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	Powerful Images of the Crosses Victims Bear By Mitchell Seidel The Star-Ledger April 26, 2008 http://www.nj.com/entertainment/ledger/index.ssf?/base/entertainment-0/120918452449290.xml&coll=1 NEW YORK -- When photographers publish books, more often than not any text that accompa nies the visuals serves mostly as a frame in which to present the images. The stories contained within are usually accomplished by viewing the photographs. It is rare that one find a book as rich in text as it is in photographs. That's the case with "Crosses" ($50 hard cover/Trolley Press), a compelling collection of black-and- white images by Carmine Galasso, a staff photographer for The Record of Hackensack. Images from the book are on display in "Crosses: Portraits of Clergy Abuse," an exhibit at Lott Gallery at Drive-In 24 Studios in Manhattan. The fact that the show and book signing opened April 18 with a candlelight vigil for abuse victims was no accident; it was timed to coincide during Pope Benedict XVI's visit to New York. Usually, you can glean a lot out of a portrait. A person's body language or how a photographer poses a subject can say a great deal. But Galasso's images cry out for some additional explanation, and he provides it in great detail. Take Betty and Joe Robrecht, for example. Galasso's environmental portraiture depicts the couple as a picture of elderly domestic ity. Joe reclines at the left side of the shot while his wife stands in front of him holding a package. Their living room is adorned with the kind of knickknacks you'd ex pect from a middle-class existence: pictures of relatives, an overly decorated lamp, a crucifix on the wall. Joe looks exhausted, while Betty looks resigned. But the well-de tailed portrait is just the tip of the iceberg. The text that accompanies the image tells of their daughter, Mary, a suicide victim who was abused by a nun. It documents a life that included alcohol abuse, sexual abuse and institutional denial. It is then that you recognize that look on the parents' faces: They're emotionally numb. Paterson-born Johnny Vega's portrait is as chilling as his story. He is seen through a squeaky-clean car window, his left eye warily star ing across the street. The object of his ire is reflected in the lower part of the car window: the distinct outline of church, topped by a small cross. Above the car one sees the facades of brownstone tenements. Vega's story tells about his rape by a priest when he was a child, documenting in emotional detail what it did to him. In concluding, he provides the bit of information that ties his abuse in with the portrait: "The first time I was able to drive to the church was one of the most scariest moments because of what happened to me, the horror in there. I still get intimidated by that church. You go back to being that little kid. Even now I have dreams wondering if that door is going to open and see the priest. I just don't want to be near it." Bobbie Sitterding is seen at the bottom of a forest-like setting, her body almost enveloped in bushes. She is lighter than the rest of the image, but directly behind her looms an ominous twisted tree, a metaphor for the abuse she suf fered at the hands of a priest. As the text explains, there were things that occurred that she just couldn't bring herself to remember. It wasn't until after several hospital stays and years of emotionally painful therapy that she could face it. Mitchell Seidel may be reached at mseidel@starledger.com or (973) 392-1780.
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