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With a major assist from Kenny Irby of the photojournalism program at the Poynter Institute for Media Studies in St. Petersburg, a review of American war photography spanning three centuries informed Kirkland’s ideas on some universal truths.
“When I look at row upon row of people in uniform, instead of seeing a battalion of warriors, I think of them as individuals who have made a choice to be a collective,” Kirkland said. “There are musicians, there are dancers, there are poets, there are football players. There’s fathers and there’s mothers. There’s brothers, sisters, grandfathers and grandmas and children.
“These are human stories. They make sacrifices. And it’s hard to be in the military. It is hard to be be a military spouse. It is hard to be a military kid.”
Kirkland would know.
His earliest memories are rooted in Japan, where his father served during the post-war occupation. He was the third of five kids. He says the first day of class — he attended seven different schools — was always the worst.
“There’s something genetic in our family — whenever we were nervous we would always yawn,” Kirkland said, the memories of his sibling yawners suddenly immediate and vivid. “The yawning was gulping in air to give us oxygen because it was terrifying. You’re brand new, you know no one, you don’t know if they’re smarter than you, you don’t know where you’re going to stand in this, and some military kids can’t deal with it, it’s too hard.”
That is why Patriot Plaza’s glass-and-stone, tablet-installed photo essays will be divided into two themes. The most prominent, “Witness to Mission,” will feature troops in the more familiar contexts of conflict.
But perhaps the most intimate, “Service, Support, Sacrifice,” situated away from the main entrance, zeroes in on less celebrated scenes from military life, the families in the background, the anticipation, the aftermath.
Kirkland, a college student during the Vietnam War, drew a high draft number and never served in the military.
That conflict exacted a profound toll on his family, and even today, Kirkland declines to discuss its consequences. But they are no doubt on his mind, at Patriot Plaza and back in Washington, D.C., where he is also working on a monument to disabled veterans.
The latter “has somehow made this project a little deeper,” Kirkland says, choosing his words carefully, pausing between each subsequent sentence. “As I said earlier, every human being goes through many of the same things. You get born. You get your first tooth. You have your first day of school. You have your first kiss. There’s all these firsts. And you share those with the rest of humanity.
“So as an artist and a thinker, as a participant in a culture that’s trying to find those things that we share …” Kirkland lets the thought hang in midair for so long it creates its own tension. His small audience in the Patterson meeting room waits for the shoe to drop. “Maybe next time I’ll do a piece that’s about the things we don’t share.”
Everyone at the table shares a huge laugh at that one.
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