The lives of others

In a book of riveting portraits, Robin Bowman documents the complexities of US teens

NORTH YARMOUTH, Maine - She worked for major magazines, lived with rebels in the Mexican jungle, traveled to hot spots from Bosnia to the Mideast on intense assignments. But photographer Robin Bowman discovered that she was nervous around ordinary teenagers. That discovery led to the most ambitious project of her career.

Over four years, in cities, suburbs, and countrysides all over America, Bowman photographed teenagers: rich and poor, black and white, straight and gay, native-born and immigrant - and gathered them in a sweeping new book of photographs titled "It's Complicated: The American Teenager." Some appear with friends, lovers, or babies of their own, a few with a parent or grandparent. Almost all appear in their homes or neighborhoods. Some wear ethnic dress. One is nude. In 419 black-and-white portraits, the book captures a generation, in all of its diversity, longing, humor, worry, tenderness, and pain.

Bowman, 47, has been a freelance photographer since she moved to New York from the Midwest after college in the mid-1980s. For years she took off for exotic locales, with no plan. "I have to go into it and experience it myself," she said at her home in Maine. "I'd rather not read about it; I'd rather be there."

In the summer of 2001 she spent a two-week vacation with the extended family of a friend in a cabin in Canada. To her surprise, the house was infested with an alien species: teenagers. "I was around these kids, and I was almost scared of them. They were like sponges, so intense and curious. It was as if they were extracting from me, looking for something to take with them." Fascinated, she photographed them. Back in New York, she said, "I began thinking about being around these kids," she said. "It was stirring up something inside me. I realized I should pay attention."

After photographing more teens where she was staying in Maine later that summer, she hatched a plan for a national project: to photograph all kinds of teenagers, everywhere in the country, record their words about themselves, and put it all in a book. What followed was 21,731 miles of driving, and thousands of encounters with young men and women.

On her first long trip, to West Virginia in March 2002, she spotted four boys while driving along a busy road. She pulled over and asked them if they would mind being photographed. "They were like, 'Who are you and what do you want?' " she said. "They were not afraid of me, but you have to convince them." Once they agreed, she told them a parent must sign a release for the boys under 18 (she always got releases for minors). She photographed them first, then interviewed them one by one in her car, asking the same 26 questions. In the book, excerpts from the interviews appear with the photographs.

Bowman wanted diversity, which sometimes required searching for less-common subjects, such as a country preacher, a coal miner, a 19-year-old girl in prison, a Maine lobstergirl, a Georgia transvestite, and a 16-year-old female "naturist," photographed nude at a family resort in Florida. (She found the girl through a naturist organization, and received permission from both parents before taking the picture.)

"I sometimes say I stalked kids," she said. "I would pack my car as if I would have to live in it, and call everyone I knew so I could stay with friends, or friends of friends, or in hotels. Every day I would drive around looking for teenagers. I would go to schools, churches, or approach them in public places." She financed most of the travel herself, living on the cheap. Besides using savings, she took short-term teaching jobs to raise cash, and received support from family and friends. Polaroid Corp., with a tradition of supporting photographers, contributed film in exchange for pictures for its permanent collection.

Sometimes she was harshly rebuffed - "chased out of towns," she said. One Florida school official agreed to meet with her in his office, but when he heard some of her proposed questions - such as "Have you been sexually active?" - he ordered her off the property. Still she persisted, driven by a strong sense "that I was chosen to do this project, to break down barriers, promote tolerance, and help to unify rather than divide."

Kids were fascinated by Bowman's 1950s-vintage Polaroid, which had been converted for modern film. With its odd flat shape and black bellows, it looks like something from Mathew Brady's time. "They get to see the pictures right after the shot is taken, so there is a trust factor," Bowman said. "It allowed them to get excited, feel safe, and give them some control: 'OK, let's do this again. Let's collaborate on this.' " Their expressions are mild and serious; Bowman's one rule was that they not "crank up a cheesy smile."

Whatever their identity or station in life, the young people were candid and poignant in talking about themselves, often revealing estrangement from parents or ostracism by peers, discomfort with their bodies, or worry about the future. Bowman frequently was moved to tears but resisted the urge to try to help or give advice. "I allowed them to have a voice, feel secure, and share their lives," she said.

After meeting thousands of young people, hearing their stories, and taking their pictures, her old awkwardness around them gave way to compassion and a strong feeling of connection. Many of those she met remain her friends.

"Teenagers are given a bad rap in many ways," she said. "People are terrified of them. They're very controlled in those years, very influenced by family, community, school, church. They're trying to break away and to form themselves. I understand how scary it is to live through those years." So close did she feel to them that when her full-time journeys ended in 2004 (the last pictures were taken in summer 2005), she took a two-year job teaching photography to teenagers at Manhattan's Friends Seminary, a private Quaker high school.

When she was ready to try to publish a book, Bowman found the repeated response from publishers was, "Nice pictures, but no thanks." Then New York literary agent Julia Lord took the project pro bono. "I was so moved by the subject matter," she said. Lord tried several publishers without success, and then found Umbrage Editions, a small press that also produces films and exhibitions.

Several former teens, interviewed by phone, today are strongly aware of how fleeting was the time when the pictures were made.

"She took a beautiful picture of me," said Sharon Ann Mason, 21, of Windham, Maine, photographed at age 15. "I had left home. I never talked to my mother; now I talk to her all the time - she's my main baby sitter. I have two girls. I was real carefree then, but now I'm a busy mother."

Naomi Sue Kramer, 22, of Sarasota, Fla., was photographed at age 18 with her sister in Jamesport, Mo. The Amish girls are wearing traditional garb, and one is holding a little dog. "I feel like a totally different person now," she said. "I didn't practice the Amish religion when I moved to Florida. My sister lives here too, and we took the book home for Christmas. My family fought over it - they all wanted to read it at the same time."

"It's Complicated" is not likely to be a bestseller, but attention is being paid to its content. Some of the photographs (which can be viewed at robinbowman.com) are on exhibit at the Open Society Institute in New York. The New York Public Library has purchased a complete set, along with transcripts of the interviews (not all appear in the book), with the intention eventually to mount an exhibition.

"This is unusual in this day and time," said Stephen C. Pinson, the library's curator of photography. "There are photographers who do documentary work, but something on this scale - a cross-section of an entire segment of the American people - is not common. That the photographs are both beautiful and arresting was just icing on the cake."

David Mehegan can be reached at mehegan@globe.com.