Leslye Davis on the Power of Visual Storytelling

Leslye Davis calls herself “medium agnostic.” Since starting her career as a visual journalist at the New York Times, she has worked across photo and print journalism, as well as short and long-form video. “I always try to just work in the medium that’s best for the story,” she says.

Now an independent journalist and filmmaker, Davis is finding satisfaction telling stories around mental health and income inequality, and translating complicated ideas for the general public. She grew up in rural Kentucky and witnessed firsthand how addiction and mental illness can impact a community or place. Her feature film “Father Soldier Son,” released on Netflix in 2020, tells the story of a multigenerational military family in rural America that is grappling with their commitment to service, and the mental toll that can accompany it.

I recently sat down with Davis to talk about her work. In our conversation, she described the immense responsibility she feels toward the people who entrust her with their stories, and she emphasized the value she places on people’s time –– whether it’s a person taking the time to open up about their lives, or a scientist taking the time to explain the nitty-gritty of their work. 

We also discussed the changing landscape of visual storytelling, her deepening interest in income inequality, and how she sees her role as a journalist reporting on sensitive topics. Our conversation, below, has been edited for length and clarity.

Lucie McCormick: Do you remember when you first picked up a camera, what about it felt good to you?

Leslye Davis: I was in the yearbook in high school. My yearbook advisor was then, and remains today, one of my mentors. She taught me how to take pictures, she loaned me her camera for two years, and then at her recommendation I decided to apply for the photojournalism major at Western Kentucky University.

I just remember the very first time I shot video, I was like, This is my medium.

I can be really extroverted, but I can also be really shy and nervous. So it gave me a purpose to go places I wouldn’t go –– I think that’s a very common thing for people who are drawn to the medium. It was also a buffer. I feel everything more intensely than I wish, and it gives you a way to process something through a medium, as opposed to feeling deluged by what’s unfolding.

I process things for a long time. I chew on stuff. The work gives me a way to make that productive, because otherwise I think that could easily be a really counterproductive way of moving through the world.

LM: Have there been projects that were particularly impactful for you, or that changed how you approach storytelling?

LD: There’s a project that I was a small part of a very large team, called “Who Gets to Breathe Clean Air in New Delhi.” That’s one of the collaborations I’m most proud to have been a part of. And I feel full pride over it, even though I’m like one twentieth of that team… so many of us [worked] together to make that what it became. I felt like it did justice in some way to the bigness of this issue, and the nuance of explaining why two people living in the same city that has the same air can have different life expectancies.

And then in terms of just storytelling, I reported on the Afghanistan War for years, in a number of different ways. I think that just as a human, that work — and speaking with people affected by that conflict — helped me to understand my role as a human in the world more. I really appreciate that about that work. It’s hard given what’s happening right now in the world. It feels like history’s repeating itself.

LM: What is the difference you feel between working on something that’s visual or text driven, or long-form versus short-form?

LD: I think another word for what I do would actually be translation, because I’m really medium agnostic. I don’t really care if it’s audio, photo, video, print, maps. I like working in every medium and just telling stories. How do you best translate something that’s intellectually or emotionally complicated to people that are already really taxed? I ask myself that question and then try to just work in the medium that’s best for the story.

In terms of time scale, I really, really like the delayed gratification of slow projects — things that take a long time — because they allow you to you witness change. The story is almost never what you thought it was when you started.

At the same time, I really like the short-term gratification of having smaller pieces publish, because when you have projects that are big and long term and ambitious, you do start to wonder: Am I the kind of person that closes? Do I finish my work? Or am I somebody with a bunch of open projects? [And] the time and energy that the person I’ve been documenting gave me hangs heavy over me. But I have, at a certain point, I proved to myself that I do –– I’m a closer.

LM: You’ve said that every story comes down to science. Can you talk about that a little bit?

LD: There is science at the root of every story I think that I’ve ever worked on — it depends on whether or not you’re going to try to illuminate it in some way that is technical. 

If people are generous enough with their time and their experiences, a story will unfold in an emotional way. But to explain something that maybe the world can’t see very easily; there is so much invisible science happening around us all the time.

I reported on a gun shop once — a store that was geographically between Columbine and the Batman theater shooting. … I went to this gun shop, and they were explaining hollow-point bullets to me, and the difference between a hollow-point bullet and just a normal bullet. That’s a scientific thing, the impact it has on the body…. You can understand why shootings in the U.S. are so much more catastrophic than in other places.

Ultimately, when you can make data relatable or you can translate it well, it’s really emotional actually. It’s more emotional than just seeing someone cry.

Ultimately, when you can make data relatable or you can translate it well, it’s really emotional actually. It’s more emotional than just seeing someone cry.

LM: Is there a topic that you want to keep working on?

LD: Income inequality is a current underlying everything I’m interested in –– and the deepening wealth divide. And it’s connected to every story in the world right now. As we become more technologically advanced, I think it will become more connected to the stories in this country.

Also, mental illness. I’m really interested in advancements in medicine in the brain. So much of the clinical solution work that exists for people struggling with mental illness or depression or schizophrenia or bipolar is arcane. I wonder: Are we gonna look back and be like, Whoa, we just had them try stuff and saw what happened? That’s wild!

Anything I can do to help illuminate that science or make it more human — you know, help a healthcare professional see the effect of their work in a large setting — I’m really interested in that.

LM: So what do you think is next?

LD: I want to find ways to collaborate in teams as a freelancer. And I want to continue to do projects that are both big and small. And also to continue to teach. I volunteer to coach at Mountain Workshops as often as they’ll have me. I love teaching young people from rural settings how to tell stories. I think it’s more important right now than ever; everybody’s engaging much more with stories than they ever have before. I ask myself what I can do to help diversify the sources of those stories, and to give young people the same gift I’ve had in seeing visual reporting as a way—maybe one of the best ways—to make a living.

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Lucie McCormick is a documentary filmmaker, an astrophotographer, and a current student in MIT’s Graduate Program in Science Writing. Her reporting focuses on the intersections of science and social issues.