Since being diagnosed in 1988 with primary progressive multiple sclerosis — a neurological disease that disrupts information flow between the brain and body — photographer, Raging Grannies peace activist, previous marathon runner and former social worker Patricia Lay-Dorsey has maintained an active lifestyle.
Lay-Dorsey, who has used a mobility scooter since 2000, still gets out and about daily, spends time at the park down the street from her and husband Eddie’s home, and navigates and engages with her neighborhood. She organically finds joy wherever she strolls and with whomever she comes across along the way, and is always ready to snap a photo when the creative energy leads her.
Until 2018, when her PPMS became severe and she required a permanent caregiver, she was a beloved fixture at Detroit’s Movement festival, sitting in the heart of the action with a big smile, photographing the music event for 15 years. Her presence and images affectionately earned her the name Grandma Techno across the city, leading to a photo book titled “They Call Me Grandma Techno.”
Her diagnosis and the need for long-term caregiving have been a life-altering journey but they haven’t been an emblem of defeat for the vivacious and fiery 82-year-old artist. She’s still active, and her natural zest for life and curiosity about people and how they navigate their world are at the center of her award-winning photography.
A birthing of acceptance
For years, Lay-Dorsey turned the lens on the world around her, not eager to become the main subject and storyline. She wasn’t yet comfortable with facing her body’s transformation. Things shifted in the mid-to-late 2000s, and she began to intimately examine her identity as a disabled woman by turning the camera on herself.
The portraits resulted in a series she titled “Falling into Place,” a metaphor for her journey of self-acceptance, and a book published by Ffotogallery in Cardiff, Wales, then distributed worldwide. Across 107 pages, viewers get an unfiltered look into her reality while witnessing a birthing of acceptance.
Moments captured illustrate playing drums in her bedroom, doing chair yoga, scooting along the boardwalk at a beach, and singing while Eddie plays the piano in their living room, but also vulnerable, private moments.
Her most difficult and self-releasing captures show her falling and struggling to get in and out of bed by herself. In one composition, a shirtless Lay-Dorsey sits at a bronzed table with her head planted between the folds of her arms. The lighting is warm and dark, but there’s also a silence in the photo that brings a feeling of distress and a need for a moment to possibly think, breathe and feel whatever is present in the mind and body.
“I was using my Canon to take these self-portraits—that became the easiest part. The hardest part was looking at the self-portraits and the computer afterwards. I was seeing my very obvious disabled persona, and it was really hard,” Lay-Dorsey shares. “The challenge is that when I look closely at every moment of my day, the emotional defenses I have built up over the years are stripped away. There is no place to hide.”
Photographing people has always been my favorite thing, and the people who come into my life now are my caregivers. They’re giving me the gift.’
patricia lay-dorsey
It is within these photographs that a breakthrough happened.
“Taking the photographs and publishing the book helped me come to accept and actually value my body—saying that my body is a warrior; it is working so hard and all I should do is be grateful. And I am grateful for my caregivers too because of them I can stay at home with my husband instead of assisted living, which is where I would be otherwise.”
Revelation that came through “Falling into Place” segued into a desire to document her caregivers to celebrate them and bring people into the world of in-home caregiving. She first started taking pictures of Joy, who was with her for three years. She posted the images on Instagram and the response from her social media community was beautifully supportive.
The project blossomed into “My Caregivers and I,” where she photographs and writes about her current caregiving team, Sharnita Strickland, an independent caregiver and mother of two girls, and Brenda Carpenter, who does in-home and assisted living care.
Multiple sclerosis changed the formation of Patricia’s hands. “They’re little claw things now, so I can’t use my camera anymore,” she says. So the transfer from her beloved Canon to the iPhone 14 Pro introduced a new way of photographing and seeing the world and people around her. This tool swap comes with perks of her trade, though.
“I wouldn’t be able to take the pictures I take of my caregivers if I were using my big camera. It’s not about the equipment. I had to tell myself that my art is not in my camera; it’s always the art within, your art spirit.”
Taken from her scooter at unique angles, portraits of her caregivers are spontaneous and still carry her trait of pulling viewers into the surrounding ambience without losing focus of the central subject. There’s movement within the compositions, stillness, personality, story, life.
A full-framed shot of Strickland smiling and swinging her lengthy honey-blonde braids as she dances in front of the piano gives way to her personality—one that Lay-Dorsey describes as funny, stylish, stunning. “She has a million friends and goes to a million places but they never know if she’s going to show up,” Lay-Dorsey shares with a laugh. “That’s the way she is; she goes by her gut. However, when it comes to her daughters and her clients, she’s going to be there.”
A mid-framed shot of Carpenter during a snowy day shows her watering Patricia and Eddie’s plants and flowers by their living room window. Another close-up portrait shows her next to their beloved peace plant. The couple refer to her as “Magical Brenda” because of her problem-solving instincts and the attention and care she gives to their health and their home.
“It’s really interesting how she takes pictures of us. A lot of times, I don’t even know that she’s done it, but she gets a lot of comments back that it’s really rewarding having us in the house,” says Carpenter, 51, and a caregiver since 18. “Not everybody has the availability or the patience to be a caregiver. It’s rewarding work, but it’s not for everyone. It takes a kind, caring, compassionate person.”
Lay-Dorsey hopes that her visual offerings help break systemic barriers and change attitudes about these “hidden healthcare heroes” who work hard and are often underpaid and undervalued.
The visual stories are compelling. Scroll through the comment section of her Instagram page (@patricialaydorsey), and you’ll see a flood of love and appreciation for the stories shared, and people rooting for them all. She’s gained a community inspired by her fearlessly documenting her daily experiences as a care receiver and the bonds created with her caregivers.
Creating bonds
“Falling into Place” helped Lay-Dorsey come to terms with being disabled; “My Caregivers and I” is the work that aided in coming to terms with being dependent on others and being OK with asking for help.
“There’s a lot of emotional baggage that has to be left to the side when you’re in a position of needing a caregiver,” she says. “I was very proud, I can do it by myself—that kind of attitude. That is valued in our culture but that’s not really what is needed, especially as you age. There’s nothing shameful about this. It’s humbling. These marvelous human beings are devoting their life to caring for others.”
Twice a day, seven days a week, Lay-Dorsey and her caregivers are together for an hour and a half one comes in the morning and another at night. The day and evening preparations are bonding moments. In addition to the physical care that takes place: body cleansing, changing clothes, and other essential needs; it is during this time that stories are shared, laughs fill a room, and emotional and mental check-ins happen.
“I’m interested in people’s stories, and my caregivers know that, so they share a lot with me, and I share with them. So it’s much more than work,” Lay-Dorsey says. “Mutual. That’s the way I want it to be. They always have to give; I want them to receive too.”
Over time, they’ve become like family. Sometimes, Carpenter sneaks cakes in the house while Patricia and Eddie are at the park; to lessen the hassle, she works to make things around their home easily accessible for them.
“Knowing that I’m able to help them in any manner that I can is rewarding,” she says. “The other day, I went upstairs to her old bedroom and brought some trinkets downstairs that mean the world to her. It brightened her day and almost made her cry. I’m sure, eventually, I’ll hear the story behind every last one of them. It’s the little things that matter.”
Caregiving is humanity at its best and purest. The exchange of care and selflessness leans into making other people’s lives as comfortable, active, and OK as possible under challenging circumstances.
“For some people, my way of being in the world does not work for them. I’m sure that everyone who has a caregiver does it in a different way, and they’re bringing to the relationship who they are and how they relate to people,” Lay-Dorsey assesses. “At best, caregiving is a creative way of life that incorporates mutuality, respect for individuality of each person, and the opportunity to be in an intimate relationship with someone you might have never met otherwise.”
She adds, “Photographing people has always been my favorite thing, and the people who come into my life now are my caregivers. They’re giving me the gift.”
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