Steve Cagan

For a more recent CV or bio please visit the artist's website,

Steve Cagan lives in Cleveland, Ohio. He was born in New York City in 1943. HIs education was in English Literature (BA w/honors, City College) and US History (MA, Indiana University). He’s been photographing and exhibiting seriously since the mid-1970s. Major work is in what is often called documentary, but what Steve prefers to call activist or socially-engaged photography. He’s most concerned with exploring strength and dignity in everyday struggles of grassroots people resisting their pressures and problems. His avian photography is a by-product of a long-standing love of nature and birding.

Major projects have included: “Industrial Hostages,” on factory closings in Ohio; Indochina; Nicaragua; El Salvador (especially about a community that formed in a refugee camp and returned to found a new town); and Cuba (especially about the struggles of working-class people in the harsh economy after the fall of the USSR), and “Working Ohio,” an extended portrait of working people. Current major project, since 2003: “El Chocó, Colombia: Struggle for Cultural and Environmental Survival,” documenting that threatened rain forest area and the special cultures there.

Steve has exhibited and published photography on four continents. He has published reviews and critical writings in a variety of professional journals and books. Major awards include two Fulbright Fellowships, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, and several Ohio Arts Council Fellowships and New Jersey Arts Council Fellowships. Steve taught at Mason Gross School of the Arts, Rutgers University, 1985-1993.

Co-author (with his wife Beth) of This Promised Land, El Salvador, which won the 1991 Book of the Year Award of Association for Humanist Sociology. In 1991, he was named “Teacher of the Year” at Rutgers University. The third major event of that spring was being denied tenure at Rutgers.

circa 2018




These images are all drawn from a project I have recently undertaken to document the effects on the everyday lives of working Cubans concerning the series of economic and social crises known as the 'special period' since 1989. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the socialist camp resulted in the loss of 85% of Cuba's foreign trade, and most of their aid, virtually overnight. The subsequent strengthening of US attempts to undermine the economy and government of Cuba has magnified the effects of the crisis in the lives of grass-roots people. I hope to document how these pressures, as well as new policies in Cuba designed to deal with them, have affected people at the social base.

As a documentary photographer who generally works in cultures other than my own, I confront numerous problems connected to the relationships between myself, the people whose pictures I'm taking, and the various audiences. For example, it's important to be sensitive to issues of power inequity - we might understand this issue by remembering that no one I have photographed in the mountains of El Salvador, or on shop floors in Cuba, has the resources to buy cameras and airline tickets to come to Cleveland and take my picture, or by considering that however intimate my relationship with some of the people I photograph, in the end I have a power of decision over the process that they don't share.

One practice that I have found useful in dealing with such situations is to incorporate portraiture as a major element in my work. It is impossible to eliminate the inequities, but environmental portraits, like these from my Cuba project, provide some opportunity to reduce them, and to address the issues in the work itself. Portraits allow the persons being photographed to participate in their own presentation. Anyone who looks at such an image knows that the 'subject' has not only consented to having their picture taken, but has collaborated in its production. You simply can't 'steal' a portrait. The people are able to express a variety of reactions to me and to the act of being photographed, including a kind of skepticism that I find in the faces of the two women workers in this series. This is different, more subtle and more engaged, than the anger of someone who simply doesn't want their picture taken. Viewers who are sensitive to issues of photographic representation can see that the people in images have assented to being looked at. Because of that, we feel that we can look at such a picture intently, and if the image succeeds, that we may be touched - briefly and lightly to be sure - by the person we're looking at.

The environmental context provided by a series of such portraits, where clothing, tools and settings are important parts of the pictures, allows them to participate in the communication at the heart of this documentary work. This function would be lost in studio portraits, or in a series in which the environment was so unchanging that it would lose its force.

Steve Cagan (c)1997

Steve Cagan lives in Cleveland, OH and is a member of the Co-op Photography Agency, Impact Visuals. He participated in Light Work's Artist-in-Residence program in February 1997.

Photographers who are concerned about social conditions in the world face some difficult responsibilities and problems that stem from the very nature of the photographic medium. Photography, more than any other medium, is bound up with image and content and makes claim to a higher level of accuracy in representation than can ever be achieved. This claim to accuracy has resulted in a confidence that both its practitioners and its viewers have placed in the medium to represent the world truthfully, which in turn has produced a belief that photographers can help us understand the world simply by making and displaying pictures.

Confidence in photography’s ability to speak the truth can create traps for photographers who use the medium to communicate about social realities. When the subjects are people who live in a culture different from that of the photographer, problems inherent in photography are compounded by issues of language, race, and class. The cultural concerns are even greater for a photographer working in Cuba, not only facing the differences in culture and language (the problem is epitomized for me when I am asked, “What do people in the U.S. eat in place of rice and beans?”), but also working in a country which has assumed an overwhelming and distorting political symbolism for nearly everyone who discusses it with passionate interest.

I don’t want to suggest that photography cannot be used to examine and communicate about the lives of real people in the real world, only that we need to pay attention to the potential dangers. Unfortunately some photographers convince themselves too easily that they have overcome all the cultural gaps. Worse, many people never even recognize that the problem is there. If we acknowledge the issues and attempt to confront them honestly and with humility we may be able to find the places where we can connect in genuine human solidarity rather than make superficial protestations that we are all the same.

In my approach to this work I have been affected by a potent combination of desire to be supportive of movements for progressive social and political change; a growing sense of the importance of openness and objectivity even in partisan environments; and post-modern theory, especially its challenge of “neutrality” or “objectivity” in media or social science. As a result, I am convinced of the possibility and the necessity of “engaged scholarship” and “engaged journalism.” (Even though I know that there are people who find these phrases oxymoronic or even offensive.)

Cuba presents a particularly difficult and useful challenge to someone who wants to be both supportive and critical, engaged and objective. An overwhelming burden of symbolic importance has been placed on this country by both the right and the left. It is virtually impossible to take a complex and balanced position without first running up against one’s own ideological predispositions and then being roundly attacked by everyone who has an ideological or political stake in the discussion, both those who support the revolutionary government and those who oppose it. But it is important for that very reason to make the effort.

Most material produced about Cuba employs one of two general approaches. The first deals in grand terms with political or economic issues—the future of Fidel Castro; the politics of the U. S. blockade; the meaning of foreign investments; counterrevolutionary espionage or sabotage, or espionage on behalf of the revolution; the “new world order.” Whether supportive or critical, most of this material employs descriptions of ordinary people only to bolster arguments about policy questions. It ignores issues of daily life, the arena where much of the real significance of the Cuban experience, both positive and negative, is to be found.

The second approach presents an image of a Cuba that is hungry and isolated, either arguing that this is the result of a generation of communist tyranny and inefficiency, or showing Cuba as a little David, suffering as a consequence of the U. S. blockade and the fall of the socialist camp, confronting the Goliath of the north. Either way, this approach tends to reduce real life to ideological symbolism and to employ images of an idealized stereotype of the “Cuban,” rather than examining the daily lives of working people.

These approaches express some important and useful insights, but they present only partial views of Cuban social reality. Moreover, when assumed by foreigners they represent a perspective of outsiders looking in, rarely including the viewpoints of the Cuban people.

Between 1993 and 1997 I had the good fortune to make six visits to Cuba. Two of these trips were made to assist in the production of videotapes, and from those visits grew a desire to explore some of what I found interesting and surprising there. Like most people in the U.S., I had seen in the press and even in cultural production in this country nothing but images of economic hardship and doubt, products of the so-called special period—the period of economic and social difficulties caused by the collapse of the Soviet bloc. As a result, one of the things that most struck me was the simple fact of many people working and struggling to maintain a dignified life and a viable family environment. In the midst of crisis and uncertainty, at the level of normal working people, I found a surprising amount of what looked like normalcy.

Based on those experiences, and on a new network of extensive contacts with administrators and workers, academics and journalists, and people I have come to know as neighbors and friends in the areas where I stay, I began to develop a documentary project about the ordinary lives of Cubans.

My initial impulse was to document work itself, so the first steps were organized around functioning workplaces. I managed to make extended visits (days at a time and repeated several times) to two different factories, an agricultural cooperative, and a major construction project. By spending significant amounts of time without guides and without an agenda I was able to understand something about the rhythm of life and work in those places and, more importantly, to become friendly with some of the workers and known to many of them.

Soon my interest shifted to a closer examination of several families of workers, and I have begun to document daily life among those folks over time—although for me it’s impossible to completely avoid working in the surrounding streets as well.

I’ve been interested in exploring the ways critical issues in the “special period” are experienced at the grassroots level—shortages of foods and other basic goods, reductions in real income, insecurity about employment, as well as changes in the laws governing private economic activity and other challenges to socialist orthodoxy. The work I’ve done so far only scratches the surface of these complex issues. I see what I’ve done to date as the initial steps toward a much more extensive project of presenting the lives of the people I’ve come to know in these environments.

In the meantime, I try to minimize the power inequalities between photographer and subjects in this work. By establishing relationships with the people I photograph I have attempted to avoid the “paratrooper” mentality and practice so common in documentary photography—the tendency to jump into a scene, quickly take some pictures, and leave just as abruptly. Indeed, some of the subjects became friends. I have also come to see environmental portraiture as useful in addressing the power issue. As these kinds of images have the virtue of allowing a sort of shared gaze between subject, photographer, and viewer. Invited by the open gaze of the subjects, the viewer can look at them intently over time—not to steal a look, but to engage.

Photography by itself can only impart a rather limited amount of information, and we need to provide contextual support for more informed readings. I hope that the openness of the subjects, the range of moods and ideas their expressions suggest, and visual and emotional engagement with them will provide the viewers a kind of door which they may pass through, and in doing so, demand more information to help understand what we share and how we differ from one another.

The extent to which I achieve that goal can be judged by the reactions of viewers. If the people who look at these images are stimulated to engage at some level with the people in the pictures, if they decide they need to learn more or to act in some positive way—that is, if they decide to pass through that door, then I believe I will have accomplished something.


Steve Cagan ©1999

Since the collapse of the Soviet bloc in 1989, Cuba lost the majority of its commerce and economic aid from it’s once powerful ally. Cuba has been passing through what its leadership refers to as “the special period” where its people have been asked to make tremendous personal sacrifices in order to preserve their way of life. The expression “no es fácil” (it’s not easy) became a popular slogan among the Cuban people during this time of economic difficulty and political change. The title for this exhibition, No es fácil/It’s Not Easy, has a dual meaning in that it also refers to Steve Cagan’s own acknowledgment of the difficulty of working in Cuba as a U.S. photographer.

The extremes with which Cuba is represented in the media range from portrayals of a country whose citizens want to flee Communist oppression, to a Caribbean paradise tourists want to visit, to a small country desperately stuggling to maintain its socialist indentity against unceasing pressure from the United States. The emphasis of Cagan’s photographs are the lives of everyday Cuban citizens, and for many of us these images may provide the first window into the lives of the ordinary citizen. Cagan’s images to do not assume the pretense of neutrality, he is very clear about his intentions and motivations as a photographer. Cagan is a political activist for social change and for the rights of workers in his personal and professional life, and for him photography functions as a powerful tool to increase awareness and inspire change. 

Cagan is a member of the cooperative photo agency Impact Visuals, whose members are dedicated to social change, but even the socially conscious photographer risks their work being taken out of the context or misrepresented in its viewing or presentation. Many photographers who define themselves as documentarians or photojournalists have limited control over the final presentation of their work which can—in the process of cropping, editing, or juxtaposing with other images or text—alter the reading of the image. This is a greater problem for the subjects of the photograph who have even less control over their image. Cagan’s photographs are intended as a collaboration between photographer and subject, granting them a degree of respect they are usually not afforded. In creating these images the photographer spent a considerable period of time in the workplaces and homes of his subjects before photographing them, allowing his subjects to reveal something of themselves to the camera—their apprehensions, opinions, their ability to endure and even prosper.

Prior to the 1959 revolution, Cuba was the playground for the rich where any indulgence was permitted. It was also a haven for organized crime, corrupt politicians, and an exploitable resource for North American businesses. The revolution fractured the Cuban people, forcing many to flee the country, but the majority of the population remained to embrace the Communist government of Fidel Castro. It was the majority of Cubans who had previously lived under conditions of severe poverty that reaped the benefits of the revolution, particularly in the areas of education and health care. Everyday life is not easy during this “special period,” but most Cubans accept these conditions because they feel that the gains which have been made since the revolution, are worth preserving, even though today Cuba find itself virtually alone in the world in its attempts to maintain a socialist society. 

“For better or worse, this is who we are and what we are doing. It’s not up to you to change us or to tell us how to live.” This is the predominate message Cagan has received from the many Cubans he has come to know and consider his friends, and he believes that it may be best expressed in the lyrics of a song by Carlos Puebla: “Nuestro vino es de plátano, nuestro vino/Aunque sale amargo, es nuestro vino.” “Our wine is made from bananas, our wine/And even if it comes out bitter, it’s our wine.”


Gary Hesse

Associate Director, Light Work

This work would not have been possible without the help of the Centro de Prensa Internacional and the Unión de Periodistas de Cuba, who made the arrangements for my visits to workplaces, and who were open enough to understand my need for longer stays than most people ask for. The Cubans and resident foreigners who helped are too numerous to mention, but the kind of work I’m doing depends entirely on the understanding, patience, and support of subjects and friends.

My ability to do this work was materially aided by generous project support from the Ohio Arts Council. Finally, I’d like to thank the staff of Light Work for offering me the opportunity to make the initial prints of many of these images as an Artist-in-Residence, and for their support and useful criticism and suggestions throughout the process, and to Lisa Jong-Soon Goodlin for copyediting this issue of Contact Sheet.

For Beth: Tiernamente llegabas hasta el fondo/donde cae la careta y surge el miedo/me arrebatas mi historia/mis tinieblas, para darme la luz de los que piensan.

Steve Cagan, 1999

A Just Image

As it plays out in the headlines, justice means equality, fairness, and the rule of law. Yet beyond the events broadcast on television and the news alerts flashed instantly to laptops and PDAs, there is a large realm of justice that eludes reporters. Throughout daily life - at home, in school, doing errands, tending children,m making dinner, playing sports - perceptions of justice often float just below the radar. 
The Light Work Collection offered plentiful proof that photographers frequently make images of routine daily life and its relationship to a sense of justice. However, as members of the Fine Arts 395 "Art and Identity"class noticed, scholars seldom extend the concept of justice into aspects of living that are legal, but sometimes ethically questionable. Counselors, social workers, and therapists seem to take over where the justice system stops. Nevertheless, the line between the legal system's purview and personal life is not fixed. Class members were careful to insist that the law is often less subtle in its grasp of situations and unaware of complexities than are the images included in this show. Nowhere in the law is it written that by embracing a stereotype one can sometimes achieve influence skin to contesting the mold. Thoughts and feelings such as these coalesced as the subject of this exhibition.

Work and family emerged as sites where what is fair is not always what is equal. , and what is equal is not always fair. However fair or unfair, the triumphs and annoyances one experiences at work mostly fall below the threshold of the law. It is conventional wisdom, not the IRS, which suggests that wealth carries no guarantee of happiness. Creating this nuanced exhibition about justice in everyday life led the class into hearty and un-nuanced discussions about the slights, snubs, and rebuffs of an ordinary day. 
The students chose the title A Just Image for this exhibition before they read about the expression in Roland Barthes' Camera Lucida. With the phrase, he and they recognize that art coaxes the world of appearances to create symbols signifying ideas for which there are no words. Just an image becomes A Just Image.

Mary Warner Marien

A Just Image: Selections from the Light Work Collection is the result of a collaborative effort by thirty-one Syracuse University students enrolled in Professor Mary Warner Marien's "Art and Identity" course. The exhibition examines the Fall 2007 Syracuse Symposium theme of justice. The students chose images from the Light Work Collection, considering the personal and societal meanings of justice. They have created an interactive exhibition, where, as the students write in the exhibition catalogue, "ironically... the viewer is still judging."

A Just Image invites viewers to explore the photographs and rethink their definition of justice. As the students of the "Art and Identity" course discovered, though justice is a universal concept, it does not necessarily carry the same meaning for everyone. This can be seen in the different perceptions of stereotypes, families, occupations, and leisure activities, which are some of the topics examined by the class. According to the students, " The Pictures we have chosen require more than just superficial judgment; they require the viewer to acknowledge their own stereotyped projections."

Roslyn Esperon