Inspiration to Process: Karen Zusman

When we really dug into what motivates Karen Zusman to make photographs, her answer resonated more like a poem than an assertion: “I try to get invited inside.”

Above photograph © Cory Rice

I understood that phrase for its figurative value, although I’m sure the literal is just as important to her work. With just a quick look at her multi-year project on Cuba, even the photos taken in hot daylight have a sense of intimacy; of an interior life.

It comes as no surprise then, to know that Zusman is a poet; more a writer than photographer, and she makes no secret of her relative recent embrace of the visual medium. The humility in her approach is refreshing but, in truth, she has been making photos for more than six years and is dedicated to her craft in a way many photographers will never be. For the aforementioned Cuba series, she has been to the nation twenty-one times over four years, with many visits extending into months. I suppose that’s how one gets “invited inside.”

But given the hesitation I sense from her, I ask, “Do you call yourself a photographer?”

“Yes, but it’s not easy for me to say that. I’m being very frank when I say that I’m new to photography. I shoot a lot, sometimes I overshoot. I miss a lot of shots, I’m not gonna lie. I’m not always fast enough on my settings and slow to focus, which is one reason why I want to get the X-T3.” Again, I think she is being somewhat hard on herself. Imagine all the incredible photos that have been “missed” by the greatest of photographers.

In 2009, while working in Malaysia on an audio documentary about the trafficking of Burmese refugees, Zusman began to realize the storytelling power a photograph could exert, but also the power that photography exerted over her. She has a body of work from that time in Burma and Kuala Lumpur, and wonderful work created in her home borough of Brooklyn, New York, but it’s the long-term project from Cuba that brought her a new relationship with photography. “I feel like I’m coming into being a photographer while trying to understand this island. I dove in deep.”

When we visited her sun-filled brownstone apartment on a Sunday morning, black-and-white prints were on the wall, on tabletops, on the floor, and on the couch. These were not just on display for our “studio visit,” but because she is assembling a book of her Cuba photography, a book that will incorporate poetry, as well. “I’m revisiting my poetry along with this photo series on Cuba. I’m hoping to put together a book of photos with poems, the working title is a quote from José Martí, ‘loved will be all who love’ and that’s kind of a litmus test for the photos in this series. I have to be moved by the photo.”

“Does that feeling inform the moment when you take a photo or when you revisit them in the editing stage?” I ask.

“I think it’s both, but certainly when I begin to edit, I see a lot more than what I saw in the moment, or at least consciously saw, and I get very emotional about what I see in people’s eyes, maybe what I didn’t see when I shot it.

“I started in street photography, but I started to veer away from that classic ‘drive-by’ street graphic. I aspire to make visual poems, I want to spend time with the people, get to know them. It’s more of a hybrid, I suppose, and I think there is more opportunity for poetry in that type of photography. Maybe street photography is a haiku and I’m looking for something longer.”

Always curious about the relationship between photography and other forms of creative expression, I ask if she approaches these art forms with the same methods and intentions.

“Writing is solitary and that’s why I love photography—to get out into the world. I do let the images inspire the words and try to be faithful to the subject, but hopefully not in a literal way, but more expansive.

“I’m still learning, I’m still looking at other photographers, and when someone says a photo is like poetry, I ask, ‘what does that really mean?’”

This is a question I am glad she brought up, because I have never been confident about poetry, so I ask Zusman, what makes a photograph like a poem?

“I think a simple composition and a sense of visual elegance. This also informs poetry because, for a poem to work, it has to fulfill many needs, and to serve a purpose. There has to be a real economy, so if the framing is very complicated, it needs to be an ‘elegant’ complication. All of the elements need to be contributing to the overall moment captured. That’s what I aspire to when I’m shooting on the street.”

While an image might have a poetic sense, can this be sustained over a whole series, especially one that is rooted in documentary and even a kind of street photography? What is the motivation to dedicate many years to one story or one location?

“I’m really trying to understand that island. And it’s not just photography; after all these trips, I’m actually shooting less and less in Cuba. I’m not as hungry for the image as I was. But the camera has been my key to enter this door. I think, as an artist, we feel like outsiders already, so being in a space where you are an outsider or with other outsiders, it’s easier to connect in a way, and photography helps me connect with people.”

Understanding when a good idea is coming to fruition or in this case, when a photo series is concluding, can be equally as difficult as knowing how and when to start a project.

“How did or will you know when you have reached that understanding?” I ask.

“I’m still answering that question. Now, I’m feeling that need to be ‘invited in,’ but here in Brooklyn. I thought it was just Cuba, but it’s the same thing here. I’m appreciating softness now, though, and trying to shy away from a reliance on contrast.”

Perhaps recognizing the shifts in interest, in style, is part of recognizing when a story is reaching its end. Showing us a print of a man in a doorway and comparing it to the same image on a monitor, we talk about the difficulty in bringing out the details in high-contract shadows, but Zusman tacks, commenting, “Someone might see this image of this man as sad, but I see something sacred. The thoughtfulness and the quiet stir me, but light falling on a human being is what inspires me.”

Karen Zusman’s photography can be seen here.

Original images for this article were taken with the FUJIFILM GFX 100 Medium Format Mirrorless Camera.