Eight years ago, street photographer Suzanne Stein’s unflinching lens captured the stark realities of Skid Row, focusing on moments of tenderness amidst the bleakness. Her work, then as now, aimed to illuminate often-overlooked aspects of urban life. Since that initial glimpse into her "wild side of street photography," Stein has dedicated herself to extensive projects, with her most significant and sustained body of work centered on Kensington, Philadelphia. There, she meticulously documented the devastating impact of the opioid epidemic and, more recently, the harrowing consequences of the xylazine crisis, including severe wounds, long-term disabilities, and fatalities.
However, Stein consistently emphasizes that her photographic pursuit in Kensington was never solely about addiction. She sought to portray the neighborhood as a living, breathing place, not merely a symbol of societal ills. "I photographed the entire neighborhood: the families who live there, the streets, the memorials to gunshot victims and overdose victims, the storefronts, the corners, the ordinary moments, and the broader atmosphere of a community under enormous pressure," Stein stated in a recent conversation. "The people suffering on the street are part of the story, but they are not the whole story." This comprehensive approach, aiming to capture the multifaceted human experience within a community grappling with immense challenges, has garnered international recognition.
Verena Kerfin Gallery Exhibition: "US: Slow Code"
Stein’s dedication to documenting these complex realities caught the attention of the Berlin-based Verena Kerfin Gallery. The gallery recently concluded an exhibition titled "US: Slow Code," showcasing a carefully curated selection of Stein’s powerful images from Kensington. The gallery’s introduction to the exhibition underscored the unsettling nature of her work, stating, "She does not work on images that soothe. She works on images that unsettle." This sentiment mirrors Stein’s own understanding of her artistic mission.
The gallery’s description of Kensington further amplified Stein’s observations, characterizing the city as "the form misery takes when it is organized inside a wealthy state: visible enough to serve as a deterrent, invisible enough to remain politically consequence-free." This framing suggests a deliberate societal arrangement where the visible signs of poverty and suffering serve to distance the broader populace from its causes and implications, allowing a semblance of normalcy to persist elsewhere. The gallery highlighted that poverty in such contexts is not merely an absence of wealth but a structured condition where its inhabitants endure profound hardship, while the external world continues its routine.
A Courageous and Distinct Selection of Images
Stein described the selection of photographs for "US: Slow Code" as "very specific and courageous," crediting Verena Kerfin’s distinct artistic vision. While Stein provided a shortlist, the gallery’s final edit leaned towards a particular narrative, revealing a "gradual deterioration happening in plain sight – what Stein considers as a form of slow public emergency."
The exhibition’s focus, as explained by Stein, was on images depicting individuals in states of incapacitation or physical vulnerability. "She chose photographs of people lying down, incapacitated, or otherwise physically overcome, and she used that selection to make a larger statement about abandonment in the United States," Stein elaborated. She noted that such stark portrayals might be exceptionally difficult, if not impossible, to exhibit or publish within the United States, suggesting a societal reluctance to confront these images directly.
Although unable to attend the exhibition in person, Stein connected with attendees via a video installation, sharing insights into her work, creative process, and the underlying message of her photographs. She reported that the audience exhibited significant interest, spending considerable time engaging with the images, which was deeply meaningful to her, given the challenging nature of the work and its demands on the viewer.
The Personal and Professional Toll of Documenting Kensington
Stein admitted that her three-year immersion in documenting the opioid and xylazine crises in Kensington profoundly impacted her, leading her to step back from direct documentation of addiction. Beyond the physical dangers and precarious situations she encountered, the relentless exposure to negativity proved emotionally taxing, requiring a significant period for recovery.
"I met people and witnessed situations that did not reinforce positive feelings about humanity," Stein shared. "That is difficult to say, but it’s true. The work took a long time to recover from emotionally and physically… When you are surrounded by trauma, decay, violence, addiction, strong odors, disturbing sights, and constant emotional intensity, it seeps into you."
While no longer inclined to focus exclusively on addiction, poverty, and homelessness in the same manner, Stein remains committed to documenting significant social issues. Her intention is to broaden her scope and avoid being solely defined by these challenging subjects. "I don’t really want to keep photographing people on the street suffering from addiction in the same way," she explained. "If I do, it would have to be very different, or it would have to be part of a specific assignment with a clear purpose."
Her current interest lies in documenting and raising awareness about the aftermath of the Kensington crisis: the experiences of parents who have lost children to overdose, families striving to rebuild their lives, and parents whose children have survived but are now living with permanent disabilities. This shift allows her to remain connected to the narrative while focusing on a different, yet equally vital, aspect of its impact.
"It is a very complicated subject to photograph, especially because photographers who look at it honestly are often vilified," Stein reflected, noting a prevailing "deep resistance to seeing what is actually happening on American streets." She contrasted this with the "much more sanitized version" often presented by mainstream media regarding these realities.
Tracing Personal Imprints and Distinguishing Experiences
The profound impact of Stein’s work in Kensington extended to her personal life, leaving significant mental imprints. The intensity of the experience compelled her to develop a degree of emotional detachment to maintain her ability to work. "You have to be able to function in situations that are painful, ugly, dangerous, and overwhelming," she stated. She also acknowledged a personal connection to these challenging realities, stemming from her own history of significant distress, including financial instability, single parenthood of a child on the autism spectrum, navigating the photography industry, and a family history marked by alcoholism and addiction. This personal understanding, she believes, has driven her to delve deeper into documentary and street photography rather than averting her gaze from the marginalized.
Stein candidly discussed the personal cost of immersion in environments like Kensington, particularly the mental toll. "Even if you are there to tell a story, and even if you understand what you are doing intellectually, it still affects your nervous system and your outlook," she admitted. "I think the work has made me more negative at times, and probably more difficult to be around. I’ve had to be honest with myself about that. Part of that comes from the frustration of seeing these crises continue while the world barely responds."
Her reflections on the personal imprints of her Kensington work also highlighted a significant divergence from her earlier experiences in Skid Row. While Skid Row presented its own set of severe challenges, including witnessing bondage and trafficking, Stein formed meaningful connections with many of her subjects. She recalls their "tremendous spirit, soul, humor, and character," leading to enduring relationships.
"Kensington was different," Stein stated. "To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that I came away from Kensington with many meaningful relationships. The drugs there, and the particular conditions on those streets, seemed to hollow people out in a different way. Seeing that over and over affected me deeply. The level of criminality, exploitation, and desperation on all sides made it very difficult to keep the faith. That has changed my outlook, and I am still trying to move past it – to regain some sense of hope, purpose, and belief in people."
Reframing Discussions on "Poverty Porn" in Street Photography
Heated debates surrounding "poverty porn" in documentary and street photography have led to established norms about what is considered acceptable and offensive. Photographing homelessness, for instance, is often discouraged within street photography circles. Stein, however, expresses a strong aversion to the term "poverty porn," finding it frequently employed to prematurely shut down nuanced conversations.
Stein argues that such terminology and framing often serve to shame, or attempt to shame, photographers like herself who advocate for awareness of difficult realities. "That does not mean photographers are above criticism. Of course not," she quickly added, acknowledging the fine line between informative work and exploitation, particularly in conflict photography.
"When you photograph anyone in distress, whether they are in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Syria, Kensington, or Skid Row, you are walking a very fine line between exploitation and information," Stein explained. "Very few photographers walk that line perfectly every time. Many of us step over it at some point. Most of us doing this work have good intentions, but some photographers are doing it for notoriety, career advancement, or because that is simply what photojournalists do: they pack their bags, go to a war zone, and photograph suffering."
She strongly advocates for applying the same level of rigorous photographic attention to the streets of the United States as is given to international conflict zones. "We need to apply the same rigorous photographic attention to the streets of the United States that we apply to places like Ukraine or Gaza," Stein asserted. "These crises are here too, and they deserve to be seen with the same seriousness."
An Unsettling Moment of Tenderness: The Story Behind the Image
Among the powerful images featured in the "US: Slow Code" exhibition, Stein highlights a photograph of individuals injecting drugs as particularly significant. The image depicts Mike injecting Crystal in the neck with fentanyl and xylazine.
"Before I went to Kensington, I had never seen people inject into the neck before," Stein recounted. "Of course it happens in other places, but in Kensington it is extremely common. When I first saw it in 2022, I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I couldn’t believe how openly it was happening. It was a very disturbing sight."
Stein elaborates on the dangerous practice of neck injections, often necessitated by the exhaustion of usable veins in the arms. She has witnessed severe consequences, including collapse and the need for emergency medical intervention. This practice has also given rise to exploitative "cottage industries" where individuals charge others for injections, particularly those who are new to drug use or fearful of needles. "People come in from the suburbs, they don’t know how to inject, or they are afraid of needles, and they find someone on the street to do it for them," she explained.
The photograph captures a moment of urgent assistance: Mike injecting Crystal, who was experiencing severe withdrawal symptoms due to her inability to find a usable vein or inject herself effectively. "In that moment, he was preventing her from going deeper into withdrawal," Stein noted. She described the scene as brutal, yet underscored the "kind of intimacy and trust between them. That contradiction is part of what makes the photograph important to me."
Stein values the image also for the access she was granted, which she attributes to building trust through sustained presence, rather than treating subjects as mere spectacle. "That kind of access does not come from parachuting in. It comes from being present, from spending time, from not treating people like grotesque spectacle."
She further points to a subtle yet significant gesture in the photograph: Crystal’s thumb in her mouth. Initially perceived as a self-soothing, childlike action, Stein later understood its functional purpose in making the neck vein more visible for the injection. "That small gesture changes the whole image. It looks vulnerable, almost childlike, but it is also part of the mechanics of addiction," she concluded. "That is why the photograph stays with me. It contains tenderness, danger, dependence, trust, and horror all at once."
Taking Art Where Others Refuse to Look
The Verena Kerfin Gallery exhibition underscored the principle that art often emerges from areas that others choose to ignore or are unable to confront. Stein, however, believes that art can originate anywhere, shaped by an artist’s unique experiences, advantages, wounds, and perspectives. "My life pushed me in a certain direction; someone else’s life might lead them to make something much lighter, softer, or more decorative. That is still art," she mused.
For her own practice, Stein sees a fusion of art and documentary sensibility as crucial for bypassing inherent biases. She observes that many photographic genres reinforce existing prejudices. "War photography often reinforces a particular political position. Popular street photography often relies on visual puns, gimmicks, light and shadow, and repeated tropes. It can be clever, but it often doesn’t challenge the viewer very much."
"When I photograph places like Kensington, Skid Row, or people living on the margins, I’m trying to look past the attractive narrative, past the acceptable narrative, and show what is actually there," Stein stated.
While acknowledging the value of gallery exhibitions, Stein also expresses a desire for her work to be more accessible to a wider public, beyond traditional art spaces. She recognizes the challenges in reaching audiences in a culture increasingly shaped by censorship, algorithms, social gatekeeping, and media institutions that often operate within narrow confines. "I don’t always know where the work belongs. I just know that I keep making it," she said. "I still hope it can reach young people, and people who need to see beyond the filtered version of reality we are usually given."
The Future of Stein’s Photographic Journey
Stein’s approach to her work is largely intuitive, following instinct and stumbling upon situations with "social intensity, emotional intensity, or personal intensity." While addiction will likely remain a thematic element in her photography, she is increasingly drawn to exploring lighter, yet equally compelling, aspects of street life.
"Right now, I’m interested in street photography again because it allows me to disengage somewhat from the heaviest subjects," Stein concluded. "Street photography feels lighter to me, even though I can still tell serious stories through it. I always have. But it also allows for humor, strangeness, beauty, and everyday life." Her continued exploration of these themes promises to offer a broader and perhaps more hopeful perspective on the human condition, while still retaining her signature unflinching gaze.
