Nolan Ryan-Trowe
by Nolan Ryan-Trowe from Baltimore, Maryland
The spasms feel like an electrical wire is plugged into my testicles and penis and legs, and is turned up to the degree where they jolt and burn and sear my body from the inside out. Many people who live with disabilities suffer from this kind of invisible torment, like me. I had a burst fracture in my L-1 vertebrae, and I had a spinal cord injury. It affects all parts of my life: sexual function, physical activity, my ability to concentrate, carrying conversations, sitting, standing, my sense of self. The pain is so intense that it's a struggle to focus on anything, at times. But looking at me, you'd never see that. You'd never know the fucked up shit I was dealing with internally. But, it's not your fault. It's my cross to bear. It's an everyday practice, mind over matter. That's what my life is, a journey to master my relationship to pain, so that the anger and frustration doesn't bleed into my relationships with other people and society.
With my photography, I wanted to tell stories about what life is like with a disability. I always pointed my camera at others instead of myself. Before the isolation period, I often felt that self-portraits were always, to some degree, narcissistic; there was always a vanity I attached to it. I wasn't into it.
I had a grant to continue a long-term project, but when the lockdown occurred I could no longer pursue the story safely. I sat around the house, kind of brewing, like, "What the fuck am I going to do now? What will I take pictures of?" I saw many people taking photos of their families or of still lives or of pieces of light falling on the walls of their apartments, and it all seemed boring to me. I was resistant to start photographing these things: it all seemed insignificant, for some reason. I was wrong.
I was dead set on the idea of continuing to tell stories about disability somehow, and like most great ideas, it was simple; the answer was right in front of me. In fact, the answer was me. I could tell stories about disability by photographing myself. Self-portraits were uncomfortable and unnatural for me, at first. But after a few weeks, I began to lose my sense of shame and developed a sort of coyness. I welcomed the gaze of the camera by gazing back at it. Through this relationship with the camera, I was able to open up, to become more vulnerable about my body, my sense of masculinity and other topics I wanted to talk about but never had the courage to dive into- to commit instead of omit. Anyway, yeah, this is one of the many photos. Peace.
SELF-PORTRAITS: PHOTOGRAPHERS IN CONFINEMENT
Curated by Svetlana Bachevanova
A collection of self-portraits made by photojournalists from five continents during the unprecedent lockdown due to the corona virus pandemic.
Photographers are people on the road, living to document the lives of others.
Constrained by the lockdown, many of them had their first experience of being still long enough to begin seeing and understanding small details about who they are, their lifestyles and values, that were overshadowed while they were busy. These self-portraits express their experience.
This is a unique collection of self-portraits from some of the best lenses in photojournalism at an historic moment.
Photographers in Confinement is a project in process and I welcome additional submissions from photojournalists at svetlana@fotoevidence.com
I am looking for potential exhibition partners in the USA and abroad.
Svetlana Bachevanova is a founder and publisher of FotoEvidence, long time photojournalist and curator.
