AMERICAN

Drowned in dark thoughts I wander through a big Walmart in Twin Falls, Idaho. It is the intense gaze of a young girl that brings me back to earth. In times of despair the look of a kid is as comforting as it is painful: the ultimate imagination of innocence, which only a child can show. Sitting in a shopping cart, being pushed by her big sister, the world is passing her by.

 I would love to photograph the girl. I nervously approach them, scared of being rejected. “Is your mom here, too?” I ask. She’s in the restroom, the sister says, but she will be back soon. Meanwhile the bright blue eyes of the little girl are staring right through me. I try to keep the conversation going, without appearing to be a creepy stalker. When the mother joins us, the big sister has already found me on Instagram and wants to take a selfie with me. Mom is keeping an appropriate distance and I see her—understandable—concern. I give her my phone number and wait. Not much later I receive the message I was hoping for: “You can come over.”

The name of the girl is Emily (6). Her cognitive disability sometimes makes things harder, but because of the loving presence of her big sister Kenzie, 15, brother Lucas, 8, mom Ashley, 40, and dog, Piper, she can move through life in quite a carefree way. In contrast to a lot of struggling parents, her mom has, with the help of school and doctors, forged a way through the complex American bureaucracy with the result being a happy, healthy kid in school. “Without the help I could not have done it.

Like a little kitten, Emily plays in the grass. She approaches me, getting closer and closer each time, then running away or hiding in her pink jacket. Everything about her is sweet. Her light, fine hair, the bread crumbs on her chin, the small hands which are holding a (still frozen) peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the nearly rolling tear that forms because of the wind, and the accompanying booger.

An innocent child. Freely, she rolls through the grass and I roll with her. I want nothing more than to forget or not know—it works.

Levi (35) —the zombie I just discovered—shows me his house with pride. When I think of zombies I usually think of chaos and filth, but this one is remarkably organized. The boxes of cereal are placed in a row and sorted by brand, his caps are sealed in plastic, and his bed is neatly made. Bella, his pit bull, sits on a panther blanket on the couch and is wearing a red leather collar that matches Levi’s outfit.

 “Why do you have that tattoo?” I point to the bloody-open-skull tattoo around his mouth. Levi firmly answers: “One: I love zombies. Two: it’s unique.” As he is squeezing the words out, his body is twitching constantly and uncontrollably.

 I learn that his muscle spasms are caused by Huntington’s disease, which is hereditary. Talking becomes more tiring, as well as sitting, walking and sleeping. His grandmother also had this disease, and she died a slow death—a fate that also awaits Levi. “I wish that there would be an Apocalypse. It could be any kind of disaster. COVID was a start, but I think there needs to be a lot more destruction.” Besides the fact that an Apocalypse will save him from a slow death, “this world needs to be reset.”

Levi’s brain is slowly dying, and if that wasn’t already enough, life has been tough on him. After being abused at a young age, having to quit school, losing his mother and grandmother, and on top of all that, developing a meth addiction, he ended up in prison. During his time in prison, he became friends with white supremacists. “You can either join them, or you’re going to get harassed, or you’re going to [become], excuse my language, somebody’s bitch.” He earned some swastikas on his back in ways he would rather not mention. “But I had a high rank.” Once he got out, he unlearned his hatred towards Black people. The swastikas are covered up with deep black sawblades. “I’m not against anybody, but I hate everybody equally,” he says. The room falls silent.

As he tells me he’s been clean for almost two years, I see a little smile on his face. “My grandmother and mom were both strippers, so I would love to start my own, female-friendly strip club,” he says. “Nobody judges you there. So, free counseling, I guess, is the best way to put it.”

 Finally, I start to understand why Levi is not terrifying me. Although Levi wishes for death, I realize that he is telling me the opposite: by slowly dying, he comes closer to life.

AMERICAN comes to life through billboards displayed along Nevada's historic Route 50, commonly known as 'the loneliest road in America'. Dutch photographer Robin de Puy has photographed Jeffrey several times at the campervan where he lives with his mother, stepfather and 14 yapping dogs. She first photographed him when he was 16, and now she’s returned to his home in Nevada to put him on a billboard.

“A couple of months ago I had the thought of displaying the people i photographed on billboards. The subjects of my photos are dear to me, and in my eyes individuals who need to be seen”, she explains.

The photographs, stories and testimonies that make up AMERICAN will be published in a phonebook by Hannibal in December 2024 in Europe, and in early 2025 worldwide.

The full project can be seen here.