What
happened to this church?
RM:
Around 1900, cannel coal was discovered in the hills of Morgan County,
Kentucky.
Cannel coal was known as the cleanest and hottest burning
coal
available. The coal company descended upon this rural area,
coal
workers were hired from all over and a thriving boom town rose
over
night. A post office, a school and the Cannel City Union
Church
was built. About the time of the great depression, natural
gas
and electricity made coal financially obsolete to mine, so the coal
company
pulled out, taking the workers (and most of the area employment)
with
them. This coal bust turned a thriving city into a virtual ghost
town.
Many
people who stayed behind were economically forced to move north for
jobs
in automotive and industrial factories. As my great-uncle, Ronald
Perkins
(the
oldest citizen of Cannel City) says, “It closed because
nobody
came to church anymore.”
So
how long has the church been empty?
RM:
With the exception of the occasional traveling revival or two,
the
doors closed in 1961, the year I was born.
What
is your connection to the church?
RM:
My ancestors lived in Cannel City before it was a city. My mother,
grandparents
and great grandparents lived there. My grandfather moved
his
family to Dayton, Ohio to work in the GM plants. They all went to
the
church. Since moving northward, my family has made the four hour
pilgrimage
several times a year for ancestral visits.
My
great aunt and uncle are the only family left there.
I
love to take my family down to visit them and cherish my
memories
of the area and my heritage.
Your
heritage seems to be an important factor in your art.
RM:
Yes. I feel that my calling is to record and share my culture’s
history.
Appalachian people are strong, moral and quiet. Much of our
history
was passed down through the generations in stories and song.
Not
much was ever written down.
My
Appalachian heritage made me who I am - shaping my values, morals and
importance
of family and views on the world.
Unfortunately,
like the walls crumbling at the church, the Appalachian
culture
is fading away, too.
Why
is that?
RM:
Well, I believe that the “homogenization” of civilization is rapidly
ridding
our country of the importance of our unique differences in the name
of
"progress." Every small town in America has their McDonalds, Wal-marts
and
Holiday Inns. They are all the same.
A
Big Mac tastes the same in Boston, San Diego or even Moscow.
As
we become more “the same” we become less different.
We
lose our cultural identity - who we are and where we came from becomes
less
important. We need to appreciate and celebrate our differences.
My
children enjoy our visits to Cannel City, but don’t feel the same
family
history connection. Hopefully, by recording the culture with my
cameras,
I can preserve some of the Appalachian culture before it
disappears
entirely. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words.
Or
more.
RM:
Yes. A good photograph can change the world. My goal is to
make people
feel
when they view my work. They may not feel the same way I do, since
we
all filter the world through different hearts, minds and
experiences.
If I can make a person think, feel and experience
something
unique, then I have been a successful artist and human being.
Is
the empty pew in your first image symbolic?
RM:
Yes.
Are
there any other meanings attached to this exhibition?
RM:
There are many different layers of meaning, depending on
how
far you are able or willing to look. To some, the photographs may
simply
represent a rotting church building. Others with certain similar
heritages
may connect on an ancestral or cultural level.
After
viewing the prints, many people describe the churches they attended as
children.
It
seems to flip on a memory switch for some.
Many
see what happened to the church happening to the Appalachian people themselves.
Still
others see the images of the Cannel City Union Church as a metaphor
for
what is happening to churches in general.
How
did you select images to photograph in the church?
RM:
I wanted to show how hopelessly lonely this empty church is.
Abandoned,
decaying, ignored – there is no hope.
I
focused on individual characteristics -
a
pane of stained glass, paint peeling off a light switch,
a
vine crawling into the church through a broken out window,
weather
damaged piano keys.
I
wanted to show an intimate portrait of a dying church and challenge
the
viewer to reflect on his or her feelings about it.
Your
photographs seem to involve a unique perspective.
How
do you “see” differently?
RM:
As children, we looked up into the sky and described
the
shapes we saw in the clouds.
Remember
that?
We
don’t do this when we grow up.
I’m
not quite sure why.
Maybe
it's because we’re told to “keep your nose to the grindstone”
and
ignore all extraneous details. We’re often too busy
focusing
on the facts to think about beauty.
We
rationalize that beauty can wait until we’re done with the “important”
(uncreative)
things, and usually, it gets crowded out of our lives.
I’ve
been lucky that somehow, as an adult, I can give myself permission
to
look for shapes in the clouds. I allow myself to use my creativity
to
find something different and unique in the ordinary. I’m also
lucky
that I get to work with young children every day.
The
way they view their world rubs off on me.
Your
“Fresh Souls” exhibition dealt with young children.
RM:
Yes, as a trusted music and fine arts teacher in their daily lives, I am
invited
into
this secret world that only children know about. It’s a place filled
with
imagination,
wonder, innocence and play. It was an honor to be
allowed
to capture the essence of children being themselves.
We
all grow up and lose these valuable characteristics,
but
I’m lucky to be around it all day long.
It
keeps me eternally young.
What
process do you use to produce the warm earthy glow in your prints?
RM:
I start with a creative idea that makes me feel, then translate
this
concept into my personal visualization.
I
record this onto black and white film using medium and large format
cameras
and whatever means I might need to achieve my objective.
I’m
able to continue the personal translation from inception
to
completion by developing the film and prints myself .
The
deep brown tonality of my prints is the result of a proprietary
process
of sepia and selenium toning. The process results in a
rich,
chocolaty, smooth brown, unlike the yellowish tan of standard
sepia
toning. I tone all of my prints this way, not to make them appear
old-fashioned,
but to match my visualization and to instill a sense of timelessness.
"Death
of a Church" is accompanied by music. Why?
RM:
I arranged a "soundtrack" of Southern hymns from an original
hymnal
from the Cannel City Union Church.
The
Appalachian dulcimer heard on the CD is a digital sample of a
real
hammered dulcimer that I used to create and record the arrangements
via
computer. The slow, deliberate dulcimer hymns draw the viewer
into
the
images and sets a tone of respect and reverence.
Many
gallery viewers have expressed how much the music adds to the experience.
What’s
your next project?
RM:
At this time, I’m finishing up PR , scheduling and exhibitions
for
“Death of a Church.” It’s taken about nine months of daily work
to
bring it to this point.
I
usually don’t pick my projects – they pick me.
I’m
currently working on a short film "slideshow" of my Appalachian work.
Two
books are in the works in association with the Appalachian Service Project.
For
more information on how to help the Appalachian people and/or do volunteer
work
with ASP, click the link below.
Any
last advice?
RM:
Yes. Everyone is a photographer.
We
all store little snapshots of the events of our lives in a scrapbook in
our brains.
I
encourage everybody to grab a camera and translate these memories onto
film.
Our
memories may fade or change over time, but a photograph not only
records
our personal journey through history, but allows us to instantaneously
take
us back to that frozen moment in time.
Take
photographs of your loved ones, favorite places, all aspects
of
your personal lives. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone back
to
photograph
something I’ve meant to shoot when I had time, and found a
parking
lot where a building once stood. Or a friend or loved one
had
passed away before I had a chance to take a portrait of them.
Photographers
love to say that film is cheap.
I
say that a photograph of something special from your
existence
will make you feel and remember your entire life.