Atwater Kent x TRIPOD on view at

PHOTOGRAPH: Kaleena Lettich

Writers Room
is seeing
Philadelphia

through the post-pandemic lens of a diverse, multigenerational community of photographers, who are also writers. This exhibition is a unique opportunity to be in expansive conversation with the Atwater Kent Collection’s images that speak to 18th-20th century life in the city. Questions that come to mind: What is a city? Who is it for? Who serves? Who is served? Who decides? Who disrupts?

—Andrea Walls, Artist-in-Residence

PHOTOGRAPHY (left to right): Janae Kindt, Prathamesh Mantri, Andrea Walls, Lillian Fenzil

About
tripod

TRIPOD is a year-long residency that brings students from Drexel, Paul Robeson High School, and YouthBuild together with community residents to document life in Philadelphia. In collaboration with Canon Solutions America since 2017.

the
artists

WORDS

PICTURES

BROAD & CHERRY STREETS, 2023

Pam Blanding-Godbolt

MY PHILADELPHIA STORY

Pam Blanding-Godbolt

Birth home: 1674 N. 56th Street, between Lansdowne and Lancaster Avenues. On the porch, a significant feature of home found in West Philly.

It is approaching 5:00pm. The day is still light by the dimming sunlight of day. Sourced by the best light to exist, the sun, sunshine brings me joy! The height of the heat from the sun has lessened.

The summer air at a distance smells of pleasant smoke form barbeque grills. The air closest to my nose smells of Mom’s southern cuisine, fried chicken, collard greens and potato salad, these aromas that reign supreme as they seep out the opened but screened windows and storm door.

I am sitting back and forth between the top and second-to-the-top steps as I paint my fingernails to the backdrop of prominent DJ, Dr. Perri Johnson, who opens with Bohannon’s “Let Start The Dance.” This is my ritual on Sundays and Wednesdays to keep my fingernails immaculate, hand modeling a missed opportunity of my youth. One does not embarrass themselves by calling themselves a Black Philadelphian—and definitely, not a Black Philly DJ and not know Bohannon’s “Let Start The Dance” with the Dr. Perri Johnson voiceover…. If you don’t know, now you know. . . .

My Daddy is chillaxing on the three-cushion gliding chair facing the 13” color television perched upon its stand. The yellow, orange, green and brown chaise lounge matches his chair as well as one of the three-sides of God Daddy’s white alumni closed-in porch with two windows allowing him to see through to the other set of two-story homes.

Cars are heard, chatter form the neighbors in fellowship, the broom being swept across the concrete, the rhythm and songs of children jumping Double-Dutch. Prominent sounds that are heard 24/7, till we learned in our youth to drown out the sounds: the Amtrak and freight trains that ran on raised tracks at the top of the block on Lancaster Ave to and through 30th Street Station; SEPTA’s G-Bus running southbound down 56th Street, SEPTA’s 10-Trolley runnning eastbound and westbound on Lansdowne Ave. They each have their own personality, contributing different sounds, vibrations, and rhythms based on their speed, weight, and horns.

I can see the bus, cars, neighbors, the sky, children at play, the three-story red-brick home across the street. I can see the Haddington Lane Street sign. Jefferson and Oxford Streets through to Lancaster Ave are all in my view. For each of the streets named, I can see the street light of each named street, which signaled when to come near to home as the day grew into night… “The rule was you best be home before the streetlights come on!”

To my left I see the widest part of our block; the once thriving container company, as we called it, that stood abandoned for years, now alive and thriving once again, that sits at the intersection of 56th Street and Lancaster Ave. This is the unofficial recreation center where football, basketball, dodgeball, roller-derby and soak the G-bus with the fire-hydrant is played.

To the immediate right of me is my mother’s pride and joy: the well-balanced floral and food garden, always a reflection of the family’s South Caroline roots. The space above my head is shared with the wood underside of the porch roof, the light in its center of the porch ceiling, and the beautiful blue sky, softly lit by the downing sun.

What I had not noticed, as I was absorbed with my surroundings and my ritual of painting nails to my favorite DJ and the selected music, was that my Mom had joined the porch. Her presence to join in, chillaxing on the porch, marks the completion of dinner—her precious loving task of food prep is done for this day.

skater at board game art park, 2023

Jeremiah Brooks

MY PHILly STORY

Destiny Bugg

Philly reminds me of the people in my life who’ve felt most like home. Visiting my grandpa, “Poppy,” as a kid is my first memory of this place. He had a way of always having time for people. I’m still convinced I was the apple of his eye.

My uncle carries my Poppy’s spirit. He still lives in West Philly—just a 10 minute bike ride from where I am. Philly still holds that familiarity of Poppy’s love. Yes, I’ve lived here 7+ years now, but the familiarity feels richer than that.

One summer I was just glued to this bench at Rittenhouse Square—to people watch, rest, read, whatever the day called for. My mom called me one day while I was there and told me my grandma, who I’ve never met, used to do the same thing. She worked just across the street from where I am sitting and would take her lunch breaks, quite possibly, on the very same bench I’m sitting on. There’s that familiarity.

I always tell people Philly’s been good to me. I can’t help but think it's my ancestors who’ve allowed it to be that way. Telling me to sit here or walk down this street. Familiar for reasons I don’t even know. Just in ways that I can feel. And I think that’s plenty.

yusha johnson at 30th street station, 2023

Natasha Hajo

long lonely nights

Norman Cain

On a pleasant tempered spring evening in 1960, my first love and I gathered with other young lovers and hipsters at Philadelphia 52nd Street Fairmount Parks’ George’s Hill, a locality preordained for those of our persuasion. We sat at the pinnacle of the ascending marble stairs betwixt dual walls of brilliantly hued cherry streets firmly holding hands, intently, embracing, stealing swift kisses, proclaiming our devotion through passionate words transferred through intensive eye contact, and in our state of singularity, we savored the aromatic fragrance of pollen riding a gentle breeze and ceremoniously floating amongst geometrically patterned multi-hued butterflies and sparkling fireflies.

We were soothed by a chorus of crickets who accompanied the melodic crooning of youthful vocalist rendering Lee Andrews and the Hearts, our favorite doo wop group, “Long lonely Nights.” We of first love made a pact, that night of sentimentality on George’s Hill, to grow old together and never experience long lonely nights. However, fruition of the pact withered amongst the drought of discontent; thereby, initiating the pangs of Long Lonely Nights. After our departure I consistently listen to the Hearts discography on my 45’s and 78’s, heard them on tavern juke boxes, sang sides from their song book with peers under city street lights, saw the Hearts on TV and live at area venues, sought slow drags at house parties when any of their songs emulated from the record players. I became a personification of their recordings, for in my lonely room I withheld “Teardrops on My Pillow,” uttered in despair; “I miss you so,” ”I can’t do without you,” “Baby come back.” Eventually my pain subsided; however, from time to time—over the years—I would visit George’s Hill’s stairway which now laid adjacent to the Mann Center, a huge musical state of the arts facility that attracted multitudes to its musical events. I didn’t realize that after attending jazz, rhythm and blues and doo wop affairs at the center that I inadvertently hoped my visits to the Georgie’s Hill marble stairway would be a manifestation of the title of the Hearts song “Maybe You Will Be There.”

Maybe she would be there, I subconsciously hoped: emerging like a dual magnificent rainbow after a severe storm. After attending a matinee at the Mann Center on a brisk Saturday autumn afternoon in the year 2000 (over 60 years after our pact of growing old together and thereby not spending long lonely nights) I headed for the steps. And there she was, déjà vu. On that chilly fall evening we sat on the steps of George’s Hill, cushioned by the brilliant-colored leaves of autumn and occasionally glancing upwards to behold the sight of honking geese in their journey to rendezvous with the South—which was not unlike our decades’ long rendezvous. We chronicled our lives, occupations, divorces, children, grandchildren, high and low points, hopes and disappointments.

Eventually the full moon appeared, became a conductor, directed our emotions. We were clones of that ancient spring night (where at our very location) made a pact to grow old together and not experience long lonely nights, firmly held hands, intently embraced, stole swift kisses and proclaiming eternal devotion via supersonic eye contact. We were a living testament of the lyrics of Lee Andrews and the Hearts song: “Together Again.”

norman cain and lauren lowe in center city, 2023

Janae Kindt

sketches of philadelphia

Tanaya Deshpande

Lancaster Walk

Afternoon/late morning

Fall

Sunlight, warm, bright light

Like 30 centigrade

Leaves, musk, bloody, light smell

Sitting in a circle, watching people around me

Yes! All my classmates (5-6 of us) eating, chatting, laughing

Catching up after our first class of the day, getting to know each other

People, squirrels, cars, dogs

Leaves, grass, people walking their dogs, students soaking in the sun

A tree

A person from my class

A lawn chair

More people, the rec center

Grass

The blue, clear sky

All the food boxes surrounding us

A group of students are throwing a frisbee around nearby. They look like they’re having fun. Some folks are out for a run. For some reason at 12:30 pm. Everyone’s laughing, joking around, making plans to hang out after. Lunches have been abandoned and the boxes are lying around forgotten.

Everyone seems to have noticed these red and black flies all over Philly lately. Some are lying dead around us. We just had lunch surrounded by corpses.

n. palm & ogden streets, 2019

Norman Cain

sketches of philly

Tiana Downing

ONE

The locations where I previously lived, my schools. The memories of me and my siblings making the best out of any situation.

Sneaking out

Toy box

School trips/ Rolling thunder

TWO

A parking lot behind my old apartment

Afternoon

Summer

It’s sunlight coming from the sky

Warm, with a slight breeze

Like freshly cut grass

Teaching my brother how to ride a bike

Me, my little sister and my little brother

They wanted to come and see

Laughter, cheering

A nervous face from my brother, laughing from my little sister

The front gate to the parking lot

A huge church, it kinda reminds me of a castle

My little brothers open window

Another building at the end of the parking lot

The parking lot, the ground was black

The clouds

That we shouldn’t be doing this

THREE

48th and Spruce, inside the apartment where we got an idea, “Let's go outside!” Shareef and I got nervous, we weren’t allowed out at this time. “Yea lets go.” Iyanah. My brother picks up his bike and tosses it out the window as he proceeds to jump out. My sister goes next, before she does, I grab her arm: “Let me go first.” I go out the window first and help my sister down. My brother hops on his bike and after some coaching, he takes off. We all laughed and cheered in excitement for him. Then taking turns on the bike, I don’t know, maybe 30 minutes go by–—“TIANA!”—I froze. It was my mom! We all at once rushed toward the window, me helping my brother put the bike back inside. My brother, my sister, and, lastly, me. The bike slams on the floor, a head peaks inside the room—my mother. She slams the window and lectures me about the danger I put all of us in. But hey, at least we had fun.

CITY HALL FROM BOARD GAME ART PARK, 2023

Andrea Walls

MY PHILLY TRADITION (FROM THE POV OF A SUBURBANITE) PHILADELPHIA MEMORY

Lillian Fenzil

Christmas with my father. It’s ironic because I'm Jewish but Center City Philly will always be tied to my dad at Christmas time.

I’m not on good terms with my old man. Most memories are bad—filled with a mixture oof hate, guilt, love—or just blurred from the experiences and ppl around me. He is associated w/ Pain, but the guilt of that brings the good into focus.

20 years of my life with his shared custody of me only reaps one tradition: Christmas in Philly. From as long as I can remember, December brought loading the family of three—my dad, sister, and I—into the towering SEPTA car from Landsdale, or Glenside, or Chestnut Hill, (or any of the many places we lived), and straight into the city we went.

Bundled in scarves and earmuffs, he’d pull us through the bustling streets—my sister’s and my tiny legs struggling to keep up—until we made it to Love Park. Christmas Village was always packed with people—I had panic attacks multiple times there over the years—but we’d get to see all of the trinkets and shops. My dad never let us get anything: “Looks, don’t touch,” he’d always say, then he’d treat himself to mulled wine in a souvenir cup.

By the time our lips were blue and our hands froze, we would hurry to Macy’s for warmth where we’d watch the light show. As we’d wait with the crowds of people, he’d make us write letters to Santa Claus—knowing full well that his two Jewish daughters could care less. (Even today, he still pretends that Santa comes.)

We’d wait and we’d wait and I’d feel bad for the workers for all the souls loitering around and my dad would recount his tradition to the Macy’s lightshow that he had with his father. Every year we’d hear about the organ and every year he’d tell the same story. That is my dad, a broken record that refused to talk about anyone but himself.

The lightshow was worth it though, Despite the same thing every year a nostalgia grew to the twinkling lights. A longing for the childhood innocence that these memories are associated with—the constructions of my father I grew in my mind.

The years always changed what followed—Dickens Village, Comcast lightshow, Chinatown, Italian Market, old pubs. We’d take the train home and the image would dissolve into the last grip of childhood attached.

I long for the childhood tradition. I think mt father does too. He knows I’m no longer that girl that worships him. He knows my vision of him of him—and the world around me has changed.

Philadelphia is no longer the day-trip tourist destination in the eyes of an eight year old suburban girl. It’s become a home filled with people and places that will forever know it better than I do.

These images of Philly in my head are just projections. Projections of what I wish the world was. Projections of what I wish of my father. A story conceived of my wishes—ignorant of everything else.

This city is more than me: the good, the bad, the touristy, the hidden. Each angle is different. No angles are mine.

JEREMIAH BROOKS IN CENTER CITY, 2023

Devin Welsh

A SERIES OF ENTRIES

Kaleena Lettich

One

I see lights hanging from trees, but the image is blurry. The colors are red, green, white, yellow, and orange. I was trying to get a photo of the lights in the trees while walking down Chestnut St. at night.

Two

Outside the frame was a street (Chestnut St) and my parents walking, me behind them taking photos. Houses to the right and the street to my left.

Three

We went to the shops on Chestnut, we just went and walked in shops.

Four

The image is of me trying (my first trying the camera) and it was blurry and colorful, I love it.

MAIN BUILDING FIRE ESCAPE, DREXEL UNIVERSITY, 2019

Amy Gottsegen

ETYMOLOGY OF A JAWN: ACKNOWLEDGING THE LAND

Carol Richardson McCullough

JAWN:

1. Philly slang for a person, place, or thing used to name anything and everything.

2.  A word used by people in Philly. It can mean anything, like a fine girl, a blunt… really  it can be used for everything. It basically means thing.

3.  Actual quote: “I put my jawn in the jawn, and  some jawntook that jawn, and now my jawn is gone.”   *from the Urban Dictionary 

This jawn ain’t a new jawn
It existed before me, will live on after me
If we don’t destroy it

This jawn ain’t a new jawn
It was fertile, green and growing
Then stripped, asphalted, reconfigured

This jawn ain’t a new jawn
It held a people—who settled community—
Pushed to the fringe, they survived

This jawn ain’t a new jawn
It’s been done over throughout time
New people take what they want from
Those who’ve come before

Naw, this jawn ain’t a new jawn

TRIBUTE TO HERMAN WRICE, 33RD STREET & HAVERFORD AVENUE, 2022

Socks

CITY FLIGHTS

Kat Odoms

Arms are cold, covered in a coat of goosebumps. Spring is just beginning, but I’d like to think it’s summer, even though my arms do not. I came here to pedal or really to do more than that. I pedal and I fly, above the honking horns of the traffic on Broad Street, wave hi to the woman who tends to her plants across the street from the Y. I’m carried on the wind. I think this is my favorite place at Column North because I’m so far above, like I’m in the sky. If I stuck my arm up, I’d be able to touch the wet fluff of the clouds, like seafoam when it tickles the tops of your toes. The sun gives off a hot glow, like it’s about to burst into an explosion of lava. Then, there’s orange light in my eyes, painting brushstrokes onto the gray roofs behind me and slash against the drive-thru mural.

When I was younger, I would pretend I was going through the McDonald’s drive-thru when I rode my bike alongside the edge of the roof, arm pressed alongside the smooth bricks of the mural. I could taste the tang and sweetness of orange Hi-C on my tongue and salt on my lips from the fries. The roof took me wherever I wanted to go as long as I had my bike.

PHILADELPHIA ROWHOUSE, 2023

Kat Odoms

NIXON THEATRE

Victoria Huggins Peurifoy

Back in the 1970s West Philadelphia was my home. I was living two blocks from 52nd Street. We lived on the south side of Market Street in University City. I often walked to wherever I wanted to go. My grandmom called 52nd Street the "Avenue," but it was also known as the strip.

Jay, my boyfriend, wants to see Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, who are going to be performing at the Nixon theater with a local DJ named Georgie Woods, the man with the goods. It was summertime and it was around 85 degrees outside in the shade. The sun was beaming down on us as we stood in the line that was wrapped around the corner. You could not only smell the aroma of the rain shower that had fallen about an hour before, but you could also smell the wonderfully, luscious fragrances of Hanscom’s bakery and you could just imagine what they were baking. Maybe some donuts and pastries and some cakes. who cared, it all smelled sooooo good. As we waited in line my boyfriend was trying to get his money together to pay for our tickets, which you could only pay for at the door on the day of the show.

Cars are going up-and-down 52nd Street as we waited. I see advertisement billboards that are on the outside of the theater. James Brown and the Unifics, a group of young men from Howard University, are coming to the next show. I wanted to see them too. The PSFS bank was across the street, but since it was Saturday, they were close. I know one thing, the sidewalk is radiating heat under my new sandals. I feel as if my feet are in a sauna.

We now have our tickets and are walking into the Nixon Theater. I chose not to get any food from the concession stand. We were going to go to Foo Foos afterwards to get a cheese steak with onions and cheese whiz spread on the hoagie roll. I cannot wait. The best thing about going to the Nixon Theater is that we walk there. We don't have to worry about taking public transportation.

As we sit inside the theater, the excitement was swelling in the audience as we were waiting for one of the finest performing artists…Smokey...he was cute, handsome, really could sing, has these beautiful eyes, and is wonderful eye candy, but I never said that to my boyfriend. When Smokey started singing."Ooo, oooo, I did you wrong, my heart went out to play, but in the end I lost her, what a price to pay,” the screaming began. I joined in and my boyfriend just looked at me with a side-eye. But he loves Smokey too. You see, my boyfriend can sing. He loves Smokey's songs, the moves that he and the group exhibited on the stage. It was awesome to see them do their thing.

I watched Smokey Robinson and the Miracles all the time. All I could do was smile and scream, and swoon over this performer. The memory of that day will stay with me forever.

CIRA GREEN, 2023

Prathamesh Mantri

SKETCHES OF THE CITY (2023)

Alisha Prabhakar

One

Meeting people
The city’s buildings
My “iconic” fall quarter when I moved here a year and a half ago
*Nights
Market St
Walking, a lot
Real people

Two

In between the buildings in the sidewalks passing by shops
Alive at night, sparkling
A little brisk or hot summer
The buildings, the eyes of the people
It can get hot if you want it
Cigarettes
Walking, mingling, thinking, maybe speaking
Friends, having a blast being “young”
To make memories. To do what I said I was gonna do in Philly

Three

Cars, chatter, music, dirt bikes, ATVs, yelling
Greys, rectangles, buildings, people
Others walking, night sky
Store fronts, people chilling, a plant maybe, newports on the floor
The road, cars, more people, action
Others, I don’t look back often when I walk
Newports, heels
Sky, fog, hidden stars, tall skyscrapers
Who's staring at me

This is a mashup of all the nights I spent in Center City. Walking through the grid with my friends, zigzagging through buildings and stop lights, stop signs, and watching the sights. The streets are narrow but bustling with life—someone is yelling with enthusiasm about their “new jawn,” a group of people gossiping and plotting the next move with a potential new boo (boy, I hear this one a lot). It’s all in passing, short second glimpses as we continue our trek for drinks. Moments pass by just like the wisps of cigarette smoke. In and out like the clouds above us. Lights are glowing everywhere from inside buildings to the dim streetlights. I even caught the sparkle in some man’s eyes as our gazes met for a sec. My friends and I ambitiously drag our feet on the concrete, but we aren’t hurting—we feel as young as ever. We feel good—heels out, hair done, strutting like dorky grad school people, yet feeling like the baddest bitches. It’s all fun and games as we are as alive as the people and buildings surrounding us. There's this energy in the city at night that just makes the lights glow without electricity.

DREXEL COMMUNITY FOR JUSTICE SIT-IN AT THE MAIN BUILDING, DREXEL UNIVERSITY, 2023

Cassandra Stathis

WINTER IN PHILADELPHIA

Chanda Rice

Windows glisten. The rattle from the chilling air runs through souls like open doors needing to be reminded that “We are not heating the whole outside.” The wind outside tossing chairs, hats and people like leaves during the hurricane season.

Lovers hold theirs close as to shelter them from the storm that may overtake their wee-willy selves.

It is Saturday morning, the best day of the week where we get to imagine through summer bucket lists, because this is a NO School Day!

First on the list–a big bowl of cereal with the Big Spoon!

2. My favorite blanket to keep warm and to cover my face.

3. And after School House Rock, it’ll be time for “Soul Train”! The hippest, trippiest town in America.

And then there’s “Kung Fu”; all these things just to be ready for Doctor Shock.

After your chores it was time to get your hair done. Done with hot combs, chicken grease, olive oil and then some. The way of the curl was cruel.

The nights seemed to go fast, sleeping under momma’s mink coat.

Slumber slumber; shiver and shake. Tucking/kicking my feet together to get rid of the cold. Sliding into church on Sunday morning. Shaking off the chill, wondering when they will serve the repast; ’cause we’re going to be here all day! Rushing downstairs to get in line because us children eat first. Wondering will we be able to get some of Ms. Beatrice’s coconut cake and some ambrosia.

It is 10:45 and the preacher lied, talking about “I won’t be long.” It’s now 11:00 and I’ll be glad to get back to spring.

AMIR SCALES, NORMAN CAIN, AND HERU SPENCE AT A TRIPOD WORKSHOP, ROSS COMMONS, DREXEL UNIVERSITY, 2023

Victoria Huggins Peurifoy

CITY HALL TO ALL OR TO NONE

Beck Schneider

Delicate favors could butter me up
To the taste of this city
That dangles between decaying teeth—Where else would I rather be?

In two years time, City Hall
Has called to flesh
Peeling off my feet
Skidding across soles across
Concrete
As though a soul rests in
Each pebble by the signs for 15th
And whatever else;

Doomed,

The four walls encapsulating my
Dorm room
Keep me in their place, alone.
For the first time I’ve learned
how to breathe,
And for the last time I’ve
Forgotten how to let the fire
That burned below my window
In October daylight
Sting inside my throat like I
Could throw it back up
At any moment.

So much to expect
Out of that wood street alley.
In search of belonging

That'll be sooner come to me through
The blaring sirens down Market, Chestnut, Broad
Willing me home...to Mom

Mom whose sirens always
Seemed to follow her
To my childhood home, in the Pennsylvania suburbs,
To every inch of Florida I saw
From ages 12 to 17,
To the beating organ in my chest
Anticipating her demise.

We always likened her to a cockroach,
And there she is still
Infesting my ear through the phone
Every time she needs me to carry
her weight—

Perhaps Broad Street’s shoulders
are aching
Too.

Maybe in due time, they’ll get the
Taste of me I wish they craved,
Even if my voice leaves
Their sorry heads
Spinning,
Even if my name only stains their teeth.

GRAFFITI PIER, 2023

Katie Singley

WHERE I’M FROM

Jeremiah Spence

My name is Jeremiah Spence.

I am from a place they call brotherly love

I am from where hearing shooting is normal.

I am from where screams for help are being ignored.

I am from where being different comes with a cost

I am from where taking a hit makes you stronger.

POWELTON VILLAGE, 2023