Kathya M. Landeros was born and raised in northern California to Mexican immigrant parents.
Leaving high school before her senior year, she moved to Poughkeepsie, New York where she graduated from Vassar College with a degree in English Literature and Hispanic Studies. In 2001, Kathya was awarded a full graduate scholarship to study journalism at the University of Southern California's Annenberg School for Communication. After deciding this was not a good fit for her, Kathya continued to pursue photography while working different jobs that took her to various cities on both coasts of the United States. The most memorable of these jobs included: aide to former California Speaker of the Assembly Antonio Villaraigosa, assistant at Univision, zookeeper/turtlekeeper, teacher and photo lab assistant. Although primarily self taught, she has learned quite a bit from peers at the International Center of Photography, where she volunteered while living in NYC, and from teachers at the community colleges in Sacramento.
In 2003 she returned to California in order to begin work on a photography project dealing with Hispanic migrant culture. She was awarded a Fulbright Fellow grant for the 2007-2008 year to continue this work and is currently living in central Mexico.
Landeros Statement:
A Changing China: Shanghai Neighbors
This project began through a desire to understand a culture and country that was very foreign to me. When I first arrived in Shanghai in 2006, a drastic change had transformed most of Shanghai into a modern city not unlike any US metropolis. Anyone familiar with the redevelopment of China can attest to the velocity at which change takes place here. Fueled by a booming economic growth, transformation seemingly occurs overnight. Yet, for unknown reasons, the neighborhood I lived in remained untouched, even after several years into Shanghai’s building frenzy. It served as a stark contrast to the modernity found elsewhere; a vivid reminder of China’s past. Many of the residents were quite proud of Zha Bei’s unique history: it was primarily built and occupied by the Chinese, unlike most of Shanghai that was built and occupied by foreigners. Venturing into this labyrinthine neighborhood along Suzhou Creek, the noise of the city magically disappeared and was replaced by curious sounds of mandarin and other Chinese dialects. Residents saw skyscrapers and lights advertising the newly developed Shanghai across the water, but in this neighborhood there was no neon - only the faint flickering of store lights and maybe a cat walking lazily along the rooftops of the homes. Chickens ran around the streets along with gangs of neighborhood dogs. Multiple families still shared single homes without plumbing. Residents sometimes contributed the lack of change to the population of the neighborhood, which was mostly comprised of the economically disadvantaged, the elderly, migrant workers and what some described as “forgotten citizens” under China’s new vision.
Faced with such apparent distinctions: the contrast between history and the present, wealth and poverty, foreign and familiar, I chose photography as a vehicle for dialogue and understanding. Day after day I ventured into the streets with an old Kodak View Master and a Leica M2. I chose to use these older cameras not only in deference to traditional methods of the past – but because I wanted to practice photography at a slower, perhaps a more contemplative pace. I did slowly earn the trust and respect of my neighbors as they witnessed the commitment it took to make a single image with the view camera. More importantly, images were not stolen moments, as it took full cooperation of the person being photographed. My ego was checked as people told me how they wanted to be photographed and not the other way around. This was often the case when people approached me to take a picture inside their home as a keepsake of the community they would soon leave behind. The resulting portraits are often straightforward. At the purest level, they operate as a reminder to myself that an image can simply serve the function of a memento. At a more profound level, the older cameras were seen as a symbol of the past – its purpose to serve as a catalyst for conversation for those who saw themselves teetering between the old and new. By the same token, many saw this community as a microcosm representing the problems and conflicts that have arisen throughout much of China as it catapults itself further and further away from its past and into new territory. As with all change, it has come at a cost that cannot be easily quantified in uncomplicated black and white terms. Some felt that the community would be disbanded and a part of China’s history that they so fully believed in irrevocably erased with the demolition of the neighborhood. Others were happy to leave behind cramped and unsanitary living conditions. The complexity and immediacy of such a situation is ultimately what challenged me to grow as a photographer searching for a way to make sincere and humane imagery
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