An essay/message to the show by Jerald Anderson.

Thank you for encouraging dialogue, bridging communities, and allowing us to form true connections with photographers around the world. And thank you for sharing all these amazing stories that otherwise might not have had a voice. Thank you for reminding us of what's possible.

I live in the center of North America. Or if it isn’t the center, I can see it from here. The prairies are vast and the people are thinly spread.

The first time I was paid for making a photograph was 49 years ago. I was shooting for the college student newspaper, and I earning $5.00 for that photo. Since the minimum wage was $1.65 an hour, I thought I had struck gold. Within the year I had changed my major from architecture to mass communication and I’ve never looked back.

Since college I have worked on a state-wide photo documentary project, free-lanced as a commercial and editorial photographer, worked for newspapers, and spent the last 31 years as the photographer (and photography instructor) for a small liberal-arts university. I have shot with meterless Nikon Fs, Leicas, Bronicas and Pentax 6x7. I have pushed thousands of rolls of Tri-X through Nikon F2s, F3s, and F100s and spent more time in the darkroom than I care to remember.

Back in my newspaper days, when the photo staff was up against tight deadlines, we would hold darkroom races. I could go from dry film to a dry(ish) print in nine minutes. I loved photojournalism, but I loved my family more, and when the opportunity came to join the staff at the local university, it was an easy decision, one that I’ve never regretted.

At the university, I was surrounded by professional colleagues. We had a staff of twelve, with websites to fill, books to publish, new projects every day. I had plenty of photographic assignments, and I worked with an outstanding team. I also had my students, some of the best in the world, in my admittedly biased estimation. It was a privilege to teach them photography.

But now, for the first time in three decades, it is up to me to write my own assignments and find a new path. I have a big bag of Nikons and a smaller bag of Fujifilm and the ever-present iPhone.

After 31 years of university photography and teaching, I retired last September. And that’s where Photography Daily comes in.

Photography Daily provides a community with a lovely BBC accent. Being an artist is often a vulnerable path. You make something deeply felt and honest and then present it to the world with an open heart. Not everyone is so fearless, and it means a lot to me.

Today I listened to the Friday Photowalk while making a Friday photowalk. I’ve attached a few photos below. As I mentioned, I live in the heart of the Great Plains. One advantage of that is that I’m never more than fifteen minutes away from a walk in the wide open. Near me is Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park, a historical preserve built around the remnants of an 1870s cavalry post. You may have heard of the post commander. He was Lt. Col. George Custer, and he left Fort Lincoln in the May of 1876 to round up some ‘unruly’ Native Americans in Montana. On June 25, Custer and the 208 officers and men under his command attempted to surround 1,800 Sioux warriors near the Little Bighorn River. This proved to be a major tactical error. He is gone, but the fort is still here.

Today was gray and cold, around ten degrees Fahrenheit, and as I walked through the park listening to your podcast, I made a few photos and decided to share them with you. As far as I could tell, I was the only visitor in the park. At least I think I was…

The old post cemetery at Fort Lincoln felt very sad and lonely today, and perhaps a little haunted.

I believe in art, and photography, and poetry. Art can speak things that can't always be said with words. Through photography, I help others to evoke and validate their emotions, providing comfort that we are not the only ones feeling a certain way. You do the same with your podcast. Thank you for the program you carefully fashion with your mind and emotions and voice. Thank you for creating an outlet to help us be challenged. By leaning into these feelings, we push ourselves to think more openly and to see the world from a different point of view.

Sincerely and with gratitude,

Jerry Anderson
Bismarck, North Dakota
Somewhere in the Heart of North America