Black Diamonds

Title: Black Diamonds
Original title: Black Diamonds
Author: Rich-Joseph Facun
ISBN: 978-1-7348312-1-4
Publisher: Fall Line Press
Year: 2021
Limited edition: 1,100 copies
Price: US$75

Let me begin by quoting the project description before offering my assessment.

Nearly all the photographs in Black Diamonds were made between January 2018 and January 2019. As the publication date approached, the world was changing rapidly, and Black Diamonds changed with it. Facun explains: “The work initially set out to explore Appalachian culture, community, and individual lives in the small towns of the post-industrial Black Diamonds region. As protests against racial violence and the Black Lives Matter movement gathered momentum, I reconsidered a suggestion made by two editors: that I explicitly present Black Diamonds as having been photographed from the perspective of a person of color.”

This passage revealsa problem shared by many so-called contemporary artists: their supposed narratives do not arise from a genuine inner need. Instead, they blindly chase whatever is topical, latch on to political correctness, reach for grand narratives, strike affected poses, curry favor with the powerful, seize opportunistic shortcuts, and court attention—all, in essence, to sell more work. Such art has no roots and no soul, and ultimately sinks into mediocrity. These tendencies are among the evils of contemporary art.

To return to the project description: Rich-Joseph Facun moved to Athens, Ohio, on two separate occasions. The first was to study photojournalism at Ohio University. The second came fifteen years later, when he settled there with his wife and child.

With a Filipino father and an Indigenous Mexican mother, Facun immediately stood out when his family settled in Appalachia. Black Diamonds became a catalyst for changing that situation. “Over the years, being Indigenous Mexican and Filipino never afforded me any privilege,” he says. “As a person of color, I have always spoken from my own truth and experience. Often, I chose to swallow my anger and remain silent. Black Diamonds liberated my sense of identity on both a personal and a profound level.”

A successful photojournalist, Facun spent fifteen years traveling and living around the world. After moving back to Ohio, his passion for photography gradually faded, and he stopped taking pictures altogether for the two years before beginning Black Diamonds. In time, he found himself longing for a deeper relationship with his surroundings. “I wanted to feel connected and accountable to a community again,” he says. “I achieved that through my camera. It was a reciprocal, organic process.”

The photographs in Black Diamonds have a brooding quality. Mist blanketing the Appalachian Mountains seems to seep beyond the frame, while the square format compresses and intensifies the tension.

In one photograph, a pale-faced young man stares into the camera, the word “DAMAGED” tattooed across his forehead.

Another shows a figure covered by a white sheet, with only two holes cut out for the eyes.

Farther on, a statue of Jesus with both arms damaged is photographed through a shattered window.

Against this increasingly tense social backdrop, Facun began Black Diamonds uncertain whether an outsider would be accepted by the community. He often asked himself: “Am I safe here? How will Appalachia receive me?” Instead, he became increasingly aware that the region itself might also be marginalized. “I felt compelled to find out how responsible Appalachians were for Trump’s election as president,” he says. “I wanted to know whether Appalachia truly was the racist haven that outsiders stereotyped it as.”

Confronting complexity in a changing world, Facun came to recognize that he belonged in Appalachia. “I found a resilient, resourceful community, many of whose people are the salt of the earth,” he says. “I found far more similarities than differences between Appalachians and myself. I began to call this place home.”