Kit had a love/hate relationship with Millersburg. Like an ex he could never quite get over, his hometown simultaneously captivated and haunted him. When people would ask where he was from, he would explain that it was a small town in Pennsylvania that lacked a single traffic light. There was always a tinge of pride in his voice when he described the smallness of Millersburg, too. I always read it as, “Yep, I grew up in the middle of nowhere , and I got OUT!”… for Millersburg, and its modest size, was the root of a lot of childhood angst.
Being different - gay, artsy, font-obsessed - in small-town ’80’s America had its challenges. “There are no secrets in Millersburg,” Kit would often lament to me. “Everyone knows everyone.” But as he grew older, and his life got bigger, Millersburg’s diminutiveness became its biggest selling point in his eyes. And it’s what drew him back. For holidays. Birthdays. Or just spontaneous weekend escapes from the big city.
Every time we would visit, Kit would share with me a new story, or point out a new touchstone. There was the riverbank at which he spent many a summer searching for curious looking rocks and signs of wildlife with his friend, Jen. There was the secret spot under the bridge trestle where he would hang out with his then-best friend, Scotty. The post office trash can that he saw as a treasure chest (for inside it, there were often discarded catalogs full of shiny new things to covet). The five and dime he visited every day after school to buy candy with the money he made returning his classmates’ lunch trays (he charged a dime, which, not-so-coincidentally, was exactly the amount of change that was left after they paid for their 90-cent meals). The restaurant at the Millersburger Hotel where he worked as a host. The CVS where he took a job as cashier/candy-aisle stock boy to pay back his dad after he wrecked their car. His grandmother’s house, the site of many a backyard fish fry. And the list goes on…
I never tired of hearing Kit’s stories. Lucky for us, his rich, complicated relationship with Millersburg will live on through his photography. In late August 2014, six months before his death, he paid what would end up being his final visit to his beloved hometown. And he took photos. Hundreds upon hundreds of photos.
But there was something different about these images. They transcended kitsch and charm and humor — the hallmarks of his visual love affair with Millersburg. They were more reflective, introspective, stripped down, transcendent. There’s also a note of reverence. It’s as if he was simultaneously saying goodbye and thank you.
A selection of photos from his profound last trip to Millersburg served as the inspiration for this exhibit.
-Michael Ausiello