NSFW | Interview: Nika De Carlo - “See You in Heaven”
This Interview by Michael Behlen was originally published in Edition 2 of Analog Forever Magazine, Winter 2020.
Nika De Carlo is a survivor of the opioid crisis. Her photographic diary See You in Heaven is a brutally honest and intimate look at the journey of two lovers stuck in cycles of addiction who have managed to escape their darkest moments of overdoses and trauma to lives of healing and recovery. If you haven’t experienced addiction in any of its forms––especially alongside a loved one––it would be hard for you to grasp without diving into De Carlo’s work. The flurry of conflicting emotions that combine love, betrayal, hope, emptiness, resentment, and fear are all intertwined. Through her work, you can see not just the physical act of using, but how the outcome of doing so could affect your relationships with yourself and your loved ones.
Captured over four years, See You in Heaven doesn’t only focus on the act of using but allows the viewer to gain insight into the innermost feelings and hardships a couple would experience while they were traveling up and down the road of recovery. It’s much deeper than “doing drugs”; it’s about how substance abuse stems from, for many individuals, a desperate need for connection and how art, or photography specifically, gives us stability and control. A process that allows us to view ourselves and our surroundings objectively, which leads to acceptance and healing.
Nika’s experiences with using photography as a cathartic outlet didn’t begin on her journey to sobriety. She was homeschooled in a secluded religious and conservative area in rural Connecticut until the age of 17, which filled her with feelings of isolation and a disconnection from the world at large. At the same time, she was becoming detached from her own family, especially her father, who became terminally ill and eventually passed away. It was through an old Nikon 35mm camera that her uncle gifted her that she discovered that art was the perfect way to escape. Because she had a flexible school schedule, she would often wake up at sunrise and take pictures in the woods; self-portraits of her creating and acting out different narratives in an attempt to create her own idealized world. A world without pain, death, and chaos, where she could control the outcome of all events inside it that offered peace and freedom.
Nika’s escapism didn’t stop as she approached adulthood. Being raised in a climate of abstinence, she wanted to experience the world. As soon as she turned 18, she moved to New York to study photography at Pratt Institute, from 2011- 2015, to pursue a bachelor’s degree in photography with a minor in filmmaking. It was here that she was confronted with the uncomfortable transition of moving from a small town to a huge city while also attempting to come to terms with being in a traditional classroom setting for the first time. Though it was an initial struggle to adjust, she knew that her rural innocence would soon fade. She recalls, “I was incredibly innocent and my years of curiosity only grew. I ended up going overboard the first chance I got. I wanted to try everything I wasn’t allowed to try and do everything I wasn’t supposed to do. When I first experienced drinking and drug use, I became enthralled, and it only piqued my curiosity to see how far I could go. I tried many different drugs, but once I found heroin it seemed perfect to me ––it felt like I discovered the big secret that was always kept from me.”
Nika’s quest to build her own world didn’t stop with drug use. She eventually met her partner that is featured in See You in Heaven. When they first met she was nervous because she knew nothing about him but their relationship escalated at a quick pace. She tells us that, “I could tell he carried a similar view on life that I shared––perhaps we carried similar life experiences––and it was something that felt very rare and beautiful to me.” After only a few months he moved in with her, and heroin was brought into the relationship almost immediately. This “third person” cohabitated their relationship, which eventually forced them into a very dark place. They isolated themselves together, living only to constantly take care of each other, creating a stronghold of codependency.
We won’t spoil the rest of Nika’s story for you because it’s best told in her own words. Although the subject matter presented is graphic, the tenderness held within makes you wonder how two people could be together and yet completely alone at the same time. Ultimately, her series is a tool we can use to examine how art can save us from ourselves and help us come to terms with how to live better lives. We are fortunate to explore more of Nika’s story througha a deeply personal and emotional interview that all people who are lost in their own way can take solace in.
INTERVIEW
Michael Behlen: When did you take up creative pursuits?
Nika De Carlo: When I first moved to Connecticut - around age 13 - I was homeschooled (I was actually homeschooled from 1st-11th grade.) During the years living in that home, my uncle gifted me one of his old Nikon digital cameras. Due to the severe isolation of my living situation and watching my father become increasingly ill, I found photography as the perfect way to escape and document how I was impacted by this situation. I would often wake up at sunrise and take pictures in the woods. Because I was on my own, I took primarily self-portraits, creating and acting out different narratives in an attempt to create my own idealized world.
MB: What were your initial motivations to pursue photography?
NC: Photography started out as desperation for connection. I was trying to feel connected to myself as an individual, as most of my life, I felt very lost and disconnected. Perhaps in a way, I was trying to feel connected to “anything” because my father was dying and I could not connect with him in his condition - whether that was through my surroundings, myself, or through others. Photography gave me stability and control, which was a process that solidified that feeling. It also allowed me to view myself and my surroundings objectively, which in a way, helped me learn acceptance of the situation.
I was always drawn to the permanence that photography allows. It was a tool that allowed me to save and hold onto moments that I couldn’t face in the moment, but perhaps that I could face later. A lot of my days growing up blended into each other, similar to my years of using, and I think a part of me was scared that I would miss something - or forget who I was–– if I didn’t document it.
MB: What was your experience like moving from a small town home-schooled environment to attending an arts university in NYC?
NC: When I first moved to New York, everything was a huge shock to me. It was my first time experiencing the “real world”, which excited and scared me at the same time. I was introduced to drugs very quickly, which fascinated me, as I had often longed to change my external world from an early age. This increased as part of my life at a very rapid pace. My first memory of seeing any type of drug prior to this was when my father was taking morphine, shortly before he passed away. I think psychologically this is part of the reason why I was drawn to heroin because it made me feel connected to him in a way, as well as it being something that would never leave me and always be there for me. It gave me a sense of true comfort, one that I could control.
MB: It’s ironic that the thing that drew you into heroin was the very thing that would control you. The longing for the feeling of connection that would disconnect you from everything else. Can you tell us more about your views on this, how you felt, and how photography remained a staple in your life through these times?
NC: I think a big underlying theme of this is a desire for some sort of control. Although I craved connection desperately, disconnection always felt safe to me because it was extremely comfortable and what I was used to. When I began using, I could control this, and in a way, being disconnected somehow made me feel more connected to myself and in control. I was longing to feel connected to myself all along, as I did when I was a child. When I first started using it with my partner, it made me feel a connection to him like no other. Even though it was because of the drug, it felt real to me at the time. Ultimately using disconnected me further from any outside connection, but I felt secure in this space, and my comfort in the state of disconnection began to override any desire to connect with others. Photography somehow was always there for me, just as heroin was, and felt like it was a part of my new isolated world. Similar to using, it didn’t judge me, it only had to exist with me.
As I grew deeper into my addiction, this tool of comfort and escape quickly changed. Once I realized I was trapped physically and mentally, I increasingly began to hate the drug and began to see the grip it had on my life. This arose many conflicting feelings of denial, self-loathing, true love, and heartbreak all at once - it felt something like being stuck in an abusive relationship. Having my partner be a part of this experience added a lot of conflicting emotions, as our views on our own paths didn’t always line up. This added a lot of fear to my daily life, having to battle my own struggle while feeling the need to protect him as well. As I had previously photographed myself at a young age to gain some control, I began photographing myself and him out of desperation to somehow control the situation and to create a sense of safety, whether real or in my mind.
MB: Did you ever have any conflicting thoughts about selling gear or doing photographic work to fund your opioid addiction?
NC: I still experience a lot of guilt around this. During my worst period, I sold a lot of gear to fuel my addiction, including gifts and stolen items. When you experience the sickness of withdrawal, you will do anything possible to make yourself feel better, and that’s what my daily life revolved around. When I got photographic work during this period, my mind told me that it was a sign to use more. Using became not only a means to survive or escape, but also became a part of a reward system.
MB: Did you know about the opioid crisis growing up? Can you tell us more about your thoughts and how they changed your views before, during, and after going through this crisis?
NC: I was extremely sheltered from drugs growing up and had no idea there was some sort of epidemic, I only knew that drugs existed and that they were bad. I had a few extended family members who had addiction issues, but it was rarely spoken about. I ended up looking up a lot of things online, but still didn’t fully understand it. Nonetheless, it fascinated me - the ability to alter your state of mind sparked a big curiosity in me. While I was using, I was becoming aware of the severity of how many people were stuck in addiction, specifically with opioids. Many people I know from NYC had passed away because of it, which made it even more real to me.
Even though I had this knowledge, I always felt that it could never happen to me, or that I was a special case. I felt invincible and using supported that feeling even more. Many of my friends would confront me about the severity of it, and they either left me or I left them because I didn’t want to believe it. My partner and I lived in our own world of invincibility for a very long time. Even after multiple overdoses, I still believed I was somehow invincible - using will do that to you. The point when this changed is when my partner overdosed in our home, and I had to revive him. This shocked me into reality - the idea of almost losing the most important person to me. My own potential death didn’t seem to affect me, but losing someone and having to live without them terrified me more than anything. That’s when I began to accept that the opioid epidemic was real and that addiction is something that has complete power over you, eventually leading to my acceptance that I was one of those people.
After finding recovery, my views on this have only strengthened. I believe that it is one of the main issues that need to be talked about and accepted more. I had very little information about Medication-Assisted Treatment while I was using, and it helped save my life as I entered recovery. Topics like this should be made publicized much more and should be completely accessible to those in need. To the non-addict, people struggling with addiction should be viewed without stigma and treated with tenderness and compassion - addiction is a disease and should be treated as such.
MB: How did you meet your partner? Can you tell me the story of your relationship?
NC: I am still with my partner, we just recently celebrated our five year anniversary. We are both in recovery, which has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. I met my partner through a friend. My roommate was inviting some friends over one night, and I was home alone. He was the first person to arrive. I was nervous because I knew nothing about him, but he ended up opening up to me very quickly and I immediately knew there was something very special about him. He was tender and honest in a very genuine way. I could tell he carried a similar view on life that I shared - perhaps we carried similar life experiences––and it was something that felt very rare and beautiful to me.
Our relationship escalated at a quick pace. He moved in with me within a few months, and heroin was brought into the relationship almost immediately. We grew with each other with the drug as a “third person” which eventually forced ourselves into a very dark place. We isolated ourselves together, living daily as having to constantly take care of each other, creating a stronghold of codependency. We experienced our darkest times together very early on. While we were at our worst in our shared addiction, our lives solely revolved around making sure one another didn’t get sick and stayed alive. Throughout our early years we each on-and-off attempted to get help, which was the most painful experience because we were forced to be apart from each other. Once we eventually reached the point of true stability in recovery, everything slowly began to feel safe again. I believe our relationship is incredibly strong because of what we went through; because we went through such hardship at such an early point in our relationship, we now believe that we can truly overcome anything that comes our way.
MB: Would you describe the parallels between your feelings for your partner and your father? Did your need to protect him come from not being able to protect your father? How did you document this and how did it help (or not) your relationship with him?
NC: I do see a lot of parallels with this. Growing up my role was not only a caretaker but a protector - because I could not protect my father, I became the protector of my mother. Watching my father pass away definitely transferred over to an over-protection of my partner to make sure he was always safe. My biggest fear has always been that something bad could happen to him, or that I could lose him in this way. Photographing him and us together helped me feel a safety with him that I feel helped our relationship, though this feeling was often fleeting which reinstated the feelings of fear as if it was only a temporary fix. By photographing him over and over again and seeing that he was still safe, I learned to gain more stability and trust with our relationship that held less of these feelings of fear.
MB: See You in Heaven started off as a self-documentary project. How did this aid you through this time in your life?
NC: During this time, I was very isolated from others and often felt isolated from my partner as well. Because there was no one available to talk to or to understand the truth of my situation, my camera took on that role. It was an immediate comfort to have something that was always there for me––to “see” me. This formed into a relationship between my camera and myself, which brought on new emotions. There were times where I both loved and hated using the camera in this way because of the honesty it provided––although it was a tool of comfort and an escape for me, it always showed me the truth, which was often painful to accept. While photographing myself, I turned my camera onto another person who was also entrapped in it: my partner. I chose to photograph ourselves together as an attempt to cope, to better understand the heart of the disease, and most importantly, to realize the power it had on us.
MB: Was photography a temporary fix, or was it ultimately something that led you to a path of recovery?
NC: At the time, I definitely felt like photography gave me some of that power back––I viewed it as a way to gain back control that I had lost to the drug. It seemed to physically slow downtime for me and my partner, which made me feel a sense of safety. I think at the moment this was a “temporary fix” for me. Simultaneously, seeing myself and my partner in the images became a big part of the process of understanding the reality of our situation, which drove my desire to change and to seek help. Through photographing myself and my partner repetitively, I created a visual diary that traced the shifts of our intimacy and distance, which seemingly paralleled with our relapses and attempts at recovery.
MB: Diaries are deeply personal things. The things recorded in them are rarely shared with anyone but the writer or intimate partners. How did the nature of repetitively making these “journal entries” help you gain perspective into how you were feeling about and living your life?
NC: By taking photographs repetitively, I found that it helped me understand my emotions at a new level. I would always feel a very similar emotion while taking the photographs, but for some time I couldn’t identify exactly what the emotion was––I just knew it was painful. There was a long period of time where I didn’t look at any of the images I took out of fear of revealing this. After seeing the images, I started to understand where I was emotionally in those moments, and most importantly that my partner and I were living in darkness. I often idealized our moments together and believed the camera would capture this, so it came as a shock to me once I could see the situation for what it was.
MB: How did this repetitiveness sync with the repetitive actions you chose to take with your partner through your daily lives facing addiction?
NC: I feel it went hand-in-hand for the most part. For a long time, it felt like my partner and I were stuck in a cycle of repetition in our daily lives; all days merging together, creating a constant feeling of lost time. During this time of taking photographs, whether of myself or him, it became just another part of the cycle.
MB: How often did you photograph yourself and your partner? Was it a daily expression?
NC: When I was going through a very hard time in the beginning of my addiction, one of my close friends told me to be sure to push myself to photograph myself in my darkest moments. That became the routine for a while - taking photos when I felt the weakest. I photographed myself more repetitively than with my partner because often these moments came when I was alone. Once my partner began to feel more comfortable as part of that process, he became a part of that routine. There were some days where I would be on a “streak” and take photos daily, but there were also times where weeks would go by without a single photo being taken. That’s the thing about using––it makes you lose the concept of time. A month could pass and it could still feel like it’s been a day. Even now, looking at my archive, there is a huge chunk of time missing. If I could change anything about that period, I would have forced myself to make sure it was a daily regimen, but unfortunately, a lot of those days were spent just trying to survive. Now that I have more stability in my life it’s the main thing I’m trying to focus on (with the recovery side of it)––to make sure I’m taking photos as much as I can.
MB: Did you or his feelings about this project change based on your current circumstances from day to day?
NC: Definitely, there were days where he or I were too emotionally drained to work on it. There were a lot of times where one of us was okay, but the other person wasn’t. This was another cycle that was very persistent in our relationship. My views on the project shifted back and forth quite often. I would feel very negatively about the project one day, then very positively about it the next. I still deal with these emotions because it is so personal to me. It’s hard to separate myself from the past, even though I am a different person now. My partner seemed to be more consistent with his feelings on it, which grew into encouragement. He is now one of the main people that encourages me to keep pushing forward with it today.
MB: How often did you review this diary by yourself and with your partner? What were common (or stand out) thoughts of these images when you did review them?
NC: I mostly looked at the photographs alone, and very scarcely. A lot of the images scared me, even the ones that weren’t very dark. Although I felt the shooting process was very cathartic, seeing the images afterward gave me a very unsettling feeling, like a memory that you don’t want to remember. I kept most of the series from my partner for about three years, especially the ones that were more graphic. I think this is because I thought I could protect him from our past. This year was the first time he’s seen all of the images. Because there’s been a lot of time that’s passed since I took many of the images, I’m now able to view them more separately from myself. I still feel a sense of pain looking at them, but with much more forgiveness and understanding. As the series grew, I found myself discovering a common theme: a sense of waiting and loss. In the manipulative heart of addiction, love for another is overpowered by this, emptying and refilling oneself with a venomous weight of loss of control.
MB: You describe this series as “tender and honest.” Not common words used to describe the situation you and your partner went through. Can you help us understand how all of these things work together from a photographic standpoint to really explain the conflict of the experiences you went through?
NC: Experiencing addiction alongside a loved one is a very difficult experience to explain. There are a lot of conflicting emotions of love, betrayal, hope, emptiness, resentment, fear - all intertwined together with my own personal views on how it affected me solely as an individual. When making this series, I tried to express these emotions, whether it was a singular emotion or a mix of many of them together. I wanted to show not just the physical act of using, but how the outcome of doing so affected our relationship. I hope for the viewer to be able to get an insight into this part of our lives and these emotions by also photographing the in-between moments, the moments left alone, and so forth.
MB: To take this a step further. How do you think photography helped your relationship with your partner become both tender and honest during such a raw time? There must have been brutal honesty during this period of your relationship.
NC: Although viewing the photographs were painful, they also brought a sense of understanding and forgiveness. They reminded me that we were still together and fighting for each other every day. It was an incredibly raw period of our lives, which circled around us looking out for one another at all times. The most brutal honesty and tenderness came as an outcome of the darkest times of our relationship, which often paralleled with the documentation. Equally, when I felt a lack of tenderness, photographing ourselves together seemed to reinstate this connection. These times were incredibly hard to get through, but in the end always brought us closer together.
MB: How does it feel to look back on these images now? How long did the project go on for?
NC: It is a very surreal experience. When I look at the images I can see that it is me, but it almost feels like I’m looking at another person. Sometimes I have moments of fear when I look at them, realizing that it is actually a photograph of myself and him. The images bring back a lot of memories that are still hard to accept. When I can accept these moments are from the past, it gives me a lot of hope that my partner and I are finally in the right place. The project has been going on for four-five years–-I started first photographing myself in this series shortly after I first started using. Now I am continuing to document ourselves together in this time of recovery.
MB: Any final thoughts you would like to share with us?
NC: The main thing I would like to convey through these images is a sense of empathy and understanding. Heroin addiction is often shown in a very singular way. Going through addiction with a loved one is a very painful and life- changing experience, it’s something I’ve often struggled with putting into words. I also feel that the pain that comes along with recovery is something that needs to be talked about more. My hope is that these photos help to tell the truth of my story while possibly providing comfort for others that are sharing the same experiences. If you know someone who is struggling with addiction, be patient and understanding. A huge reason why I was able to find recovery is because of the support of certain people that never gave up on me.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Born in Los Angeles, California in 1993, Nika De Carlo relocated to a small town in Connecticut at a young age. As her father became terminally ill, she found photography as a refuge, which ultimately led to her work in self-portraiture. At age eighteen she moved to New York City to study at Pratt Institute, where she received a Bachelor’s degree in photography with a minor in filmmaking. It was during this time that she solidified her shooting style with medium format film photography. Noted as often having a cinematic quality with an emphasis on color, her photography focuses on documenting her own personal life and close friends, centering on themes of relationship dynamics, vulnerability, and intimacy. Her most recent in-progress series, See You In Heaven, follows her battle with heroin addiction and recovery with her partner. She has participated in two solo shows in New York City and various group exhibitions throughout America and Europe. As an addition to working on her photographic endeavors, she has recently directed her first short film, Sick in Paradise, which is set to release in 2021. Nika De Carlo currently lives and works in New York City.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Behlen is an instant film addict and the founder and publisher of Analog Forever Magazine. For the last six years, Behlen has become an obsessive community organizer in the film photography world, including launching the independent publishing projects PRYME Magazine and PRYME Editions, two enterprises dedicated to the art of instant film. Through these endeavors, he has featured and published 200+ artists from around the globe via his print and online publications.
He has self-published two Polaroid photobooks -“Searching for Stillness, Vol. 1” and “I Was a Pioneer,” literally a boxed set of his instant film work. His latest book, Searching for Stillness Vol II was published in 2020 by Static Age. He has been published, been interviewed, and been reviewed in a quantity of magazines and online publications, from F-Stop and Blur Magazine to the Analog Talk Podcast. He loves the magic sensuality of instant film: its saturated, surreal colors; the unpredictability of the medium; it’s addictive qualities as you watch it develop. He spends his time shooting instant film and backpacking in the California wilderness, usually a combination of the two.
Connect with Michael Behlen on his Website and on Instagram!
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