"Re-Entry" Part I

If July was a blur, August was .. whatever is less than a blur... and September, well, even less than that. After assignments, travel and some particularly difficult editing for We Animals, some quietude felt necessary.

But, re-entry is happening.. As my friend Polina reminded me "you never leave, you're always there, taking notes." So, here's the first batch of those notes.

In early August, I traveled to Pittsburgh for the Nonhuman Rights Group to document the elephants at the zoo. It wasn’t easy and post-documentation weirdness was swift in its arrival. To be completely honest though, I always have a difficult time re-entering the “regular world” after an assignment. I just feel, weird. I used to think it was because there’s often a waiting period before I can share visuals I’ve captured for an organization—in this case, evidence to support habeas corpus lawsuits—but that’s not quite it. Sitting at the hotel bar downloading my SD card that evening, the all too common sensation of feeling like an alien amongst the crowd came over me as I reviewed the day's content capture. The contrast between what I document and the daily life that continues, seemingly untouched, is always quite disorienting.

It's much like the disconnect between captive animals and people passing them by. Why does a young dad chuckle at the elephant chewing a thick metal chain inside a concrete barn? Why does a volunteer docent believe zoo goers are leaving impacted when I watch so many walk briskly through the indoor barn, occasionally holding a nose? Or why it's best to captive breed at-risk animals for the sake of conservation? How and why do we (people) view and respond to these things so differently?

I paid the bill and waited for the mental equilibrium to return—though it never comes quickly enough—exchanging the full glass of wine for a waffle cone of mint chip gelato and a walk around the neighborhood. I thought about the elephants on the walk, on the next morning's early flight to LaGuardia and in the following days while visiting friends in NYC and New Jersey. Even with incredible cute foster kittens around, great pals to catch up with and runs in the woods, the impact of the work took time to mellow. It always does.

In summer 2023, I went to Argentina and Chile to document farming practices. There were numerous logistical hiccups but again, it was mainly the content that has proven a tough episodic rerun. In fact, I have yet to really share much of this work publicly. A days old calf struggling to stand while chained to an empty bucket at an organic dairy farm. The dairy cow whose milk oozed out of her as she lay in a muddy enclosure amid 7,000+ others all jammed into holding pens as a deafening bell rang at a live auction outside Buenos Aires. A mother sow kicked in the stomach by a young female farmer who wanted us to "see her condition and size" in the countryside of Osorno. These bewildering scenes don’t fade, they accumulate. Over time I learn to carry them, but the weight is real.

Editing can be even harder. The things no one wants to see or hear can play on loop until the work is done, and for some time after. The truth is, I really wish I didn't have to see or hear it. I wish things were different. And I wish I had an endless surplus of mental stamina so I could remain the emotional metronome I am in the field, no matter what scene unfolds in front of me or is internally recalled and also stay more consistently here, in the present, with all of you. But post by post, I'm working on it.

My natural instinct when things get heavy is to hold my thoughts close, especially when it involves the lives of animals in our world. I see the bad stuff, A LOT. And I call it 'bad' because it sure ain’t 'good.' And it needs this outlet. Because invisibility is the very thing that allows systems to continue unquestioned. If I am supremely honest, I really want you to see what I see...even if disjointed, even if nerve-wracking.

The concern as to how I share what I see is my load to carry. My hope is to keep finding ways to present this work with care, and over time, more palatability. Discomfort is a real side effect, I know, but if we sit with it—even for a few minutes—it can shift something. Maybe not everything, but enough to cause some cracks. As the legendary Leonard Cohen wrote:

Over Labor Day, I visited my new pal (and moto queen) Paula in Texas for her birthday and more dirt bike riding. Knowing a little of my work background, she suggested we stop by Dog Alley in Canton before heading to the main flea market—“bring your camera”—so we did. Dog Alley has existed for many decades and is known most widely for the various dog breeders who sell puppies there, sometimes alongside farm animals and sometimes by themselves. It's not uncommon to see "cava-chi" puppies in a cage above guinea fowl or a chihuahua mix kept in a box next to fighting roosters or a French bulldog puppy with noticeable physical issues being held up for display. But the beyond the dogs, the market was chock full of open air stalls, many filled with rows of cages: birds, pigs, geese, ducks, even peacocks. These animals are sold live, then roughly handled into "to go" sacks and carried away. Documentation wasn’t hard; most sellers didn’t mind when I asked if I could photograph. I firmly believe in staying curious, so I ask questions, not out of investigative urgency but genuine interest, and maybe that makes people less defensive. It's hard to say.

After a handful of conversations with vendors, including a woman selling 'dobieherds' who crops their ears for "intimidation" and a man selling the feathered remains of a beloved peacock, I stopped to take one last photo. A human baby played alone inside a Pack-N-play set up in between cages of various farm animals, as a weeks old piglet roamed freely around the tent. I quietly pointed out the ironic composition to Paula and as we approached the parking lot, she stopped. “I’m looking at all of this differently now,” she said. “I never thought about it before. I appreciate you showing me.” It's these very moments that reaffirm my belief that we (humans) can find ways to connect, despite the assumed odds.

We hugged and I whispered, “thank you for going with me.”

We celebrated her birthday at a honky tonk and I spent the long weekend meeting her friends both in town and out camping and riding at a dirt bike ranch a few hours north. To my surprise, I wasn’t met with judgment but with the same genuine interest I strive to maintain when I document. People asked me about my work, and they listened. My old southern drawl made a cameo appearance. We laughed till our sides hurt. It was an absolute treat. In a world where we quickly cast aspersions and judge without knowledge, it was so..cool.

Somehow it reminded me of the Everlast lyric from "What It's Like" that’s always stuck with me: "God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes, 'Cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues." We can’t know what others experience, truly. But we can always ask and we can always listen. Narratives are only valuable if they keep evolving. Curiosity—not ego, not certainty—is what lets us meet people where they are. There are cracks everywhere, if we look for them.

I realize I advocate for animals via my interest in people, no matter the background. Maybe that’s why life on two motorized wheels feels so grounding. On a bike, it’s all about presence—listening, leaning in, adjusting to the rough sections of the road. And that’s what I hope to keep doing here: showing up, sharing and staying open, even when the terrain is rough.

Stay tuned for Part II, coming soon to an inbox near you. Thanks for being here. It means the world.

p.s. - for those keen on incredibly cute foster kittens, see below. ♥️