Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -
'Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -
-Emily Dickinson
"House of Charm" is the ongoing portrait of Lee, a tiny octogenarian whose dirty clothes, greasy hair, and habit of going through each trash can she passes, conceal a beauty, intelligence, and charm that most people do not easily see. Lee's is a story of aging alone and of being different in world that values conformity. It is also a story of strength, resilience and of uncommon equanimity.
I met Lee in 2003 when I moved in around the corner from her. At first, like others, I knew her as the neighborhood "bag lady" who pushed her shopping cart through the early morning streets. Lee's home was littered with cans and bottles and other items rescued from the trash. She had neither heat nor running water. The roof and floors were rotting; many windows were broken. Its condition was what most would consider uninhabitable.
Most people perceived Lee as "crazy," someone to be avoided. Few got close enough to learn that while she is indeed eccentric, she is also intelligent, well-read, charming, and self-assured. And perhaps most remarkably, that she has led the life she chooses to -- a life for which she is neither apologetic nor ashamed.
A social worker by training, I have long been interested in our culture's ideas of beauty, happiness, and mental health -- especially as they relate to women. Who decides who is "crazy" and who is "sane"? Is something wrong with Lee? Is she crazy to be happy in conditions others couldn't tolerate?
In a culture obsessed with youth, materialism, and physical appearance, Lee's relationship to these things sets her apart. She is unburdened by the weight of society's gaze and scrutiny. At a time when TV viewers can tune into one of several shows about hoarding, and books about decluttering have topped the New York Times best seller list, Lee's relationship to stuff is at once compelling and taboo. Indeed, her hoarding alone might mark her as crazy. But could it be that Lee's equanimity in the midst of squalor actually points to some secret the rest of us are missing?
I have been photographing Lee for more than seven years. Until recently she was living an active and independent life. But in March of 2015 while walking to buy her morning coffee, Lee was badly injured when she was hit by a car. Since then she has undergone two surgeries and spent 8 months convalescing in a rehab facility. The extent to which she will recover remains unknown. In any event Lee will never return to her home, and it is unlikely that that she will resume the unfettered, independent life she has always known.
While the details are unique, I believe Lee's story echoes that of many people who live on the fringes. I continue to document her life not just because I come to care deeply about her, or because our lives have become intertwined, but also because it is my hope that sharing her story will inspire people to look past their initial prejudices and biases about what is "normal." People like Lee, who live and and thrive beyond the confines of conformity have much to teach the rest of us.
While I began each project independently of the other, I can now see that my work with Lee is part of a larger body of work in which I focus on the photographic portraits of several eccentric elderly people. My hope is that with each project, I hope to explore something that Emily Dickinson clearly understood: that even the oddest, "craziest" and most disenfranchised people have something to offer and should not be shunned or ignored. Indeed they may at times be the sanest among us.
