Kent Modglin

When I used to see old photographs in junk shops and flea markets, I thought, “Who in their right mind would buy a photograph of someone they don’t know?” In fact, I felt that way until 2003 when I happened upon a mid-nineteenth century portrait of one of the most unfortunate-looking women I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t just homely, she was grotesque. Her eyes were sunken, her face had the drawn look of someone in terrible pain, and she seemed to be missing most of her teeth. I paid three dollars for the photograph and took it home, where I propped it up against my computer monitor.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. As I searched her face, I began to realize that she wasn’t ugly at all, or at least she hadn’t started out that way. Her features were merely distorted by what must have been an almost unbearable existence. She bore a weight on her shoulders that most of us in this country and century can’t even imagine. She had lived a life full of sorrow, and now, forgotten by her family, perhaps the only trace of her existence had been relegated to the bottom of a cardboard box in a junk shop. If anyone in the world had something to say, it was she. She had a story to tell.

I love telling stories and I love odd people, perhaps because it is with them that I feel the most comfortable. So, this is how I accidentally stumbled onto what has become my passion; I interpret antique photographs. I scan the photos at a very high resolution, and then do whatever restoration must be done to bring the photo back to its original quality. From there I spend a day or two, or sometimes months, looking at the peoples’ faces, searching for the story they suggest.

I use my own photography to add elements to the original image. I photograph flowers from my garden, dead birds, flames, antique jewelry, anything that will help amplify the subject of the original photograph.