The Project

The COVID-19 quarantine began for us on March 14, 2020. Even as I write this now, close to three years later, I find it hard to believe how quickly our lives changed in just a few short days. We almost immediately circled the wagons and prepared for an unknown future.  

At the time, our household included my wife Nita, our 7-year-old son Jay, and Nita’s mother Delores. Nita’s father, Harry, struggled with quarantining, and we tried as best we could to keep him safe in spite of his trips to Walmart, Walgreens, Martins, and Burger King. My mother and stepfather lived close by, and since neither of my siblings could completely quarantine, I became their primary point of contact with the outside world. Very early on, we decided that we needed to close our bed and breakfast business for the season in order to have quarantine space for any of the parents who might get sick. We stopped going out to stores and began using a grocery delivery service and sanitizing everything that came into the house.  

In short, life as we knew it came to a screeching halt, and our world shrank to the four of us with  Harry, Mom, and Richard orbiting around us.  

Time became sort of weird as the days turned to weeks and then months of quarantine. The normal markers of the passage of time, weekdays and weekends, ceased to exist, and more often than not, I struggled to recall what day of the week it was.  

I began to feel that the walls were closing in and that I was craving contact with the outside world.  

Around this time, I watched a documentary about New York City, and there was a bit about a photographer named Jacob Riis. Riis developed a technique for photographing the conditions in some of the worst slums in New York City. His technique involved essentially sneaking into the dimly lit dwellings, setting up a large format camera, opening the shutter, and firing off a big pan of flash powder. The inhabitants of the room were temporarily blinded by the flash, giving Riis enough time to pack his gear and get out.  

In addition to being a pioneering photographer, Riis was also a social activist. His primary goal in creating his images was to document the horrific conditions in which these people lived. In 1890, he published his photos in a book titled “How The Other Half Lives,” which shocked New Yorkers and the world and was the spark that led to a housing reform movement.

What struck me most about this work was that it used photography to connect isolated populations. After two months of quarantine, I felt isolated from everyone except the three folks I lived with, and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I began to wonder how I could use photography to rebuild the connections that were lost during the quarantine.  

From this inspiration point, the “Six Feet Between Us” project began. My plan was to force myself to go out and meet new folks, capture their quarantine stories, take their pictures, and then share the images and stories on Instagram and Facebook. Most of my creative photography work lately has been captured on film, and I felt a commitment to shoot film for this one as well.  

I had just finished a 365 film project where I shot one image a day for a year.  I found that by limiting myself to just one chance to capture the image, I had to really think about how I was setting up the shot. This hyper focus on the mechanics of the image capture added a richness to the process for me, and even though I was working with sometimes fiddly old equipment, there were fewer than 15 of the 365 shots that failed. I would only allow myself one shot at the image for this project as well.

Choosing a camera for a film project usually isn’t easy. I have found that the relationship that I have with the camera that I am using directly affects the final image. And, I literally have dozens of cameras to choose from. However, in this project, the choice was straightforward, and I chose the Graflex Speed Graphic.   

The Speed Graphic uses 4x5 film, best known as the iconic press camera from the 40’s and 50’s.  I chose it because it produces phenomenal images despite being 70 years old, I had a good supply of film for it, and it is a conversation piece. When I would pull it out and start setting it up, I would share a story about how the original flashes from these cameras were used to make the lightsabers for the first Star Wars movie. Another advantage of this camera is that it requires a tripod.  I planned to use a six-foot rope between the camera and my subjects as a common element in each image, which was much easier with a tripod. 

One of the things that I learned from my 365 film project is that photographing strangers is both intensely intimidating and exhilarating. The process pushes the boundaries of my comfort zone. It requires a level of connection between myself and my subject that takes some time to build. I found out very quickly that approaching strangers and blurting out “Hi, my name is Andy, can I take your picture?’ comes off more than a bit creepy. But if I took the time to build a connection by first starting a conversation about the motorcycle they are standing next to, or the dog they are walking, or the sunset that is rapidly approaching, I could usually segue to a successful photo ask.

As I captured the stories, I tried not to let my feelings and biases interfere with the process. Over time, COVID-19, masking, and quarantine became politicized, and I wanted to capture a variety of stories and experiences faithfully.  The only non-stranger in the group was my cousin Paulie.  I included him because I knew that his views were 180 degrees from mine, but in line with the more conservative folks in our country. I also knew he would share his views freely, as he has never been one to filter his words.

I processed the film in batches of 5 to 7 and then posted them every other day or so on Instagram and Facebook. The feedback and comments that I received showed that folks were connecting with the images and stories and that, at least at some level, I was accomplishing my goal of building relationships from isolation.

Ultimately, this project was selfishly about maintaining my mental health. Creating and making, in the shop, the kitchen, or the natural world, has always been a keystone of my sanity. Looking back on this time, three years later, I would have survived it without this work. But, in the end, I believe I found a way to thrive, and I hope this work will serve as a documentary on what will likely be a defining moment of our lives.

Andy Sawyer

January 19, 2023

Saint Joseph, MI