The afternoon of July 28, 1985 would change my career. I was 27. I have told the story about this photo so many times, in interviews, at conferences, at gatherings with friends and colleagues and a…
As a new photo editor at National Geographic, I was eager to learn more about the photographers we work with, many of whom I haven’t met in person. In honor of Thanksgiving, I asked ten of them to share an image that they were especially thankful for havi
More members of the photography staff at Thomson Reuters have been shown the door this week as the picture service continues a downsizing that first gained public attention last summer.
I had a wonderful opportunity today in that I got to enjoy the company of Pulitzer Prize-winner photojournalist David Turnley in the setting of my very
Today David Lama is one of the most successful professional climbers in Europe. But at age 19, his climbing career almost ended before it even began. In
Makeshift schools, water pumps, bubble-blowers and balloon sellers … the award-winning AP photographer tells Lizzie Tucker what it’s like to live and work in the world’s largest community of refugees
Photography is powerful because we can place ourselves into the perspective of those we see in an image. Whether it’s street photography, photojournalism
National Geographic photographer John Stanmeyer recently witnessed the exodus of more than 100,000 Kurds from Syria as they fled from ISIS into neighboring Turkey. This is his first-person account of the momentous scene that took place at the border in mi
If you came of age in the 1970’s, as I did, it was hard to escape Simon and Garfunkel going on and on about the virtues of that ubiquitous slide film, what with those nice bright colors and greens of summer. Ten times a day you’d hear that damn song emanating from some transistor radio, and I’d always cringe when they got to the lyrical punchline, “Everything looks worse in back and white.”
I guess what I miss most is the solitude. I remember standing alone in the pitch black of a hotel road darkroom after a dangerous day, with my arms thrust deep into a sink of 68-degree wash water for no reason while I waited for the fixer to clear my film. There, in the absence of every sight, of every sound, it was peace.