Take Heart – A Cape Cod Love Story
The Hearts Begin
In the early spring of 2020, wooden shipping pallets, painted with hearts, began appearing along the roadside in my hometown of Truro, Massachusetts. At first, there were just a few. Then more. Different colors, different sizes. Soon, they became impossible to miss—scattered across Cape Cod, silent but striking, waiting for those who were paying attention. By May, a smaller version of these hearts—crafted from wooden paint-stirring sticks from the local hardware store—started appearing in windows throughout Provincetown, the outermost town on Cape Cod.
In a moment when human connection felt impossible, these simple yet powerful symbols of love, resilience, and hope appeared—messages to no one and everyone. By September, I began photographing them. I wasn’t sure why. How long would they remain? Would the pandemic ever end? I had no clear focus, only a feeling that these hearts, placed with intention, mattered.
Suz had also been photographing them. When we discovered our shared fascination, we decided to document them together. Why not? It was a safe way to be in each other’s company, doing what we loved most—capturing images, inspiring each other, and talking about life.That’s the beauty of collaboration. You share perspectives, knowledge, and techniques—and in doing so, you see the world differently.
A Community Transformed
The hearts were especially prolific in Truro and Provincetown, two small communities known collectively as the Outer Cape. With fewer than two thousand year-round residents each, these towns exist in a paradox—a tight-knit rural community and a world-renowned tourist destination.
In the summer, Provincetown’s population swells into the tens of thousands. At the very tip of Cape Cod, surrounded on three sides by water, it has long been a haven for artists, misfits, and the LGBTQ+ community. Truro, stretching just four miles from ocean to bay at its widest point, is defined by vast open space—about 70% of both towns fall within the Cape Cod National Seashore, protecting them from further development.
Then, in 2020, the world changed. The lively, welcoming streets of Provincetown fell silent. Shops, galleries, and restaurants shut their doors. A town that thrived on togetherness was suddenly isolated. And yet, life continued.
The closest hospital to the Outer Cape is 50 miles away, much of the route a narrow, two-lane highway. The pandemic magnified the town’s remoteness and its reliance on the dedication of healthcare workers, first responders, and essential employees. Through the hearts, we saw a silent acknowledgment of their sacrifices.
We also witnessed another movement—protests for racial justice sparked by police violence. The Outer Cape, in its quiet yet powerful way, responded with art, activism, and endurance. In a small community, people come together.
Each heart was a message. Someone cared enough to create it, to place it where others could see. You are not alone. Take heart. We will get through this together.
The Magic of the Hearts
Over time, the hearts took on personalities, reflective of their creators. Some became like old friends—just seeing them made us smile. If a heart had fallen over, we would prop it back up. They reassured us. They reminded us to hold on.
Through the course of the pandemic, we photographed thousands of hearts—tiny hearts, weathered hearts, hearts with messages, hearts hidden in unexpected places. We had no plan for these images, no agenda. We simply wanted to document them.
All were captured with our iPhones, always within reach, ready to snap a photo whenever and wherever we spotted a heart. Looking back at our archive, it’s fascinating to see how the images evolved—how the newer iPhone models rendered the hearts with sharper, richer detail.
Like many creative journeys, Take Heart evolved in ways we never expected. Neither of us had ever worked on a long-term documentary project before. I’m not a journalist—and to be totally honest, I don’t really like talking to people I don’t know. Suz isn’t a journalist either, but she’s comfortable striking up conversations with strangers. Together, we made the perfect team.
As we photographed, we grew more curious. We started asking questions. People were generous with their time and their stories. We tracked down some of the heart creators, listening as they shared their motivations—expressions of love, grief, resilience, and hope. We even began making and placing hearts of our own.
That’s when we realized this wasn’t just a documentation project.
It was a love story.
Not in the traditional sense, but a love story nonetheless—a community searching for connection in a time of disconnection.
Beyond the Photographs
Suz and I have continued this journey beyond photography. We are creating a documentary film about the hearts and the people who made them. And we have released a self-published book—a visual poem told through our images, available here
Take Heart is the story of our pandemic journey—a journey that took us in many directions, always with our iPhones in hand. It is the story of one small community, but its message extends far beyond Cape Cod. Some may prefer to forget the pandemic—to move on from the fear, the isolation, the loss. But out of times of great uncertainty, symbols of hope emerge.
The hearts of the Outer Cape—created by anonymous hands, placed for strangers to see, weathering the elements—remain as a reminder.
A reminder of love. Of community. Of resilience.
These magical messages deserve to be remembered. If you are interested in learning more, Lower Cape TV did a segment on our exhibit in February 2025: https://vimeo.com/1056925915