Photography as an act of trust
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Riley Robinson Staff photographer
I had only been with the Monitor for four months when a summer deluge descended on Vermont – the state I call home and a place rarely considered newsworthy by the rest of the world. That first night of flooding, I hunkered down, heeding warnings to stay off the roads, and felt grateful to live on high ground. I woke the next day to images of water rising in Montpelier, our tiny state capital, where I used to commute to work.
I wanted to document the response to the flooding, how neighbors were helping neighbors. So I drove to Montpelier, making detours when I hit washed-out roads. When I finally got there, it was eerie. Sirens blared. Kids splashed in murky puddles.
It was weird to see my favorite quiet places suddenly the focus of national attention. It refreshed my empathy for the people in front of my lens. I now carry this feeling with me whenever I am welcomed, cameras and all, into someone else’s home or their favorite quiet place. This could be anywhere from a Mohawk school in Akwesasne, which spans the United States-Canada border; to a church in Middletown, Ohio; to grasslands in Bear Butte, South Dakota. It is an act of trust from the people we photograph. Each time, it’s an honor.
