“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked…The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain” - Kahlil Gibran

This year, I enjoyed Thanksgiving with three woman who I love very deeply: my mother, my grandmother and my aunt. Looking back on this experience, I realize that it signified the ending of one chapter and the beginning of something new. There are many facets to this story however, for now, I would like to share one of them. In January, my grandmother will be moving from her familiar home in the Bronx to explore the sights out West. Eventually, she plans to settle in California and buy a home. Although she has been talking about this move for over 20 years, this year she is doing something different…taking action.  The last time my grandmother moved, she was divorcing my grandfather. That was over 40 years ago.  In marriage, I imagine my grandmother’s life being strikingly similar to the character “Betty” on Madmen.  Unlike Betty, one of the most difficult decisions my Grandmother has ever made was leaving her 3 children in the custody of my Grandfather when the two separated.  Deep down, I think she realized that she needed a fresh start. My grandmother gave birth to my uncle and became a mother at the age of 18. Soon afterward, she transitioned to life as a housewife. Divorce provided my grandmother with the opportunity to  radically transform her life.

By the mid 1960′s my grandmother had enrolled in college part-time (where she later went on to receive several masters degrees in education), become a vegetarian, quit smoking and started exploring the practice of yoga. At a time when married women were expected to suffer their pain at home and outside the view of the public, my grandmother’s choice to leave my grandfather shocked many members of the community. Although other families in the neighborhood suffered their own forms of dysfunction, news about  the “Whittingham household” provided an easy distraction and topic for gossip. Unfortunately, my aunt, uncle and mother (all under the age of 18 at the time) became innocent bystanders in a violent conflict they did not create. This is perhaps the greatest tragedy of any domestic dispute where children are living within the household.

Time Reveals the Wisdom

Looking into this pain, I realize that each member of my family has benefited (in large measure) because of my grandmothers willingness to make bold (at times selfish) decisions. In reflecting on the qualities that I love about my grandmother, I am reminded that sometimes our greatest gifts cannot be fully appreciated until they have been allowed to age. While we readily accept this truth when it comes to vintages of wine and spirits, I wonder if the nature of our “instant gratification” culture has inbred a distaste for gifts that are not immediately receivable? Gifts that must be allowed to age like wine in order for their full flavor and essence to be unlocked.

Born in 1933, my grandmother has outlived many of her friends, my grandfather, her 24 year old nephew (my cousin), her parents and countless others and yet she can still recall (in vivid detail) what life was like before television. She remembers when families huddled around the living room radio listening to popular programs like “The Shadow“. She remembers when Orson Welles made the entire country believe we were being invaded by martians (Orson Welles also voiced many popular episodes of The Shadow). She remembers the injustice of a time when she could not vote, yet her children were forced to pledge allegiance to a nation with “liberty and justice for all”.  Surprisingly, she has lived to see a time “we the people ” elected a Black president. Not simply, because he was Black but by and large, America agreed that he was the best candidate for the position.

Doing Something Different Means Taking Action

My grandmother’s power and resilience have served as a source of contention and inspiration for me. She sets her standards high and has constantly challenged me to do the same. Yet, she is flawed…far from perfect and in accepting her imperfections I can appreciate her diamond in the rough brilliance. She has blessed me with the gift of storytelling and shared memories from her childhood with such clarity,  that I can present them anew to future generations. Her father was a professional photographer and she has gifted me with images from his time. These images help illustrate the legacy of my undeniably colorful family of orators, teachers, artists, architects, drunkards, gamblers, law enforcers, entertainers, statesmen and storytellers. These stories are steeped in tradition and at times pain, yet they are remarkable and not worth watering down with the fantasy of perfection.

These stories are about love and the sacrifices we make for love. They are about the power to change, to grow, to seek passion, to explore and persevere through the pain to find joy. These are the reasons I became a photographer. I want to translate remarkable stories of love through words and images. Photography is about the human need to be remembered and celebrated. To be missed and to be honored. Both in our life and through our passing. Photography is embodiment of our need to say “this moment is worth sharing”. My grandmother has understood this simple truth for many years.

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If you could see my Grandmother's face on election night, it might look something like the image above. Eyes that betray the wisdom of their years. Hair brushed white with age. Skin that refuses to crack under pressure. Each detail, a living witness to her legend.

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P.S. I just found out my grandma has a Facebook account and she knows about Twitter...not to mention, she uses a Mac. Gotta love her.