Jefferson Gallery

Every morning, the preschoolers at Mercy Neighborhood Ministries begin their day with the message board activity, gathering around the whiteboard to take turns “reading” three short messages aloud. The first message focuses on attendance, allowing the children to identify which classmates are present and which are absent. The second and third messages introduce the day's large-group and small-group activities, such as music, STEM, arts, or educational games. Together, these messages help children develop early literacy and communication skills and preview the day's activities, making the message board an important part of the classroom's daily routine and learning environment. 

On the day this photograph was taken, a child who had previously struggled to participate in classroom routines willingly joined the message board activity for the first time. The teachers were excited by this unexpected progress and encouraged him as he participated alongside his classmates. However, while another student was reading aloud, the child erased one of the messages from the board, interrupting the lesson. Staff redirected the child and gave him an iPad to help regulate his behavior and allow the activity to continue for the remainder of the class. 

Afterward, one teacher explained that the child would likely benefit from individualized one-on-one support, but that these services had not been pursued because the child's parents had declined them. Without additional staff available to provide individualized attention, educators are often required to make difficult decisions that prioritize keeping the classroom functioning, even when those decisions cannot address the root cause of a child's challenges. In this case, the iPad helped de-escalate the situation; however, it cannot substitute the individualized support that the teacher believed would better serve the child's long-term development. 

The blank space on the whiteboard represents not only an erased message but also the less visible gaps that influence children's educational experiences, such as family preferences, staffing limitations, and access to specialized developmental services. These challenges are further compounded by the realities faced by the families Mercy serves. Located in the Tioga-Nicetown community of North Philadelphia, Mercy works with children growing up in neighborhoods affected by poverty and limited access to educational, developmental, and healthcare resources. Community organizations like Mercy strive to meet these needs, but they must do so within finite budgets and staffing constraints. 

Ultimately, this image reflects educators' ongoing efforts to create meaningful learning opportunities while responding to the unique needs of every child, demonstrating that the success of early childhood education depends on more than curriculum alone. Expanding access to classroom staff, developmental services, and family support resources would better equip educators to provide individualized care while ensuring that every child has the opportunity to participate, learn, and succeed. To fill this blank space, decision-makers must recognize that investing in children also means investing in the educators, specialized services, and community resources that enable every child to thrive. 

At first glance, this photo shows students at a healthcare camp building models of bones using candy. It captures a fun, hands-on activity where students are learning basic anatomy while working together and asking questions. The activity is engaging and encourages curiosity about the human body. It also introduces students to healthcare in a way that feels approachable and exciting. 

However, this photo does not show the larger reason why this experience is so important. Throughout the camp, I realized that many students had limited exposure to healthcare careers and did not know the steps needed to pursue them. Some students were unfamiliar with opportunities such as research, shadowing healthcare professionals, volunteering in hospitals, or gaining clinical experience. These were opportunities I learned about in high school through teachers, counselors, and mentors. For many of the students at the camp, this was their first time hearing about these pathways. 

The challenge goes beyond individual students. It reflects larger structural issues related to unequal access to educational resources and career guidance. Schools in underserved communities often have fewer counselors, fewer career exploration programs, and fewer partnerships with colleges and healthcare organizations. As a result, many students miss opportunities simply because they are never introduced to them.  

This photo represents how programs like Educators 4 Education help bridge that gap. A simple activity about bones can become the beginning of a conversation about anatomy, medicine, and future careers. By creating opportunities for students to explore healthcare in a supportive environment, these programs help students see possibilities that they may not have otherwise considered. 

I hope this photo can be used to remind policy makers that educational opportunities should not depend on a student's zip code. Investing in career exploration programs, mentorship, and partnerships with community organizations can give students the information and experiences they need to make informed decisions about their futures. Every student deserves the chance to discover their interests, learn about different career paths, and believe that those careers are within reach. 

Pictured above are the interpretation carts in the Wyss center. The overwhelming majority of patients seen at the Wyss center require interpretation services during their visit, which means the center needs at least five carts to cover all of the examination rooms. Additionally, the carts are equipped with an iPad and speaker to ensure that patients and providers can hear and dictate effectively. I feel that this attention to detail is one of many things in the Wyss center that really highlights how thoughtful the designers of the center were, and how patients were always at the center for all of their decisions. As a result of this attention to detail, encounters with patients are relatively smooth, and generally language barriers have been overcome. However, beyond the photo of these carts lies a much more serious issue in our healthcare system regarding language. In my time at Wyss I have witnessed and experienced the difficulties navigating our healthcare system outside of the office visit. Scheduling referrals, following prescriptions, completing financial assistance forms, etc. are all important aspects of comprehensive care that are often overlooked. 

If you do not speak English, our healthcare system is nearly impossible to navigate. All of the materials we have for patients are in English and (maybe) Spanish, but we neglect the hundreds of other common languages spoken by our patients. Imagine this scenario from the perspective of a patient who does not speak English: You go to the doctor’s office for back pain. During the visit an interpreter is used, and the provider prescribes pain medication, a referral to a back specialist, and a pamphlet describing some exercises you can do to relieve your pain. You leave the office feeling like you have received adequate care, but quickly realize you cannot read the directions for your prescription, you do not know where to begin with scheduling a referral appointment, and besides the pictures of the exercises, you do not know how to perform them. This scenario is incredibly common, and as someone who speaks English I had never considered these barriers to care. Lots of the work we have been doing at the Wyss center has been in an effort to overcome these challenges, as we write on prescription bottles in patients’ native languages, schedule referrals in advance, and demonstrate exercises for patients while they are in the office. I am thankful that we have the resources to do these things for our patients in the Wyss center, but it begs a bigger question for the rest of our healthcare system: How do we ensure those who do not speak English receive care that is equitable to our English-speaking patients?

This summer marks the 250th anniversary of the United States, a nation that was founded by immigrants and has since been a “melting pot” of cultures and languages. This image is a stark reminder of this reality: Each pin represents the home state or country of the patients and community members who we see at the Wyss Wellness Center. People from all corners of the world migrate to the United States in search of new beginnings or refuge for themselves and their families. Yet, once in the United States, many of these refugees and immigrants live in fear of incarceration, face extreme anxiety and depression or, due to recent legislation, are denied entry into the United States. 

This also takes a toll on their physical bodies. Every day at the clinic, there are a handful of patients that fail to show up for their appointments. Initially, I assumed that some combination of the cultural difference, language barrier or unpredictable transportation was the cause of these no-shows. I only recently realized that many of these no-shows are due to fear -- the patients live in constant fear that they will be arrested by ICE, separated from their family and sent to a detention center. Based on the looming presence of ICE in this country and the dismal headlines, this fear is completely rational. But it means that many of the refugees and immigrants do not receive adequate healthcare. 

Despite the challenges, there is an emotional connection that can be formed from working closely with this refugee community. For instance, we are working with a patient from East Africa and helping her apply for unemployment benefits. After her appointment last week, she put her baby onto her back and began wrapping her with a cloth. Though it’s difficult to describe and is uncommon in the United States where baby carriers are easy to find, this technique of baby wearing is commonly used in African cultures. In fact, when I visited my family in Nigeria as a child, I saw many women wear babies on their backs so that their hands were free to cook, clean and perform household tasks. My own grandmother used to carry my siblings and I in this same manner, so watching this patient wear her baby reminded me of my grandmother and the Nigerian culture that I often miss out on living in the United States. 

Since the beginning of my internship at the Wyss Wellness Center, I have encountered immigrants and refugees from as near as Haiti and as far away as Cambodia. I have learned of ethnic groups that I could never identify on a world map, as well as their unique cultures and languages. Though there are challenges that come with serving such a diverse community, there are also many opportunities for learning, growth and connection. I hope that this image illustrates that beautiful dichotomy. 

The above photo shows the community crafts and activities tables at the Mazzoni Center’s weekly Youth Drop-In (YDI) program. In the image, you can see an assortment of crafts, including supplies for coloring, button making, and origami. These crafts are available for use by anyone who stops in for YDI, whether they are able to successfully drop in for a same day appointment or have to be scheduled for the following week. In addition to the crafts, there is a table of pizza, free re-usable water bottles, and educational resources (which are just beyond the bounds of this photo). Providing these supplies, and in turn creating a welcoming environment for young people, is part of the Mazzoni Center’s initiative to get more young people into care. The visits that can be scheduled while at YDI establish a primary care relationship with the Mazzoni Center, which opens young people up to be able to utilize the breadth of their resources. This includes their behavioral health department, pharmacy, case management, and more. Access to these resources may positively impact a young person's life in a myriad of ways depending on their situation, which is at the root of the Mazzoni Center’s efforts. 

Aside from the snack table, this photo omits all of the people who came in for care on the day it was taken. Weekly capacity is usually up to 16 new patient appointments, but there are always more than 16 people who stop in to see us. This indicates to me that there is a need for more programs like YDI throughout the healthcare landscape. The Mazzoni Center’s trauma-informed approach to care creates an inclusive and fun environment in which young people do not need to sit alone, bored and nervous in a sterile waiting room as they wait to see a provider. It affords them the opportunity to connect with others, form bonds over shared experiences, and build community.

This photograph captures the waiting area and entrance to Vivian’s Cupboard, the food pantry within the Mazzoni Center in Philadelphia. On the left, a crowded bulletin board displays flyers for housing assistance, peer support, and LGBTQ+ community events alongside a digital queue display. On the right is the pantry entrance, where staff distribute groceries. 

What this photograph cannot fully capture, however, are the individual stories behind those numbered tickets. Some clients greet staff with warmth and resilient optimism, while others arrive carrying the quiet exhaustion of navigating chronic illness, financial hardship, or housing instability. Although the pantry serves a diverse clientele, all visitors share an HIV diagnosis and low-to-moderate incomes, qualifying them for Vivian’s Cupboard through the Ryan White HIV/AIDS Program. While providing nutritional assistance to Ryan White recipients appears straightforward in concept, effective implementation requires careful consideration of clients' lived experiences. For instance, the pantry prioritizes stocking softer foods because HIV can cause significant oral pathology, ensuring clients can comfortably consume what they receive. Additionally, many clients live in unstable housing or residential facilities without reliable refrigeration, making fresh produce impractical and necessitating a focus on shelf-stable options. Even familiar comfort foods, such as macaroni and cheese, offer dignity and emotional support; clients frequently share that while they understand the value of nutrition, these items often serve as a vital source of comfort during difficult weeks. 

Food insecurity is a powerful social driver of health, a recognized reality in public health and the Mazzoni Center leverages the pantry's physical location within the clinic as both a primary prevention strategy and an active clinical response. Because clients collaborate with medical case managers to access pantry services, securing a necessity like food becomes an opportunity to strengthen clinical engagement, allowing the center to ensure clients access infectious disease care, primary care, and behavioral health services. Rather than an isolated service, Vivian's Cupboard functions as an integrated point of connection, satisfying healthcare needs within a single familiar and trusted environment. The pantry thus serves as a clinical conduit, linking direct nutritional support with comprehensive, patient-centered care, better known as the integrated care model. 

For policymakers and healthcare leaders, this image highlights the necessity of designing supportive programs around the practical realities of the populations they serve. Nutrition cannot be addressed solely by providing healthy food based on standardized caloric and macronutrient guidelines. Instead, it must be shaped by ongoing dialogue with the community they serve. Effective interventions must recognize these intersecting clinical and social barriers rather than relying on one-size-fits-all strategies. This setting also demonstrates the value of integrated care within primary medicine. Co-locating supportive services with medical clinics reduces barriers to access, strengthens patient-provider relationships, and creates natural opportunities to address unmet social needs before they escalate into acute medical crises. Investing in integrated care and designing spaces to facilitate these connections offers a pathway to simultaneously improve patient engagement, health outcomes, and equity.

I included a photo above that summarizes the mission of Mercy Neighborhood Ministries and the people it serves. Their mission statement is “to improve the quality of life for our neighbors by establishing a strong academic and economic foundation for future success…Through our programming and partnership, we work to break the cycle of poverty affecting 26% of people (400,000) residents in the city of Philadelphia”. The target recipients at my site are local school-aged children and my class specifically includes students ranging from rising 2nd graders to rising 6th graders. Miss Coleman, the site preceptor, emphasized that although this summer program is a summer camp that is meant to be fun and more of a vacation for the students, they include enrichment goals such as maintaining or improving literacy and mathematics– something the local underserved students struggle with. They do so through daily journaling and worksheets, fun word games, STEM classes, and dance/music classes. Above is an example of a daily journal. 

Throughout my time at Mercy, I’ve found that the students have no shortage in the imagination and creativity departments. However, a majority of the students struggle to complete a 4-5 sentence paragraph due to limited reading and writing skills. The discrepancies in literacy levels in the class are staggering in ways I couldn’t fully understand without this firsthand experience. For example, there are rising 2nd graders that are able to write full pages with complete sentences including proper grammar and spelling while I have rising 5th graders unable to string together sentences with basic structure. I feel deeply saddened for these bright students who are filled with potential, but may require additional individualized help either during the school year or at home which they are not receiving. Without this extra help, they continue falling behind their peers and are reaching an age where they are acutely aware that they have fallen behind and with this, carry shame and embarrassment. This is the result of a struggling education system with limited funding and resources.   

I’m not sure this photo itself would make waves, but I do know that educators, politicians, and involved community members in Philadelphia are aware of the dropping literacy rates. I hope that all members of the city can agree and make change towards improved funding and attention paid to our education system as these children are our future.

Shortly after I took this photo, the pizza arrived, then, promptly at 5 pm, so did the people.   Despite the July heat, twelve members of the Community Advisory Board showed up, equipped with expertise on queer and trans health that can only come from lived experience, ready to provide their input. This week’s topic: Mazzoni’s behavioral health services. The Community Advisory Board (CAB) gathers every other month to ensure Mazzoni Center’s program, policies, and services meet the needs and reflect the desires of the community. Once accepted, each participant volunteers for a 2 year term, with an option to renew for additional time. This position is only volunteer, which means that only folks who have the time to do an unpaid commitment are able to participate. As I sat in on the session, I wondered about the wide array of experiences that might’ve empowered each person to apply, and what a gift it is that they did.  

Each person flipped through the binder to peer at the agenda for the day. During introductions, one participant softly said “I know I speak quietly. I’m sorry if you have a hard time hearing me.” Another spoke of his troubles getting the healthcare he needs to manage his mental health. When asked about the gaps in the existing mental health services, people listened very closely to each other. Sometimes there was a long silence after a question, other times a cacophony of responses. As the meeting flowed on, I thought about the vulnerability it takes to raise your voice.    

Too often, legislators develop policies without the input of those most impacted. Their choices are often influenced by those with the most power, and consequently furthest from the policy’s effects. I understand it on some level, community input is no easy feat.  It’s a ton of work and takes a ton of time, both for people to curate the container and for people to consistently show up for it. However, it is a lift we must undertake if we are to say we care about public health. In healthcare spheres, people are quick to talk about “the community”—how much they care for it, how we must protect it, etc—that it starts to lose its meaning. Who makes up a community?  While not perfect, I think Mazzoni’s CAB attempts to answer that question.  

My community partnership is at Philly FIGHT, the first and largest provider of HIV pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) in Philadelphia. I work at the John Bell Health Center on the PrEP team alongside providers and retention coordinators who care for more than 500 PrEP patients. They ensure patients are seen regularly for HIV and STI testing, timely PrEP injections or refills, and the opportunity to debrief. 

This photo shows a small, HIPAA-compliant slice of that work. It includes less than 2% of the clinic's PrEP patients, the providers responsible for their care (left), and the fleeting lab value, "Virus Not Detected," that will need to be updated again in three months. That frequency of testing allows providers to identify anyone who seroconverts, support them through the diagnosis, and quickly begin antiretroviral therapy so they can live long, healthy lives. 

What this photo does not show is the care itself. I cannot capture the trust between patient and provider or the conversations that happen behind closed exam room doors. Those moments are difficult, and often inappropriate, to photograph. Rather than trying to compress those relationships into a still, I chose to photograph the backstage mechanics that are necessary, though wholly insufficient, for a clinic like the John Bell Health Center to function. 

The perspective of the photo also reflects my role this summer. I spend most of my time conducting chart reviews and building a database to track the hepatitis B status of every PrEP patient at Philly FIGHT. My work, almost entirely summarized by the sticky note in this photo, involves identifying patients who are missing hepatitis B labs or immunizations and notifying providers when follow-up is needed. This work is particularly relevant because two of the four PrEP regimens offered at Philly FIGHT contain tenofovir, the first-line treatment for hepatitis B. As long-acting injectable PrEP options become more common, ensuring patients' hepatitis B status is documented before switching regimens is becoming increasingly important. 

With this photo, I've come to recognize that quality healthcare depends on both overt and covert labor. Every "Virus Not Detected" result represents not only a successful patient encounter but also countless hours of care coordination and follow-up. Both front-stage and backstage forms of care can be tedious, awkward, demanding, and undoubtedly rewarding, and neither is sufficient on its own.