As Though Before a Mirror - Reflecting on the Challenges of First-Time Fieldwork

This semester I took a class in visual anthropology, hoping to learn the practice of ethnographic film. To my disappointment, we spent only the last 2 and a half weeks on that unit. My group visited and volunteered at a soup kitchen in Amherst during those two weeks while taking footage, conducting interviews, and participating in the general flow of things - from pot washing to cooking to chatting over dinner. The following is my essay on the piece. As part of our classroom agreement, the film is not available for viewing by the public. I hope my next one is though!


- As Though Before a Mirror: Reflecting on the Challenges of First-Time Fieldwork -


The three of us sat awkwardly at table 8. People came through the door alone and in familial bunches, settling at tables with pastry and coffee while they waited for the main meal to be served. There was some exchange of greeting between a few of the guests, a nod of the head or “hello.” The comfortability was quiet; everyone seemed to know each other or at least be familiar with the presence of the others. Still we sat at table 8, not sure of what to do next. Toting around a camera and interviewing strangers about their lives seemed like an appealing idea eight months ago when I signed up for the class. Today it felt bewildering. Supplied with digital and video cameras, a tripod, a voice recorder, notebooks, pens, and some theoretical knowledge of ethnographic film, we ventured forth with the mandate to extend a microphone to an underprivileged, unheard from community.

The afternoon before, our group had gathered around another table not far away to brainstorm filmic options. Pressed for time and short on ideas, we settled on what felt like an uncertain choice, a last resort.

“There’s a soup kitchen in Amherst,” offered Tenzin. We all looked down at the small round table, fidgeted with our nails, and thought a moment. I recalled going to food pantries during some touch economic times in the early '90s when I was still quite little. But a soup kitchen? I had never been to one of those. I worried it might feel uncomfortable. We left a message on the program director’s answering machine – I gave my phone number twice - and agreed to meet the next morning at 10:00. Convened in the observatory parking lot the following morning, still not having heard from the kitchen’s director, we decided to risk it and drove away to Amherst with a map on the dash.

I could supply the reader with a ten-page narrative of the team’s filming adventures over the course of the following days - typical fieldwork issues: relationship and trust building, the discomfort of participation, ethical limitations, etc. To address these issues is, however, redundant in light of the concurrent papers of my two colleagues. Instead of a broad route, I have chosen a deep one that will address the two challenges that resonated the most for me throughout the extent of the project.


REFLEXIVITY

My first challenge appeared unexpectedly in the form of the acute self-awareness that overcame me earlier that Saturday morning. Still warm in green fleece pajamas, I rifled through my dresser searching for something vague and neutral to wear to the soup kitchen; I spent so long hunting that I missed breakfast - how about that for adding to the reality of participation. Inquiring of my vibrant closet I found only what I hope to find on a typical morning: bright colors and complimentary cuts; nothing seemed achromatic enough. For today I did not want logos or brands, school paraphernalia, not even the names of teams or events sported across my back or chest. Generally I do not enjoy acting as a walking billboard, and particularly not on an expedition such as this. Typical, close-fitting block colored tops would not do either. For whatever reason, I felt unusually aware of my sexuality and wished to prevent any potential distraction my body might create, even silent objectification. Eventually I settled on a loose pair of jeans, well-worn canvas shoes; for once I pushed the black Danscos back under my bed, not wanting to be any taller in the hope of making myself more approachable. In the bottom drawer I found an old white T-shirt I stole from a brother; over top of that, my mom’s least favorite sweatshirt. I enjoy the unraveling cuffs. Loose jeans and black and white on top - very neutral, very unlike me.

Then came the trouble of earrings. I almost always wear earrings, but having lost my studs, the next plainest thing was a small pair of gold hoops - fake gold, but they looked, well, weird paired with blandness. Still, I would not forgo the earrings. A girl dressed in boyish clothing with androgenously short hair - I felt the need to clarify my orientation, hoping to avoid one less assumption when people found out where I go to school. My own assumption was that apparent neutrality would make me approachable and safe for the people I was preparing to interview. I hoped they would say more of themselves without any distraction from me. Responses might depend upon how participants observed me. The more I could blend in and become a seemingly natural participator, the less alien my presence and the more acceptable my friendship. But was I just inventing a ‘gap’ between people, confusing it for the gap between circumstances?

Throughout the day I noticed how comfortable the clothes felt. My wardrobe did not say much about me for once and I was enjoying it. That comfortability - it was as though I had temporarily veiled my sexuality. It was a new freedom. A relieving freedom. These past two summers in Ethiopia have worn me out. I worked hard to be seen from the inside out. Unfortunately, my general experience was one such that I was not only objectified almost everywhere I went, but loudly and several times physically. Residual responses from those months keep me, even now, a little on edge. I still live with the thought turning over in the back of my mind, “Wait for it, waaait for it.”


HOLISM

The premise of our ethnographic project was to amplify the voice of an unheard population. Ironically, we worked with a community where many “refused” the opportunity to be seen or heard because many wished to preserve personal privacy. Consequently, the range of our footage is drastically narrow. This visual limitation intimates limits on holism in the final piece. We attempted to compensate for the lack of movement and faces with a series of stills, however only a few individuals agreed to being photographed.

The trouble was not so much the images themselves, but the underlying issue of relationship. We had no prior knowledge of these people or they of us. There was no connection and if we were going to make this film, we would have to build trust among the people first. Our method of establishing contacts evolved from simple conversation to actually working in the kitchen and cleaning up afterwards. Becoming a part of the work immediately pulled us a little closer to the center of the circle. Still, I learned how to ease in the topic of the project the hard way a more than once. There is a fine line between building rapport and holding back actual intentions.

On the second visit, I sat at a table with two elderly, well-educated men discussing the merits of women’s college. It had only been a few minutes, but we were enjoying the debate. Seeing a group member making her way to our table with the voice recorder in hand, I panicked inwardly. It was too early to introduce my intent but I did not wish for either of the guests to feel misled when my group member sat down with an obvious piece of recording equipment in hand. There was nothing to do but blurt it out, which I did as graciously as I could. Immediately one gentleman sat back and crossed his arms over his chest; his lively expression from a moment before disappeared. I had tripped the breaker. The instance lingers in my mind and even now I mull over how I might have prevented severing the beginning of that relationship, mostly because it bothered me that I had offended the gentleman’s humanity.

Over the course of four visits we made a number of friends and were accepted into the wider community of the soup kitchen. Even so, most of the people willing to interview in some capacity were the people who warmed up to us the first day. We recorded video as well as audio interviews and once jotted down an interview on paper for someone uncomfortable with being recorded in any capacity. Protecting the privacy of participants is all-important but not easy. We quickly recognized how limited footage severely separates how we observed the environment as compared to how our film viewers will. They see brief moments, no whole acts or whole bodies as we did - not even snippets of guests interacting with one another. How does one obtain images when people do not wish to be seen? One cannot. As for those who agree, their image portrayals cannot be viewed in a fully natural environment either because we could not film their ordinary activity and interactions at the sight.

Heider suggests doing fieldwork first and filming second because once the anthropologist returns she has only a limited supply of footage (citation). Fair enough, however since we began the project as strangers, there was not enough time to form relationships and establish contacts before filming began. We learned as the camera rolled, as our raw footage reveals. The very first interview (Marcy) is painful for me to watch. Reviewing the footage, the noticeable dis-ease apparent amongst all of us makes me feel more uncomfortable than when I actually stood in the hall interviewing Her.

Because of the privacy constraints, the “wholeness” imaged in the film is very much a “chosen wholeness,” meaning participants where shown or included as wholly as they wished to be. Unfortunately this stilted result raises questions regarding accuracy and expression. Can parts so limited still convey the greater whole witnessed by myself and the other two project members? Perhaps had we had a semester to strengthen our relationships we might have achieved more footage, but we may not have.


CONCLUSIONS

For the time being this was all we could capture. Little film makes for an odd film, a product I had not anticipated. It also prevented us from making many artistic choices simply because we did not often have the choice as to what could be shown and what could be told. Constraints, however, are welcome because on an artistic level limitations demand creativity. On an anthropological level I suppose they are a hindrance of proper portrayal, however I do not know enough to say as such for certain. The experience on the whole was compellingly uncomfortable and prompted me to reflect both inwardly and outwardly, as though before a mirror.