THE VALUE PROJECT

We’ll call him L. My first job out of high school, after I had given up photography for good, was a part time, minimum wage, K-1 after school teacher. The job was simple - take care of 20 five year olds, 50% of which most likely didn’t know when their next meal would be, 70% of which have experienced trauma and neglect, 100% of which have already sat in a class all day, with expectations to behave as big kids, listen, learn, etc - take care of those kids... while also creating an after school lesson plan in your spare time, then perform one hour of teaching, another of crafts, and if weather permits the students can go outside and be free, be kids for an hour or so.

 The job wasn’t so simple after all. It was exhausting, draining, and really not worth the part time pay. But the kids made it worth it - getting the opportunity to provide safety and stability for them was priceless. For me, one kid in particular changed my life completely. L. L was a kindergartener at the time, he and his four siblings, ages ranging from 1-12, consistently couch surfed. They even lived with the school superintendent from time to time. Their mom was on the streets and doing all the bad you could associate with a young, broken, addicted, single mom on the “streets” and their dad was just as unstable.

 L would come to school in oversized and undersized clothes, his hair was often gnatted, he couldn’t speak correctly, speaking in gibberish most of the time. One time, I found him digging through the trash for milk or extra snacks - he was so scared of how I would react. I grabbed him, embraced him in a hug, and told him that we have plenty of extra snacks and chocolate milks for him - he just needed to ask. From there on out we were best buddies. His smile is infectious, his laugh is heartwarming, and he carries himself with such strength and positivity provided his circumstance.

One day in early December, he came to school in an oversized nike long sleeve. Even though on one side, the shirt told a story of poverty, on the other he looked like a cute little hipster, I took an iPhone photo of him, his older brother “T” saw it and begged that I would print it and give it to him as a Christmas present to his mom. He didn’t need to beg, it was the easiest yes.

That night I thought a lot about my kids. I realized that they don’t have access to meals or new, clean clothes, let alone photographic memories of their childhood. I realized I have a gift and privilege that I owe to them. L sparked a dream in my heart, I used my college savings to buy a camera and the next week I set up a lil thing called “The Value Project”. I got a list of the students living in poverty, 70% of which happened to be my K-1 students which helped me to understand why my class was so chaotic and hard to manage. The list became the kids who would take part in the value project. A one-day event, free profession photos for at-risk kids, the photos would showcase their favorite qualities about themselves, and I would capture the thing I capture best, true, authentic joy. I invited my friends who made downhill long boarding videos to capture video of the event, which later turned into us creating a film production company, which would take us to Greece to film a documentary on the refugee crisis, leading to endless wedding films, business videos, and more.

The kids had one job, come up with a positive word that describes themselves. We wrote the word on a blackboard and captured the moment. We played with the kids to ease the stress of the camera, and viola, beautiful photographs spurred from the moments. The day was so encouraging and meaningful. These kids, that I love with so much of my heart, would have photos that showcase what they believe is true about themselves. They would carry it forever. It would become their history. They are genius, brave, smiley, joyful, caring, game changers, beautiful, silly, awesome, artistic, athletic... they weren’t their parents mistakes, or the bad cards life dealt them, they weren’t broken, they weren’t less than. They were purely something beautiful. 

THESE ARE THE FACES DOCUMENTARY

“These are the faces of depression and pain and though I’m trying to process it as normal, it is confusing to my brain.

These are the faces of people on the run from ISIS and death, people sleeping in the alley ways of a foreign city because their own city has nothing left.

These are the faces of people running because they chose a different god, others simply because they want normal lives, but instead they’re stuck in public squares and metro stations thousands of miles away from their families, men away from their wives.

These are the faces that so often we think aren’t our problem to worry about, faces that we discount as too far away, however in reality we could all leave our homes and get to this problem in less than a day.

These are the faces of the guy I shook hands with yesterday who is in hiding because the Taliban threatened his daughter and him, but he’s not bad, or evil, or scary, he’s just a man.

These are the faces of boys my age who haven’t seen their parents in years, who instead of finding security and comfort from their families, are finding it in marijuana and beers.

These are the faces of kids whom we can’t ask about their parents or homes, because there’s a good chance that they didn’t make it off the boat and in result, the kid is here alone. 

These are the faces of a guy who was telling us about how he could’ve dug diamonds out of his backyard in Sierra Leone, but his country was falling so much apart that instead he’s living here in Athens on a monthly loan.

These are the faces of girls who are locked behind doors, waiting for the next guy to turn the knob, dreaming of the world outside of the neon pink walls, trapped and enslaved instead of working the promised job.

These are the faces of the men who walk down those streets, earnestly searching for white lights, men who must be somewhat out of their minds because they hardly even wait until they’re out of sight.

These are the faces of a girl from the United States that came here on Holiday and instead was beaten and raped, who chose to put her life on hold and stay here and fight for what was right and not let her rapist escape.

These are the faces of the restaurant owners and store employees that so deeply care, who when asked about their thoughts on the crisis - simply reply that accepting people who have lost hope is hardly a burden to bear.

These are the faces of the little boys who ran up with their hands to their mouths, pleading with their eyes, just asking for milk or oranges, something so small and for us, so easy to buy. 

These are the faces of the beggars and cripples with cups whom we have to ignore, because the money they collect will go straight to the mafia and they’ll be just as broke as before.

These are the faces of the moms and the sisters who are hidden in the houses because their culture insists it is so, who have equally felt and shared every burden and every blow. 

These are the faces of the graffiti artists whose voices aren’t audibly heard, but whose messages scream louder than anything else; through cartoon pictures and bubble letter words. 

These are the faces of the people who we squeeze next to in an underground train, whose languages and looks are all different, but whose destination is the same.

These are the faces in front of us every single day, these are the faces for which you should pray, because these aren’t just faces on a page in Time magazine.

These are the faces just like the one in the mirror, just like the reflection you are seeing.

These are the faces of real human beings.” 

- Rose Thompson 

“These Are The Faces” Mini Documentary