, jedno delo je uticalo na mene najviše. I nastavlja da me ispunjava. Zasnovano je na ovoj fotografiji Ernesta Vidersa, koji je napravio tu fotografiju 1968. godine na protestu zdravstvenih radnika u Memfisu, sliku muškaraca i žena koji stoje zajedno kako bi potvrdili svoju ljudskost. Držali su znakove na kojima je pisalo „Ja sam čovek“. To me je zapanjilo, jer fraza sa kojom sam ja odrastao nije bila „Ja sam čovek“ već je bila „Ja sam veliki čovek“. Bio sam oduševeljen time kako je prerasla od kolektivne izjave tokom segregacije u tu naizgled sebičnu izjavu nakon integracije. Hteo sam da promislim malo o tome, i odlučio sam da izmešam taj tekst na koliko god načina je moguće. Volim da zamislim prvi red kao vremenski prikaz američke istorije, a poslednji red kao pesmu, i ona kaže: „Ja sam čovek. Ko je čovek. Ti si čovek. Kakav čovek. Ja sam čovek. Ja sam mnogi. Ja sam, da li sam. Ja sam, ja sam. Ja sam, amin.“
DW: Wow, so fascinating.
DV: Uh, tako fascinantno.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
But what we learn from this experience is the most powerful two words in the English language is, "I am." And we each have the capacity to love.
Ali ono što smo naučili iz ovog iskustva je da su dve najmoćnije reči u engleskom jeziku „ja sam“. I kako svi imamo sposobnost da volimo.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)