KERRY PAYNE

DOCUMENTING LIFE'S 'BIG QUESTIONS' WITH INTIMATE AND INSPIRATIONAL IMAGES

There are few subjects that are inviolable in the contemporary world, but suicide and infertility are two that are rarely addressed by photographers. Perhaps it is because there is a level of intimacy needed to create compassionate, meaningful images around life’s two big questions – birth and death. It takes a brave soul to bare one’s pain and suffering in order to draw focus on issues that, despite affecting millions, are still marred by stigma. Australian photographer Kerry Payne is that brave soul and, through photography, she is not only exorcising her own demons, but also giving voice to the many who suffer in silence.

Kerry lost her father to suicide in 2001. For years she pushed her misery and grief down deep and focused on building an enviable reputation as a savvy corporate entrepreneur with clients around the world. But in 2008, at a photography workshop in Paris run by Peter Turnley, she met another Australian who had also lost her father to suicide and Kerry had an epiphany.

Packing up her life in San Francisco, she threw in her high-flying corporate gig and headed to New York to start anew, sensing photography may hold the key to understanding her own story. In New York she took another workshop this time with Magnum Photos’ David Alan Harvey. “The most fortunate thing I’ve ever done was to land in Harvey’s workshop because he became an incredible mentor and is now a very good friend.”

Liberated

Following the Harvey workshop, Kerry launched headlong into her series on suicide called Left Behind.

“When I first started on the suicide project, I wasn’t going to include my story, but of course I had much wiser people around me who said you have to because that is the story. I felt liberated when it was published, as if some of the stigma and shame around losing somebody to suicide had been removed. To be able to just come out and talk about it openly – to be the person who says here it is, here are the facts – that was such a release,” she says, adding that with this work she feels “…as much an activist as I do a photographer.”

In creating the narrative for Left Behind, Kerry reached out to other victims of suicide working with the American Foundation For Suicide Prevention (AFSP) and using the organisation as her touchstone.

“The wrong reporting on suicide can spark contagions, so I wanted to make sure everything I was doing was not at risk of that.”

The wider she threw her net, the greater the number of stories she discovered. People began writing to her, saying they felt empowered by the photographs, by the knowledge they weren’t alone.

“So many told me they felt they were the only ones feeling that way. So the project became much less about me and my feelings around what I might be revealing to the world, and much more about what difference this can make to somebody who is out there with the same pain.”

Fallout

After working on Left Behind for several years, Kerry actually found herself falling into depression.

“It’s not surprising,” she says matter-offactly. “All at once I’d ended my marriage, left my business, moved to New York and started dealing with my dad’s death. Add to that interviewing a bunch of people who had recently lost someone to suicide, and it was pretty inevitable there’d be some fallout.”

Deciding to take a break from the suicide project and to enter into therapy for the first time, Kerry says she suddenly experienced “…this huge personal growth period, which was very, very important to me. And then I fell in love”. She smiles and the anguish of our earlier discussion ebbs away. “I didn’t want to go back to the sad place when I was so happy.”

But it wasn’t long before the bittersweet reality of life stepped in and Kerry’s and her new husband’s joy was interrupted by her inability to conceive. Once again she turned to photography as catharsis and began documenting her monthly period, what she says felt like “…a little defeat, like my body had betrayed me”.

The idea started as a personal visual diary, but quickly evolved. She began to photograph children who constantly seemed to fall under her gaze.

“Whenever I pointed my camera at them, they’d give me a pure moment of melancholy and that was when I’d make the picture.”

The story gathered a natural momentum, yet Kerry was hesitant to pursue the project to a public outcome.

“I was too embarrassed, to be honest,” she laughs. “You can’t publish pictures of women’s menstruation!”

Rawness

Chance stepped into Kerry’ life again. Attending a Dwayne Michael’s workshop in Palm Springs, she was astonished to hear the master open his class with a monologue about how women get such a raw deal from men.

“And then he said, ‘And what about menstruation? Why don’t we see photographs of menstruation?’ I couldn’t believe it. He told me I had to publish my story and that gave me a little Dutch courage to move ahead with it”.

The only way I can live is to be totally honest about who I am and what I am feeling, to put it out there and then move onto the next thing.

The narrative for The Children (I Never Had) weaves photographs of children with images of what Kerry calls “…the devastation, the mini death each month”. It is an evocative collection of 12 images, representing a year. Muted tones and diaphanous visages aid in conveying the sentiment of hope and longing, against the rawness of reality.

“The first incarnation was much harsher, all tampons and toilet bowls,” she tells adding that she showed it to Harvey and his team at Burn. “They came back with ‘ Too much info, over the top, too graphic’. To be honest, at first I was kind of annoyed about that and I presented a case. I was like… wait a minute, why is it okay for us to see photographs of bloodied corpses on a battlefield or heroin addicts scratching stuff into their arms? Why is it okay for us to see that blood, but it’s not okay to see menstrual blood, which is essential for human life?”

But Kerry knew the Burn team was right and she reworked the narrative into the series we now see.

“It felt better,” she says. “In this format it’s not as jarring and I think the message can be received by more people and that’s what’s important because it is an issue that is extremely common, but not often talked about.”

Not Alone

As was the case with Left Behind, Kerry Payne soon discovered that many others, close friends included, had experienced a miscarriage or difficulty conceiving.

“It is so common, particularly with more women leaving decisions around childbirth until later years. I hope this project will spark some conversation and enable others to confront their own situation in a way that shows they are not alone in dealing with this.”

All of Kerry’s work is deeply personal and some would shy away from that kind of exposure, but she’s not worried that she’s telling all.

“It comes back to the change that happened to me when I was shooting Left Behind and, at the same time, dealing with the big questions – who am I, who am I going to be and how am I going to present myself, how am I going to live in this world? The only way I can live is to be totally honest about who I am and what I am feeling, to put it out there and then move onto the next thing.”

For Kerry, the ‘next thing’ is plural; she feels there’s more to do on the infertility story and she is continuing the next part of her suicide project – entitled We Were Here – whose protagonist can be found in the notes and artwork that loved ones create for those who are deceased.

“For the last five years I’ve been documenting the annual walk held by the American Foundation For Suicide Prevention, called Out Of The Darkness. About 3000 people gather to walk from dusk to dawn and it is just the most beautiful experience. All of these people have been touched by suicide, whether they have lost somebody or contemplated or attempted suicide. The energy is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s beautiful and healing, positive and very sad as well.”

Those who participate in the Out Of The Darkness walks decorate bags called Luminaria with art, poetry and letters.

“When they cross the finish line just before dawn, they see the 3000 Luminaria lit with candles. Every year these beautiful bags get thrown away and it breaks my heart because each one of them is a tribute.”

In 2014 Kerry was given permission to collect the Luminaria at the walk in Philadelphia.

“We Were Here focuses on the life of the person who died, not just the way they died. Too often suicide has a gravitational effect and every thought and every memory comes back to the suicide. You forget to honour the person for whom they were and that’s the goal of this project.”

In conclusion, Kerry says photography has helped her reach a much better place and is allowing her to assist others, which is rewarding in itself.

“My father’s life was so miserable he ended up killing himself. I am determined that isn’t going to be my outcome.”