Being photographed seemed to validate the workers. They had always seen “the other” in camera images. Now it would be their turn to be witnessed by the camera. Some could not contain the sheer glee they felt in that moment and reacted in curiously bizarre ways. They would self-mockingly make derisive comments, such as “Good luck finding any one of us actually working around here!” or “What makes you think we work here?” Their comments were ironic because moments later they would be back at their conveyor belt, or in their truck, or inside an airplane engine, or another work station, digging, packaging, sorting, cooking, sweeping, washing, welding, painting, sewing, bolting, cutting, loading, driving, boring into bedrock, producing, working … working. The experience of photographing someone in a collaborative way — with the consent of the worker (or other person in front of the camera) — becomes an act of solidarity between two humans. If the conditions are right and there is honest rapport between the person in front of the camera and the person behind the camera, I believe that the picture already exists, as if it were a gift, and the photographer merely has to receive it. The power of a photograph is that the moment it captures outlasts the passage of time. One day, I had focused my camera on James Cave, a welder working in an auto parts factory. He was wearing a bubble mask that completely covered his face and neck. A flexible hose connected the mask to an overhead pipe that carried a supply of oxygen. As a result, he was completely tethered to his workstation, unable to talk to anyone or relate to anything except production. He looked as if he were from outer space. I managed to make eye contact with him through his bubble, and putting his welding gun down and removing his gloves and mask, he revealed a satisfied, youthful face. He understood the nature of the project well. With pride, he said, “You are a worker too. Let me take your picture.” No greater compliment could have been offered me. I handed him my camera, and the tables were turned, with me being the one standing in front of the camera.
Vincenzo Pietropaolo’s latest book project, Ritual, is published by Black Dog Publishing. In Ritual, Pietropaolo brings together a collection of 150 photographs, spanning 46 years (1969-2015). The book is a documentation of the Good Friday procession—an elaborate event that takes place annually in Toronto’s Little Italy. Pietropaolo has attended the event for over four decades, and has created a document of social history that reflects the acculturation of an immigrant community of humble origins into a dynamic lifeforce of their city. The event is the high point of the community, and in his text and photographs Pietropaolo connects the links between working class culture and spirituality. Autographed copies are available through his web site.
VINCEPIETROPAOLO.COM Left page, top: Shirley Kisoun, an airline worker in Iqaluit, Nunavut. Bottom: Rick Rowell removing yeast inside a beer fermentation tank, Barrie, Ontario.
This page, Top: Juliana Ohene Adu rests during her coffee break in a cookie factory, Toronto, Ontario. Middle: Deodato Reis and Steve Leslie, auto parts workers in a casting factory, Brantford, Ontario.
Bottom: Vincenzo Pietropaolo at work, photographing in a casting factory. Photo by James Cave.
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