Jeanne

When will I have all of my Pictures with Purpose images up? Short answer: “Um.” Long answer: “I don’t know.”

I’m reworking them as I sift through folders and edits, and it’s also nothing timely (obviously). So, without the threat of a deadline, I’m probably working slower on these images than I should be. So in case I haven’t bored you with my inconsistencies, here are a few frames of a sweet, wonderful woman named Jeanne Crawford. Jeanne’s relatives discovered Ruby Falls, and her family is buried in the Forest Hills Cemetery (where the majority of my images from the workshop come from). Jeanne owns a little souvenir shop, filled with trinkets and gagets all about Rock City and Ruby Falls. I’ll have a post with some frames made at the shop, but I was way more interested in her careful eyes than any kitschy doodad for sale. We spent some time together, and I asked all about her life. The conversation was kind, but I could tell she was holding back. Keeping me at arm’s length. She was nice to me, yeah, but she wasn’t all that sure of the loud blond girl talking a mile a minute, who also happened to have two cameras slung over her shoulders and a notepad tucked into a shorts pocket. First meeting, I learned a lot about her. I asked the easy questions. I met her a few days later at the cemetery for a makeshift family portrait, setting her up near the graves. I still felt her holding back, so I boldly asked if I could go to church with her on my last day in Chattanooga. She was very open about her faith, and I wanted to capture that side of her, so I asked to tag along. This time I was fully prepared to ask the hard questions. I showed up at her doorstep at 8am with coffee. She made me breakfast, and while the woman I had met earlier in the week was hesitant to have me around, the woman laughing with me over cinnamon buns was different. She held my hand when I told her about my life, my struggles. I was moved to tears when she handed me a Bible with a handwritten note, telling me how my smile had helped her find her joy again. And for all that I was personally dealing with in the moments as I sat with her, I kept crying as I shared about my own heartbreak. I didn’t photograph these moments, these tears. I knew so much of my workshop was about making honest connections with the people I meet while I have a camera in hand. And I knew that if I had clicked, I would’ve lost her. She was trusting me. She needed me more than I needed to make a picture. I knew this instantly, but the reward in our connection shows in the images I make of her at church. I was her friend in tow, and she didn’t flinch at my shutter anymore.

We email sometimes. She checks in to see how I am. I do the same. I’m so happy to have met her.