Learning how to photograph hope

I think of each Heart Gallery shoot as a celebrity assignment. There will be unexpected delays, last-minute location changes, set and lighting issues, clothing fiascos and then, of course, the toughest challenge still remains - capturing a magical moment in the hectic, emotional life of a child living in foster care. The stakes are high. Our success isn't measured by artistry alone. Rather, we carry the weight of uniting a hopeful child with a forever family.

As one might expect, I've met some tough kids throughout my six years of photographing children in foster care. Teens with an impenetrable lockdown of emotions and younger kids who have prematurely constructed emotional barriers. Yet, just under that tough exterior most often lies an almost tangible emotional vulnerability.

Just as concerning as those sulking about with coats of armor are the ones wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Children eager to attach themselves to anyone who gives them attention, readily offering their hearts to the camera with a canned, sellable smile, frame after frame. These astute actors have a different kind of layer. Layers that may be hiding a deeper fear of love and attachment from years of surviving by their demure affectation.

It has been my experience that the first or the last image taken usually takes the prize. The photo captures that split second where they let their guard down and accidentally show you a slice of their spirit, a millisecond of hope, an expression that holds all the grace, love and loss right there for you to see, just as if you've peeled off all the layers.

I've always empathized with those looking for a place to belong. Another of my labors of love has been finding homes for stray cats. Though I feel sorry for these wandering and defenseless animals, they keep no pity for themselves.

Hope in their eyes

This quality is one that I've found with many younger children in the foster care system whose outlook of their situation is not one of self-pity, but of hope. At some shoots, I'd swear it was radiating out of their every pore. They'll ask you within five minutes of your first meeting if you would like to adopt them, if you would like to become the most important person in their young lives and make the biggest commitment you will ever make to another person in your lifetime. After I've fumbled through an inadequate explanation of why this isn't possible, they'll make this face that's been burned into my heart forever, and then move on to the next visitor, foster parent, court-appointed guardian or teacher with that same inextinguishable flash of hope lighting up their eyes.

It's with the teens where things get interesting. It's with them that the rules of engagement change and all of your skills of disarmament are put to the test. They're often moody and hesitant subjects who hate their skin, body type, moles, hair, teeth, smiles, dimples, freckles and, on top of normal adolescent angst, must also navigate the tumultuous waters of the foster care system. The common perception of teens in foster care is that the damage done by years of abandonment and neglect have irreversibly hardened their hearts and made them lost causes. In my experience, the opposite is almost always true. They have overcome, and are still battling the difficult and unsettling issues of their young lives. The heartbreaking knowledge of their own unfortunate circumstances creates an even stronger desire to belong.

The photographer's challenge with teens is to penetrate their protective layers to show that despite all they have endured, they still hold a flicker of hope, and to unmask their biggest secret of all: their undeniable desire to be loved.

My very first Heart Gallery assignment in 2002 was with a young autistic child, Michael. At the time I was still clutching onto my trusty film Nikon that I've shot with for over 20 years, dragging along my cumbersome new digital as backup. It didn't take long for me to learn that my equipment needed to be as flexible as I was for whatever deviations from the plan that might occur. And with children who have serious medical conditions confined to hospitals, rooms or beds, deviations occur more often than not. Because of his autism, Michael was unable to stay still; I'd sit him in a chair, preparing for this perfectly lit artsy portrait, and as soon as I'd turn around to set up the shot he would be wrapped around my leg. I had to learn to be fast and flexible, molding my style of photography to fit the needs of the individual children. My then photographic "style" of mood-lit, overly composed, grainy black-and-white portraiture was traded in for a good cause.

Never say never

At the Heart Gallery, we never say never, and there's no such thing as unadoptable. Two days before his 18th birthday. A set of six siblings. An infant with a life-threatening heart condition. Miracles happen because these kids are advocating for themselves. Their hopeful faces look into your soul and ask you directly, "Why not me?"

Who can walk by these faces untouched, knowing these beautiful children only ask for the one basic need most of us were born with, free of care and worry of it: a dad to tuck her in and read her to sleep, a mom to videotape his music recital and a family to make his birthdays special. Unless you are completely stone-hearted, these kids jump off the walls out of their frames, pull at your heart and inspire you to call your mother out of the blue. I've seen grown men cry in front of this gallery. People who have never once considered adoption see a picture of a parentless child while shopping on a Saturday afternoon, and the next thing you know, it's all they can think about.

Being a Heart Gallery photographer sometimes brings me closer to these kids than I am comfortable. There are kids you fall in love with in 30 minutes, who follow you out to your car, help you load up your equipment and look down at their feet as they say, "You know, I'm a really good kid. So, if you know of any nice people like yourself, will you please tell them I'm here, that I'm a good kid? If they adopted me I won't cause any trouble."

And it breaks your heart, which you pack up in little pieces with your camera gear and head off in your car. Sometimes, when you drive off like in the movies, you see this kid there in your rear-view mirror watching you leave.

WANT TO KNOW MORE?

The Heart Gallery can be reached at (813) 204-1792 or www.heart gallerytampabay.org.