This week, we will be exploring projects inspired by intimacy and memory. Today, we’ll be looking at Hannah Latham’s series Milking Hour. I remember being knocked out by Hannah Latham’s work late last year. We were both in the exhibition Home is Where at FLOAT Magazine, which was published as a zine. Hannah’s work was
Milking Hour (2020 – Present) is an ongoing photographic series documenting rural New England agricultural fairs, and exploring the profound narratives that unfold within these seemingly quaint events. These fairs serve as windows into a larger coming-of-age story that spans generations, revealing the timeless experiences and rites of passage that shape individuals and communities across Maine and Massachusetts.
The chief technology officer of OpenAI thinks that the advent of artificial intelligence will mean “some creative jobs maybe will go” but adds that “maybe they shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
So at some point, it made sense to both expand and generalize that content into, say, a real book that could benefit far more people. And this week, The Traveling Photographer’s Manifesto: A Guide to Connecting With People and Place, was published.
The Chico Review is the opposite of that. Only people making the work get in. It’s not about writing an essay, checking the right boxes, or anything. It’s about the photographs. Additionally, the way it’s set up helps it from getting stagnant because it’s a limited time, it costs money so you feel you gotta make the most of it, and you want to stand out so you gotta bring your A game. The “photo ghetto” is pickup basketball. The Chico Review are tryouts.
Lyon’s riveting book about a Chicago motorcycle club is one of the definitive accounts of American counterculture—and the inspiration for a new film starring Austin Butler and Jodie Comer.
There is a discomfort looking at the photographs knowing that Hetherington was to die in pursuit of his craft, and this knowledge is especially prescient today.
Hetherington’s work was often about acknowledging the relationship between photographer and subject, rather than hiding it. In this way, Hetherington was far from the chaotic point-and-shoot chameleon we associate with war photography. His images slow down war and examine its quiet moments. They invite us to think about war rather than just look at it
Working for The Associated Press, he won a Pulitzer Prize for his sequence of photos showing the president being struck by a bullet while three others fell wounded.
Working for The Associated Press, he won a Pulitzer Prize for his sequence of photos showing the president being struck by a bullet while three others fell wounded.
A number of years ago, a tall, quietly intelligent artist entered my classroom, driving to Los Angeles from San Diego each week to understand the photographer’s journey. Our journey together lasted several years and then I watched Wayne Swanson and his photographs take flight in remarkable ways. Wayne passed away this week, after a long
Photographer Wayne Swanson created a visual love letter of sorts to his father and his father’s craft of furniture design and making, with his project, From the Workshop. In fact, the approach to Wayne’s photographs and the stories they tell are as unique as the furniture they celebrate. This series sits in the realm of memory and family; in some ways, they are maps that define and investigate a father’s passion, the depth of which was only recently discovered.
Ghosts of Segregation photographically explores the vestiges of America’s racism as seen in the vernacular landscape: Schools for “colored” children, theatre entrances and restrooms for “colored people,” lynching sites, juke joints, jails, hotels and bus stations. What is past is prologue. Segregation is as much current events as it is history. These ghosts haunt us
This haunting collection of photography and essays illuminates the lingering architectural and geographical remains from America’s history of segregation, slavery, and institutional racism.
The above is clearly the case for the photographs made by Akihiko Okamura in Northern Ireland around the low-level civil war that typically is being described euphemistically as “the troubles”. When I grew up, that war was a frequent part of the news on TV in then West Germany.
Photographs from two trips along Ukraine’s northeastern border regions, in the months before Russia renewed an offensive there, reveal loss and transformation.
Sirens cannot provide enough warning time for a bombardment from this close, and air defenses cannot repel it. Residents rely on deliveries of humanitarian aid, and the long, cold wait for supplies takes place under near daily shelling.
BNN Breaking had millions of readers, an international team of journalists and a publishing deal with Microsoft. But it was full of error-ridden content.
During the two years that BNN was active, it had the veneer of a legitimate news service, claiming a worldwide roster of “seasoned” journalists and 10 million monthly visitors, surpassing the The Chicago Tribune’s self-reported audience. Prominent news organizations like The Washington Post, Politico and The Guardian linked to BNN’s stories. Google News often surfaced them, too.
From photographing politicians and celebrities to the struggles and triumphs of ordinary folks, Mr. Ortiz handled each with compassion, colleagues say.
Dakota Ortiz was a year old when he spent eight months in treatment for a rare form of cancer. His dad, Max Ortiz, a professional photographer, took photos of him hugging his sister that were so powerful, the family said they were blown up by Ronald McDonald House Charities and put inside McDonald’s restaurants to raise awareness of childhood cancer.
The Reagan assassination attempt photo came on what was only Edmonds’ second day as the AP’s White House photographer covering Reagan. He said his job was to “watch the president at all times” and believes he did his job well that day.
This week is dedicated to Chilean photographers working across a variety of genres. Today our focus is on Nicolás Marticorena, a journalist, sociologist and photographer whose global practice explores issues of climate change, drought and its effects on the human condition. My body leaves you drop by drop. … I evaporate like moistness from your
Meeting Nicolás Marticorena was like stumbling upon a kindred spirit. Ever since I saw his work at the group exhibition Pasajero in Santiago de Chile, I was captivated by his remarkable aesthetic sensibility towards the landscape and his generous heart for the stories of the people living in it. His poetic speech and passion for analog photography captivated me during our coffee meeting, where we bonded over our shared concerns about the environmental crisis in Petorca — one of the most infamous and affected territories by the Chilean water crisis. I am delighted to share our conversation after several months of keeping it secretly in my journals.