Our Veteran Artist Spotlight shines on photographer, writer, and Army Veteran, our friend and CBAW Board member Willie Charles Young Jr.

Willie graduated from High School in 1993 from the Oklahoma School of Science and Mathematics, in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. From there he attended the University of Oklahoma where he graduated with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Criminal Justice. He joined the Army and retired after 20 years of active duty military service as a military police officer. He was awarded the Kosovo Liberation medal following a peacetime deployment in the year 2000, The Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal following a combat deployment to Afghanistan in 2003, and the Humanitarian Service Medal after being sent to Brooklyn, New York in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy in 2012. He retired in Kansas City, Kansas with his five children Willie III, Ruby, Bianka and Karmen (the twins), and Sadie. His passions include photography, fishing, and all things related to the University of Oklahoma College Football program. (“Boomer Sooner!”)

Continue reading for our interview with Willie alongside some amazing photos taken from his portfolio, as well as three selected poems.

Brooks River by Willie Young

Brooks River

CBAW: What medium (or form) did you start with and how has it evolved over the years?

Willie Young: My first creative expression was through film photography. My father did professional photography as a side hustle, and he would take me to shoots with him. I started out with a small, Vivitar 110 camera that I still own to this day. During my high school years, I was blessed with the opportunity to have a dark room at my disposal. I began to exclusively shoot black and white photography. Developing my own film helped me to truly hone my craft. As an adult, I moved into professional DSLR Photography, eventually being used as a designated photographer for events such as Deployment Ceremonies and General Officer Change of Command Ceremonies.

Following my treatment and hospitalization for Post Traumatic Stress, I was introduced to writing as a therapeutic medium. Initially I was very apprehensive, because I didn’t feel as if my perspective was valuable to anyone. As I became more deliberate about the writing process, not only did I begin to realize the impact that it had on others, it also became very clear to me how much value it possessed in my personal healing journey. I now have very little hesitation putting pen to paper, and I even ensure that I pack my writing journal when I travel.

CBAW: Why have you gravitated toward each medium?

WY: Photography has always intrigued me. The process of capturing a moment in time is the most powerful for me when I am able to reflect on the image at a later date. I am always amazed at the intensity of the memories that I feel when I examine my past works.

Writing is something that is truly transformative to me. Without fail, I look at works of poetry that I have written and wonder how the end developed from the initial prompt. I absolutely have no idea where some of it comes from. I typically listen to a prompt and quickly settle on a title, that title drives me into my first stanza, and moments later, the rest of the text flows onto the pages. I will then review and revise, and marvel at the end product.

Maili Beach Park by Willie Young

Maili Beach Park

CBAW: What medium/imagery or writing form is most exciting for you right now?

WY: Making art scares the hell out of me. When I am photographing things, I constantly worry about missing the shot. I second guess myself about the lighting, about the viewing angles, about the framing, about everything. Even if you’re taking a picture of a mountain, cloud coverage or the time of day can make all the difference in the color, white balance, and exposure.

When I write, I am always afraid of what the work might bring out of me. Maybe it’s something that I don’t want others to know about? Maybe it’s even something that I’ve been trying to protect myself from?

King Kamehameha Day By Willie Young

King Kamehameha Day

CBAW: What is your favorite quote about art, creativity, or about life in general?

WY: Strangely enough, whenever I create, I find myself thinking about my favorite poem. The title is ‘When I Heard The Learn’d Astronomer.’ It is a strikingly short poem written by Walt Whitman. I’m actually not even sure where I was first exposed to it. The significance of the poem to me has to do with the point driven home at the end. The subject of the poem spends the majority of the work listening to a scientific, factual presentation on space, yet in the end, the subject ends up outside just looking up at the stars.

The poem has always had special significance to me because it has helped me to keep my work grounded in feeling. I use my instincts to photograph and to write. I do my best to capture moments that convey basic emotions and concepts. I intentionally avoid the abstract and do everything I can to focus on things that are absolute and concrete. Universally understood themes.

Proenneke Homestead by Willie Young

Proenneke Homestead

CBAW: What do you think about when you’re creating and what do you hope someone gets from looking at or reading your work?

WY: I like to take people on a journey with my work. I want them to forget where they are, and even who they are. I want them to stare deep into the images I have produced and I want them to hang on the words that I have written. I do not want different people to come up with different ideas about what my work means. I want them to actually see what I saw, the way I saw it, and I want them to feel what I felt, the way that I felt it.

The things that I send out into the world are parts of me. They are parts of me that will remain when I am no more. They are the things that will speak for me for eternity.

Lake Clark by Willie Young

Lake Clark

We thank Willie for taking the time to sit with us today. Such incredible images and thoughtful meditations on artmaking. Before you leave us today, do not forget to read the three amazing poems from Willie by paging through the section below.

Three Poems
by
Willie Charles Young Jr.

Use the left and right arrows to navigate.

All the Answers

My son asked me the question, Dad, what was it like?
I said, Son, if you’ve done it once, it’s just like fallin’ off a bike–
No, that’s a bad example, it’s like getting tangled up in a kite.
You know what, Son, go to bed, that’s enough for tonight.

Now don’t you dare judge me, just what would you have done?
Tell him how you killed a teenager who didn’t even have a gun?
Would you tell him of the battles lost, the ones he thinks you won?
I can’t keep acting like I’m having fun, because my memories weigh a ton.

When he woke without his answer, he decided to make a fuss
He asked, Dad, what was it like when your boots were in the dust?
Slipping, I said when they yelled Allah Akbar, we yelled in God We Trust
And when we shot those motherfuckers, they bled just like us.

Droplets

If I inked three tears high on my cheek
Would you believe I could cry?
If I drew two wing upon my back
Would that mean that I could fly?

With a question mark on my forehead
Would you still keep asking why?
If I write “Forgive Me” across my chest
Does that mean I’ll never die?

When I take the names of KIAs
And scroll them on my arm
Its length will make you stop and stare
And cause you some alarm.

Youngsters will clutch their mother’s thighs,
But I mean them no harm.
I consider it a talisman,
A twisted good luck charm.

So when I take the artist’s chair
And lie down on my back
The tattoo gun will start buzzing
Sounding the attack.

The needles spit out many colors,
Reds and greens and black
But rip the flesh right off my bones,
It still won’t bring them back.

Live By The Sword

I start this poem with something that we all have seen too often
so many friends, so many killed, so many closed and flag-draped coffins

so many hanging by a thread, all hooked up to machines
so many eyes closed, almost dead, they’re nightmares bred from dreams

let’s take it back to the beginning, a line drawn in the sand
a line of weapons built for winning, all waiting for a hand

a little line of little ones, all making One Last Wish
significant others crying, hugging, sneaking One Last Kiss

so many times we’ve gone to war, but tell me what we’ve learned
the politicians play with fire and hope WE don’t get burned

We take our places, fight for spaces, so much give and take
19th birthdays marked with battles, not with birthday cakes

so much training, so much practice, Days and Nights so long
expectations way too high and now everything’s gone wrong

what are we all doing here, what is all this for?
I want to go back to my family, don’t want to fight no more

these people do not want us here, we can’t tell who to fight
what if all that we’ve been told isn’t even right?

all the Milestones over here are based on land we’ve won
but every man I’m shooting at is some other man’s son

My battle buddy lost her focus and that led to one small slip,
Now her dog tags hang there, memorialized, from her rifle’s pistol grip

Somewhere deep we realize that this could also be our fate,
But Jesus help us, we can’t sleep until we go retaliate

we’re out here fighting for our lives this is not a fucking game
and even if we make it through this time we will never be the same

We’ve seen a lot of things, those inner scars we have will never heal,
As a youngster growing up I bet you never thought you’d kill

the time has come, our mission’s done and now we all feel so alive
and so we chalk up, grab our bags we are so happy we survived

it’s over now try to relax your’re finally back at your home station
but there is no slideshow to show off, because it wasn’t a vacation

I’ll stop to think, I’ll sip my drink, I’ll hear the devil whisper
I’m cool by myself. I’m fine by myself. But damn, do I still miss her

So as the days go on and on, I’ll try not to make a habit
Of counting the number of bottles inside my medicine cabinet

As I age, my mind May fade, and my memories May sever
but even if I die tonight these words will live forever

Can you please take these thoughts away, oh Lord
Because we all know what happens if we live by the sword

Can you please take these thoughts away, oh Lord
Because we all know what happens if we live by the sword

Three Poems
by
Willie Charles Young Jr.

Tap the titles below to expand each section.

All the Answers

My son asked me the question, Dad, what was it like?
I said, Son, if you’ve done it once, it’s just like fallin’ off a bike–
No, that’s a bad example, it’s like getting tangled up in a kite.
You know what, Son, go to bed, that’s enough for tonight.
Now don’t you dare judge me, just what would you have done?
Tell him how you killed a teenager who didn’t even have a gun?
Would you tell him of the battles lost, the ones he thinks you won?
I can’t keep acting like I’m having fun, because my memories weigh a ton.
When he woke without his answer, he decided to make a fuss
He asked, Dad, what was it like when your boots were in the dust?
Slipping, I said when they yelled Allah Akbar, we yelled in God We Trust
And when we shot those motherfuckers, they bled just like us.

Droplets

If I inked three tears high on my cheek
Would you believe I could cry?
If I drew two wing upon my back
Would that mean that I could fly?

With a question mark on my forehead
Would you still keep asking why?
If I write “Forgive Me” across my chest
Does that mean I’ll never die?

When I take the names of KIAs
And scroll them on my arm
Its length will make you stop and stare
And cause you some alarm.

Youngsters will clutch their mother’s thighs,
But I mean them no harm.
I consider it a talisman,
A twisted good luck charm.

So when I take the artist’s chair
And lie down on my back
The tattoo gun will start buzzing
Sounding the attack.

The needles spit out many colors,
Reds and greens and black
But rip the flesh right off my bones,
It still won’t bring them back.

Live By The Sword

I start this poem with something that we all have seen too often
so many friends, so many killed, so many closed and flag-draped coffins

so many hanging by a thread, all hooked up to machines
so many eyes closed, almost dead, they’re nightmares bred from dreams

let’s take it back to the beginning, a line drawn in the sand
a line of weapons built for winning, all waiting for a hand

a little line of little ones, all making One Last Wish
significant others crying, hugging, sneaking One Last Kiss

so many times we’ve gone to war, but tell me what we’ve learned
the politicians play with fire and hope WE don’t get burned

We take our places, fight for spaces, so much give and take
19th birthdays marked with battles, not with birthday cakes

so much training, so much practice, Days and Nights so long
expectations way too high and now everything’s gone wrong

what are we all doing here, what is all this for?
I want to go back to my family, don’t want to fight no more

these people do not want us here, we can’t tell who to fight
what if all that we’ve been told isn’t even right?

all the Milestones over here are based on land we’ve won
but every man I’m shooting at is some other man’s son

My battle buddy lost her focus and that led to one small slip,
Now her dog tags hang there, memorialized, from her rifle’s pistol grip

Somewhere deep we realize that this could also be our fate,
But Jesus help us, we can’t sleep until we go retaliate

we’re out here fighting for our lives this is not a fucking game
and even if we make it through this time we will never be the same

We’ve seen a lot of things, those inner scars we have will never heal,
As a youngster growing up I bet you never thought you’d kill

the time has come, our mission’s done and now we all feel so alive
and so we chalk up, grab our bags we are so happy we survived

it’s over now try to relax your’re finally back at your home station
but there is no slideshow to show off, because it wasn’t a vacation

I’ll stop to think, I’ll sip my drink, I’ll hear the devil whisper
I’m cool by myself. I’m fine by myself. But damn, do I still miss her

So as the days go on and on, I’ll try not to make a habit
Of counting the number of bottles inside my medicine cabinet

As I age, my mind May fade, and my memories May sever
but even if I die tonight these words will live forever

Can you please take these thoughts away, oh Lord
Because we all know what happens if we live by the sword

Can you please take these thoughts away, oh Lord
Because we all know what happens if we live by the sword