Eight years ago, photographer Suzanne Stein offered a stark glimpse into the lives of those navigating the grim realities of Skid Row, capturing moments of profound tenderness amidst pervasive hardship. Her unflinching lens has since turned towards other communities grappling with immense societal challenges. In a recent retrospective of her impactful work, Stein highlighted her most extensive and sustained project: a multi-year documentation of Kensington, Philadelphia, a neighborhood profoundly affected by the opioid epidemic and, more recently, the devastating consequences of the xylazine crisis, marked by severe wounds, long-term disabilities, and fatalities.
Stein’s artistic mission, however, transcends a singular focus on addiction. She endeavors to portray Kensington not merely as a symbol of societal ills, but as a living, breathing community. "I photographed the entire neighborhood," Stein explained, "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. The people suffering on the street are part of the story, but they are not the whole story." This comprehensive approach, aiming to provide a nuanced portrait of a community under duress, garnered the attention of the Berlin-based Verena Kerfin Gallery.
"US: Slow Code" Exhibition in Berlin
The Verena Kerfin Gallery recently concluded an exhibition titled US: Slow Code, showcasing a curated selection of Stein’s powerful images from Kensington. The gallery’s introduction to the exhibition underscored the provocative nature of her work, stating, "She does not work on images that soothe. She works on images that unsettle." This sentiment resonated with Stein’s own perception of Kensington, which the gallery described 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." The gallery’s framing suggests a deliberate societal arrangement where poverty is allowed to persist, impacting its inhabitants directly while the wider world maintains a detached normalcy. This perspective challenges conventional narratives surrounding poverty, implying its intentional spatial and social containment rather than mere absence of resources.
A Courageous Curatorial Vision
Stein lauded the gallery’s discerning eye, noting, "Verena made a very specific and courageous selection of images." While Stein provided a shortlist, Kerfin’s final choices, aligned with her own artistic vision, revealed a "gradual deterioration happening in plain sight—what Stein considers as a form of slow public emergency." The exhibition’s focus on images of individuals incapacitated or physically overcome served as a potent statement on abandonment within the United States. Stein candidly admitted that such a selection would be "very difficult, if not impossible, to exhibit or publish in the US," hinting at a cultural aversion to confronting these raw realities.
Although unable to attend the exhibition in person, Stein connected with attendees via a video installation, sharing her process and artistic intentions. The feedback indicated a profound engagement with the work: "I was told that people were very interested, that they stayed with the images, and that they spent real time in the gallery. That meant a lot to me, especially because the work is difficult and asks something of the viewer." This reception highlights the power of Stein’s photography to provoke thought and foster empathy, even when dealing with challenging subject matter.
The Personal Toll of Documenting Trauma
Stein’s immersion in Kensington for three years, while a significant undertaking, led to a deliberate shift away from direct documentation of addiction. The physical dangers, volatile situations, and the pervasive negativity of the environment took a considerable emotional and psychological toll. "I met people and witnessed situations that did not reinforce positive feelings about humanity," Stein reflected. "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."
Despite the arduous nature of this work, Stein remains committed to documenting critical social issues. However, she expresses a desire to move beyond being solely identified with images of addiction, poverty, and homelessness. "I don’t really want to keep photographing people on the street suffering from addiction in the same way," she stated. "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 evolving focus now centers on the aftermath of the Kensington crisis: the profound grief of parents who have lost children to overdose, families striving to rebuild their lives, and parents navigating the long-term consequences of their children’s survival with permanent disabilities. This new direction allows her to remain connected to the narrative while exploring its lasting human impact. Stein observes a persistent "deep resistance to seeing what is actually happening on American streets," contrasting the raw truth of her work with the "much more sanitized version" often presented by mainstream media.
Tracing Personal Imprints: Skid Row vs. Kensington
The profound impact of Kensington extends beyond her photographic output, leaving a significant mental imprint. Stein describes the necessity of developing a certain callousness to function amidst painful, dangerous, and overwhelming situations. This resilience, she admits, stems partly from her own lived experiences with "financial instability, raising my son on the autistic spectrum by myself, navigating the photography world, and coming from a family history that involved alcoholism and addiction." Her personal history has, in a way, prepared her to engage with realities that many would actively avoid.
The emotional cost of her immersion in Kensington was substantial. "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," Stein stated. "I think the work has made me more negative at times, and probably more difficult to be around." This introspection reveals the deep personal sacrifice involved in her dedication to bearing witness.
Stein draws a stark contrast between her experiences in Skid Row and Kensington. While Skid Row also presented horrific scenes, including instances of bondage and trafficking that she has yet to fully articulate, it was also characterized by the resilience and spirit of its inhabitants. "Many of the people I photographed there had tremendous spirit, soul, humor, and character. I formed real relationships with some of them, and I am still very attached to them."
Kensington, however, presented a different dynamic. "To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that I came away from Kensington with many meaningful relationships," Stein confessed. "The drugs there, and the particular conditions on those streets, seemed to hollow people out in a different way." The pervasive criminality, exploitation, and desperation on all sides made it difficult to maintain faith. This experience has altered her outlook, and she is still in the process of "regain[ing] some sense of hope, purpose, and belief in people."
Reframing the Discourse on "Poverty Porn" in Street Photography
The ongoing debates surrounding "poverty porn" in documentary and street photography often lead to polarized views on ethical representation. Photographing homelessness, for instance, is frequently cited as a practice to be avoided within certain street photography circles. Stein, however, expresses a strong aversion to the term "poverty porn," believing it prematurely shuts down crucial conversations. She argues that such labels are often used to shame photographers who are attempting to raise awareness about difficult realities.
Stein is quick to clarify that this stance does not exempt photographers from criticism. She acknowledges the fine line between exploitation and information, particularly in conflict photography and when documenting individuals in distress, whether in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Syria, Kensington, or Skid Row. "Very few photographers walk that line perfectly every time. Many of us step over it at some point," she conceded. While many practitioners have good intentions, others may be driven by notoriety or career advancement.
Stein advocates for applying the same rigorous journalistic attention to the social crises unfolding on American streets as is given to international conflicts. "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," she asserted. "These crises are here too, and they deserve to be seen with the same seriousness." This call for parity in journalistic focus underscores the urgency of addressing domestic social issues with the same gravity afforded to global events.
An Unsettling Moment of Tenderness: The Story Behind a Photograph
One of the most poignant images featured in the US: Slow Code exhibition is Stein’s photograph of Mike injecting Crystal in the neck with fentanyl and xylazine. This image, for Stein, encapsulates the complex contradictions inherent in her work. She describes witnessing neck injections for the first time in Kensington in 2022 as a shocking and disturbing revelation.
"Before I went to Kensington, I had never seen people inject into the neck before," Stein recounted. "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." She explains that this method is often employed when veins in the arms are no longer usable. The act is fraught with danger, and Stein has personally witnessed individuals collapsing and requiring emergency medical attention after such injections.
Furthermore, the practice has evolved into a disturbing form of informal commerce. "In Kensington, there are people who make money giving other people injections," Stein noted. "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. So it becomes almost a cottage industry." This highlights the multifaceted nature of the crisis, extending beyond individual addiction to encompass a network of exploitation.
The photograph captures a moment where Mike assists Crystal, who is suffering from withdrawal symptoms, by injecting her in the neck after she was unable to find a usable vein. "In that moment, he was preventing her from going deeper into withdrawal," Stein explained. "It is a brutal situation, but there was also a kind of intimacy and trust between them. That contradiction is part of what makes the photograph important to me."
Stein values the image for the access she was granted, which she attributes to building trust through sustained presence rather than treating subjects as mere spectacles. "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."
The photograph also contains a subtle gesture that adds layers of meaning. Crystal’s thumb is in her mouth, a gesture Stein initially interpreted as self-soothing, akin to a child’s thumb-sucking. However, she later understood its practical purpose: to make the neck vein more visible for the injector. "That small gesture changes the whole image. It looks vulnerable, almost childlike, but it is also part of the mechanics of addiction," Stein observed. "That is why the photograph stays with me. It contains tenderness, danger, dependence, trust, and horror all at once." This potent combination of elements makes the image a powerful microcosm of the complex human dramas unfolding in Kensington.
Taking Art Where Others Refuse to Look
The Verena Kerfin Gallery’s exhibition underscored the principle that art often emerges from areas that society chooses to ignore. Stein, however, posits 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.
Stein believes her work blends art with a documentary sensibility to challenge ingrained 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." Her objective in photographing places like Kensington and Skid Row, or individuals living on the margins, is to "look past the attractive narrative, past the acceptable narrative, and show what is actually there."
While acknowledging the value of exhibiting her work in galleries, Stein expresses a desire for greater accessibility. She hopes her photography can reach wider audiences in public spaces, moving beyond the traditional confines of art institutions. "I don’t always know where the work belongs. I just know that I keep making it," she stated. "I still hope it can reach young people, and people who need to see beyond the filtered version of reality we are usually given." She laments the growing challenges posed by a culture shaped by censorship, algorithms, social gatekeeping, and media institutions resistant to unconventional perspectives.
Stein’s approach to her craft is largely instinctual. She follows her intuition, allowing stories to unfold organically as she moves through her days. "I stumble into a person or a situation that has social intensity, emotional intensity, or personal intensity, and then I follow it."
While addiction will likely remain a recurring theme in her work, Stein is also exploring lighter, more everyday subjects within street photography. This shift reflects a desire to balance the weight of her past projects with a renewed engagement with the diverse tapestry of human experience. "Right now, I’m interested in street photography again because it allows me to disengage somewhat from the heaviest subjects," she explained. "Street photography feels lighter to me, even though I can still tell serious stories through it. But it also allows for humor, strangeness, beauty, and everyday life." This evolving perspective suggests a broader artistic vision that encompasses the full spectrum of human existence, from the profound struggles to the subtle joys.
Suzanne Stein’s website can be found at suzannesteinphoto.com. Information on the US: Slow Code exhibition is available at Verena Kerfin Gallery: verenakerfingallery.com/exhibitions/detail/212_usslowcode. Follow Suzanne on Instagram: instagram.com/suzanne_stein.
