“Art Is Going To Save Us”

From his car, sidelined photog launches ​“Porch-Ritz” portrait project outside New Haveners’ homes — and helps keep a community stitched together, person by person.

Randall snapped pictures and chatted with the family. ​“Everyone smile!” he said.

Sara Armstrong thanked Randall for coming. ​“Art is going to save us,” she said.

The picture of the Armstrong-Crumlishes was the first in a planned series of dozens of photographs that will make up ​“Porch-Ritz,” (say it out loud), a project Randall conceived of on Tuesday.

“I was in a rut,” Randall said. ​“I’m not working — all of my jobs have been postponed or cancelled.” Randall typically has a steady stream of work in wedding, event, and corporate photography. ​“The first fear is health — are we going to be OK?” Randall said of the current situation. ​“The second fear is financial — how are we going to get through this?”

Randall felt overwhelmed. Then ​“something happened yesterday,” he said. “‘Wouldn’t it be cool to do a project and take photos?’” he recalled thinking. ​“When I go out and work, I feel so much better.” But ​“would anybody want me to come take their picture?”

He made a single post on Facebook. ​“I’m looking for participants in Porch-ritz, my new portrait project,” he wrote. ​“I’ll come and photograph you on your porch or front steps, with a telephoto lens from my car fifteen feet away. I won’t leave my car or get close to you and your family. Fill out the form below to set it up. There’s no charge for this, it’s a community focused and free portrait project which hopes to connect us more and break the monotony of self-isolation.” He posted a link to a Google doc below it where people could sign up. On the form he mentioned that the photos would be published on local photography website I Love New Haven.

“The moment I made the decision to do this project, everything changed,” Randall said. ​“I had a purpose, something that connected me — and connected us.”

By Wednesday morning, 70 people had signed up for Randall’s project. Half of them were friends of his. But the other half were strangers, which made sense; the post had been shared a couple dozen times, and more names were still appearing on the list. Randall thought again of the risk of the driving around town, even if he was going to keep his distance from his subjects. ​“It’s a small risk, but we’re trying to create a balance between the risk and having a meaningful experience…. We’re all in this together.”

Crossing town to meet up with Randall as he made his appointments offered a chance to connect with the city just by moving through it. It was tempting to read a state of emergency into the town; the news on the radio was all about the progress of the outbreak. But was traffic on Dixwell really any lighter than usual? There was still a man fishing in the pond on Crescent near SCSU. On Whalley, there were sirens as an ambulance barreled through an intersection.

Randall took his picture of the Armstrong-Crumlish family from his car.

Then he checked his list and made calls to see who would be next. Our trips took us from Edgewood, to downtown, to East Rock. Yale’s properties appeared to be depopulated. On Edwards Street, a woman blew her nose while jogging.

But on Elm Street downtown, a crew was working on a project that had required them to open a manhole. Traffic flowed by as usual.

On Willow Street, Randall stopped to take a picture of Becca Miller and her daughter from across the street.

“NIce day!” Randall said.

“I know, gorgeous!” Miller said.

“Be safe!” Randall called.

“You too!” Miller called back.

On Orange Street, people were out buying groceries, exercising, socializing, though perhaps keeping a more respectable distance from one another. Near the corner with Trumbull, Randall stopped again, to take Tracy George’s picture.

“What should I do?” George asked from her steps.

“What do you want to do?” Randall said.

“Can I plank?” George asked. She got up on the railings of the steps and realized she could. She held the pose. ​“How much fun are you having?” she asked Randall, while still planking.

“A ton of fun,” Randall said. ​“I needed this.”

“We’re in this together,” George said.

Randall crossed downtown again and headed to Beaver Hills to take Hilda Kilpatrick’s picture in front of her house. The news on the radio changed, for a brief time, to a segment about self-help books, then was interrupted by a press briefing with the White House’s coronavirus task force. Randall took the picture of Kilpatrick from the car, and she waved.

The next appointment was back in East Rock. Near Ella T. Grasso Boulevard, a family crossed the road in a small parade of scooters and a stroller. On Henry Street, the A to Z Deli had a cadre of young men hanging out in front of it.

Randall’s next subjects were New Haven Independent reporter Tom Breen and Arts Paper editor Lucy Gellman. Randall took his photographs, and Gellman took pictures of Randall. A conversation began. The neighborhood’s mailman came by to deliver the mail.

“In a time of fear, love conquers all,” the mailman said. ​“This is what unites us as Americans.”