Photo Spa - Enter/Exit
I am thrilled to bring Sarah Blesener, Jenny Jacklin Stratton and L.J. Granered to the Spa to talk about their recently released book, Enter/Exit: Trauma-Informed Praxis for Visual Journalism (and Beyond).
Enter/Exit was co-created by the three, along with contributions of over 40 individuals who shared their insights and experiences of being photographed or interviewed in the aftermath of trauma. At its basic level, a trauma-informed journalism approach involves visualizing, reporting, and sharing stories with an understanding of trauma’s effects on individuals, as well as the impact of secondary trauma on those who work alongside participants. Think: a portrait photographed for a news article of someone who just lost a loved one to gun violence.
Designed as a toolkit and evolving resource for educators, artists, journalists and practitioners working with survivors, Enter/Exit offers a collection of perspectives, interviews, essays, poetry, photographs, shared experiences, artwork, and pedagogy, with the intention of being in service of taking better care of both participant and practitioner in highly sensitive contexts, a conversation starter for industry professionals, and a space for fostering community.
This book is incredibly detailed and includes so much practical information from communicating with Photo Editors to understanding body language and how to creatively collaborate with participants. The way the book is designed mirrors the practice it outlines, as an exploration of grief and healing.
An excerpt from Chapter 5: ‘Anonymous’ Portraiture
Who are you and what are you up to these days?
S: Love, I am still trying to figure out who I am. I always want to be isolated in the winter. I just took a studio art therapy techniques course, and I’m starting a course on the alchemy of color next week. I’m reading a lot. I just read Pedro Paramo from Juan Rulfo. I have been painting and trying to catch up on sleep that I’ve been behind on for half a year. Working on Enter/Exit with this beautiful group… and hoping the stars align for a year ahead to be able to focus as much as possible on personal work.
LJ: (laughs) Sarah, deliciously to the point. Who am I… in this trio we’ve joked that Sarah is the head, I am the body, and Jenny is the spirit. Being the body, naturally I am a Reiki practitioner, a performer, and certified ham. Lately, I’ve found a lot of joy in finding ways to talk and teach about heavy topics and the weight of the world through a comedic lens, so my writing is taking a significant shift from the tone of Enter/Exit. I’m reading “Martyr!” by Kaveh Akbar. I’m playing music. I’m trying to take a bit of a rest since our book came out. I’m cooking a lot.
J: I love these answers—and these humans. Honestly, I’ve been trying (not all that successfully) to slow down so I can spend more time with family/friends, and sleep better too; it’s something the three of us keep coming back to. I’m someone who wakes up with the sun but also gravitates toward late nights—which doesn’t really mix all that well. These days walking (wandering) and dancing are my preferred modes of transportation. I spend a lot of time in nature, but lately, just as much in divey music clubs—I love the magic and poetry in both. Currently reading Matter and Desire: An Erotic Ecology (by Andreas Weber).
Can you tell us the birth story of Enter/Exit?
S: Last year, in the middle of an intense period of grief and depression, I spent an afternoon looking through my old journals. I found a notebook where I usually journaled as a way to process after photographing intense, traumatic stories - and I found a series of notes I had written down from participants I had worked with. These were notes that talked about how these folk had survived - what kept them breathing, getting up in the morning, keeping on - after experiencing immense loss. I remember reading their words that afternoon changed something in me. I had forgotten to look to the people who know what it means to survive. And I wondered if I had forgotten to listen to them in the past as well. Was I so focused on their trauma, on their pain, on documenting the “story” that I maybe had missed documenting their survival?
I decided to reach back out to one of these individuals whose words had helped me get on my feet that day. I wrote an email saying, “You may not remember me - but I was the XXXXX photographer who worked with you last year on the feature about XXXXX. I wanted to quickly just reach out and say hi, send over some love, and say thank you. You shared some incredibly thoughtful words of wisdom around the commitment/fight to stay open after grief and pain. I lost my brother last month, and I can't tell you how much your words have come back to me over these past weeks, how healing they have been and something to really hold onto. You may not even recall our conversation, but I wanted to thank you for sharing something you learned from your own experiences with me, and that it has not only touched my life, but has been passed onto those around me as well.”
This individual responded, and this conversation led me to realize there was probably much I had crucially missed from 1) focusing on the wrong things 2) being lost in my own version of what I thought someone else’s story was about and 3) from not following up with individuals after photographing them. Yes, it’s not something that we are encouraged to do in journalism. We work on so many stories. The communication and responsibility of keeping in touch with people can be overwhelming. But if we don’t ask the people we work with, whose homes we enter and lives we put on display, what it was like to work with us - what advice they have for us - what could have gone better - how their lives were impacted - how will we learn? Along with this, I had begun to really question my own practice and approach. What was actually helping? What was causing harm? Can the process of photographing itself be cathartic and healing?
LJ: I am not a journalist. The foundation of Sarah and I’s collaboration, and friendship, is multidimensional, but a huge component is really a shared history of recovery. Sarah and I have some very specific parallels in our own past trauma which has created a mutual trust to bring those experiences into our creative work, and I think that’s why when Sarah shared with me about this idea and asked me to come on for the project it felt like a very organic extension of what already preoccupied our conversations and curiosities. I bring an outsider perspective to Sarah and Jenny’s journalism expertise, one focused on trauma awareness and recovery irrespective of journalism industry standards which I think was an important - erm, mirror? Sharpening? Reminder of what is not simply common practice or knowledge, but rather what I would recommend to a patient or friend. My vocabulary for safety and trauma is from a lens of recovery programs, but also somatic trauma integration, and then as the person being photographed. Tools like Feldenkrais, IFS, drama therapy, breathwork, Alexander technique, repetition, 12 step work, some acting techniques that apply - just a lot of physical and emotional methodologies that compliments the heady world of journalism and academia nicely. And then Jenny came on board and it was like the wind filled the sails and we were really moving.
J: Enter/Exit was born out of deep frustration—but also great optimism, care, and hope. I joke that its original form was a love- and rage-filled Google Doc. We didn’t set out to produce a book, but rather to question, reflect, and gather resources for alternative ways of working in visual journalism, particularly listening and learning from folks outside of the journalism field.
The project began with over forty one-on-one conversations, each with someone who had been photographed after experiencing trauma—a conversation that’s not often had, but deeply necessary and illuminating. As Sarah spoke to-- these interactions and exchanges we have with people as photojournalists leave imprints that continue to remain after the time shared together. They should directly shape the process of this work too. What was their experience? What did they see in the photographs? What critiques or reflections might they offer?
These interviews became the foundation of the book—the text, the experiences, and the resources shared throughout. Through open dialogue and collaborative momentum, the project organically unfolded into multiple forms and mediums, including writing, poetry, art, and photography.
The project also emerged from us noticing gaps in available resources while teaching visual journalism workshops and developing curriculum. On a more personal level, much of my motivation for this work is deeply rooted in what I’ve inherited from my mother, who spent over 30 years working in public schools. She was a deeply passionate, generous, and caring educator, and I experienced firsthand how she brought so much community building, intuition, creativity and openness into the classroom.
What was the production process like? How were you able to provide this book for free?
S: Well.. the honest answer is that I’ve learned as an artist, and as a freelancer, that if I wait for things to line up perfectly, for there to be funding or interest or for the right doors to open - if I wait for this, then nothing will ever happen. We usually have to make our own doors. Or go around the house. These are horrible metaphors - I hope this doesn’t make it in the final interview - but you know what I mean. This work happened because if I didn’t begin working on it, I was going to lose my faith in the journalism industry and in my own role as a practitioner. I was losing hope. I didn’t know if things could be done differently or how to do them differently. I felt pretty desperate for understanding, for new perspectives.
I’m speaking from my experience here - but I do want to say that the truly magical part of this was that this whole process was collaborative - from the interview process, the formation of the structure of the book based on these interviews, and from working with L.J. and Jenny. Hell, as a photojournalist - I have not been used to working with others. It’s a lone wolf mentality in this industry. It can be very ego driven. It is one name, one byline, usually removed from the other team members and teamwork that happens in a newsroom. The goal of this project was to… not do that. It was to bring in as many forms - poetry, art, collage, critical theory - and perspectives - therapists, editors, journalists, survivors, photographers - as possible.
I mean - it was tough. I had to let go of control - of what I thought this work was about. I had to lean into being wrong, into my mistakes - into the spirit of creating this work anew and collectively. We had disagreements. It was scary to loosen my grip on something I felt protective over - which is the whole point of what we are trying to do.
Oh, and to circle back to your question - we aren’t able to provide this book for free, but we decided to. Access to knowledge, support, and community hinges on financial support - and a heartbreaking amount of talented, passionate, incredible artists are left on the side. I’m not going to further contribute to that - especially when we are working on creating resources that center on trauma-informed ways of working.
We all felt this work needed to be made. We do the action - we let go of the outcome.
J: The co-creation of the book itself was an embodiment of the collaborative practices it advocates. While the content of the book can be heavy there is also a lot of passion, community and joy sourced from the process of putting it together that we hope shines through.
Because there are limited resources for trauma informed approaches for visual journalism we decided from the onset that we wanted the book to be accessible especially to students, educators and practitioners. The project is an absolute labor of love and we have invested our own time, energies and resources to produce the first edition and a limited print run.
LJ: Yeah, this book is free in the way that any company could make something free if they cared more about who benefited from it than their bottom line. Or had the slightest semblance of an ethical backbone. It’s an exercise in mutual aid - providing a resource, giving in proportion to what we have, and trusting it will empower others to do the same. Meanwhile actively pursuing grant opportunities, or the publisher gods to grace us with a second edition.
As far as the production process goes, we wrote this thing in a Google Doc, hunny! (If you want to write a book, fucking write it babe). We initially thought it would be a booklet really - something you could roll up in your pocket as a reference on an assignment that we would distribute in a much more guerrilla punk fashion. But we soon realized that there was simply too much to say until we had about 150 pages of a book to be terribly proud of. We went on a little retreat in Sedona and locked ourselves in a house trying to finish chapters. We frantically paced through Sarah’s apartment, spent Sunday afternoons on zoom, tearing our hair out over how to talk about aftercare in a way that didn’t sound pedantic or superficial. We would be REMISS not to shout out our absolutely amazing designer Serena Gramaglia, whose part in the production was equal parts brilliant, sensitive, committed, patient, and joyful. She lives in Barcelona, and over the course of a year, we would get on video calls with her and slowly but surely see our words, nearly turned to soup in the Size 10 Arial font Google Doc (Ugh, Sarah would never let me change the font.), manifest into something truly elegant and authentic to the spirit of the mission. It was a labor of love - but Jenny and Sarah are two of the most brilliant, talented, visionary individuals I have ever met and it always feels like a privilege to work alongside them towards a goal so meaningful.
What was the biggest lesson you learned in creating the book?
LJ: Nothing happens in a vacuum, no one is an island, we are always always always interdependent and connected. The more we acknowledge that, the richer the work and the wisdom becomes.
J: How important it is to let things metabolize—to give our experiences and ideas time to settle. It’s in the slowing down; this space of questioning, listening to others, our bodies, our selves, letting go, and reflecting that growth happens. Even though there’s often pressure to focus on output, its really more about how we show up. To embrace process over product or the journey as the destination. This experience also reaffirmed my gratitude for shared wisdom and experiences. This includes from LJ and Sarah, who I continue to be inspired by and learn so much from.
S: Oooof. Hard to narrow this down to one. I realized how much I had not been listening - I had not been asking the right questions. It reaffirmed the question of who we turn to as sources of knowledge and why - and who we do or do not listen to. Who is deemed worthy of listening to - of asking questions to - of informing, changing and being a part of process and policy.
This quote from Judith Herman that we included in the book summarizes the biggest lesson learned: “I propose that survivors of violence, who know in their bones the truths that many others would prefer not to know, can lead the way to a new understanding of justice. The first step is simply to ask survivors what would make things right—or as right as possible—for them. This sounds like such a reasonable thing to do, but in practice, it is hardly ever done. Listening, therefore, turns out to be a radical act.“
In the book there is a focus on collaboration between the participant and photographer that isn't often prioritized. Can you talk a little bit about what that collaboration can look like?
S: Yea, absolutely. Thinking of this, this way helps me: someone who has experienced trauma has, in some shape or form, had their power of choice and control taken away from them. And there is this model in traditional journalism of this knowledgeable artist, expert, outsider - swooping in, taking images or extracting a story and leaving. This, essentially, is repeating the act of taking away choice and control from the individual once again. So the question becomes - how do we not do that? Will our interaction and process further strip control away from them? How do we pivot away from stereotypical portrayals of trauma and survivors of trauma?
I think there is a lot of lip service to collaboration in journalism but an incredible amount of power dynamics, generalized rules and barriers that stop this from actually happening.
But - what that collaboration can look like is something I feel I’ve just opened up in my own practice, and I have so much to learn. But collaboration has truly, truly, truly transformed my creative practice and my own healing. It has changed everything for me.
What I’ve learned from my own experiences has been approaches like free writing, visual prompts, dream work, collage and active creativity, responsive prompts, and participant-led caption writing are really simple, practical and approachable ways of incorporating collaboration into our practices.
For example, almost every time that I work with someone, I sit down with them and ask them to talk a bit about how they want people to feel when they see these images we will make together - what kind of feeling, energy, mood they want them to have. Then I ask them to describe how they are feeling about whatever it is the story is on - let’s say grief - I ask them to describe, in a very flowery way, what it feels like - what color? What temperature? What dreams? What texture? This helps to build an atmosphere around the “theme” - it helps to take our focus off of the obvious, direct thing in front of us. It also directly begins a collaborative approach of visualizing the story - from the visual prompt, these new images, colors and textures begin to become the visual language between artist and participant. As an artist, I use their language - their words, colors and we talk through the process itself - how we can use light to craft this together. In art therapy, being strong with direction is called a “third hand” - and I still think a third hand is important with these stories. I use the prompt, and the trust established from these conversations, and then I help guide the session from there.
Oh, this quote I fucking love: “Attempting to liberate others without their reflective participation in the act of liberation is to treat them as objects which must be saved from a burning building.” Paulo Freire
J: Mic drop after the Freire quote. I would just add Even more so than what collaboration looks like, it’s about what true collaboration feels like. It feels like slowing down, sharing decision making, taking time to ensure the safety and well being of everyone involved. It feels like being listened to, mutually respected and cared for. And sometimes, it feels like letting go.
When was the first time you heard about or saw anonymous photography?
S: I had my first anonymous portrait assignment in 2019. I remember frantically looking through examples of anonymous portraiture from different publications the day before the photo session, and I remember thinking how dark and ominous they all read. Yeah, the stories usually WERE dark and a bit ominous - but some of these approaches really doubled down on that. I remember not wanting to do that, but I remember not knowing any alternative examples. I showed up for the photo session in a dry, Severance-styled office building in Manhattan with not much to work with aside from a white wall. The story was around a juvenile mug shot - and a silhouette on a white wall wouldn’t do much other than replicate this traumatic experience. In the end, I found an approach that used a glass office door and a window to create a silhouette framed in a way that made the individual look suspended in time - an end result to me that seemed to defy the cold state methodology of how images are taken in arrest.
This experience, although incredibly challenging, changed my life as an artist. Prior to this, my experience with portraiture had relied heavily on the obvious: slips of gesture, eye contact, posture, light. I began to research, read poetry, and study how an artist, a writer, a performer - can “show something without showing it.” Journalism can be so damn direct. Anonymous portraiture opened a door that REQUIRED indirectness - that required poetry, mood, experimentation. It freed me from the rules of the visual journalism language that I had been taught and had followed rigidly.
Beyond this - of course - is the ethical implications in these stories. Journalism, for the most part, is decontextualized. What it means to be “anonymous” to one person will be different for the next. The level of communication, informed consent, ethics and collaboration is unparalleled. Learning these new rules also changed my entire approach to working on visual storytelling, where I had not incorporated these approaches prior. In the past, I came in as the artist, made an image (yes, out of love and empathy), and left. That approach now reeked of extraction. It reinforced power dynamics and hierarchy. Anonymous portraiture turned this all upside down for me, transformed my practice, and shifted my gaze.
J: Inherent to covering sensitive topics and situations as photojournalists (and humans) is navigating a maze of ethical considerations and safety concerns. While anonymous portraiture can serve a critical role in protecting identities and maintaining confidentiality, it also carries risks or can be used in ways that contribute to negative stereotypes or misperceptions, such as casting someone in shadows or obscuring their face in a way that is reductive or diminishes complex, nuanced human experiences. However, when done thoughtfully and collaboratively (prioritizing process and well being), anonymous portraiture can be resonant and poetic, reflecting the essence of a person’s experience in a meaningful way while still respecting their privacy and dignity. It’s a balance that requires careful attunement to both the ethical and artistic implications of how individuals are portrayed.
What excites you about contemporary photojournalism?
S: I’m excited by the folk who are showing up and doing things differently. I’m excited about artists doing socially engaged work - artists and journalists committed to community collaboration, to alternative ways of working. When we do our Tacet Eye workshop, I am blown away by the amount of vulnerability in the work - I see a lot of individuals starting with themselves - they look inwards in order to look outwards. They are asking hard questions. They are facing the world and committing to staying open. They are working on incredibly complex issues around memory, archive, diaspora - they are breaking the rules of traditional journalism. I’m excited about the box being broken. Damn, it’s gorgeous to see.
LJ: Agree on boxes being broken. I think I am excited to watch journalists and artists recognize their power in taking ownership of process as a function of care and recognition as much as is possible within the system of capitalism. These humans have such access to expression, and voice, and story, and audience. What will happen as more and more generations are armed with the tools, the vocabulary, the leadership to radically do right by each other? In an era demanding the courage to do so? We will see.
J: And all of what’s been said are pathways to new possibilities—ways we create, collaborate, and (re)imagine—questioning these boxes through building community, new approaches, blending disciplines, and mediums. It may feel slow-going or distant, but as author Arundhati Roy writes, “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way.”
If you are an educator or practitioner interested in learning more about ENTER/EXIT or requesting an early edition copy please e-mail info@tacet-eye.com
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Sarah Blesener is a visual journalist based in New York whose work focuses on survivor’s testimonies in the aftermath of gendered violence, abuses of power, and sexual assault
Jennifer Stratton is an interdisciplinary artist, visual journalist, and educator, whose work engages with photography, art, and storytelling as emergent processes for co-creation, restorative narratives, and acts of care.
L.J. Granered is a trans nonbinary writer, actor, and somatic trauma practitioner, their work ranges from playwriting to public speaking with an emphasis on the body via themes of queerness, addiction recovery, sexual assault, chronic illness, religious indoctrination and C-PTSD.