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8 days to go..   KICKSTARTER for Family Time Book

A book of beautiful photographs in the hands of the families of soldiers from the Colorado Army National Guard.  A celebration of Family Time for them while their loved ones are deployed to Kuwait, serving as part of Operation Enduring Freedom.  

Steady on and thankful for all the encouragement.  Pledge your support today.

Guest Post - Heather Janssen - "Evocative"

I met Heather at The Little Fig Bakery in Longmont on day 14 of the One Million Faces Project.  The photos and her story remains some of the most poignant, iconic moments I have ever witnessed.  She shared her messages, with poise, and resolve.   Heather had a stack of her new sassy mom magazine, Get Born in one hand a sweet shy little girl peeked out from behind her.  She walked up to me and stated "Hi, I'm Heather I'm a mother of 4 young girls, I'm the editor of a new sassy magazine, and I want to do a topless photo, I'm a stage 4 cancer survivor I have nothing to hide." 

   

These photographs document a sliver of my story. They’re mere moments in the expansive consumption of my days since cancer hijacked my hope. Sometimes there is an hour, occasionally even a day of joy, but the cloud of stolen innocence—the expectation for a different life than the one I’ve come to live—remains. I still had some innocence when my youngest daughter accompanied me to a little bakery in north Longmont, Colorado, where Peggy Dyer first photographed us. Me tipping her little two-year-old self upside-down, Peggy catching her determined scrunchy face on film, the face that defined her infancy and remains a family favorite, though her growing, little girl face no longer affords us the adoration of her previous infant chub. 

Evocative: this word has defined my writing, my stories, my career as a publisher and proponent of honest community, a survivor of cancer (god, I hate that word survivor—it implies that something has been survived. What’s the word for still surviving? Not yet done, never done, always still fucking dealing with the monster at my back??) My essays evoke an experience for other women knee-deep in the lost-ness that often accompanies motherhood. My personality—brash, sassy, colorful, honest to a fault—evokes laughter, sometimes embarrassment, when what I reveal in a moment of transparency makes the listener uncomfortable. My survivorship—ongoing, relentless, bold, the epitome of exhaustion—evokes pity, inspiration, grief, awe.

Me, going topless for the cause of making a statement about how this cancer wouldn’t change me, wouldn’t be my undoing.  In spite of my resolve, I am undone.

But what these photos evoke in me, more than anything, is overwhelming, debilitating grief. I look at my once two-year-old clutching to my neck as tightly as the Ecuadorian monkey I owned in Ecuador, and weep bitterly for what has been taken from me, and from her. I weep as I attempt to write this and cannot continue without taking a break, because the lymphedema that has affected my right hand causes it to fall asleep, so what I want more than anything—to make my writing my career—is thwarted, too, by cancer.

What’s the point, I wonder, in evocation? Maybe the masses who promote denial via polite conversation have the better way—if it’s hard, or different, or tragic, just ignore it, paint it with blue and purple polka dots and pretend it doesn’t exist. Evocative means tears, means guttural moans of deep grief, pulled from a deeper reservoir of pain and disappointment, anger and despair than I can even begin to “handle.” Perhaps denial is the better way, because then the pain doesn’t wrap its relentless hands around my neck and squeeze, choking the hope and joy out of life.

I try. I really do. I try to look forward to coffee in the morning and 20-year-reunions with high school acquaintances-turned friends, and my kids’ cross country meets and a bike ride in the beautiful Colorado autumn chill. It usually works, and I bravely make it through weeks days months without coming undone.

Today, though, I’m undone. The photos of my daughters undo me, as they evoke their younger years, gorgeous, fresh faces against a stunning white backdrop. Augmented, unalterably changed, damaged, refashioned by a disease that neither they nor I asked for or caused. They evoke a hope I once had to not have a family so damaged that I cannot see a way again to any semblance of wholeness.

What is the point of all this evocation, I wonder? It just makes me cry, pulled from this yawning well of tears and days upon which I’ve put on a brave face and resolute smile. They remind me not only of all we have suffered through—namely, a loss of a life unaltered by the ongoing threat of death—but also of how alone I feel in this.

I am alone. Utterly alone. No one can comprehend the fear and pain associated with wondering if I will live to see those girls grow up. No one can fully appreciate the pain of realizing that the partner with which you brought those girls into the world has become an enemy of any happiness that may have been redeemed from the pain of a stolen future. No one can feel the acute disappointment at watching as the lives of those around you march merrily along, punctuated by quirky status updates and photos documenting everyday happenings, while yours stagnates in an ever-revolving door of monthly CT scans, weekly chemo infusions, daily lymphedema routines, and hourly attempts not to succumb to the utter depression of it all.

Nonetheless, hope - the fucking miracle that it is - arises out of the ashes of despair. Alone though I am, in experience and the daily struggle to not drink myself to death, I am surrounded by an indescribable wealth of friendship, beauty, support and love. Real love. The kind that, when I talk about how alone I feel, doesn’t make that about itself, but rather says, “Yes, you’re right. And it’s awful.” The kind of love that assures me, even in the cavern of struggle, even when I’m at my least loveable, I am loved. The kind of love that responds to my depressing status updates with “you are loved beyond measure,” and even more unbelievable, is the kind of love so encompassing that, for one second, I actually believe it. The kind of love that doesn’t eliminate the pain or the fatigue, but makes it bearable for at least one more day.

These pictures show me that I am loved. They remind me that the love I have given was not given in vain. They will remain so that my daughters can see themselves in a former state, when their smiles weren’t overshadowed by the haunted look in their eyes, when their mom’s bright smile wasn’t eclipsed by chronic fatigue.

So they evoke a time from before: before the endless cancer days had eroded my resolve and hope so that all that remains is pain. They evoke children not yet completely robbed of their innocence by a disease cruel enough to take away a childhood free from fear, but not merciful enough to just kill me so that they can grieve and move on. This constant grief is what is so fucking exhausting. Of course I don’t want to die. Of course they don’t want me to die. But what kind of living is this? This waiting around for the next news of the next scan, relieved that it’s clean but the next one is only six weeks away. Wouldn’t it be better for them to grieve the loss of their mother and move on with their lives? How fair is it for them to be in this holding pattern?

Maybe this is why men fight wars. Because, at the end of the day, the pain of life is so excruciating that all I want to do is punch a wall and curse out my best friend, because it’s all so completely meaningless. 

Or maybe, just maybe, the documentation of this story, of my small sliver and all its messy, unresolved is-ness, is what will, finally, be part of the beginning of the nail in the coffin of violent outburst in response to senseless shit—holocausts, disease, poverty, famine. Maybe when we tell our stories and those who read our stories see our faces and our bright hope and deep pain, then we evoke a response of “Me, too!” and that response creates a chain reaction of story-sharing, and in this story sharing we find a friend where we’d first seen a stranger, a compadre where before we’d seen only an enemy. Because once you hear my story and see my face, you’ll never see me the same way again.

"I am here on this planet to make your painting"

I've had the wonderful adventure of sharing creative space with Laurie Maves for the past 2 years.  Laurie is one of the most stunning, creative, talented, loving and joyful and most inspiring people I've ever known.    We have collaborated on several art pieces, including the very first and limited edition fine art book from the One Million Faces project, Once Upon A Yoga Mat, 2011.  

GUEST BLOGGER : Laurie Maves  "I am here on this planet to make your painting"

This is one of the first images one would see on my website, and one my favorite One Million Faces portraits that Peggy Dyer has taken of me in our basement studio in the Santa Fe Arts
District of Denver, Colorado.

Denver artist Laurie Maves, Nov. 1, 2011

   

As a commissioned artist and live painter, I had found a challenging yet most awesome career for myself. After residing in the Denver metro area forthe past fifteen years, and after showing my paintings in over a hundredvenues, I found that the same clients that would purchase my studio paintings were often hesitant, for whatever reason, to request commissioned work. I gradually discovered that many people were attracted to my abstracted, "pop surrealist" style, but often times had a specific subject matter in mind. Once I opened up my gamut of work to anything and everything at the request of the client, I found my own areas of expertise were increasing. For a number of years, I had been strictly making paintings about poppies and my little stylized lollipop characters.  When I realized that more and more people really loved my style of work, but wanted their own subject matter, and I was open to painting that subject matter, my business increased tremendously.

   Over the past year, I have made a strange variety of paintings about so many different things, with varying degrees of seriousness and humor. I have made series of portraits for individuals, families and for corporate offices.  I have made a painting of a marriage proposal. I have made paintings about Buddhas and parrots, flamingos, owls, and giraffes.  I have made landscapes of Red Rocks, Pikes Peak, the Royal Gorge, as well as the landscape surrounding Arrowhead Golf Course. I have even made a painting about a glittery ham sandwich!  And on a more serious of notes, I have made a number of paintings to memorialize people that have passed or to honor people and their life's work.

   As a commissioned artist, I feel that I am answering to a calling of sorts.  When I deliver commissioned paintings to people upon completion, I often find that my clients are moved to tears. There is something mystical in the way that I am making work, specific work at the request of the client, that touches them deeply and moves them spiritually.  I cannot exactly explain why this is happening, but I do know in my soul that commission work is my duty as an artist at this point in my life.  So this is why, "I'm here on this planet to make your painting."  It is my life's purpose.

DADT, 1 year later

One year ago today, gay servicemen and women were allowed to serve openly in US armed forces.  President Obama overturned the policy, Don't ask Don't Tell.  

I met this wonderful couple on June 15th, at the BABES around Denver's Candyland party.

We'd been photographing people and talking about the One Million Faces project since the doors opened.  It was after midnight,  I was exhausted, we were striking the set, packing up the gear.

"2 more"  Danette said.  "It's the last $20 of the night, do you want it?" I turned the lights back on.  They thanked me and got started on their model release.  "She's leaving for training in a few days, Officer training."  My heart started to pound, as once again the Military came front and center in my project.   

"What's your name?"  I wrote their first names on the white board.

"We have the same last name." she said 

"What should we write on our sign?" they asked.

"How long are you going to be gone?"

"4 months for officer training"

Officer training..  

Made me think of Richard Gere and Debra Winger's classic movie.

"How about an Officer and a Wife?"

"Perfect!" they said in unison.

Put your arms around each other, Lean in for a kiss

As I took their photos I tried not to cry, I just pushed the button.

A little video of some of the photos from the OMF Family Time session.
"Hang Out in Your Heart" courtesy of Chely Wright

Guest Post: When Elle Met Peggy

Over the past two years, Elle Potter has been working with Peggy Dyer on a number of One Million Faces shoots and projects.  She joins forces with OMF again this month as we work hard to get funding for our Kickstarter campaign.  Today she shares a brief history of how we met, and how she became a part of One Million Faces.

June 2011 - Pride in Denver

On St. Patrick's Day 2010, I closed up om time yoga studio in Boulder to walk down to Whole Foods (now Alfalfa's) for lunch.  A boisterous photographer was set-up outside the entrance, snapping shots of a shopper posing with a white board.  Like a moth to the flame, this narcissist was immediately drawn to the photographer.  I ate my salad at one of the tables outside, eavesdropping while she explained the One Million Faces project to passersby.

March 17, 2010 - #2353

What came to pass is more than becoming #2353 in a project that is now nearing the 10,000 mark; I made friends with one of the most enigmatic, bright and sparkly personalities I have ever met.

I invited Peggy to be our featured artist for a month at the Denver om time studio on Santa Fe.  When she arrived to deliver her work, she took me aboard "The Turtle," a little rundown RV which she confided was where she had been living.  It was small and crowded with her work, which we unloaded into the studio.

Later that summer, Peggy moved into the basement of the Denver studio, which became Studio Shakta (and is now Breathe Denver).  At the same time, I left my job at the yoga studio but eagerly took the opportunity to assist Peggy at OMF shoots and in her studio, creating art, sharing it online, editing images and passing out white boards to new faces lining up to get their photo taken.

A hard day's work at Whole Foods in September 2010

Peggy generally did not ask for payment to participate in the project, and although we accepted donations from a thoughtful few, it was not creating a salary for Peggy - let alone a budget to pay an assistant.  My early days of compensation consisted of green juice, sushi lunches and on one occasion, crimping a set of feathers into my hair at a Boulder hair salon.

A 10+ hour work day followed by sushi and feathers - one of my favorite paychecks ever.

I cannot tell you how many times Peggy has made me breakfast or stir-fry on the little hot plate she had in the back of the yoga studio as a thank-you for coming in to help.  Even now that I live over 800 miles away, when Peggy asks for help, I always do what I can, knowing OMF is not making steady income - yet.  She pays me what she can, when she can - but ultimately, I do what I do to try to make not only her voice heard in the world at large, but the message and beauty of every one who has ever been photographed by her.

Our One-Year Anniversary of Meeting, March 2011

Peggy never stops doing what she has been doing, which is why I am always so drawn to her and the One Million Faces project.  Never once has she walked away from photography and art because there might not be a guaranteed paycheck waiting for her.  She orchestrates shows at the studio on Santa Fe even still, and is quick to take the opportunity for a great photo shoot, whether it is a private concert with Michael Franti or a troop of soldiers and their families before their deployment.

Now, she turns her voice outward to her beloved community to ask for her with her first-ever push for funding through Kickstarter.  Just think - one day, when Peggy is super famous for traveling all over the world to take her One Million Faces photos and she is featured in all the newspapers, all the magazines and all the television talk shows, you can proudly say "I did that!"  Because you really will have helped make that happen, and all because you backed this crazy dream.

My Friend Peggy, the Giggling Shaman

GUEST BLOGGER : Karen M

One Million Faces Project : Family Time

From time to time (although more accurately, all the time), the One Million Faces project encounters a truly touching story that is illustrated through one of the photos of a shoot.  Peggy may not know the triumphant story of a couple's victory over life-threatening concerns as she photographs the pair of happy, laughing souls, but whenever the story is told, it makes the photos that much more powerful to view.

Karen and her husband Heath sponsored the Family Time photo shoot being featured in our Kickstarter campaign.  She shared their story with us this weekend, and it powerfully represents why this project is so close to our hearts and why it is so important to us to make our goal. 

Over six years ago, Heath was set to deploy to Iraq.  He was actually about two weeks away from arriving in country when I decided that I really didn’t want him to go.  I went to the extreme on this one, a cancer diagnosis, and he was compassionately reassigned to home. (An aside, but many thanks to all those who supported Heath and made it possible for him to come home.) 

In the years since, we have often gone back and forth with the following dialogue:

Karen: “I’d rather “get” cancer again than have you go to war.”

Heath: “I’d rather go to war than have the cancer return.”















What we have been saying, basically, is we love each other, care for each other, and want good health and wellness for each other. And we are saying, both cancer and war are scary and fearful and create great uncertainty and struggles in our lives. (Clearly we missed the life lesson that war and cancer can be used as metaphors, and we don’t necessarily need to be so literal!)

I share this because I think all of us can relate to love, care, health and wellness. And, I think we can all identify sources of pain, struggle, fear, and uncertainty. They are universal themes.

I guess that is really my point – there are universal themes that we all share. These themes help us realize our commonalities, instead of our differences, as human beings.

Well, Heath is about two weeks from being in country again. This time – so far – I’ve decided NOT to go the cancer route because there are other, better, ways to support Heath. There are other lessons to be learned.One lesson for me has been to celebrate life through family photos. So, Heath and I had our pictures taken before deployment activities really took priority. That experience led to the idea of sharing the gift of photos with all the others deploying.

Peggy Dyer is a friend and a photographer and the great mind behind One Million Faces. Her photography and One Million Faces project are bringing people together and changing the world for the better…one photo, one face, one message at a time. She shared her talents with the 2-135th GSAB, and all who wanted a photo session were
photographed.


















Once the event was over, and we were able to absorb it all, we realized these universal themes again. We love each other, care for each other, have uncertainty but really want to support each other. As a way to support the families and friends made at the photo shoot, Peggy has started a Kickstarter campaign to fund a photo album in the form of a photo documentary book for all who are deployed.

I know all too well that “military” and “war” are controversial topics and often evoke strong emotions. For me, it isn’t about any of that. It is about the common and universal themes of love and care and support. If you “LIKE” love, care, and support, then please check out Peggy’s One Million Faces Kickstarter Campaign.

I believe that this project is the start of Peggy Dyer / One Million Faces and all of us changing the world for the better by showing more love, care, and support to each other as human beings. After all, love, care and support are the things necessary to eradicate the cancers and wars in our lives and world. My goal is to create more opportunities to live in health and peace for us all; and I think this project represents both.