Documenting Detroit's homeless, an artist's view

I often take the Cass Corridor into work after stopping at Utrecht to pick up art supplies. Usually, I notice the changing landscape of the area — the new shops and restaurants. But one cold day in February 2013, on my way downtown, my perspective changed.

I saw a man eating out of a dumpster near I-75. I pulled over to give him the few loose dollars I had. I touched the shoulder of his tattered green jacket and he turned — he seemed scared — and then grunted at me a few times, unable to form any words.

Instantly, I saw my son, and a tear ran down my face. My 7-year-old son, Carter, is autistic and grunts in the same way. He can say some words and is smart in his own way. He is still in diapers, and we feed him.

As I watched the man run off from the trash bin — he kind of skipped like Carter often does — I cried harder. I jumped in my car and followed him from trash can to trash can, from Temple to Peterboro. I wondered who cared for him and where his family was.

I made my way to the newsroom only to close a bathroom stall door and sob even harder. I do that from time to time when I think about my son's future. I grieve for the football player, the college graduate, the husband and the father I thought my son would become. I am grateful, though, and blessed for who he is and how he has made me a better man, a more patient man, a more loving man.

I know I am the barrier between my son and the streets, and will be for the rest of his life.

The man in the green jacket made me wonder: What could I do for him and the many homeless people living in metro Detroit who don't have the support of a family?

I began to use what I had — my artistic talent, my camera, my pen and my pencil. During the next 18 months, I photographed and drew the homeless of Detroit. On Saturdays, whether it was sunny or snowing, I would approach them on the street, explain my goals and just talked to them as people.

I told them Carter's story. They allowed me to see that I could create this body of work that would explain their plight to others, and at the same time, give me hope for Carter.

I formed a partnership with Mariners Inn, a homeless shelter and treatment center to give some of the men getting help there the opportunity to write their stories — their past, their struggles and their hopes, on their portraits — making these drawings much more than a face we might walk by on the street.

Some of the men who helped me were:

• The late Michael Alston, also known in the streets as Dreadlock Mike, let me draw a portrait of him. He was one of the most well-known homeless people in the Eastern Market area. Sadly, he was killed by a hit-and-run driver in July last year, about a month after I finished the drawing.

• Charles, laying on the curb under blankets in Greektown, who told me to keep fighting for my son.

• Meldon Lewis at Mariners Inn, who always greeted me with a big hug and told me that he loved what I was doing.

• Ross and Mike M., also from Mariners Inn, who told me I helped them tell their stories. They called me a real dude. Being a real dude, if you're an African American, is a big compliment.

"It's been a long, hard road, but I found the path to recovery. I am now a participant in my life." Michael, in his own words from the piece 'Finding Michael'

We walk by people, homeless or not, every day. We never speak, and we don't extend our hand. Through my art, I wanted to force people to look at humanity at its lowest point. Most people aren't homeless by design or plan; they are battling issues like trauma, a mental disability or addiction, usually without the support of family.

For me, this project embodies a line of scripture that has been part of my life since my senior year in college. Hebrews 13:2: "Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing, some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it."

"All I need to do is implement what I've learned and apply these principles on a regular basis and positive things will happen." Ross, from the piece 'Ross' Creed'

I don't have much in the way of financial means, but I have my art and the love of my son to help me create a better world for everyone. Even though I never saw the man in the green jacket again, I hope someday, if someone sees Carter skipping sideways without much to say, they will extend their hand to him.

Rashaun Rucker is the Free Press' deputy director of photo and video.

See the artwork

Red Bull House of Art at Eastern Market

1551 Winder, Detroit

10 a.m.-3 p.m. Saturdays through Oct. 18

Donate

Mariners Inn

313-962-9446

www.marinersinn.org

Correction: This story has been edited to correct the phone number to Mariners Inn.