Kate Sterlin discovered the darkroom on her own at school. With intimate portraits of her father, she began to develop her purist and documentary style. In this interview, she talks about how her definition of family has changed over the years, what photography and writing have in common and why the topic of racism is omnipresent.
FACES: You capture love and the emotions associated with it, so the first question we have to ask is: What is love?
Kate Sterlin: Love is eternal, whereas time is fleeting. Love is brutal and exquisite – it’s life that means it doesn’t always work out. And when it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t love. It comes in many forms and you can continue to carry it with you, with the thought that it was “true” love.
Q: And because family plays a central role in your book “Still Life”: What does family mean to you?
KS: I grew up in a migrant family of five, constantly moving from place to place. Family felt strong, but small and alone. Now I feel family in a different way. I have learned to understand what it means to me in this crazy life. They are the people who are close to me and are there for everything that happens. At 21, I have started my own family with my daughter, son and stepdaughters, which is still my world. I have also made a connection with my long-lost family on my father’s side, which feels like a kind of reparation and gives me a new understanding of heritage and similarity.
F: Love is automatically associated with loss and sadness, which you also express in “Still Life”. Is our view of love and intimacy too narrow? Did you want to show a different, previously unseen version of these feelings?
KS: Short answer: yes. Our idea of love is culturally oriented towards romantic partners. But I think it’s quite easy to fall in love with friends too. Sometimes the boundaries of this closeness are blurred. Love can be life-changing and powerful if you allow it to be. The layers and variations of love shape us and make us interesting.
“I went into this process with a fully developed idea.”
F: You capture intimate scenarios and feelings with your camera. Does that sometimes feel voyeuristic?
KS: Yes. Documenting life in its purest form is a struggle between presence, silence and the question of why I am there and whether I should perhaps not be there.
F: “Still Life” is your first book. What unexpected hurdles did you encounter during the writing process?
KS: I went into this process with a fully developed idea. Then it was about letting go to the extent that I could accept and appreciate the editing process and where it could lead.
F: The cover of “Still Life” is in color, while all the other photos are black and white. Was that a conscious decision? Why did you focus on black and white?
KS: Most of my works are black and white. That’s how I see – in form and light. In one of the earlier versions of the book, I had a few images in color in it, but Jesse Pollock from Anthology, who co-edited the book with me, always saw it as a black and white book. He was so right! I had always loved the cover and had it hanging above my desk in my studio. Something about the title and the tone of the book with the stories of love and loss contrasted with the two embracing brides, the rich pink tones, the bouquet of flowers, was so different that it made sense.
F: In addition to photography, you also write. How do the two art forms differ and how are they similar?
KS: When I’m photographing, I’m in the room, a few meters away behind the lens, and when I’m writing, I’m practically standing in front of it.
F: Do writing and photography go together for you? What can you express with pictures that you can’t with words and vice versa?
KS: I love both equally and for different reasons. The two art forms are related and both tell stories. With pictures, I document a story that takes place with me or without me. I see it as a privilege to record it without disturbing. Portraits are about reaching a place of trust where we can both let go enough to transcend the moment – to be free. Writing is more about exploring memory and then trying to report on it. In a way, both preserve time, but there’s a fuzziness in memory that you don’t have with pictures. Ultimately, I want my pictures to tell a story without words. I want my written stories to be cinematic and to evoke images and memories in the reader.
“I focus on the people who are close to me and on the life that is happening around me.”
F: Photography contributes a lot to what we see in our society. What do we need to see more of?
KS: That’s a difficult question – but a good one! Culturally, we in America have been robbed of a sense of history as it has been documented and told, so there is much to repair and retell. That’s why we need more images by Black photographers in America – and to represent America globally. Unlearning and relearning can happen through art and storytelling from an authentic source.
Q: Why is photography still a male-dominated field?
KS: Because the patriarchy is still alive – and doing very well.
Q: How does a female gaze change photography?
KS: Any authentic view from a lens we are not used to looking through is important in a medium that is known for exploitation.
F: How does your experience as a woman and as a person of color influence your photography? What do you see that others don’t?
KS: I focus on the people who are close to me and the life that goes on around me. Recently, I documented how I cared for my mother. Out of habit really, but I realized it was a way to process the enormity of what I was experiencing. A few months after her death, my friend asked me to take a portrait of her 99-year-old mother, who she lives with and cares for. I am in the process of developing this into a photo story about daughters and mothers. About love and the challenge of having enough energy to keep up the care. About the commitment to see one’s parents through the journey of decline and dying – the relentless task that comes with it. The thought that no matter what, it won’t get better, easier or less painful. But you can find beauty and fulfillment in some of the slow-moving moments before they get lost in the shadows of grief.
F: You also deal with racism in your photography. How has the discourse on this changed in recent years?
KS: The killing of George Floyd in 2020 and the Black Lives Matter movement that followed opened up the discussion that Black people and PoC had been having for years. It felt like the lights came on for everyone else and there was a new language to work with. Now, unfortunately, we’ve regressed for the most part. But the whole thing has enabled me to be bolder in denouncing racist behavior at work and to include the topic in every conversation when it’s relevant – which, to be honest, is most of the time.
“Guilt, greed and dishonesty feed racism.”
Q: How do photography and writing help you with issues of racism and ethnicity?
KS: Both are a form of storytelling and ethnicity is an important part of American history. Who is telling it and why is relevant. Photography and writing for me is about pure observation. My questions about ethnicity go further, and they should for all of us. I think an open and honest discourse about the inequalities of ethnicity in America and in most of the world would be of great benefit. Guilt, greed and dishonesty feed racism. My ethnic identity is something I had to figure out for myself. As the daughter of a light-skinned Haitian father and a white British mother, I grew up in the UK and US in the seventies and eighties when assimilation was still a common practice. Even though Critical Race Theory was already established back then, I feel that it has only reached a wider audience in 2020. I’m working on a long-term project about my father’s family. It’s a time capsule from Haiti in the 1930s to the present, piecing together a fractured family scattered across America and Canada because they were displaced from their homeland – but who are also wealthy, privileged and light-skinned in a racist culture of the 1950s.
F: You’ve mentioned in previous interviews about passing as white depending on the context. How has this shaped your experience of racism and how does it affect how you explore the issue visually?
KS: I grew up with ethnic confusion, so to speak, that affected both myself and the people around me. My light-skinned privilege and what that allows me to do – and what responsibility I have with that – is a constant learning process, and all of that naturally influences the stories I gravitate towards.
Q: Which photographers have inspired you?
KS: Mary Ellen Mark, Ming Smith, Deana Lawson, Nan Goldin, Garry Winogrand, Philip-Lorca diCorcia and Gordon Parks have had a huge influence on me.
Q: Who or what made you pick up a camera for the first time?
KS: Diane Arbus.
Q: Do you remember the first photo you ever took?
KS: I’m not sure I remember the first photo I took, but I do remember the first image I developed and printed. It was a photo of my dad in a high school darkroom in New Hampshire that no one used, so I was told I had to figure out how it worked on my own – and I did. It was all the more magical when I saw my father come into focus in that little photo in the red light.
Q: What do you want your pictures to be known for?
KS: They should be seen as documents of the present day.
“I feel honored to take portraits of everyone who works with me.”
Q: What is your camera of choice and how important is the equipment to you?
KS: I am forever married to my Leica M6. I also shoot a lot with the Fuji XPRO2 because it’s simple and reliable, and I currently love the Mamiya RZ67 for portraits. It’s best to find tools that you can make your own and that you can rely on to do what you want them to do technically and in terms of mood. With the Mamiya RZ67, patience is required on both sides, which leads to a slowness that is necessary for the intimacy of portraits. The Fuji and Leica are so tiny and familiar that they feel like an extension and are great for street and everyday shooting.
Q: What projects would you like to realize in the future?
KS: I’m working on a new book about the blurriness of same-sex intimacy. I’m exploring the spectrum of gender and queerness – and examining how we define love and intimacy.
Q: Who would you like to have in front of your lens one day?
KS: I’ve never thought about this question. I feel honored to take portraits of everyone who works with me. It feels special every time to collect moments on film. I just did portraits with Cécile McLorin Salvant for her album cover and we had a magical time. I brought my favorite cameras and we played for hours. Some really special pictures came out of it.
Q: Do you like social media as a photographer or is it more of a curse?
KS: I like that I can easily be in touch with people and friends all over the world. But a lot of it also makes my brain melt and I try not to be online as much as possible.
Q: A few quick questions at the end… color or black and white?
KS: For me, black and white. But I love the work of other photographers in color.
Q: Digital or analog?
KS: I do both. But it scares me if I don’t have a special moment on film.
Q: Studio or street?
KS: Both.
You can find more insights into Kate’s book here.
Want to see all the pictures? You can find “Still Life” here.
