On January 6, 2021, the United States of America was distinctively divided into us and them. The attack on the United States Capitol was the final hammer driving the nail that broke the facade of unity for the world’s superpower. Amidst this, the central corridor of the country, where most working-class individuals from various races and ethnicities reside, was also deliberately being overlooked and ignored. In more recent years, this region earned the title of ‘flyover country,’ an insulting term that is used when people reach the coast via flights instead of driving through the spine. To close the chasm between this central region and the rest of the country, photographer Richard Sharum took it upon himself to chronicle those who are a part of America and its future. His latest book, Spina Americana, gives an empathetic glimpse into the 100-mile wide corridor that runs through the Central United States and between the borders of Mexico and Canada. Interestingly, it also makes up the “spine” of the United States while beginning a much-needed discourse on empathy and love.
The hardcover of Spina Americana is a plain, off-white shade, with the title placed vertically. At first, you will not comprehend the choice for this. It is only after you read through Sharum’s opening essay that you grasp its significance. The title depicts the spine of America and so has been placed as such to portray its symbolism. Similarly, the back cover, which includes a print of one of the photographs from the book, also plays with visual cues. The picture depicts three young girls standing in front of the American flag, which can be interpreted as they are the future of the country.
The simple but creative cover of Sharum’s Spina America is just the start of how thoughtful his publication is. In the first few pages, you will be welcomed by the images of dramatic clouds and lighting. This is also his introduction to what you can expect in the book: a bit of beauty, love, affection, and fury. As you flip through, you see two doodles of the country’s map created by a child called Lilly. In one, it simply states “United States of America” across the entire land, while in the second, “Spina” is drawn right in the middle of the map. This is a creative decision, which must be applauded, considering how Richard Sharum focused on the coming generation of the region, who will eventually contribute to America.
The book gradually introduces several more things that readers fall in love with. For starters, Spina Americana has been meticulously designed for the photographs. It is purposely divided into 10 chapters, where each image peels away your preconceived notions about the region. The sections have a dozen or so images, but the visual flow from chapter to chapter will make you pause and think, ‘Was I always this wrong about them?’
The story starts with a section called ‘Home,’ which depicts how people in this spine live and thrive. The first image (right after the clouds), which depicts the people in the central corridor, exemplifies the book’s message. We see a couple looking at Richard through the window, with the words “1 nation under God” etched on the glass pane. From there on, Spina Americana is like a Lotus, where each photograph functions like a petal. As you move through them, you begin to see the crux: A large and beautiful region where ordinary people, including Mennonites, Lutherans, Indigenous Americans, and Mexican Americans, continue to work to support the United States in reaching its former glory. The black and white format will remind you of W. Eugene Smith’s series, The Country Doctor, and that is the highest compliment one can give to Richard’s long-term effort.
Some of the other chapters also examine not only the landscapes but also the careers, lifestyles, and entertainment that people follow here. There is also ample contradiction, portraying the vast spectrum of the central region. For instance, Richard Sharum portrays Mennonites in one chapter, and right after them, the nudist colony. The photographs, thus, prove that despite the difference, the two live harmoniously. And so, it begs the question: if they can live together, why can’t the people on the coast and in Central United States.
Readers will also appreciate the use of portraits, which are peppered throughout the book. People are seen in their work attire, dressed as school students, state fair patrons, cotton candy vendors, ice fishermen, mechanics, politicians, or dancers. In some, the subject is not looking at the camera, but in others, the weight of their gaze pins you down in your seat. They are challenging you to look at them in their entirety, and being able to achieve such an expression is a success in itself.
Other things that work really well include the placement of the captions, which are right at the end of every section. Furthermore, Richard chose to use normal paper to distinguish the title page of the chapters. The photographs have been printed on matt finished paper, and the print is so fine that one can easily gauge the details in shadows and highlights. There are also instances where the book gives you a blank page after a few single images as if to allow you a minute to breathe in and process what you just saw. While the double spreads work well in most cases, there are instances where a person is right in the middle, and their bodies are cropped at weird angles. So, we did wish Richard Sharum designed such pages a bit differently.
Overall, Spina Americana is a dignified portrayal of the central spine, where the people working blue-collar jobs have the same dreams and aspirations as those living in larger, glimmering towers. The only difference is that they accept who they are, unlike many of us, who wear a mask to hide our fears away.
We give the book 4 out of 5 stars.
