Rhode Island in the time of the pandemic
by Alan Roseman
America’s smallest state responds to a world wide catastrophe.
In March of 2020 everything as we knew it, everything we did, everything we loved, was changed. The major events of our lives were simply not to be. Weddings, graduations, gatherings of religion and peace, even funerals, were postponed and then done away with entirely.
Were you to experience a major life event in 2020, your experience would not and could not be shared. The celebration became a personal quiet circumstance conducted without the inclusion of family, friends or colleagues. You celebrated, you worried, and you mourned in solitude.
Events which bring communal happiness and joy, entertainment and the passion of sports, were cancelled. Entire seasons were simply called off, your favorite restaurants and bistros were closed, and theater was no more- all shuttered against the omnipresent black veil of Covid -19 and the wave of fear on which it sailed.
Grown children, important loved ones, and dear friends became distant voices on the telephone, or virtual faces on your monitor, laptop and iPad. This was our new existence, our new reality. Smiling faces and café with friends were replaced by a series of empty shops and lonely masks, each person isolated in a container of their own design built to prevent human contact. The very thing which we all crave and need in times of trouble was taken from us as well. These new truths were delivered by the pandemic, our new normal had arrived.
For many years I have been inspired by, and still turn to, the great masters who documented the Dust Bowl. Working under the direction of Roy Stryker of the Farm Security Administration, a group of incredible photographers set out to record the human, natural, and economic devastation of that event in 1939. If you have not seen the work of Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, Marion Post Walcott, John Vachon, Russel Lee and the great Arthur Rothstein, I urge you to look.
I have been trying to make photographs since 1967, at the age of 15. Now, close to 69 years old with 54 years of photography behind me, I continue to try. Considering the influence that the above greats had on my love of photography I felt the strong desire to attempt the documentation of our shared condition.
Providence is the capital city of the smallest state in the USA, and as such it can become a microcosm of things gone right, and things gone wrong. With that in mind, I set out to make images of the current conditions, the people when there were some, and the emptiness when there were none.
My automobile filled with disinfectant, masks and rubber gloves, wrapped in my own cocoon, I began to walk. I walked through Providence and several of the small cities surrounding it (Pawtucket, Central Falls, East Providence, Warren and Bristol), and observed each geographical location and its inhabitants struggling to find their way. These are some of the images from those walks, which continue still, and my humble effort to document them.
Now each day is a day closer to a vaccine which will hopefully bring the return of the human touch, and human kindness delivered in person. We eagerly await the reemergence of events shared with family, friends and colleagues and the joy a communal meal, a live theater production, or a public display of affection can bring. Until then, we live with the new normal.
