Ruth Kaplan, Brazilian Pentecostal Church, Toronto, 2009
By Kerry Freek
Have you ever wondered what draws people to faith? As a teenager, I was once asked to attend a Pentecostal service with some friends from school. More out of curiosity than any kind of desire to “give my heart to Jesus,” I decided to go. What followed was exposure a different world – one that I thought might only exist in the past, or in movies. Neighbourhood parents were speaking in tongues. Left and right, teens were singing out loud and collapsing on the ground. Not only was this extraordinary scene an expression of their faith, it seemed to me like an elaborate performance, and maybe even an extreme sort of coping mechanism. Despite my fascination with this world, I certainly wasn’t prepared to buy into it.
Some Kind of Divine is Ruth Kaplan’s study of faith combined with her own skepticism. A self-identified non-believer, Kaplan spent several years attending Pentecostal and other Evangelical services, photographing what she saw. The result is a series of black and white photographs and low-resolution video interviews curated by Malka Greene and now showing at Ryerson Gallery as part of CONTACT. Kaplan joined me at Dark Horse Espresso Bar last week to discuss her project.
MONDO: How did you become interested in these subjects? What interests you about religion?
Ruth Kaplan: The first time I went to a service was for a Toronto Life assignment. I found it was a great arena for watching social behaviour in a theatrical, heightened way. I also like the lack of boundaries between strangers. I don’t have a religious bone in my body – even find the word “spiritual” suspect– but there was something drawing me there, so I just kept going back. I couldn’t understand how people could make the leap from rational thought to believing in something that just can’t possibly be the way it’s packaged in church. I find it intriguing, especially the element of surrender and lack of control.
You’re talking about surrender, but you also mentioned social behaviour. To what degree do you think these churchgoers are acting the part?
I think there’s performance in it, but it’s performance out of genuine belief. It’s not like they’re acting for the camera – though sometimes that happens. It’s part of how faith is expressed. There’s a big release that is encouraged, through movement, especially in Pentecostal churches – they express it all with physicality. It’s almost a way of personifying Christ. It’s a performance, but it could be done anywhere.
In many of your photos, there’s an element of voyeurism. Often there are obstructions nearby your subjects, making it feel like you’re truly observing from the fringes of the action. Did you feel that you had to keep a certain distance between yourself and your subjects?
Certainly there’s a line that I just can’t cross as a non-believer. I shoot using a wide-angle lens, generally physically close to who I’m shooting, but I’m also respectful that these are intimate, private moments. There’s a big intrusion with my flash anyway, so I try to be respectful. The work has evolved in terms of distance.
Like the image of the believer collapsed on the floor?
Yes, that one’s more recent.
How has working with these subjects informed your beliefs? Have they changed since you began the project?
Sometimes I’m very moved when I go to a service, and I can understand what people get out of a sermon and the community. Other times I just want to take a shower afterward [laughs]. There’s always a line I can’t cross, and that hasn’t changed.
Why did you decide to include the video interviews?
The black and white photography lends itself to a kind of exoticism, and I didn’t want to be shooting with that effect as the final statement. That’s where the videos came in – I wanted to explore the issues that come up with religion, faith in God, what people get out of it, all of these questions. The videos are meant to bridge. Since I started doing the films, I realized that the black and white photos are more of my creation, more interpreted, and that the videos belong more to the subject. It became a way to explore religion through other people’s voices.
Additionally, I’m interested in the truth claim that documentary puts forward. Which has a greater truth claim: a low-res camera interview or the formalism of black and white photography? The photos are more exotic, more mediated, but as soon as you make one cut or edit in film, you’ve affected its truth. I’m curious to see how that reads. It’s an experiment.
Ruth Kaplan’s exhibit at Ryerson Gallery (80 Spadina Avenue, Suite 305) runs until June 5 as part of the Scotiabank CONTACT Photography Festival.
