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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
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Photos by Jason Brimmer
Jason Brimmer Photography
On any given day, one will see Jason Brimmer — his red locks unmistakable — snapping photographs of life in areas where the affluent rarely step foot, where tents function as daily shelter, where drug dealing becomes an act of survival, and where single mothers of seven children scrap and claw to make ends meet. Neighborhoods such as East Lancaster, Poly, Stop Six, and Como — these are Jason’s destinations most mornings. At day’s end, the images he captures are raw, mournful, and foreboding.
East Lancaster, which butts up to the southeast end of downtown, transformed into the what some refer to as the homeless district when a concentration of shelters — the Presbyterian Night Shelter, the Union Gospel Mission and the Salvation Army — popped up in the area, causing development to cease and businesses to close. Traveling just a couple of blocks from the city’s main transit station to East Lancaster can give any newcomer whiplash. On the south side of Interstate 30, the buildings become empty and the streets full of people.
“Life on Lancaster is lived in the open,” Jason says. “There are no doors to close, and because of that, I get to see humanity in full. I see how a person can be equal parts horrible and kind. There are people I am happy to see, people I will embrace, people who know me well enough to ask about my children by name, and there are people who have committed murder.”
Jason, married, father of two, and as Irish as they come, may bear little resemblance to his subjects, but that has not kept him from becoming part of the community he serves. It is not unusual to hear “Hey, Red” — in reference to Jason’s aforementioned red hair — from many of the residents as they greet him.
Photo by Jacob Tobias
Jason Brimmer
Jason often spends hours listening to those he photographs before he begins snapping away. They tell him what happened in camp last night, who stole their backpack, who got arrested. He works with close-up shots, so the person needs to be comfortable with him.
“More than a few [people] have been instrumental in keeping me safe while I work in the camps late at night,” Jason says. “At what point can I stop thinking about a person as a drug dealer or a murderer and begin to think about him as the man who carried an elderly woman from a tent on his back for a mile to the bus stop?”
Born in Nashville in an upscale neighborhood, Jason credits his parents — his father, a psychiatrist; his mother, a schoolteacher — for his desire to explore beyond the boundaries of his known world and experiment with his craft. He recalls his grandfather sharing pictures from the Great Depression and World War II — old black-and-white photographs with somber faces and lean bodies, sometimes names scribbled in the margins.
“Those images from bygone days reflect a poetic, often stern, dignified kind of suffering,” Jason says. “What I have found along Lancaster Avenue is a different sorrow than what I found in those old Great Depression photos. The people who live in the shadows of Fort Worth are economically disadvantaged, but the reason they are on the street or living in the camps is not a lack of jobs; it is a lack of jobs that they can obtain.
“Some of these guys learn how to bag up drugs before they learn how to tie their shoes. It is not an economic system that has failed here, but a social one. In many cases family failed them, the community failed them, and churches and schools failed them.”
There are those in the area who openly question Jason, hinting that his work might be nosing or voyeuristic. “So, man, what are you doing here with that camera? You wanting to take some pictures of the homeless?” Jason said these are questions he often hears. “You like taking pictures of how we live, of what it’s like out here?”
Jason tells them he likes taking pictures of all people, whether they are homeless or not. It is people that draw him in.
Fort Worth is in the process of closing down its two low-income housing projects — Butler Place near downtown and Cavile Place in Stop Six. Jason recently shifted much of his attention to these two locales. His latest venture is setting up a type of guerrilla photo studio in Cavile to take portraits of everyone who still lives there before the structures are torn down and the community dissolved.
“I have to work fast,” Jason says. “These buildings will soon be gone. Residents will be sent to different parts of the Metroplex, friends will be lost, and families that have been together for decades will be separated, possibly to never see each other again.”
Jason says the Cavile residents step inside his studio, some eyeball him for a while; others who know him, sit down. They need no direction. He starts snapping away.
“How many pictures you going to take tonight?” one asks.
“I will shoot until I run out of batteries,” Jason answers.
By later that evening, other Stop Six residents flow in and out of the door. They cluster around his makeshift studio, comfortable just being.
Jason sold his first two portraits last fall at Fort Works Art at the First Come First Serve exhibition.
“Jason and I sat in my office for some time looking through his photographs and discussing his perspective on our city and the issues surrounding those living without housing,” says Lauren Childs, owner and director of Fort Works Art.
In a typical week, Brimmer may spend more hours on Lancaster, Stop Six, or Rolling Oaks than he does at his own home.
“I am aware it can be dangerous,” Jason insists. “But like many of the people I photograph, I love it.”
