Shortly after announcing the overall winners, the World Sports Photography Awards have unveiled the 24 category winners, showcasing the best in sports images worldwide.
Okamura singles out low-key moments, discovering worlds within worlds. He seems to be, as W. G. Sebald once said of his fellow writer Robert Walser, a “clairvoyant of the small,” looking for what we might learn of desire, sadness, loneliness, or dreaming among the dispersed, matter-of-fact materials of daily life
This week, we will be exploring projects inspired by intimacy and memory. Today, we’ll be looking at Michael Young’s series Maybe Tomorrow. I first came across Michael Young’s work with the series Hidden Glances. His expert use of collage to play with personal concepts between the visible and invisible made me take note. I later
Maybe Tomorrow is a long term, lyrical documentary project centered around my partner’s hometown in rural western Kentucky that explores the complexity of the meanings assigned to, or assumed of, the region by both its residents and outsiders. Curious about my partner Erik’s continued ambivalence about returning to his home after building a life here in New York, I began to photograph this community, which we return to every summer.
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.