Silent City for The BURG
April, 2020
This story feels like a melancholy flaneur.
I found myself photographing a lot of what’s not there—no people in the restaurants or coffee shops or churches. There are no politicians, staffers, state workers or tours at the Capitol building, no children on the playgrounds. There are no folks gathered at the market. The city is eerily quiet.
But we’re still here. We’re just tucked into our respective homes, trying to stay safe.
The rest of these images are portraits. They’re snippets of how our lives have changed over the last few weeks during the COVID-19 pandemic. They display our resilience, our worries and anxiety, the ways in which we’re filling our time, trying to stay afloat, and the ways we’re attempting to check on and care for our neighbors and families.
I hope you are being gentle with yourself. I hope you and your family are safe and healthy. And I hope to see you on the other side of these COVID-19 times, whenever that may be.
Qui Qui Musarra, chef and an owner at Rubicon, Mangia Qui, & Suba, was taking a quick break. It was almost a completely familiar scene, seeing Qui out in front of the restaurant with her chef coat and apron on, but today she is wearing a mask to prepare Easter dinner for about 200 take out covers.
The Broad Street Market on a Saturday afternoon is usually busy and filled with folks socializing with friends and neighbors, but today it’s silent.
Hair salons and barbershops are closed so Hanniel Sindelar gave their partner, Lindsay Kirkwood, a haircut on the back porch of their house in Midtown. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had to cut my hair. Makes me think of our first apartment together,” Lindsay says to them.
Amine “Mo” Amamli has been laid off from his position at Habitat for Humanity so he’s been spending his time doing a ton of yard work and helping out with deliveries at Rubicon where his partner, Ashlyn, works.
Lauren Duff & Lissa Richards make sure to sit at least six feet apart on Lissa’s front porch. They’re catching up and checking in with each other. It’s Lauren’s first time out of the house in a few weeks.
Signs in the windows of this Penn Street house read, “WE WILL GET THROUGH” with brightly colored hearts.
Bri Rhoad works at PHEAA and does some freelance marketing work for the Governor but she’s more worried about her mom who has asthma. Bri goes to the store for her so she doesn’t have to leave the house.
Playgrounds all over the city are vacant and quiet.
A rainbow displayed in the window of a house in Midtown is part of a scavenger hunt that has spread throughout multiple towns and cities. It’s an activity for parents and children that they can do outside while still maintaining social distancing guidelines. There’s also a sign that reads, “Be gentle with yourself. This is new to all of us. Smile.”
Pat & Alan Edwards are playing rummy and having beers outside their house in Midtown. “What else are we going to do?” Pat laughs. They’re doing fine but they’re especially worried about friends who work in the service industry. Pat works from home. Alan has had a busy couple of weeks traveling to take care of a family member and goes to work during the week. He has a manufacturing job that is considered essential.
Carey Campbell and Diane Farrell Walker are out walking their dogs along the riverfront. They just walked to a friend’s house to wave at them from the sidewalk for their birthday since they can’t spend time together.
Shatara Parsons and Madison Hatcher were out for a bike ride down at the riverfront. Madison works at Foose Elementary and Shatara is a teacher at the Nativity School in Harrisburg. She says she misses the kids, they’re usually the liveliest part of her days.
Leah Mull sips wine on her front stoop while her husband, Steve, draws decorative eggs on the sidewalk for a social distancing friendly kids’ Easter egg hunt the next day. He says a lot of folks decided to put them in their windows, but this seems like more fun.
The sign in the window of Christ Lutheran Church on 13th street says, “All church services & meetings canceled until further notice. May God bless you,” and “We’re sorry. No dental services until further notice. Lo sentimos. No hay servicios dentales.”
Rikkie Shellhamer came out on her balcony. It feels a little safer talking with folks down in the courtyard behind her apartment from up there. She is laid off, but says she’s doing okay–some good days and some bad. She’s doing a lot of reading and recording music with her partner, Andy.
Self portrait in the window by Harrisburg University. It was my first day out of the house in eleven days. I have one mask and two bandanas for the days I go out to shoot, taking care to wash them after each use and I have strange new rituals for when I get home from shooting. I keep tripping over my feet.
The only somewhat busy spot on Second Street is Hornungs True Value. They have shelves of spring flowers and hanging baskets lining the street along with the usual sidewalk wares. A man loads his vehicle with a box of purchases from the store.
Lewis Walker is getting fresh air outside where he lives at the Presbyterian Apartments on Second Street. His building is all older folks in closely adjacent apartments. They’re worried that if one person gets sick, it will spread easily to other residents in the building.