ruddy roye photography

May 13, 2020 Rhythm Sometimes I imagine that there will be a day when I won’t need to speak out - well not so much - or stress my mind out with questions like, “how is it that I have to shout so loudly about the way white folks think or feel about the black experience?” I can’t speak for every black person, but for me, there is no break - there has been no respite. Today while driving around picking at the fringes of a story I am working on for @natgeo I find myself looking at black faces, covered under masks that further distorts the masks we put on each day as we head out into these white streets. I say white streets because these streets do not protect our bodies. The laws seem to twitch, shift and morph away from us when we are searching for a little truth. I kept my eyes peered on the rhythm of the sidewalks as I waited for an interview, for a word, a symbol or the sun light to dash its magic against the Brooklyn roadway and reveal or unveil its music. Sidebar - I am deeply into studying jazz music so this might be the reason for my fascination with rhythm. However, all these images above are images of me sitting and waiting for an interview or driving to my next appointment. They are mostly modulations, a switch in the key signature or maybe a C Major 7 sharp 11 chord configuration. They all belong in another score and not in the given assignment. I am still trying to understand how me and my sons fit into a country that does not protect our lives, culture and well being in the same way it protects the offsprings of the founding fathers. I was driving on Putnam Avenue in Bedstuy, when I passed Brent (second photo) and I reversed because he had that look. It is a look I recognized and know intimately. So I asked him why he was sitting there like that, “Because I feel alone. I lost my job and I have no idea when I will get another. I need some inspiration.” I know this bluesy sound anywhere - and so I pulled over. #whenlivingisaprotest #leicamonochrom @leicacamerausa @leicaakademieusa (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJXbPvF2Ef/?igshid=5lrkyh4mcxso

Social Distancing in the days of Covid 19 April 26, 2020 It all started for me when I heard Mrs Van Dang-O’Callaghan speak at a town hall where she was explaining to Presidential hopeful Joe Biden what it felt like to live in her home with Covid 19 while her family was in the other side of the door. That story hit me. “I had anxiety about how my body would fight it off, but my greatest fear was passing the virus to my family and for one of us to end up in the hospital, alone. To hear the my son cry for me on the other side of the door and not be able to console while I was in isolation, was unbearable on a mother’s soul,” said Van Dang in an interview with me. It was then that I started to look at how brooklynites were responding to this new normal of social distancing. My trumpet teacher Lesedi had lost all his gigs and had loan sharks calling him daily to offer him loans. Fifty percent of the folks I photographed had contracted Covid at some point during their self isolation and social distancing. I realized in my coverage for the Wall Street Journal that there was so much we in Brooklyn didn’t know about the virus. Nailah and her son had to brave the virus together. “I drove to the New Rochelle drive through for testing and the next day I went to CityMD where I was diagnosed with pneumonia and was given antibiotics. Between the antibiotics and immune boosting supplements and food I started feeling better. I am bothered and grateful at the same time. I am grateful to have made it to the otherside,” Nailah said. #livinginthedaysofcovid19 @leicacamerausa @leicaakademieusa (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_deeBalY03/?igshid=15qpf9y0wht4e

March 6, 2020 Mississippi - Yes Ol Miss - you, You with your cratered culture and your marauded heritage, staggering across these bloodied estates in your majestic light. You with your perpetual blues and funeral hymns, sitting by a river bank to serenade the spirits who in her clutches, took flight in that forever twilight. You - You who like her, carry the weight and age of tales from the steep hills to “our” foreign sands. You whose trails have now been covered by forgetful green and cemented headstones - in this “foreign land.” You whose blood flows with the river - frothing - churning like the way hydrogen peroxide smothers a wound. I can hear your screams. Black genes, stitched inside the overlapping seams of water and land that slaps against rocks, billy clubs, water hoses, dogs, redlines and intentions. You who continue to flow downstream towards that end, only to find your rest where salt meets fresh and history and future blends. There... there you dump your haul of high infant mortality, amputated limbs, cancer and casualties - pregnant mothers, stare into the face of death only to see their end designed by their poverty - and there, there is where they are pushed into the sea of the afterlife. Oh Mississippi - #whenlivingisaprotest @leicaakademieusa @leicacamerausa (at Cotton House, Cleveland, a Tribute Portfolio Hotel) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9aEUApFPon/?igshid=1sxco8xsqgj9j

February 29, 2020 In Pursuit of Happiness Every year around this time instead of being filled with feelings of nationalism ( I still don’t have an American Passport) I am filled with angst of recurring dreams, recitations around recycled speeches, the “almost” that still eludes us, and that feeling of waste. Wasted running, hiding, whipping, bucking, swallowing of pride, lynching, and the spilling of blood. All of this because we still have a system of racism. Some might say why look at our strides from the point of a victim, “look at all the strides that African Americans have made since slavery” - and my answer to that is, I have never known anyone except Steven Segal who looks down the barrel of a gun and says, “We’re outgunned, and undermanned. But you know sumpin’? We’re gonna win. You know why? Superior attitude. Superior state of mind .” in his movie “Hard to Kill.” Over just the last decade, black lives have been easy to kill - so no this is not a stroll in victimology but rather a stretch in what is for some a reality. There are dates on calendars that to some, are more important that black history month. They mark the days where they lost loved ones to violence of all sorts. So each year that another black history month comes and goes, I think about things like how reassured and indifferent other people walk around in the comfort and splendor that was afforded to them by the continued expression of angst, the recurring nightmare, our recitations around recycled speeches, the “almosts” that still eludes us and that feeling of waste. Wasted running, hiding, whipping, bucking, swallowing of pride, lynching and the continued spilling of our blood. #whenlivingisaprotest #leicamonochrome @leicacamerausa (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9KnS_nlfXd/?igshid=1rfid7npv0c00

‪October 23,2019‬ ‪On becoming a Commoner‬ ‪Here is what I believe: ‬ ‪If there is no racism, ‬ ‪then your motive must be greed. ‬ ‪Racism is the ink that colours ‬ ‪the food, and the water‬ ‪on which you feed.‬ ‪Without it,‬ ‪you will find that the chasm‬ ‪between us is no wider ‬ ‪than the space between the colour and the liquid we bleed.‬ ‪Convincing a person that they are racist is like me trying ‬ ‪to show a photographer ‬ ‪that the colour or their lens‬ ‪is no different from the green piece of paper‬ ‪that shoots from the ATM vending ‬ ‪machines.‬ ‪I am exhausted.‬ ‪Tired of pointing out that ‬ ‪your light, accolades and wealth ‬ ‪is based on the cruel and evil exploits of your ancestor’s seed.‬ ‪Tired of shouting that if you are not black‬ ‪then there is no way‬ ‪you can see pass your blood soaked‬ ‪cotton seed inheritances.‬ ‪I don’t even take photographs‬ ‪anymore.‬ ‪Each click, ‬ ‪frames a set of eyes that flicker‬ ‪like pages of an anthology‬ ‪waiting for anyone to read.‬ ‪If there is no racism,‬ ‪then why are there so many firsts: ‬ ‪college integrator, ball player, mayor, and even one president?‬ ‪When will we stop celebrating the first person of colour?‬ ‪I vote we secede ‬ ‪find our own moola‬ ‪plant our own food, and click our own shutter, - reread!!!‬ ‪Because, ‬ ‪it’s not that you don’t ‬ ‪know you are being racist,‬ ‪It is that you like us at the bottom.‬ ‪I feel like you think ‬ ‪giving it back ‬ ‪might make you feel - ‬ ‪common.‬ #ruddypoem #whenlivingisaprotest #oggl #leicasl #leicanoctilux @leicacamerausa https://www.instagram.com/p/B3-THDJlJug/?igshid=1n71cgho6zf5y

October 12, 2019 Life goes on. The editor of the New York Review asked me how I prepared for photographing in the West Village. “I looked for semblances of the old West Village versus the new one,” I said. “The theme of gentrification when you find it, is like unraveling a thread you already see peaking out at the edge of any one of its street corners... and you just start pulling to see where it leads. I wanted the West Village to have its own voice visually, different from the written story.” Walking around, I felt like this had to be what Dorothy saw. Remember, I didn’t have a clue what the written story was, so I went down each street with my ears and eyes. Holding my Leica close to my chest I sometimes sat between the crevice of the old and the rising new scaffolds. I mentioned Leica because here in the West Village it seemed to garner attention. Everyone seemed to know what I was carrying and either looked at me with a smile or contempt. But if I had one feeling about my assignment in the West Village, Caretaker Basil Weathers said it best, “A lot of people are uppity, they have money, why should they talk to the little people?” Basil Weathers, said for the article written by Susannah Jacobs. The plumber who hangs out on the corner of Bank and West 4th Street since he arrived in New York from Jamaica some forty years ago told me stories of being harassed by police officers just because the neighbourhood took a while getting use to his presence there. My story about gentrification has always been who and what does this one word replace. I realize it doesn’t really matter. People invade, they displace, spring comes and life goes on. Check out the link in my Bio for the story written by Susannah Jacobs. #leicasl #leicam10d #leica50noctilux @leicacamerausa (at West Village) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3iHHx4lL4w/?igshid=1jev7zirm4rws

June 30, 2019 Anniversary Portraits But then there were the longer waits, the restlessness, and me seeing images everywhere, I had to shoot. My day started with twelve students belonging to the National Geographic student expedition series shoved together and eagerly waiting to hear what was in store for the day. We talked about photography and how we negotiate different spaces by learning how to use language, reciprocity, exposure and composition. We then headed out into the packed streets of New York City for our first day of our workshop. I did not expect the crowd that I saw when I disembarked the A train. As a result, I was not able to go in. I felt obligated to assigning mini tasks with over 3 million people pushing their way towards the front of every line to get a view of the crowded floats. And so I took photos wherever we stopped while I set tasks or challenges for the students to photograph. For the fiftieth anniversary I would have wanted to upload a serious series, but instead - sometimes it is about the work. Nevertheless I also challenged myself by using this Leica lens to make portraits. #leicasl #zeropoint95project #ngstudentxpride @leicaakademieusa @leicacamerausa #nycpride2019 (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzWp8Q6FKzi/?igshid=137m216j9dq9n

June 30, 2019 Anniversary Portraits I started my day with twelve students belonging to the National Geographic student expedition series shoved together and eager waiting to hear what was in store for the day. We talked about photography and how we negotiate different spaces, by learning how to use language, reciprocity, exposure and composition. We then headed out into the packed streets of New York City for our first day of our workshop. I did not expect the crowd that I saw when I disembarked the A train. There was barely any room on the sidewalk to go north or south. As a result, I was not able to go in - I could not find the room to photograph #nycpride2019 the way I have always photographed it. I felt obligated to assigning mini tasks with over 3 million people pushing their way towards the front of every line to get a view of the crowded floats. And so I took photos wherever we stopped while I set tasks or challenges for the students to photograph. For the fiftieth anniversary I would have wanted to upload a serious series, but instead - sometimes it is about the work. Nevertheless I also challenged myself by using this Leica lens to make portraits. #leicasl #zeropoint95project #ngstudentsxpride @leicaakademieusa @leicacamerausa (at Union Square, Manhattan) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzWgZz8FPYo/?igshid=11eoy0dqu7i4s

June 9, 2019 Sweet for my Sweet & Sugary Portraits I have never been one to rush a story. Stories to me feel like baking sometimes. Taking a portrait is not unlike the unraveling of a well folded tale, or whittling away at a juicy Regal Bakery sugar bun. As a young boy in Montego Bay, I couldn’t wait until the bell rung to race to Regal Bakery to purchase a hot, soft golden sugar bun. If you can allow yourself to imagine the untwirling of each band, as it spins and as you peel away at each roll, you unveil more sugary sweetness, sometimes a cheaply placed sugar crystal or two, and any other sweet spice meant to tempt you into an addiction. I press the camera’s viewfinder close to my eye with the same involuntary motion — the licking of my bottom lip as I sense that with each click between my brain and my vision, the portrait reveals its sticky sweetness. I also try to emulate the meticulous eye that a pastry chef might have in picking his ingredients. And so, my lens choice is oftentimes chosen intentionally. Flour properly sifted, adding sugar, cinnamon and salt until well blended, please don’t smile, then click. You are supposed to find emotional crystals and gems in each portrait I make. #zeropoint95project #leicasl (at Malcolm X Blvd) https://www.instagram.com/p/Byf9iOAFazg/?igshid=166jlutu1btuu

November 20, 2018 Finding my place Promo aside, my “work” has always been about real people. This has never been a job for me. It is my blessing I think, to be feeding my family from the very thing I love to do. As a reggae artist/photographer I have found resonance living and working in the spaces I choose to turn my lens. I am also appreciative of all the institutions, and magazines that support what I do. I am especially grateful for all who text, call, email and leave comments of both inspiration and encouragement. Peace and blessings to all. @fujifilmx_us @fujifilm_global #whenlivingisaprotest X-Photographer @ruddyroye using the new portable GFX 50R to document the changing scenery in Bedford-Stuyvesant. A Brooklyn local, Ruddy utilizes the #GFX50R’s mirrorless medium format camera to capture authentic photographs of his subjects with stunning image quality. All video was captured with the FUJIFILM X-H1. Watch the full video at FUJIFILMYouTube.com and learn more about the GFX 50R at FUJIFILMGFX50R.com (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/BqaqWd9Hv-1/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=32k8u6txr82t

#Repost @gdfilms (title image and text) Image’s 2 and 4 by @abershaw and images 3,5 and 6 by @jocelyn__ortiz ・・・ Nov. 8, 2018 ‘Ruddy Roye Speaks’ - - The master @ruddyroye himself dominated the stage last night as he gave a talk at the Brooklyn library on his journey and life as a photographer. He spoke about the many critiques and conversations surrounding his images and the types of stories he covers. Ruddy maintains that photography for him is not just about taking a picture, but that there is a story behind each of his images. We the viewers have to be able to identify with the situations to be able to fully understand these stories. He explained that the way he was raised, his Jamaican culture and upbringing nurtured by the music had the biggest impact on the work he does today. As part of his presentation, DJ Kamau Preston mixed a variety of songs that directly related to images he displayed. ________________________________________________________________ #ruddyroye #exhibition #whenlivingisaprotest #brooklynlibrary #photography #stories #storytelling #photographerjourney #humanist #documentary #reality #blackstories #jamaican #montegobay #jamaica #brooklyn #teamnosleepja (at Brooklyn, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bp7h3-WHM2k/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=8nm2tej8jt1w

November 6, 2018 Going to the Ballot Jeremiah Grimm who hails from Chadbourn, North Carolina came to New York in 1974 to seek a new life. As a 13 years old with a paper route, Mr Grimm has been reading the newspaper religiously ever since. “I need to know what is going on. I have to know what’s going on. Do you know his father was worse than him. I have been reading about his father for 40 years. How come people did not see this coming?” he asked facetiously. We talked for awhile OG to almost OG, old storyteller to maturing storyteller, all about why people voted. I think it is necessary to add this extract from MalcolmX’s. “The Ballot or the Bullet” to punctuate this image and what we came up with. “Well, I am one who doesn't believe in deluding myself. I'm not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner. Sitting at the table doesn't make you a diner, unless you eat some of what's on that plate. Being here in America doesn't make you an American. Being born here in America doesn't make you an American. Why, if birth made you American, you wouldn't need any legislation; you wouldn't need any amendments to the Constitution; you wouldn't be faced with civil-rights filibustering in Washington, D.C., right now. They don't have to pass civil-rights legislation to make a Polack an American. No, I'm not an American. I'm one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy.” Malcolm Malik el-Shabazz. #whenlivingisaprotest #fujifilmxt3 @fujifilmx_us (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bp2lzfonraj/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=j5uppmdx8x5k

November 6, 2018 Going to the Ballot Jeremiah Grimm who hails from Chadbourn, North Carolina came to New York in 1974 to seek a new life. As a 13 years old with a paper route, Mr Grimm has been reading the newspaper religiously ever since. “I need to know what is going on. I have to know what’s going on. Do you know his father was worse than him. I have been reading about his father for 40 years. How come people did not see this coming?” he asked facetiously. We talked for awhile OG to almost OG, old storyteller to maturing storyteller, all about why people voted. I think it is necessary to add this extract from MalcolmX’s. “The Ballot or the Bullet” to punctuate this image and what we came up with. “Well, I am one who doesn't believe in deluding myself. I'm not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner. Sitting at the table doesn't make you a diner, unless you eat some of what's on that plate. Being here in America doesn't make you an American. Being born here in America doesn't make you an American. Why, if birth made you American, you wouldn't need any legislation; you wouldn't need any amendments to the Constitution; you wouldn't be faced with civil-rights filibustering in Washington, D.C., right now. They don't have to pass civil-rights legislation to make a Polack an American. No, I'm not an American. I'm one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy.” Malcolm Malik el-Shabazz. #whenlivingisaprotest #fujifilmxt3 @fujifilmx_us (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bp2lzfonraj/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1r1f4ja4gc92c

November 3, 2018 Forming the Circle Putting this up around the time I would be getting ready to go out and document this - if I was home. Movements in dance cannot be separated from the rhythms, vibrations; they are the essence of life itself. Traditional dancing, otherwise known as folk dancing, is oftentimes linked to a ceremony. This was my first fascination as a boy attending folk events with my mother and watching “Mento dancing” and dare not asking why the male was gyrating too close to the the woman he was dancing with. As time passed, and I mean years, I began to understand the function of this part of my culture and how it operated in Jamaican society. Many years later I found myself in a debate about dancehall versus reggae music. This is integral to what I started to document because I wanted to show this part of the culture that felt like it was the rotted part of the same tree - or so some people in Jamaica would have you believe. Dancehall is from the bowels of ghetto people. It is church, theatre, strip club, fashion show, business, seat of government and the polling station all rolled up into a nice tight spliff. The debate was, is dancehall music representative of Jamaica’s culture?It was crazy listening to musicians compare Bob, Dennis, Peter, Jimmy, Ellis, with Kartel, Bounty, Beenie, Movado, and claiming that this iteration of reggae music aka dancehall was a diluted version of the original. That said, my reason for this post is not so much to educate, but to say to all those photographers who go to Jamaica for a week or three, and muck around, return with black bodies sweaty in compromising positions, plant them on their Instagram or social media platform as if we are we caricatures—is exploitative. Dancehall and reggae music are way more complex than what I am even showing. It is about seeing and being seen. It is an angry, uncompromising, obstinate, unrelenting, and unabated voice reaching out of the ghetto to claim some sense of Nationality. (at Jamaica) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpvbApjHN94/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=xax5zylqjyzx

October 31, 2018 The Making of Heroes. Halloween began as a festival that marked the end of harvest. It was part of the ancient Celtic religion. At the end of summer, the Celts thought the barrier between our world and the world of ghosts and spirits was thin. This invited weird creatures with strange powers on Earth. Today I walked the “route” looking at our black children’s choice of super heroes, wondering if it was fair to glean any deep meaning from their choices. Jalen age 3 Black Panther. Chose his costume himself. His mother said that he made his decision only after seeing pieces of the movie. “He always loved power rangers so this was a surprise to see him depart from those characters,” his mom said Shamir age 9 decided to dress up as Genji (Over Watch) Shania “Eve” (Descendants) and Donte 10 was dressed as Superman The consensus was that the costumes were a family decision. Christine 7, (Pikachu) and her twin brother Robinson 7 (Triceratops) were told that Kindergarten through 4th grade were not allowed to wear costume to school this year because supposedly children were too competitive about their costume. They made theirs. Zion age 11 went to school as Hokage (Naruto) “I chose him because he is the leader of a village and that is important to me. He is very powerful.” Kavon Battle age 11 went as a Star War character. His mother said she paid $45 for his costume. “I wanted my baby to be the greatest character he can be this year.” Tymeek age 7 strolled down the street as (Scream) “I like the blood and the knife.” “My son has never seen the movie but he saw the costume at party city,” his mother added. Josiah age 6 raced down the side walk as (Flash) Mahalia age 2 dressed as (Violet, Incredibles) stretched out her hands as to protect him as he ran. “He chose flash because he is fast. Violet likes to protect her friends,” their moms told me. Mina age 9 wore the costume of a “drama queen” she posed with Giovanni age 2 who was dressed as (Tigger) “Grandma thought they might like it and we didn’t have to go costume shopping,” Giovanni’s father said. Alamin age 15 wanted to be a Panda. “I put it together because I just wanted to be different.” (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpnhZ-YlZbQ/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=8zfgnpu44nyz

September 24, 2018 Gather at the Rhine Today my friend @davidscottholloway asked his Facebook friends how they felt about Anthony Bourdain’s legacy. My answer would have been too long but today of all days, while on a train from Frankfurt to Köln, I was thinking about that very question, even before I saw the Facebook post. I was thinking about how differently my entire mind gets when I am traveling - that mixture of fright, fear, anxiety and excitement. Like, am I on the right train, trailing the, what if I get stranded, followed up by the, it might be fun and it always ends with, at least I brought a little pocket knife with me. Hey I am Jamaican. Good for me, I was on the right train, checked into my hotel, grabbed a camera and started exploring the streets. The morning light pierced the heavy clouds that rose over the city as if the creator himself was cutting a slice of the new Day bustle. I had found myself at the famous Kölner Dom, the seat of the Archbishop of Cologne and a renowned monument of German Catholicism and Gothic architecture. The white Jesus was being etched into the walkway and I stared in his eyes for the truth. It is also where I heard a song I have not heard for a long time, “Gather at the river,” the chilling sound of a wooden flute pierced the chatter of tourists as they roll across the cathedral square peering into the heavens. I thought, this is the reason why Bourdain chose food. It is so much easier to get to the heart of a culture, circumventing language, stares, and the short time one gets to spend in each space. I have yet to decide on either shapes or colours. Thank god there is always the possibility of tomorrow. #photokina2018 #kölnportraits #fujifilmxt3 @fujifilmx_us (at Kölner Dom - die offizielle Seite) https://www.instagram.com/p/BoHfhxFFKDQ/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=veu2zk06ljhd

September 10, 2018 The Evolution of the Black Family Kansas City Chiefs running backs coach Deland McCullough went searching for his biological parents. He found them where he never would have expected. From the moment I arrived at “Aunt Debbie’s” home, I felt the energy of the gathering. You could see everyone’s joy and expectation sitting on their whispers as they gathered in the living room and in the kitchen. The tables, chairs, and tents all gleaming white, had been prepped with the warmth of Southern cuisines. The small crowd that had already gathered had eyes that peered through every newcomer’s tinted car glass hoping to get a first hand glimpse of the “prodigal son.” It was a difficult assignment sharif the very cramped space with the video crew so I stepped outside the yard to explore and find a spot to make the portraits. The feeling of homecoming was inescapable. For me it was not just this moment, but an evolution of presents finally catching up with centuries of fractures. The making of a black family. My mind was determined to gather, almost like a harvest, the years and circumstances that have placed our families at the brink of extinction. Wars, the middle passage, the auction block, slavery, forced in breeding, rape, treating our ancestors as if they were merchandise and selling them away from their families, all melded together in our dna, replacing recollection of home and family - rewriting what we now call our history. This one story felt like am unpacking of all that evil and the rebirth of what a black family’s homecoming can look like. Full story in my bio above. #onassignment @espn #whenlivingisaprotest #fujifilmgfx50s @fujifilmx_us (at Youngstown, Ohio) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnkBH1EnRhr/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1zv8slvsrcm9