Rich-Joseph Facun is a photographer of Indigenous Mexican and Filipino descent. His work aims to offer an authentic look into endangered, bygone, and fringe cultures—those transitions in time where places fade but people persist.

The exploration of place, community and cultural identity present themselves as a common denominator in both his life and photographic endeavors.

Originally a native of Virginia, Facun attended Ohio University where he earned his Bachelor of Science degree in Visual Communication.

Before finding “home” in the Appalachian Foothills of southeast Ohio, Facun roamed the globe for 15 years working as a photojournalist. During that time he was sent on assignment to over a dozen countries, and for three of those years he was based in the United Arab Emirates.

His photography has been commissioned by various publications, including NPR, The Atlantic, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The Associated Press, Reuters, Vox, Adweek, Education Week, The Chronicle of Higher Education, The FADER, Frank 151, Topic, The National (UAE), Telerama (France), The Globe and Mail (Canada) and Sueddeutsche Zeitung (Germany), among others.

Additionally, Facun’s work has been recognized by Photolucida’s Critical Mass, CNN, The Washington Post, Feature Shoot, The Image Deconstructed, The Photo Brigade, Looking At Appalachia, and Pictures of the Year International.

Recently, his first monograph Black Diamonds was released in 2021 by Fall Line Press. The work is a visual exploration of place, community and cultural identity in former coal mining boom towns of SE Ohio, Appalachia.

Today, like most days, he is equally happy shooting photos for clients, riding his skateboard at the local backyard pool, homesteading or eating veggie enchiladas with the wife and kids.

Artist Website

Interview by Dana Stirling

First, can you tell us a little on your background and how you first started in photography?

My introduction to photography ran parallel to my interest in skateboarding, at the age of 12. I often photographed my friends skating at our local spots. First, I used a Kodak disc camera, then Polaroids, graduated to a 35mm point and shoot, and eventually I started shooting with a Canon AE-1.

A the time, I was a teen with very little money so my friend and I would share the camera, I’d pay for film and he would pay for processing. This endeavor led to producing a DIY Skate zine back in the late 80s. However, I ended up having my first daughter at 17. This change in my life required a lot less skating and very little photography.

In my late 20s, by default, I registered for a photography class at the local community college. Immediately I immersed myself into making images, mostly street photography. To my benefit, the school was offering a week-long workshop with the legendary LIFE photographer Bill Eppridge and four-time Pulitzer Prize winner Carol Guzy, amid others. At the end of the workshop they encouraged me to pursue photography – photojournalism to be precise.

I enrolled in the Visual Communications program at Ohio University. The rest is history.

Your monograph Black Diamonds looks at the Appalachian region and former coal mining boomtowns in specific. Before we dive into the work, can you share with the readers that might not know as much about the area, what it means, what the geographic and what is the meaning, history or significant of this area is and what it means to you as an artist.

I reside in the Appalachian foothills of southeast Ohio. For those not familiar with this micro-region, locals refer to as the Little Cities of Black Diamonds, it is a conglomerate of former coal mining boomtowns comprised of small towns and villages.

Much of the coal extracted from this area was sourced to help support the industrialization of the US from approximately 1860-1920. Once the land was no longer of use, the industry left, some communities became ghost towns, but some of the villages remained. Since that era, like many Appalachian communities, this region has been striving to find a new source of economic sustainability.

Geographically, the area is rural and isolated. Modern amenities can be a luxury. Specifically, access to healthcare, grocery stores, and yes, even broadband internet - which is something I personally don’t have access to at my home. This holds true for many of neighbors.

That being said, historically the folks in Appalachia have been stereotyped as poor, uneducated and subordinate to general society. However, people should know that it is impossible to define the folks who live here by a single identity. Yes, some of the aforementioned variable exists here, but the value and quality of life is not necessarily measured by one’s affluence.

As an artist, living here allows me to blend my curiosity of community, fascination with history and my personal sense of identity into a visual narrative. However, first and foremost, Black Diamonds was an effort to understand my community, to meet my neighbors and celebrate their unique beauty as well as document and honor the heritage of this area.

In the press release of the book, you mention your connection as a person of color (Indigenous Mexican and Filipino descent) to this region and your question of belonging and fitting in within it. Could you tell us more about this notion? Has making this work help you get closer to an answer?

As a child, my family and I moved every few years because my father served in the US Navy. I always embraced the change and acclimated to new communities quickly. When I earned my living as a photojournalist I moved to new communities just as frequently. At one point I was based in Abu Dhabi for three years. I moved on average, every two to three years for most of my adult life. Therefore, relocating to Appalachia with the intentions to grow some roots and stability was an exciting change for me.

Issues regarding diversity and inclusion have always been a presence in my life. As a person of color living in the US there simply is no way around being affected by this country’s colonialism and racist history. However, I’ve never fixated on the color of my skin, the difference in the culture I was raised in compared to others, or my acceptance within a community. However, that changed during the 2016 presidential campaign and election cycle.

During that time frame our nation became increasingly politically, socially and racially divided. As the uptick in violence against the BIPOC community became prominent I began to become concerned about my own safety. Having recently relocated to rural Appalachia I was uncertain about how I might be received from those within my region.

As I began making images for what would become Black Diamonds it allowed me to explore and meet my neighbors. I quickly began to feel welcome in my new home. The folks I interacted with and met were welcoming and hospitable. Yes, I did face some degrees of racism and prejudice, but no more, in fact less than I have experienced in other places I have lived domestically and abroad.

The act of making images allowed me to discover my own truth based upon my own experiences.

I think one of the most important things and the interesting things about places in this region, and coal mining towns in particular, is what has been left behind after the industry moved away. Many of these town and places were discarded and they were left empty handed, and, in many cases, it made them go “under” and struggle. It’s a rich area with so much history, but there is also so much pain. How do you see this region? What do you want people to learn or see from your work about this place? What’s important for you to capture for others to see?

Yes, those points exist but it isn’t necessarily how I see this region. I tended not to visually speak about some of the prevailing conditions here such as poverty and opioid addiction. I felt like that conversation has been told and I didn’t think I could add much to what has already been said. Of course, some of the images in Black Diamonds communicate, to some degree, about the economy here, but it isn’t the focus of the book.

The work in Black Diamonds is my own personal experience, it is how I felt and responded to the people and places I encountered. I allowed the work to unfold naturally and organically, taking me where it may. My approach was never to define or illustrate the area one way or another. This series was very personal for me.

I would rather folks view the book and made their own conclusions and interpretations of what they see in what I have done. In this manner, the meaning and intent is allowed to take on many forms depending on the viewer. I don’t want to spell anything out for anyone.

If anything, it is intended to encourage people to go out and find out for themselves what this region means to them. Their experience could be completely different, but if they take a proactive approach, they can make their own judgement call based upon their own experience.

In your images, you get very close and personal with the people you photograph. You are in their homes, up close and there seems to be some connection between you all. Can you tell us about the process of you meeting the people and how your interaction goes while photographing? Do you have a specific image in mind before hand or does things go as you talk to them?

Most of the work for Black Diamonds was made on the go. I didn’t have a lot of time to make work, but I had the need to do so, so I did. While working on Black Diamonds I always had my camera with me. I found portraits in the most random locations and situations. For example, I might be on the way home from work, or waiting in a parking lot until one of my children got out of an after-school activity, or even at my doctor’s office. I never knew when an opportunity would present itself but being prepared, in case it did, worked out nicely.

When I was photographing someone I had just met, I didn’t have a specific image in mind beforehand. The whole process transpired rather quickly, I tried to read the setting, the surroundings, the light, and the person efficiently in order to make things happen. However, I did keep track of the portraits I had made and do my best to keep the collection diverse in subject matter. So, to that extent, I did seek out specific demographics of people while striving to give an honest representation of the region.

More often than not, if I did see a person I wanted like to work with I’d approach them, introduce myself, and ask if I could make their portrait. Some of the interactions lasted as little as a few minutes and others took more time. I used this approach because I literally stopped people on the streets and I never knew how much time they had to spare. Some might be on their way to work, or headed to some prior commitment so I worked as quickly as possible.

That said, street portraiture is very much a collaboration between the photographer and the person being photographed. I’ve always felt that much of the success of the images I was making could be measured by these two variables. I feel like the “close and personal,” connection you see in the images come from my honesty and sincere affinity toward the person I am working with. There is a magic element that happens in spontaneous portraiture, I think this is where that intimate element presents itself in the imagery.

What was the most challenging part of making this project? And maybe on the other hand to keep it balanced, what was also the most rewarding part of it?

The most challenging part of making this project was the effort of securing funding for the publication of the book followed closely by the overall process of bookmaking. It requires a lot of persistence, more so than one might imagine. There were also a lot of challenges and strains on my psyche.

The most rewarding part of the project was having the opportunity to engage with my community. In doing so I learned about the heritage of the region, enjoyed folks sharing their personal recollections of local history, found the beauty in the foothills, and confirmed that there were certainly more similarities in one another as opposed to differences.

From an artistic perspective I was able to explore an aesthetic in my photography that I had conceptualized but had yet to apply to a body of work. On a personal level, it was the first time that I have publicly acknowledged my cultural heritage into the relevance of my work.

Do you have a favorite photo/s? If yes, can you tell us the story behind it?

I perceive each individual image in the book as a note that creates a greater whole. Therefore, I don’t necessarily have one favorite photo from the work. However, one image that stands out to me is the portrait of Erik. He is the young man with “Damaged” tattooed across his forehead. It was the first image I made after not having picked up my camera for two years. At the time, I had no idea that it would become the photograph that would lead to the making of Black Diamonds.

The first image in the book is of a fog forest and you end the book with another fog forest with a leaving train. I found that to be a great way to start and end the book. It feels poetic and as if you literally took us on some sort of journey with you along this route. Can you share your ideas behind this sequencing?

Throughout many of my long-form series much of the narratives have been edited with a cyclical ebb and flow. I like the approach of not necessarily having a strict linear progression but visual cues that drive a poetic rhythm to the work. Your interpretation of the book’s choreography greatly pleases me. It is exciting to find that your experience felt like I took folks “on some sort of journey,” with me along this route. That was my intention. I feel like this approach complemented the nature of the work and allowed viewers a visceral acquaintance with the region.

That being said, the final sequencing was born out of collaboration with editors and those who worked on the sequential process with me. I had quite a team. In the genesis I was working directly with my wife Jasmine and close friend Matt Eich. We edited and sequenced the initial maquette of Black Diamonds. Once I signed on with Fall Line Press I traveled to Atlanta and met with Publisher William Boling and Senior Editor Clay Maxwell Jordan. From that point we did another pass through the outtakes and began to play with the existing edit. Afterwards, I lived with the sequence for a while and shared it with my wife. She made a few suggestions where things could be tweaked and after some deliberations with her I made those changes with Fall Line’s blessing.

If I’m not mistaken, I believe Boling encouraged we open and close with the specific images you asked about. I found his suggestions agreeable with my concepts for the book and obliged.

For me, this is the benefit of being open to having fresh eyes on something you have been working on over an extended period of time. It can be challenging to trust others with your work but in doing so I have found it to build confidence in myself and my ability in chosing the right people to work with on a project with.

You write “My work is experiential and a visual exploration of place, community, and cultural identity in a polarized political climate and racially divided era in the United States. The images strive for an understanding of people and place through their daily goings-on” which I really loved, and I think it has a beautiful and genuine sentiment. I feel like sometimes, as photophores, we forget that the people we photograph are – people. They are more than the frame we captured and more than those few moments in time, and I think your work tries to go above the surface and dive deeper into this place, which I assume is because you are in fact so close to it personally. I know this is not a question but would love to hear your thoughts.

As you know, I now reside in Appalachia, the village I live in has a population just over 300 people. Many of the towns I made images of have similar populations, some larger and some less. Because of this fact, generally speaking, it is a tight knit community which is great as it holds me to a higher level of accountability. Not just as a photographer but as a community member. That aspect coupled with making images in Appalachia disciplined me in being conscientious of how I portrayed the region, what I chose to photograph and what I shared publicly. That being said, it is ethical to be mindful of any person or place one photographs and morally correct to represent others with dignity. I don’t want to make work that reads as if a judgment is being made. Some of the work I have shared in Black Diamonds may not be what folks want to see, but I can say they my honest and truthful representation of what I encountered and experienced. I don’t think any one scenario has been exaggerated.

I’d like to talk about the book itself that you have published with Fall Line Press. Can you tell us a little about the process of making the book itself? How did you choose your publisher and what were some key moments in your process of making the book?

Initially we were closing in on a final sequence for Black Diamonds in March 2020. Our initial goal was to publish the book in October of 2020. However, a day or two after I left Atlanta where I had been working with Fall Line the country began to shut down due to COVID. That changed everything. Our greatest concern was that we weren’t sure how the pandemic was going to affect pre-orders (which funded the production of the book). As time elapsed, other unforeseen challenges occurred due to the COVID. By October 2020 we decided to launch the pre-order campaign and fortunately it went very well. I was able to meet my production goal in two weeks.

During the process of making images for Black Diamonds I reached a point when I felt like the series could potentially become a monograph. At that time I began researching publishers who were producing books from artists with a similar aesthetic as my own. I also collected books of photography from publishers that I felt took the approach of creating a monograph as an object of art within itself. I ended up coming across some images of Clay Maxwell Jordan and I found that he had published a book with Fall Line. His work resonated with me so I ordered a copy of his monograph Nothing’s Coming Soon. Once I had the physical book in my hands I immediately knew I wanted to work with Fall Line. Of course, I had a list of my top 5, 10, and 15 publishers I wanted to potentially work with. Initially, I believe I sent my maquette to five potential publishers. When Fall Line contacted me, we spent some time talking and becoming familiar with one another. Our budding relationship felt right, so I decided to work with them.

I think it is interesting to think about the book in connection to the time we are currently living in —a pandemic. Your work is so much about community and racial and social issues, do you see things a little differently? I am curious to know if this year has changed anything for you and maybe how you see/make photography.

As the pandemic unfolded, issues related to community and racial and social issues were on the rise. The BLM movement surged, and our nation increasingly felt socially divided. Here in Appalachia, we were coping with providing basic amenities to those within our immediate community. For example, both the act of continuing education for the youth when a large percentage of homes lacked internet access or basic necessities such as food, were immediate concerns. As the turmoil of living in the pandemic unfolded, I felt like the relevance of Black Diamonds magnified.

This past year and half changed me in many ways. Both personally and how I see and make photography. At the end of 2020 I started working on another book. It happened organically but was to some degree driven by the pandemic. As a specific demographic within my region lost their income due to lay-offs and overall job cuts I realized how fragile and reliant the local economy remained. I felt the need to explore this visually. Although, the work has taken on a life of its own and veered away from that specific angle, initially it is what sparked this new series.

Of course, in late 2020 folks had not been vaccinated yet and there was still a lot of precautionary measures being made regarding social distancing and wearing masks so I was extremely hesitant to approach people I wanted to photograph. In fact, I had started another project prior to this one, but after working on it for a couple of months I realized I was going to have to put it on hold until the pandemic wasn’t so prevalent. With the recent work I started, it was challenging to approach people and make compelling street portraits of mask covered faces. So much non-verbal communication can be spoken with subtle gestures of all facets of the face. When a large percentage of your subject’s face is covered, you are forced to adapt your technique.

As more folks have become vaccinated it has allowed me to work in a more traditional way again, for this I am grateful.

Artist Website

Aug 3 Rich-Joseph Facun

Interview by Dana Stirling

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