Straight shooter

Nov. 3—When photographer Joan Brooks Baker was a child growing up in New York City, the aroma from a burrito stand near a friend's home tantalized her. At age 9, she didn't understand that although the stand was easily visible, visiting it required crossing a cultural border into a different neighborhood that might not welcome her presence.

"You can't always cross over. You can one day when you're older," she says of what adults told her. "I think I was born with curiosity, and in another culture, I wanted to know what people are doing."

details

Through the Lens of My Camera: The Essence of Woman

6-7 p.m. Thursday, November 9

Community room, Santa Fe Public Library Main Branch, 145 Washington Avenue

505-955-6781; santafelibrary.org

That desire to "cross over" into the unknown later would land her assignments taking photos in a range of trouble spots on the map, including Kosovo near the end of that nation's most recent civil war in the late 1990s and Ahmedabad, the capital of Gujarat near India's border with Pakistan. She'll show images and discuss her work as part of Through the Lens of My Camera: The Essence of Woman on Thursday, November 9, at the Santa Fe Library Main Branch.

Baker has lived in Santa Fe since the 1980s. Both parents hailed from the South — her mother from near Charlotte, North Carolina, and her father from Jacksonville, Florida — and although Baker never lived there, the region shows up thematically in her work. That includes her memoir, The Magnolia Code, which was published in 2020 (Fresco Books). In 2000, her work was featured in a United Nations exhibit honoring women's progress around the world.

Baker discussed her optimism despite having seen struggle and strife up close, what she's working on now, and how her experiences relate to current events during a recent conversation with Pasatiempo. Her answers were edited for length and clarity.

What's the goal of this presentation?

I want to talk about how we're presented and how we're defined. I come from an era when women were really put down. My book is called The Magnolia Code because my parents were dyed-in-the-wool Southerners, and they had this unwritten book of rules. I, being the third child, didn't like any of those rules. There's a hangover, of course, in our society. Women are still oppressed, and abortion [laws have changed]. It was such a brainwashing when I was growing up that women shouldn't speak. If you're being controversial, there's a consequence. You can adhere to the rules or dismiss them, but there are consequences to all of that. That's one of my points in my talk.

Is there a key takeaway from your time spent abroad?

In Kosovo, I was given a guide who was a tough woman. Women can be tough; they have to survive. They have to take care of children. Somebody once said to me, "The woman always knows when the doctor's appointment is." I thought that was an interesting way of putting it. So I think I found out in my travels and talking to women what it takes [for them] to survive.

You've given this talk in New Hampshire, and you're set to give it in New York next year. How did this get started?

A woman called me and said, "We have seven speakers this summer. We would like you perhaps to be one of them. I've looked at your book." I said, "What do you want me to talk about?" She said, "It seems to me that you have photographed so many women." Here's the odd thing: I'd never really realized that.

How does the talk begin?

I start basically with, Who are we? Are we the Virgin Mary? Are we a witch? Are we Venus of Willendorf [small Venus figurine thought to be at least 20,000 years old]? On a screen, I have 95 images. And I say, "We are the summation of all these parts that make up a woman. We are Eve; we are Mother Earth." Then I go into, "This is how we are defined."

You've photographed suffering, and that brings to mind what's happening in Israel and the Gaza Strip. What have you learned from being a photographer in dangerous locations?

I was just reading about how many journalists have been killed in Israel. When I was doing sort of photojournalism in Kosovo, I really understood how photographers get killed, because you have the camera, and you think you're safe. You're not. Journalist photographers will run into scenes, and they get shot up.

You describe yourself as optimistic. How do you maintain that, knowing from experience that there's always suffering happening somewhere?

I think you're kind of born with it. My mantra right now is, "Why not?" I don't want to get down in the dumps. And we're all hovering there. I'd rather take a path that says, "There are solutions here. I just can't seem to hear them. But I know they're there."

You're working on a collection of short stories called The Swampyland. What is it about?

It's very much about the South. The first sentence is, "My great-grandfather was shot by his slave." And that's the only true line in the whole story. I feel that we all live in a swampy land. We have to maneuver it in order to survive.