The magazine of the art-form of the photo-essay “A free, really high quality photo-essay magazine. Fabulous!” Stephen Fry. British actor, writer and film & documentary maker

Jan 2014 back issue

by JJ Bentley

As a street photographer, I take pictures of everything around me. A quick look at the daily postings on my website reveal an eclectic mix of the world around me. But my passion is people. Nothing inspires me more than taking street portraits. Especially candid street portraits, because of the rawness of emotion I am able to capture. However, I sometimes feel compelled to share more in my post. Some people deserve more than a candid street shot. They have lives that are in need. These are people down on their luck, suffering in life, and ignored by society. They need so much more than I can give them. But one thing I can do, and will continue to do, is help give them a voice. I will help create awareness. I hope that these portraits, which are from my early work, will move you even half as much as they have moved me.

Meet Charles. It's really easy to ignore Charles. He's soft spoken and meek. Although he was waiting outside the store looking for help, he wasn't asking. Yeah, it would be very easy to walk past Charles. It's even easier to judge him. "He probably doesn't try very hard to get a job. If he really wanted to work, he could find work. Why should I throw him some money, it's just going to support a drug or drinking habit probably?" These are all very convenient things to assume about Charles. It allows us to ignore him without guilt. But if Charles was an addict, why would ignoring him and letting him suffer in pain be better than helping him make it through another day? And regarding employment.. trust me when I tell you that people are not hiring people like Charles. They just aren't. Is there any hope for Charles? There has to be. Because if there's no hope for Charles, then there's no hope for us.

Richard isn't homeless. But he was in front of a store collecting money for the homeless. He has a little table. He has a box with a little slot on top to put the money securely inside. Other than his partially official looking sign that reads "help the homeless", there is no proof whatsoever that anything you give him will help a single homeless person. My heart trusts him, but my mind says "don't be naive". Fact of the matter is there are many other ways to help the homeless, so not giving Richard any money can easily be skipped, contributing in another way instead. In this case, I donated... in exchange for his portrait. He had no problem agreeing, "for the cause.”

Xavier is tired. He's struggling. As he puts it, he's "so so tired of looking for stuff to recycle." He wants to be an announcer for a radio station. Upon hearing that, you might assume he is delusional. But if you talk to Xavier for 600 seconds, you will find him to be articulate, endearing and, as of today, hopeful. I wouldn't put anything past him. I would never tell him his dream is crazy. He lived with his mother and sister until 5 years ago. They sold cocaine. There were constant troubles and trials. And one day it all ended when the police arrested his mother. He didn't mention the reason why, nor did I ask, but his mother and sister have passed away. In the chaos that ensued, he ended up on the streets. "Many people were fighting for her customers, the money" Xavier tells me. He pauses. Perhaps there's a lot to reflect on from that period of his life. He has struggled to find work. I ask him about trying to work at a car wash. "They don't like me there! Because the Hispanics there don't speak English and they are prejudice against bilinguals" he explains. I listen to Xavier as he shares his concerns, his struggles. "Maybe someone will help me" he says hopefully. Xavier seems very happy to have talked with someone if even for a short time. "I will keep my eye out for you, and we will talk again" I promise. "Yes, please do" he says with a huge smile. As I drive off he waves to me, his spirits lifted. How long will they stay lifted? I could only hope for at least today.

Mike gets up early each morning so he can start collecting recycling items before it gets too hot. He used to sleep at night under the freeway, but construction has disrupted that routine. Now, he has moved onto "various places" as he puts it. Today, in addition to some money for his portrait, I gave Mike some bananas. A single banana costs 19 cents. But it's worth a lot more to Mike. It means he can eat something immediately. It means he can get some potassium and vitamins into his body. And it means he doesn't have to go into a store, endure the awkwardness of people diverting their glances, moving out of his path and treating him with general disdain. Mike served 13 months in the Vietnam war. His brother did eleven tours of duty. "He's the crazy one in my family" Mike says with a smile. "He just kept signing back up, signing back up. He stood up in a patrol boat and got shot in the leg. But as soon as he got better he went right back." For whatever reason these stories make Mike smile. Maybe he is happy to be talking with someone. Maybe he enjoys being treated with an ounce of respect. Maybe it's nice feeling human.

Phil left Arizona 4 years ago. He was tired of his family situation. I don't know what that means exactly, but whatever it means, it's what Phil says drove him to Southern California. He's been without a home since he left. He collects money from the government and passers-by. I was surprised, because of the prejudice caused by his appearance, how coherent and well.. 'normal' he was. He is articulate and bright. So should someone who has made their own bad decisions in life get our help? Is he really down on his luck, or does he just choose this way of life? Is he worthy of our sympathy? I choose not to judge Phil. I don't see him as being in dire straits, certainly not as bad off as some of the desperate people I've photographed as they suffer from mental illness. So I would understand if people didn't give him money. That's a personal choice. I think that all we owe Phil is to treat him like a human being, as worthy of respect as the rest of us. One thing that money can't heal is the loneliness inside the soul. Perhaps just giving someone like Phil a little conversation isn't too much to ask.

This is Terrell. He has been out of work and without a home for about three years. He was living with his mother and sister when the house they were in was foreclosed. "My mom didn't even own the house", Terrell explains. "She made up some documents like she did, and borrowed money against the house. Then they came and foreclosed the house cause no payments was getting made." I am listening. He is happy to share more with me. "I called the police and told them everything. I don't even know what happened. I left and I don't wanna talk to them again." Terrell is drifting. He can pick up work down near the port, but has problems getting there. He doesn't have a plan. He is lost. So easy to judge Terrell. I am not interested in that. I am interested in Terrell as a person. What is he thinking? What has happened? What is his story? Terrell didn't ask me for anything. He just wanted to talk. It feels good to be seen and made to feel like you matter. Otherwise, Terrell would just slowly disappear like so many others.

Every emotion on display at the same time. The broken mind. We help dogs that are running lost on the street, why not people?

This is Daniel. I met him a few weeks ago. He was sitting pretty much in the same spot as before, his luggage next to him. He remembered me and asked to see the photo I took. He was pretty excited when I showed it to him on my phone. He told me he had saved up almost the cost of a plane ticket to Germany. His brother lives there. He is going to stay with him when he's collected enough money. Should be any day now, he said in his British accent. Maybe he'll be gone by the time I ever get back this area. Will there be a third Daniel photo?

And not one of the quotations, the platitudes or viral inspirations floating around the social networks could ease his pain... for his life cannot be summarized so conveniently. A complex blend of suffering both mentally and physically was slowly causing the deterioration of his soul. He suffers alone.

I was walking by Kenneth when I slowed down to make eye contact. He looked at me but didn't say anything. I asked, "Do you need anything?". He replied as tears filled his eyes, "Well yeah, I need anything man I'm struggling". We proceeded to have a conversation. Kenneth told me he lost his job a year ago and has not been able to find another one. To make matters much worse, he has colon cancer. He has no insurance and is not seeing a doctor. Sometimes, to be honest, I don't even feel anything when I'm talking to someone like Kenneth. I was tired. How can I verify what he said as true? But intellectually, I do know he is living under bad conditions. His tears were real. Maybe sometimes I just get numb from all of these people I meet. Or maybe something about him rang untrue to me. I don't know. Maybe it's just me being human.

This elderly gentleman can't hide the heaviness he is feeling inside. He is carrying his fishing gear back from the pier. Back to where, I don't know. To his car I hope. I am sorry for him if he has to walk far in this God forsaken heat. He walks slowly, as you'd expect from his age. I doubt his state of heart comes from whether or not he caught any fish.

When I was out shooting the other day, some people who were hanging out approached me. They wanted their picture taken. They had stories to tell. Little did they know it was their lucky day. I'm a story teller. This story is about Uncle Duke. "I want to be an over 40 model" he explains to me. He wants me to take his picture. He poses several times, in different ways. The shot I took in between the poses is the one I will be using. I know Uncle Duke thinks he's simply telling us about his desire to be a model, but he's really telling us a lot more than that. He's telling us about wanting to be seen; not invisible. He wants a game plan for life. He wants, above all else, hope for the same dreams as the rest of us. Could we suspend judgment of Uncle Duke just long enough to give him an ounce of sympathy? To make him feel heard? To make him seen?

There is a sound, a tune if you can hear it. Sung by the lost, the song of the spirit. It has a chorus, quiet but if you're near it you will shed a tear at the song of the spirit; a melody that is haunting so many of us fear it. But it's a song we all know, the song of the spirit.

Hard to say who is down on their luck in Las Vegas, but I'd say he has larger problems than losing money at the card table. He lost a wager a long time ago and it was not done inside any casino.

Robert is an addict. He is homeless. He is living in a state of hell. He didn't need to tell me any of this for me to know it. Spend a minute with Robert and you learn all of this from observation. His primary goal is to survive the day. His life is broken. And guess what? It's probably all his fault. Or maybe it isn't. But does it really matter? Did he become less human as he made his decisions in life? What is Robert's destiny? The fact of the matter is this: Robert is you. Robert is me. You can believe that. And Robert's destiny is our destiny. There is no ignoring people like Robert. He is a reflection.