A journey implies a traversing a terrain, but photographs can also travel in time, transporting us to a distant past or an imagined future. Pictures can bring someone home, or closer to understanding themselves. Over the past sixty-five and seventy years, respectively, Aperture and Magnum photographers have demonstrated how photography moves across geography, time, space, and lives, both real and imagined.

Sharing stories from across the African continent by the talented members of the African Photojournalism Database (APJD).

Thirteen years after his death, the workshop continues to see new generations of photographers gather in Jeffersonville — all with the same desire to learn and, eventually, pay it forward.

Photojournalists are hunters of moments — moments when the veil lifts and humanity, unaware, is briefly exposed. This takes a certain skill set: patience, the ability to blend, and the intuition to anticipate a subject’s next move.

Photojournalism has an undeniable diversity problem. In recent years, World Press Photo contest statistics have consistently tracked women’s participation at about 15 percent. The proportion of front-page photographs on leading newspapers taken by female photographers is sometimes as low as just 9 percent, according to Women Photograph, a group launched this year to encourage equal hiring rights. Sexism is a quiet reality that is deeply ingrained in many aspects of the industry, and women continue to have to fight to be taken seriously and given opportunities.

I have more than a few colleagues who wonder why I keep writing about photos of gun massacres. That’s because these horrors have become mind-numbingly redundant. The photos of the attack on a country western concert in Las Vegas, however, actually feel different. That is because, after the newest “worst shooting rampage in American history,” the politics are now baked in. As much as the photos are about terror, they are also about stasis. However horrifying they are, we already know they will have no political effect.

12 of the best photojournalists on establishing their career

None of the other refugees here pays her much attention. They are too busy with their own sorrows, their own desperate attempts to survive. But a few local men gather, surrounding her. They take out their phones to film and photograph her as she cries.

I feel sickened, disgusted by the scene, by the idea that people can feel so detached from the suffering before them that they would choose to record it rather than offer comfort.

I feel sick because surely this is what I, as one of the hundreds of journalists who have descended upon the refugee camps here, have been doing.