It was a dream assignment–three days spent photographing the Amish in the flat farming community of central Illinois. There is romance and integrity in their lifestyle and a visual beauty in their culture. But, the assignment was burdened with conflicts.
My education began at the Amish Interpretive Center in Arcola, a few miles east of Arthur, the hub of the Illinois Amish neighborhood. There I had a basic course in Amish history and learned the unfortunate news that it was unlikely any Old Order Amish would allow a camera to focus on them. The more liberal Beachy Amish, who drive cars and have electricity, could be photographed. And there was no problem with Mennonites, but then, they aren’t Amish.
There are former Old Order Amish who would allow portraits–and teenagers who are going through rum springa, the period beginning at age 16 when they may do things “English” (non-Amish), such as wearing jeans, drinking beer, going on dates or . . . having their pictures taken.
The first day I talked with several Amish who quickly shattered any preconceptions of a dour, conservative, tight-lipped clan. They were, to a person, charming, outgoing, sophisticated and often witty. They invited me into their large tidy homes with bright, spacious rooms where they enjoy most modern conveniences including gas refrigerators and compressed air fans to ease Midwestern humidity. Electricity is still not allowed because it would bring “English” pop culture into their homes via radios and TV.
Visitors may take photographs of homes and horses as long as no people are in the pictures. Great pictures missed my first day included a beautiful group of rosy-cheeked children pulling a buggy full of laughing friends; an elder with long flowing beard and his small dog jumping up against him; and a young woman driving a flatbed buggy while sitting on a white plastic lawn chair.
I quickly learned the rules Amish accept, if somewhat begrudgingly. They do not stop people from taking pictures from the road with a telephoto lens, but hope the photographer is discrete.
“If you choose to be rude, there is nothing I can do about it,” one Amish man said gently.
So I grappled with the clash of values. The Amish believe it is wrong to have their pictures taken yet benefit from tourists who are drawn to their picturesque community to buy their goods, often hoping to photograph them. My new respect for the Amish and their lifestyle conflicted with my appreciation for the art of visual communication and its importance in helping us learn about each other.
Unfortunately, for me there were two categories of Amish–those with whom I could be friends, and those to whom I was “rude.” One day I will return, but leave my camera in the car.
