Early in the evening on November 8th I found myself at a friends house not far from my own. I’ve never felt truly nervous about a coming election, but by the time the early returns began coming in there was no other way to describe it. We sat briefly and watched before heading to an election party a few blocks away.
Having just returned from a trip to Virginia, I had the rural momentum of the Trump campaign fresh in my mind. The legitimate concerns of those who felt left behind. The fervent rhetoric tossed more casually into conversation than I had felt at any other point in my life. The fact that for every Clinton/Kaine sign that I saw in the months prior, there were 10 more Trump/Pence, or “Lock Her Up!” signs to match. A momentum that wasn’t new, but had been building in the final years of Barack Obama’s second term. Energy that was going to tip and pick up speed no matter the result of the election.
The night wore on and the gap widened, the mood of the room was still jovial midway through, as if it were a forgone conclusion that the momentum would turn the other way. It never would, and many of us sat in silence as Donald Trump cleared the 270 vote hurdle.
The following day, dismayed, restless, a low on sleep I left to revisit the counties in my home state that had voted for our new president elect. Hoping to find more commonality to build upon than differences to drive us further apart, finding both.
I continued to photograph as the transition of power inched closer. Experiencing echoes of the week following the election at home in my own community, and eventually on the train heading towards Washington D.C. and Inauguration Day. Looking for commonality, finding it, and wedges both.
America in limbo between our strained normalcy, and unpredictability.
