Amber Stone Logan
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What once was...
I’m a Native Washingtonian and time and time again I feel like I’m always scavenging for things that make me feel like I’m at home amidst that drastically changing. Not saying at all that change isn’t necessary but what about the part of change that removes the very flavor, culture, and love because it isn’t suitable for an image that’s being portrayed. Neighborhoods for low income families get hit harder with property taxes every time someone decides to remodel. This store has been a part of my life, my entire 26 years. I grew up in a part of DC considered uptown, that stops when you hit the Takoma metro and on the other side you’ll hit Shaw Howard metro stop in my opinion. With a sprinkle of apartments that we’re still the majority in, heading towards downtown. I grew up in a few neighborhoods. (One included three different streets.) All that taught me something different. I went to all uptown schools and looking back I wouldn’t change a thing just maybe caring to acknowledge focusing wasn’t my strongest pursuit. I was very well looked after, protected, and loved by those sent here to look after me, my guardian angels physically here and not physically seen but felt. I was always creative, always being a part of my community being both of African descent and lgbtq+ My neighborhoods always felt so good like home and it left me feeling rather complete even with the ups and downs. Everyone looked after one another. Memories that’ll last as long as the sun continues to rotate and experiences that made you stronger in every sense of the word. So why is the goal to want what’s already been counted for? Why is it that we already have so little and that’s wanted also? Growing up I never really understood why my friends had to move.. it was explained in a coat of sugar instead of with a grain of salt. Most families sold their houses or were tenants renting and landlords found higher rent payers since they were only attracted to the dollar rather than caring about where this person and their children end up. I’ve experienced that once and I was much older than my brother so I was alright while I had to comfort him when he mentioned wanting to go home and my mother having to tell him this is our new home. It tore me apart to realize the harsh reality of people having it much worse than that. When I speak of home.. I’m talking about first steps, first words, first falls. All of the first things. First heartbreaks, first fights, and first inspirations. I found inspiration in pain because just like love, pain can also be unconditional or conditional. I’ve always had a way with my words and an awareness of how I’ve done so. People ask me how I’d describe my city and I can give them everything if they’re willing to hear. If not I’ll always say it’s nothing but authentic love here. The crack cocaine epidemic in the 80’s really ruined good people, good homes, and still continues to do so. My city is bleeding and it’s heartbreaking and numbing all at once but still love. I’ve gotten the most love from a stranger battling themselves. They want photos or conversation, they want to be seen and heard and sometimes it’s relieving. I have no judgement in my heart. At the end of the day we have lots in common. From our melanated struggles and losing our home we’re just copping differently. In spring/summer of 2016 I got two cameras. The reasoning was my city is changing. I wanted to capture as much as I can so when it’s all changed around and barely noticeable I have photographic proof that we were here. That Chocolate City is ours forever. We are the literal heart beat of the city that can never be watered down no matter what. When most people think of my city it’s about the monuments and other attractions. Those are very minuscule parts to what makes the city, the city. It's a community/family, our own genre of music called Gogo, it’s late spring to early fall on Sunday’s at drum circle from noon until you get tired, it’s having to work twice as hard because there’s premeditated judgment, and more. The city has an ugly side too for sure but none that we’ve created for ourselves. We built this because our ancestors cried for this. Let another tell it. There’s beauty in struggle and strength in numbers, in unity. My city is worth it.
By Amber Stone Logan5 years ago in Photography
What once was..
I’m a Native Washingtonian and time and time again I feel like I’m always scavenging for things that make me feel like I’m at home amidst that drastically changing. Not saying at all that change isn’t necessary but what about the part of change that removes the very flavor, culture, and love because it isn’t suitable for an image that’s being portrayed. Neighborhoods for low income families get hit harder with property taxes every time someone decides to remodel. This store has been a part of my life, my entire 26 years. I grew up in a part of DC considered uptown, that stops when you hit the Takoma metro and on the other side you’ll hit Shaw Howard metro stop in my opinion. With a sprinkle of apartments that we’re still the majority in, heading towards downtown. I grew up in a few neighborhoods. (One included three different streets.) All that taught me something different. I went to all uptown schools and looking back I wouldn’t change a thing just maybe caring to acknowledge focusing wasn’t my strongest pursuit. I was very well looked after, protected, and loved by those sent here to look after me, my guardian angels physically here and not physically seen but felt. I was always creative, always being a part of my community being both of African descent and lgbtq+ My neighborhoods always felt so good like home and it left me feeling rather complete even with the ups and downs. Everyone looked after one another. Memories that’ll last as long as the sun continues to rotate and experiences that made you stronger in every sense of the word. So why is the goal to want what’s already been counted for? Why is it that we already have so little and that’s wanted also? Growing up I never really understood why my friends had to move.. it was explained in a coat of sugar instead of with a grain of salt. Most families sold their houses or were tenants renting and landlords found higher rent payers since they were only attracted to the dollar rather than caring about where this person and their children end up. I’ve experienced that once and I was much older than my brother so I was alright while I had to comfort him when he mentioned wanting to go home and my mother having to tell him this is our new home. It tore me apart to realize the harsh reality of people having it much worse than that. When I speak of home.. I’m talking about first steps, first words, first falls. All of the first things. First heartbreaks, first fights, and first inspirations. I found inspiration in pain because just like love, pain can also be unconditional or conditional. I’ve always had a way with my words and an awareness of how I’ve done so. People ask me how I’d describe my city and I can give them everything if they’re willing to hear. If not I’ll always say it’s nothing but authentic love here. The crack cocaine epidemic in the 80’s really ruined good people, good homes, and still continues to do so. My city is bleeding and it’s heartbreaking and numbing all at once but still love. I’ve gotten the most love from a stranger battling themselves. They want photos or conversation, they want to be seen and heard and sometimes it’s relieving. I have no judgement in my heart. At the end of the day we have lots in common. From our melanated struggles and losing our home we’re just copping differently. In spring/summer of 2016 I got two cameras. The reasoning was my city is changing. I wanted to capture as much as I can so when it’s all changed around and barely noticeable I have photographic proof that we were here. That Chocolate City is ours forever. We are the literal heart beat of the city that can never be watered down no matter what. When most people think of my city it’s about the monuments and other attractions. Those are very minuscule parts to what makes the city, the city. It's a community/family, our own genre of music called Gogo, it’s late spring to early fall on Sunday’s at drum circle from noon until you get tired, it’s having to work twice as hard because there’s premeditated judgment, and more. The city has an ugly side too for sure but none that we’ve created for ourselves. We built this because our ancestors cried for this. Let another tell it. There’s beauty in struggle and strength in numbers, in unity. My city is worth it.
By Amber Stone Logan5 years ago in Photography
