To create one of his Diorama Maps, Japanese artist and cartographer Sohei Nishino spends an intense month exploring a city on foot; shooting, developing thousands of photographs followed by several more months cutting, pasting and arranging the re-imagined city.
For the past 8 years, Joey Solomon has been photographing his mother. In the process of taking these monochrome portraits, he attempts to unpack their shared and hereditary mental illness.
“In contrast to the concrete metaphors in the urban architecture and the materiality of construction, the bodies and flesh of the workers on the beach refer to something humane: of the flesh, tactile and intimate, something that is deeply lacking in these
“In contrast to the concrete metaphors in the urban architecture and the materiality of construction, the bodies and flesh of the workers on the beach refer to the humane: of the flesh, tactile and intimate, something that is deeply lacking in these otherwise isolated lives.”
Photographer Earlie Hudnall Jr. has spent more than 40 years documenting the resilient communities which make up Houston’s Third and Fourth Ward, a place where former slaves settled after the Civil War.
Photographer Earlie Hudnall Jr. has spent more than 40 years documenting the resilient communities which make up Houston’s Third and Fourth Ward, a place where former slaves settled after the Civil War.
I have been chronicling my experiences as a nurse during these times. My colleagues and I are frequently in close contact with the virus that could infect us, our coworkers, and our loved ones. Many of these factors add to the growing stress, grief, and anxiety around and within me.
Delving into the uncertainty felt by his generation, Iranian photographer Farshid Tighehsaz’s gritty monochrome images penetrate the fears and tensions of the collective unconscious
Delving into the uncertainty felt by his generation, Iranian photographer Farshid Tighehsaz’s gritty monochrome images penetrate the fears and tensions of the collective unconscious.
Juan Cristóbal Cobo and I were paired together for a Leica talk on photographing at home during a pandemic. I had never seen his work before, and I was blown away that someone so new to self-portraits could be so inventive. Many of us dip our toes in the
Juan Cristóbal Cobo and I were paired together for a Leica talk on photographing at home during a pandemic. I had never seen his work before, and I was blown away that someone so new to self-portraits could be so inventive. Many of us dip our toes in the water and slowly inch in. Juan dove in headfirst. This pandemic has forced many of us to spend time with ourselves and look inward, and Juan immediately channeled this into a creative endeavor. A background in cinema and street photography had already trained his eye to observe. The circumstances of confinement forced him to use photography to process and understand. A big challenge in self-portraiture is how to portray ourselves and our lives in ways that haven’t been seen before. By making photographs daily, Juan was able to fly through the expected and free himself up to the surprises. I especially admire the poet’s heart that allows him to translate light, shadow and gesture into palpable feelings, self-contained yet also part of a larger story.
Brazilian photographer Marcio Pimenta’s new photography book captures the intimate moments of the Yazidi people’s return to their ancestral home in northern Iraq.
Curiosity is the animating force of the photographs. You start to sense that Mandel sees everyone—the stranger and the self—as members of the same team.
In 1971, Mike Mandel released a book of photographs called “Myself: Timed Exposures.” Part of their loose, easy charm has to do with Mandel’s appearance: with his long dark hair and thick-framed glasses, he looks like a cartoon version of a peaceable hippie, rambling through black-and-white Southern California. Though the title prepares you for an onslaught of Mandel, only two of the images show him alone in the frame. The other thirty-seven photographs feature strangers of all types, as Mandel thrusts himself into the bustle and rush of street life, popping up among people like an imp, a groovy visitor from another planet. There he is, shirtless in corduroy cutoffs, smiling with a housewife at a supermarket meat counter, or lying flat on the floor of a library with his arms tight at his sides, students craning to observe this sudden interruption. In another photo, Mandel squeezes onto a crowded bench at an airport, his face blurry, the people on either side of him blurry too, caught mid-laugh. Some of the photos require you to search Mandel out, scan for his identifying uniform of big black glasses and lank hair, as if he were an R. Crumb version of Waldo. Then you spot him: a sliver of Mandel, peering over the heads of a gaggle of young girls at Disneyland or just barely visible in the reflection of a beauty-parlor mirror.
Before I introduce the last photographer of this series, I want to let the Lenscratch readers know how much it’s been an honor and joy to showcase the various works and personalities of Korean photographers through Lenscratch. Personally, this opportunity
Before I introduce the last photographer of this series, I want to let the Lenscratch readers know how much it’s been an honor and joy to showcase the various works and personalities of Korean photographers through Lenscratch. Personally, this opportunity gave me the chance to develop a deeper understanding for photography through the perspectives of different photographers. In this final edition, I’d like to spotlight Hyun-du Park, a photographer whose work is truly emblematic of South Korea’s leading contemporary photography scene. Not only that, he has paved the way for many young photographers and artists as a profound educator. As a professor in photography, he is currently charting the course for the future of Korean photographers.
Kids, masked, greeted their teachers with pantomimed high-fives. Some rushed jubilantly toward their classmates, while others solemnly maintained a perimeter of personal space.
On Tuesday, after seven months of closure due to the coronavirus pandemic, and two reopening delays, New York City’s public elementary schools welcomed students back inside their buildings. It wasn’t technically the first day of school—the beginning of the academic year took place remotely—and in many ways it didn’t feel like one. The streets of the East Village, a neighborhood with one of the highest densities of primary schools in the city, would in any other year be a snarl of yellow buses, and sidewalks and schoolyards would reverberate with operatic shouts and shrieks of greeting. This time, by comparison, the activity was sparse and subdued. Parents and caretakers, queuing for drop-off (their times staggered, at most schools, to avoid crowding), stood atop social-distancing markers—yellow lines painted on the pavement outside of one school building, yellow stars at another, blue “X”s of electrical tape on the sidewalk at a third. Kids, masked, greeted their teachers with pantomimed high-fives. Some rushed jubilantly toward their classmates, while others solemnly maintained a perimeter of personal space.
In her early 20s, photographer Mimi Plumb returned to her childhood home to document a generation of disaffected youth growing up amid the drought-ridden California landscape.
In her early 20s, photographer Mimi Plumb returned to her childhood home to document a generation of disaffected youth growing up amid the drought-ridden California landscape.
A new exhibition of work by Matt Eich at jdc fine art draws from a year and a half of prolific image-making in an ongoing visual journal series titled, Seasonal Blues. This string of work links moments together like a never-ending chain. A selection of the work exists as limited-edition prints and many more appear in small-run quarterly self-published books by the emerging artist (under the imprint Little Oak Press). Time- the fleeting baseline of life itself- is revealed in Eich’s Seasonal Blues. As Eich creates this image of the world, he seeks to locate himself within it.
In a career spanning six decades, the Baltimore-born photographer has been documenting creativity that falls outside of the mainstream. To mark a new respective of her work, she talks carving out space, staying inspired and why she’s never been one for rules.
In honor of the International Day of Peace and Peace Week, Lenscratch has partnered with the National Center for Civil and Human Rights to feature photographic projects highlighting the lasting impacts of war, conflict, and displacement. Lauren Tate Baeza
Thomas Nybo’s series, Attacks Against Rohingya, is a photo essay on survival. It captures this harrowing exodus and the quiet resilience of people who, despite enduring tremendous loss and facing uncertain futures, press on, provide unyielding care for their families, and rebuild community.
In honor of the International Day of Peace and Peace Week, Lenscratch has partnered with the National Center for Civil and Human Rights to feature photographic projects highlighting the lasting impacts of war, conflict, and displacement. Lauren Tate Baeza
The war ended in 1975, but has resulted in the post-war injury, loss of limb, and death of tens of thousands of people, most frequently farmworkers and playing children. In Laos, it is estimated that one third of the land and a quarter of villages are contaminated with unexploded munitions. The threat of explosives prevents recovering nations from developing land and rebuilding. Margaux Senlis ’ photographic series, UXO, captures the tension beneath beautiful Southeast Asian landscapes. The images illuminate that the time between the unrest of the 1970s and today does not seem as distant in many regions of the world
