Kriston Jae Bethel

Heidi: You studied journalism and political science at Temple University and transformed into a lecture adjunct. How did that academic foundation shape your approach to documentary and protest photography?

Kriston: I think my choice to study both journalism and political science was more a function of who I am and what I want to see in the world, so in a sense, the same thing that drives my approach to photography is what led me to my academics. The two are intertwined, but a core part of who I am is that I like to understand people and I love to learn how things work. I do believe having that formal background allows me to think more deeply about the issues I cover and try, as much as possible, to see what’s unfolding without inserting my own emotions. Of course, as a visual journalist, I’m also trying to capture the feeling behind that, so I can build a connection with the audience. But it also lets me have much more nuanced conversations, which can help people feel at ease or even open doors that may otherwise remain closed.

As noted in Diversify Photo’s “Solutions Photography” talks, trauma-informed long-form story creation is central. How do you ethically build trust with protest participants—especially in emotionally-charged environments?
When you’re working in a crowd of people, whether it’s dozens or tens of thousands, I think the first, and hopefully easiest part, is to just be a genuine human being. I take the time to talk to people, I’ll answer questions about what I’m working on, or even make a portrait of someone just because they asked. You’re not there to participate in a protest, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have humanity. I think this is even more important when you’re working with people whose viewpoints may differ from your own. It’s the little things that I think go a long way, even non-verbal communication like a smile or a nod, that help people feel at ease. Authenticity is key.

How do you maintain that journalistic neutrality when covering emotionally charged social justice issues, where public sentiment often runs high?
I think there’s a misconception about what neutrality means and how we handle it as journalists. I mean, nearly everyone wants to believe that they’re neutral, that they’re completely unbiased, that they’re thinking with their head and not their heart. If that were true, politics would probably be a lot more boring and social media would be a much kinder space!

But the fact is that we’re not robots. The important part of being a journalist isn’t that you exist without personal opinions or feelings, but that you don’t let those get in the way of your coverage. We all come with our own life experiences that shape who we are and how we see the world, but when you’re doing the work, it’s important to discern how those may affect your perceptions. I think good journalists learn to allow themselves to feel, without letting it override their reporting.

There are a thousand tiny moments where decisions are made as a photographer – the stories we pitch, where you choose to point our camera, what we leave out of the frame, what makes our final edit. Things like gender, ethnicity, orientation, religion, economic background – all of these qualities shape our world view, giving us unique knowledge and insight. But it’s important to acknowledge these, especially in cases where they may lead to privilege, so we can minimize blind spots.

In high-pressure work, how do you stay flexible—able to fully feel intense moments and then bounce back—and what small habit helps you reset?
Something you and I talked about is this idea of “emotional elasticity” – being flexible with your experiences, your life, your emotions. When talking to my colleagues and friends who work in the industry, a lot of people are feeling the toll of working in a field that’s often driven by high pressure moments, while capturing intense emotions that you’re deeply embedded in. It can be a lot to manage, but it’s important to stay healthy through that. Whether you’re seeing a therapist or journaling on your own, talking it through with someone else or just doing mental check-ins with yourself. For me, I try not to center my entire being around the work, but have outside interests. I rock climb, I coach and overall practice cultivating a positive mindset. I think trying to push things down without recognizing your own experience is a good way to burn out. That’s where the ability to remain flexible and resilient becomes important, so that you can experience everything in the moment, but still come back to who you are.

How do you, as a coach, foster resilience and empathy in your athletes—helping them face failure, handle negative thoughts during long runs, and grow not just as runners, but as people?
I coach high school track and cross country, predominantly working with distance athletes. This is something I do simply because I enjoy being there for them, but it’s a lot less about the athletics than I think most people think. When you have to run a distance event, there can be a lot of time in your head for negativity to creep in and take over. What we try to teach is resiliency, the ability to overcome, how to come back after failure. It’s not about never having those negative thoughts, but how you deal with those emotions. These are the lessons we’re really working on and sport kind of just comes out of it. I hope the thing they’ve learned after graduating isn’t how to be a better runner, but how to be a better version of themselves.

There really is a tremendous amount of pressure on young people today. I think we’re suffering as a society from a lack of empathy and willingness to actually listen to one another. This has us pushing further and further in opposite directions, looking for confirmation more than critical understanding. Combine that with the internet and social media that allows us to see what we want – this has us in a very challenging position right now. Bringing it back around, I hope that my work helps us build a more resilient society, that helps us grow closer together, to see the tough things and understand more about what the other is feeling.

You were embedded in the flagship Philadelphia action, among an estimated 80,000 protesters on June 14. How did you ensure your images reflected both the collective voice and the individual stories within such a massive crowd?
Scale is always impressive and often provides a sense of how important or urgent an issue may be. It’s the big picture. However, it’s also crucial to take viewers into the ground level and create images that capture emotion (something I seem to be talking about a lot). I’m constantly looking through a crowd and trying to find a variety of emotions and moments that tell us how people are feeling. There’s always something that stands out to me. And in addition to that, I’m always trying to find something that may subvert expectations. I’m not always successful, but It’s definitely something I’m keeping an eye out for.

Crowd density and police presence bring unique risks. How do you assess and manage personal risk while on assignment—especially in fast-moving situations?
I want to preface my answer by saying I’m not a HEFAT (Hostile Environment First Aid Training) instructor and anyone looking to learn more about how to stay safe in potentially hostile environments should definitely look into taking a course. That said, there are a lot of steps you can take to keep yourself safe, but the first thing to know is your level of risk tolerance. You have to be honest with yourself about how much you can handle, depending on your training and experience, and to not exceed that. Then you have to have a risk assessment. Who might be working against you, what threats do they pose and how do you mitigate that. In regard to physical safety, having eye protection, head protection and respiratory protection are all things you should have on hand.

What are two key things to consider for anyone covering fast moving situations?
I think the two most important things are 1. Good communication and 2. Having a field buddy.

To the first part, always talk to your editors about your plan, then remain in communication with them throughout the day. And if you’re going into something alone, make sure you have someone at home to keep updated. This could be a partner, friend or family member. Before the protest, I reached out to several other freelance colleagues that were going to be covering the protest and got us all in a chat with one another. While we were all working for different publications, I wanted us to all be able to rely on one another on the ground. This was all in addition to remaining in contact with my editors and security team.

To the second part, having someone in the field with you that you can rely on really does increase your safety level. During the protest, my colleagues and I checked in with one another throughout the day and later in the evening, many of us traveled together, so no one was alone. Things can get more unpredictable when it starts getting dark. A group of protestors separate from the “No Kings” event gathered outside the Federal Detention Center and marched through the city, leading to some conflict with law enforcement. Having someone that can see the things you miss, especially in situations like these, could be the difference between going home and taking a trip to the hospital.

There’s a lot more that can be said about this, like maintaining situational awareness, deescalation (whether it’s with protestors, law enforcement or just someone on the street), when to blend in and when to stand out, but I would highly recommend taking a course for those interested in pursuing more of this type of work.

At the end of the day, the number one thing to remember is to use good judgement and avoid risks beyond what you’re prepared for, because you’re more important than a photo.

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Mountain Gazette

Editor: Mike Rogge
Art Director: John Coleman
Copy Editor: Kim Stravers
Managing editor: Doug Schnitzpahn
Office Dog Boss: Quinn, Mike’s BF 

 Mountain Gazette has had multiple lives since its origins in the 1960s, including its most recent resurrection in 2020 under your lead. What drew you personally to this legacy publication, and how are you preserving its original spirit while modernizing it for a new audience?
I liked the alternative side of Mountain Gazette. I’m drawn to creative, outside-the-box thinkers and you would be hard pressed to find anyone more outside the norms than the 60s and 70s writers, photographers, and artists of those early issues of Mountain Gazette. The late-Tom Benton designed the second ever cover of MG. He also did the first ever Earth Day poster and much of Hunter S. Thompson’s Gonzo campaign for sheriff of Aspen. It would be wrong for me to try to find the next Hunter or John Fayhee. Rather, I search for writers, photographers, poets, artists, weirdos who carry that spirit of seeing the world differently than those writing the ins and outs of gear reviews, advetorials, and overblown everything-ness of modern outdoor writing.  I’m editing a Best of Anthology book to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of Mountain Gazette’s founding. I have discovered the spirit of those early writers—embedding in a rodeo, following an obscure sport to obsession, writing about music and the outdoors—spans across generations. As far as modernizing it, we allow readers to subscribe with a credit card. It used to be a check or cash in the mail. Other than that, we try to keep it real. Keep it core. Keep it us.

Your love and print and its revival run deep for you, can you share with our readers your POV on independent publishing?
Independent publishing gets a bad rap sometimes. The image of ordering 1,000 books, selling none, and having boxes in a garage for eternity is not lost on me. The reality is without private equity backing you, independent publishing is a bootstrapper’s endeavor. And I like that. Sales not going well? Do something about it. Magazine sucks? Do something about it. As an independent publisher I’m free to work with whomever I’d like whether that’s Harry Bliss and Steve Martin or some young dirtbag journalist making a really good point in a Substack post. Independent publishing is freedom.  Recently I came to terms through my agent on a book deal with Penguin Randomhouse and their subsidiary Clarkson Potter. As a 20 year-plus ski writer, it’s a dream project, dream team over at Clarkson Potter, and dream scenario. Next week I will go to work just a few blocks south of Central Park. As an Adirondack born and raised kid, that feels like walking on the moon. I am greatly looking forward to learning how it all works in traditional publishing. I see the benefits of both indie and traditional publishing. I’m grateful I no longer have to choose which path to follow. “I can ski both lines” is how I’ve been thinking about it.  At Mountain Gazette, I’m the editor, owner, publisher, trash guy, HR, and what I’m getting at is I wear many hats. Our General Manager Austin Holt has taken a lot off my plate as has Meghan Rogge who is our VP. Conor Sendak our VP of Sales has taken excellent care of our advertising partners by setting realistic expectations and delivering.  We’re a small team and we’re constantly refining our way of doing things. We’re in the pursuit of making our title the gold standard when it comes to publishing, working with contributors, and taking care of our readers. We are not perfect. Far from it. The work is never done. There are a lot of indie titles, but there is only one Mountain Gazette.  With this book I’m working on, I get to work with longtime contributors from the ski world who I consider family. I’m still meeting the team at Clarkson Potter, but they’ve been nothing but supportive. It’s nice to join a team. It’s nice to build one, too. 

You famously bought the rights to Mountain Gazette for “a few hundred bucks and a Coors Banquet.” Beyond the romance of that moment, what were the biggest challenges you faced in relaunching a print-focused magazine in a digital era—and how did you build a passionate readership around it?
I have been called a romantic person by more than one person in my life. I tend to get romantic about the small moments in life. The world was in the middle of the global pandemic, pre-vaccines, and I figured I should spend my time making something good for the world rather than freaking out about everything. My original intent was to grow the subscriber base to 1,000 people or so. A friend and former Mountain Gazette editor Peter Kray has always told me to write what I wanted to read. I wanted to make a magazine I couldn’t find anywhere else. I wanted it to be big, really big, pages, great writing, surprises, and just find things in the world that made me say, “Wow. That is fucking cool!” I haven’t gotten bored yet.  I’ve always believed if you focus entirely on the editorial the readers will find it. They did. My favorite stories from subscribers are when they have friends over for a dinner party or to have a drink and the magazine is on the table. Their guests stumble upon the magazine and say something to the effect of “What the heck is this?” I believe we get a lot of new readers that way. We hear a version of this story all the time.  We’re also print-focused, but in no way digital ludites. I’ve made what’s called “digital content” for two decades now. Print gave me a chance to focus. It gave me a page count. We could all use more page counts, some limits. Just because everything can be posted all of the time doesn’t mean it’s good. McDonald’s makes a quick meal, but it also gives you a stomach ache if you eat it all of the time. It’ll actually kill you. Digital media is fast food. It’s hard to find the good stuff online. The good stuff is in the real world. We should all try to remember that more.

The NYT referred to Mountain Gazette as “gusty and wise” – You mentioned that “we went too far in the digital realm — and now we’re pulling it back.” How does Mountain Gazette intentionally design its print experience to provide that “lean back” feeling and stand apart from the overwhelming pace of digital media?
John Branch did a great job with that piece. The first thing we, John Coleman, our art director, and I did was talk about how a magazine should be pieced together. The best way to do anything, in my opinion, is to talk a lot about what’s wrong with the way things are done. Start by not repeating someone else’s mistakes. Print magazines for a while now used crappy paper, too many poorly designed ads, not enough pages…it all reeked of desperation to do anything to keep the lights on. We pushed our advertisers to make ads that were above all beautiful. We also took a note out of podcast formatting and made it clear that ads would appear at the beginning of the book and at the end of the book. The feature well would be uninterrupted by ads for the benefit of the reader’s enjoyment. John and I determined we could do four-page features, but bigger ones would be better. The early Gazette had cartoons, so I reached out to my friend Cy Whitling and he’s had a cartoon in every single issue of the revival. Later, we found Mike Handzlik also known as The Dead Dirtbag. He pairs so well with the Jaded Local column. He and Hans are a good team. I brought on Harry Bliss and Steve Martin. Harry is one of the best artists I’ve had the privilege of working with. I like the way his mind works and how he dissects the world with a pen. Saying Steve Martin is funny is an obvious thing to say, but in our email interactions we can debate the funniness of a single word. He emailed Harry and I about the strip a few hours after he hosted the monologue of Saturday Night Live’s 50th anniversary show. Steve and Harry are dedicated to the strip and for that I am grateful. I feel this dedication to editorial cartoons is a major thing that separates us from others.  On our features, we get weird, we get soulful, we get rad, we get serious, but everything has to have heart and a perspective. We don’t phone a single page or line in. We try to publish what others would not. That’s not to be provocative. We don’t do anything for shock value in the magazine. That’s for the internet. We don’t need to get you with a headline. If you have the magazine, we already have you in the community. So we just lay it all out in a way that’ll make you put down the phone, pour a nice beverage, and take a deep breath. And to be honest with you, I don’t think any part of digital media does any of what I mentioned above. That’s what sets us apart. We don’t do silly dance videos. Maybe that sets us apart? Maybe we should do silly dance videos. I don’t know. I think I’d rather make two good magazines then go do literally anything else. 

As part of a broader resurgence of high-end, niche outdoor journals, Mountain Gazette has embraced collectible large formats and minimal online presence. How do you balance being “unapologetically analog” with the need to grow a modern readership and engage digitally without diluting the print experience? What was your inspiration for the large format – or was it simply to represent vast and wild spaces?
We have never shared a single story in the magazine online. And we won’t. Our readers pay good money for the magazine. It’s their magazine. We owe it to them to not cheapen by giving it away for free. We can use the internet for what it was intended to be—a tool. We’re sitting with around 30,000 subscribers right now. I don’t believe there are other titles sitting at those numbers. It’s our job to communicate with our readers. We keep our magazine exclusive to print. Our online presence is mostly for advertising to get the title in front of more people, make a few jokes, sell a few t-shirts. I find the more our team engages online the less happy we are. Recently, we threw a show at the Crystal Bay Club here in North Lake Tahoe with the band Grateful Shred. We had over 300 people show up. I met local readers, but also a group of 9 people who drove up from Los Angeles to Tahoe to see the band and hang with other Mountain Gazette readers. It’s a community. No hashtags needed. The large format was inspired in large part by Victory Journal and coffee table books. I wanted to make a coffee table book twice per year. I don’t know what I was thinking but it’s worked out so far. 

Congratulations on the reprint of issue 203 – what makes that issue so special in your mind, Drew Smith shot the powerful cover story. How did the story pitch unfold?
Thank you. We have 6,000 additional copies coming off the press at the end of the month. We’re close to having our tenth sold out issue in a row. That makes me the single worst product forecaster in the industry. We typically slow down business-wise in June. School is ending. Summer is beginning. So I ordered a few thousand more copies than we needed, but when the world saw Drew’s cover…it just went nuts. We sold out in about three and a half weeks. We actually didn’t even use our marketing materials to promote the issue. They weren’t ready in time. The cover did all the work. That felt special and it’s really a testament to Jim Morrison, his vision for skiing the Great Trango Tower, and then pitching the story to me on the Granite Chief chairlift at Palisades Tahoe. He’s the only person to ever successfully pitch me on a chairlift. Another first for Jim.

Trango (TNF movie)  is set in one of the most dramatic alpine environments on Earth. What were the biggest challenges editing the 18 page spread story to show the scale and vertical exposure of the Great Trango Tower as well as the isolation for the reader?
John and I did our best to edit down the selections, but ultimately we leaned on Jim over a Zoom session or two and a few phone calls to share with us the ins and outs of the journey. When Jim’s eyes lit up at parts in the story, we knew those were the images we needed to find a home for. Authenticity is important to our stories. There were plenty of rad shots Drew took that didn’t make the cut. That’s what happens when you work with insanely talented people in print. It can’t all get into the feature. The Trango film does an excellent job telling the story of the expedition. We wanted to tell the story of Jim’s experience, what his heart was telling him to do or not do, and the consequences of decisions in the mountains. For me, the film and the feature are entirely different and complimentary. For the design, we try to stick to singles and spreads for images. An 11×17 page lends itself to vertically oriented shots. The spreads can show the vastness and remoteness of the range. Drew has a great eye and the variety we had to work with was a ton of fun for John and me. 

Mountain Gazette began as Skier’s Gazette in 1966 and evolved into a cultural touchstone by the 1970s, featuring icons like Hunter S. Thompson and Edward Abbey. Looking back, what do you think made the magazine resonate with readers during that era—
and what lessons did you learn over the past few issues?
Counter culture is needed in the world. We can’t let those in power tell us how to have fun, how to love, how to feel, or how to live a meaningful life. Skiers’ Gazette began with horror stories of the US Ski Team from former members. That’s just not something people wrote about in 1966. Powder wouldn’t come along until 1972. I like to think it was directly or indirectly influenced by that anti-establishment story in Skiers’ Gazette. I’ll have to ask the Moe Brothers one day. It’s not hard to see one story show folks that “this is not the way” and then another picks up the narrative and says “actually this way is kind of fun and funky.” That kind of speaking out is important. As storytellers we focus too much today on the intended outcome of a piece, but I believe the message and the medium are more important. We can pretend, as editors, that we can control outcomes, but we cannot. The best we can hope is we put something powerful into the world. We don’t build the fires. We can, however, create the spark. 

Abbey and Thompson, they lit the match. The Jaded Local column by Hans Ludwig, today, he does the same thing. Cy Whitling does the same thing. Jason Roman, Megan Michelson, Amanda Monthei, Ari Schneider, George Sibley, Emily Leibert…they write and shoot and create art from their hearts. It’s never mailed in. That way of creating resonated then and it is what resonates now. We work with people who genuinely give a shit. 

Over the last few issues I’ve learned a few things. Number one is that if our team at Mountain Gazette isn’t right, nothing can be right. Thankfully, I have the best team with me right now. Two is that there is no end to editorial. Just when I think I’ve figured out the formula, it needs to change. The world evolves and so does the magazine. What someone loved about MG 194 might not be what they love about MG 204 this fall. We have got to evolve our editorial as the world changes. We’re at our best when we reflect how the outdoor world actually is. That is an on-going job. I’ve been wrong about many things. I don’t enjoy running a business as much as I love making a magazine. We switched printers. That was unexpected, unfortunate, but the right move for the future of the magazine. Being wrong is just a chance to grow and learn. I’m grateful our readers allow me to do that. If I end up being more wrong than I am now, from an editorial standpoint, if I feel like I’m slipping or the readers let me know the edge is gone, I’ll step aside and allow the next editor of the magazine to take it down the next path. The goal here is to not die in this chair. The goal of this revival is that another one will never be necessary. 

How do photographers get in touch for potential story ideas?
We have a submissions page at MountainGazette.com. We receive over 6,000 story submissions per year for around 40-45 slots over two stories. It’s hard to get in our pages, but I promise when you do it’ll be worth it.

Issue 200 marked a creative milestone for Mountain Gazette, with Tom Benton’s golden aspen leaf not just serving as cover art, but as a visual metaphor for the magazine’s deep Colorado roots, artistic, “soul ride” aesthetic What made that particular image—and Benton’s legacy—so essential to this moment in the Gazette’s history?
I love Tom Benton and all of his work. He’s someone I wish I could have met. Powerful messaging through simplicity is the hardest creative act in the world. Benton was a master. I have one of his originals hanging in my living room. For the 200th issue, we felt it was deeply important to pay homage to the Colorado roots, specifically Aspen, Colorado, and the freak, gonzo, dirtbag, ski bum culture that inspired our magazine and generations of people.

How big is your creative team?
John Coleman is our art director. Kim Stravers is our copy editor. Doug Schnitzpahn is our managing editor. Quinn is my dog. I am the editor/Quinn’s best friend. We work with a handful of contractors on retainer.

What’s something you want photographers to know about Mountain Gazette?
Shooting with your subjects dead center works for Instagram, but not for magazines. Use the rule of thirds and quit putting all the rad stuff in the middle. It ends up in the gutter. Shoot for print. Shoot with a goal in mind. Intention is everything. Have fun. Be different.
   

For those who haven’t been following the major rift in the world of photojournalism a quick summary of what is going on: A film called “The Stringer” directed by Bao Nguyen (previously directed The Greatest Night In Pop) and produced/starring Gary Knight (VII Agency co-founder and ED) premiered at The Sundance Film Festival on January 25 claiming and attempting to prove that 53 years ago Nguyễn Thành Nghệ actually took “The Terror of War”  (AKA Napalm Girl) image and not Nick Ut. AP photo editor Carl Robinson claims his boss, Horst Fass, told him to switch the credit from Nguyễn, a stringer, to Nick, an AP photographer. The filmmakers find Nguyễn, and he says, yes, he took the picture.

Prior to the film’s premiere, the AP released a preliminary report disputing the claims of the film. At the premiere, the AP watched the film and followed up (May 16) with a 100-page report saying that there’s not enough evidence to remove Nick Ut’s credit.

Then, on May 16, World Press Photo released a statement saying they investigated (David disputes the characterization that they investigated and rather they simply got a private screening of the film and agreed with the conclusion) and are suspending Nick Ut’s credit on his 1973 Photo of the Year award.

This sparked outrage on social media with posts from what appears to me to be the VII camp (Ashley Gilbertson, Ed Kashi, Sara Terry) and the Nick Ut camp (David Burnett, Pete Souza, David Kennerly).

And the real zinger in the whole dust-up is that David Burnett was there! He’s an eyewitness to the events at Trang Bang, where the famous image was made.

Ok, one final note: besides the premiere at Sundance and private screenings, the film cannot be watched until a distributor is lined up. I’m aware of a screening in DC next month, but most people, including David and myself, have not seen the film.

I talked with David over the phone, and here’s a condensed and edited version of our conversation.

Rob Haggart: I want to start by asking if it’s really difficult for you to go back and rehash all this stuff.

David Burnett: No, I mean, I have these moments from not just Vietnam, but the jobs that I worked my whole life, French elections, Ethiopia, Chile, and it’s not really something that causes me great pain. There are so many of these things that I’ve lived through that the memories of them and what I was doing in them as a photographer is very, very clear in my head. And Trang Bang is really no different than almost anything else.

The first time I was under fire and had the crap scared out of me, it’s one of those things where you don’t just think, will I ever get over it? Because you don’t, they become part of what your life is about.

The running joke about Trang Bang and me was that, well, I missed the shot because I was changing film in my old screw mount knob wind Leica which is kind of a slow, kludgy film camera. It was not an easy camera to operate.

And yet, Cartier-Bresson shot with them for something like 20 years before the M2 and the M3 came along and made some pretty great pictures, so I mean, I think part of why I even bothered shooting with that camera instead of getting another M2 for 200 bucks, was kind of a historical thing with the old Contax and Leicas, you felt a little more attached to some kind history if you’re shooting with this kludgy old camera and um you know, and I was trying to reload it and anybody had ever owned one of the cameras knows that if you take a 35-millimeter film where you have the little cut-down tongue that you really need to cut an extra inch or inch and a half away from that one side that’s cut so that when you drop the film in the camera, it will seat itself perfectly.

I never bothered doing that, so I was always stumbling, trying to get the camera reloaded. So I was reloading it when the plane came in to drop the napalm. I was holding the open camera in my left hand and shooting with a 105 in the other hand. When the napalm hit right next to the pagoda, there was this Gigundo fucking fireball, Nick has that picture, and I kind of have it a few seconds later. But it was the in the days when you didn’t shoot with three motor drives, you know, you weren’t going out there to shoot 25 rolls of film. I think I shot maybe three or four rolls that day, and it was a fairly long period of time we were there because we were kind of hanging out waiting to see what was going on.

You could hear firing and shooting coming from the village. Then the planes came in, and there was that fireball, and then like three minutes later, the kids started running out of the field and onto the road toward us, and that is the moment, more than anything in my mind, where Nick was the one guy who was in a position to shoot the picture, and nobody else was. There was this line of journalists, and we were all within a few feet of each other lined up across the road. As soon as we could tell that, there were people on the road racing out toward us, and the kids were running as fast as they could run. Nick and this guy Alex Shimkin, who was killed a few weeks later up north, took off running towards them, and no one else did.

RH: When did you first hear a film was being made about this event and that there were questions about the author of the famous image?

I was sitting at a Walgreens parking lot in Florida 3 years ago going in to go get some stuff, and Gary Knight called me and said tell me everything you know about Trang Bang, so I spent a couple hours on the phone and told him everything I know and then said you know there’s this guy and he’s kind of a horses ass, ex AP guy and he says that Nick didn’t shoot the picture and I kind of think he’s full of crap as does everyone else but along the way you’re gonna run into Carl Robinson.

Carl had this real chip on his shoulder about AP, and he was never afraid to let people know how he felt like he’d been screwed over by the AP.

RH: So you’re telling me this rumor has been around for a while?

Yep, a long time. It’s not new. The last time I saw Horst Faas was in 2008. There was a gathering for a memorial wall at the news museum in Washington, and if you lived near the East Coast and worked as a journalist in Vietnam, you pretty much were there that day. Somebody at that point could have said, hey, Horst, let me talk to you about this thing that Carl’s been telling everybody that you told him to put Nick’s name on the image, and it was really some stringer’s film.

And no one ever, no one ever asked Horst.

No one ever just asked him point blank.

I guess Carl makes a pretty reasonable case for trying to talk about how the guilt of 50 years and being able to unburden his guilt when he finally met this guy. But you know, every crackpot theory that ever was has at least a 2% chance that it happened.

Could Horst have said it? I suppose he could have. But it would have been very out of line with what always happened.

If you talk to Neal Ulevich, who was in the AP bureau as a staff photographer for, I don’t know, six or seven years in Asia and was in the bureau the whole time, he will tell you about the sacrosanct policy of never allowing anyone’s film to have any name on it other than the actual photographer that shot it.

He said, “All the time I was in Asia, never once did I see anybody do anything like that.”

It just didn’t happen.

I was in that group of people who were looking at the first print of Napalm Girl when it came out of the darkroom, and I did what every photographer in the history of photography would have done, which is I look at this picture and I try and think to myself without having seen my own film, hm, I wonder if I have anything better. I’m thinking, yeah, that’s pretty good. That’s probably better than anything I have.

There were 3 or 4 of us looking at this little 5 x 7 print that was still wet, and Horst, without making a big deal out of it, just turned to Nick and said, “You do good work today, Nick Ut.”

I still have the memo I wrote when I went back to my office at the Time-Life Bureau. I said there was this accidental bombing in this village called Trang Bang, and I said, Nick from AP got a pretty good picture, and they tell me they’re shipping the negative to New York on what’ll be the same flight that my negatives are gonna be on, so you’ll be able to get an original print made in the lab rather than rely on a wire service photo.

So that’s what they ended up doing. It was in the front section of the magazine called the Beat of Life; there were always 3 or 4 of these big picture spreads.

Usually one picture, sometimes two or even three, and they ran one of mine of the grandma with the burned baby and Nick’s picture side by side, and when you look in the photo credits, it says page four and five, David Burnett, AP. I mean, it was the wire services in the 70s. They weren’t going to put a photographer’s name on it. It’s kind of funny that way.

RH: What are the chances, if you’re Nick, that you don’t know beforehand you made that picture?

There’s no way that either of those guys would not know they took that picture. It was such an enpassant moment, and I’m sure there was just one frame that was the one.

For sure, there are times when you’re surprised by something you’ve done when you move from wherever you shot it, and now, you know, we’ve kind of shut out the middle man, and you go right to the computer and see if what’s on there is anything like what you remember, but in the film days I would find it really hard to not know that you had something.

I can’t imagine that the camera wasn’t up at the eye; it’s not like a chest-high Hail Mary, although technically, it was never great, but maybe at the same time, some of the imperfections add to the raw reality of that moment.

RH: That leads me to this talking point I see from the film’s defenders saying that this is not a critique of Nick, but that would mean that Nick didn’t know he took the photo. But you think there’s no way he didn’t know he took the photo, so the film is saying he’s been lying for 53 years about this.

He’s a 21-year-old kid with a camera, and I think incapable of that. Yes, it was a good picture, but there were a lot of good pictures out there.

And, you know, some people have said, oh, but Horst knew right away that that was gonna be a great picture, and he wanted AP to have the copyright on it instead of a stringer. But the thing is, you’ve got all these little sub-arguments if you accept a certain premise, and you can walk yourself right off a cliff of trying to figure out what it is you believe or don’t believe.

Gary called me back at one point, and he said, you know, I think there’s really something to Carl’s statement here, but you know, once you get the first bit of the Kool-Aid, you just gotta drink the whole pitcher, and I just don’t see it.

I mean, like I said, it’s possible.

Everything’s possible, you know?

I mean, you know, once you start to believe part of it, you kind of end up believing the whole thing, or you believe none of it.

To me, it looks like Gary’s trying to make himself into a big documentary producer, and this is his launch pad.

Gary said you ought to be in the film, and I just said, Gary, I don’t wanna do a goddam Mike Wallace interview where I have no control over how you cut it or anything else. I’ve watched 60 minutes too many times where Mike managed to hammer somebody, and I had no confidence that it would be a fair representation.

Fox Butterfield was the reporter I was with that day working for The New York Times, and he got a call from Gary’s wife, a producer on the film, he started to tell her his version of what took place, and she told him everything you’ve said is wrong. That’s not a really good way to coax people into a discussion. She said he would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, and he said, what the hell for? I’m the one telling you stuff; you haven’t told me anything.

Gary said to me last time I talked to him like six weeks ago, he said, well, you know, we’ve done all this forensic stuff, and we’ve proven that he couldn’t be down there to take the picture.

And I said to him, in my mind, because I remember the way he ran out on the road ahead of everybody else when the kids were coming down the road, he’s the only one who could have taken that picture because it was in the very first moments that the kids were coming down toward where the journalists were lined up, and it was after that everybody else started wandering around, but that was another five or ten or 15 minutes later.

And I just don’t see how anybody else was out there in front, and to me, that picture was taken out in front. It wasn’t taken right next to the press people.

It was out there away, maybe, I don’t know, 20 yards, 40 yards. 50 yards.

RH: How do you think the filmmakers should have handled this? What should they have done with the information they got from Carl?

You don’t ever want to get to a place where people are afraid to posit things, but I don’t know what the answer is, but you know, unlike a lot of people who don’t shut up about it, I’m not sure I have an answer to what the most perplexing question is.

And I never said I was right behind him when he shot that.

I saw him, I was changing my film, and it was a minute or two minutes later, and in those moments, that could be a long time. I offer it strictly as a witness to what happened that day and nothing more.

I find one of the most curious things of all, aware of the fact that Nguyễn probably had to leave Saigon with almost nothing, that he left everything behind, and  I totally get that.

But apparently, he never sold another picture to anybody, and in the last 50 years, no one has even seen one picture that he’s taken.

Other than the most famous picture of the Vietnam War.

That is a really weird leap of faith.

Photographer: Sacha Stejko

I had the pleasure of serving on the 2025 Communication Arts Photography Competition jury—a fantastic opportunity to step outside my usual discipline and review photography alongside my esteemed peers. One standout moment was discovering Sacha Stej Sacha, an Auckland-based photographer represented by Image Driven Content. Her accolades include being named one of the top 200 advertising photographers globally by Lürzer’s Archive and being recognized as one of the 23 World’s Best Sport Photographers by The Agents Club in 2023. I recently had the pleasure of catching up with Sacha to discuss her award-winning image.

Your photography is known for its cinematic and powerful portrayal of women—what are the key elements you look for when capturing intensity and resilience in your subjects?
When I’m gearing up to capture my subjects, there are a few key elements I always keep in mind. First and foremost, getting to know my subjects is essential. I want to know what shapes who they are. Before the shoot and even during it, I dive into conversations that reveal what makes them tick.

Once I have a sense of them, I try matching their emotional tone; if they’re fiery and passionate, I want that to jump off the frame. I aim to include a piece of who they are in every shot, whether it’s a glimmer in their eye or the way they hold themselves. I strive to create an image they can recognize, one that resonates with their energy. It’s all about connection, and that’s what I love most about photography: being able to freeze a slice of someone’s narrative, a moment of resilience and intensity, in time.

In your “Girls in Sports” campaign for 2 Degrees, you highlighted both strength and vulnerability in your subject. Can you talk about how the casting went and what direction you gave?
This campaign was shot alongside a TVC, and the fantastic Director Taylor Ferguson did the casting. When I met these young women I could see that they radiated talent and spirit. For this brief, I wanted to capture that passion and grit. They don’t just play the game—they own it. I love the dichotomy between their sweet appearances and the fierce determination they display on the field – there is nothing more badass than seeing these girls in their element. Take the rugby girl, for instance. I asked her to sprint full speed towards the camera, like she was dodging the opposing team. In that moment, she transformed into a powerhouse charging at me like a freight train, the fire in her belly blazing as she zoomed closer. It was exactly the energy we were after.

How do you balance storytelling with advocacy in your visual work, particularly around gender representation?
Women in sports face a harsh reality—they often get overshadowed, and it’s disheartening to see that women’s sports internationally don’t get the same spotlight as men’s. That’s why campaigns like this are so crucial; encouraging fans—especially from a young age—to rally behind these amazing athletes.

In my visual work, I find that storytelling and advocacy naturally go hand in hand—probably without me even realizing it. As a woman photographer, I’m drawn to capturing fierce, strong women because I know just how powerful we can be. In a society that often tries to box us in or undermine our strength, it’s crucial to keep that fire alive. That passion burns even brighter as a mother to a spirited young daughter. I want her to see women as capable and unafraid, sensitive and kind, just like the women I photograph.

How do you ensure your images challenge traditional portrayals, particularly of femininity and athleticism, while still maintaining authenticity and emotional depth?
I’m usually guided by how I want the image to feel, especially when it comes to capturing femininity and athleticism. My images become a deep dive into an energy that connects the viewer to the subject. I want to create an atmosphere where the audience feels confronted, pulled into the frame, and unable to look away.

I find authenticity through genuine human connections, digging beyond the surface, whether I’m photographing a seasoned athlete or someone new to the sport. There’s something superhuman about athletes; they possess more than just physical strength; they embody resilience and discipline. There’s a profound sacrifice that comes with striving for excellence, and that narrative fascinates me. Each image I capture is a testament to that journey—an exploration of what it truly means to balance vulnerability and power.

Can you talk about the role visual media plays in shifting public perception and promoting equity, especially in underrepresented communities and activist movements? 
Photography holds a unique power in shaping public perception and promoting equity. As a visual person myself, I’ve always felt that a single image can convey emotions and stories far more effectively than words ever could. It’s the raw authenticity of a photograph that can resonate with someone’s heart, breaking down barriers and connecting us all on a fundamental level.

Through the lens of a camera, we can reveal the complexities of human nature and amplify voices that often go unheard. In this visual storytelling landscape, images become tools for change, not just documenting reality but actively reshaping how we view each other. Ultimately, photography fosters a shared humanity that can inspire action and fight against injustice. They remind us that, at our core, we are all just humans with similar desires for love, acceptance, and dignity.

A school playground in the neighbourhood of the Belchatów coal-fired power plant. Kleszczow, Poland.  November 14th 2023.

Climate Visuals: Alastair Johnstone-Hack

Heidi: Archival and historical records play an important visual role in the future of accountability – who did what, when, and with what impact? What type of photography are you looking for to support these themes?
Alastair: Absolutely, and photography can bring this kind of accountability to life in ways that words and data can’t. At Climate Visuals we are predominantly working with photojournalistic imagery, prioritising photography that tells real stories and engages, educates and informs audiences. 

In the most obvious sense, photography can powerfully highlight what is going on, raising awareness and driving public concern. This could be in an immediate, more news focused context, or over a longer period of time. With the latter, the value really comes through in the power of images to show a change over time, to make clear what has happened, changed, been lost or damaged. Some of these changes may be visibly dramatic and obvious, but they could also be more discreet, happening at a scale or pace not immediately visible day to day. In both instances, photography can be a powerful tool in recording and archiving, and in highlighting and proving a reality. 

To maximize this potential for engaging audiences we are often looking for images that distill wider issues into tangible, relatable human-focused stories – what was the effect on a community? How did that community adapt to the changes? We’re also looking for images that go beyond overly familiar visual stereotypes and tell stories in new, compelling ways. We are now all familiar with images of polar bears clinging to melting ice, forest fires sweeping across hillsides, and smokestacks pumping out pollution into the air – and there’s no doubt that these photographs have powerfully contributed to the public image of climate change. But it is our responsibility as photographers and picture editors to build on this and seek new ways of telling these stories and to continue to develop how we visualize these issues. Think about how complex, intersecting issues can be distilled into tangible stories, how your audience might approach an issue and what kind of imagery they are likely to respond to. 

Photography has the potential to fulfill an evidentiary role and then go further, going beyond literal illustration to demonstrating to an audience why something matters. We are looking for photography that can do this – telling the stories of what is happening and then providing a compelling narrative for the viewer to engage with. 

Abandoned homes along the only road traversing Isle de Jean Charles. Home to the Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Indians that have inhabited this narrow island since the 1830s. Located in the Terrebonne Parish, LA, the island and its residents have been in direct threat from hurricanes and sea level rise, which has led to a controversial resettlement project for the community. The increased and consistent threat of climate related events for the island has resulted in a majority of residents moving away, with only 5 families remaining on the island. February 8, 2020. Photo credit: Juan Diego Reyes / Climate Visuals

Proof of degradation, before and after comparisons and human rights angles come to mind, what else?
All of those themes are very important. I’d add highlighting the impacts of climatic changes both locally and globally, the inequality of how impacts are felt, and foregrounding any systemic issues at the heart of a story.

I’d also say that connecting all of these angles into a compelling narrative is an essential role for photography. From an editorial perspective, photography presents a powerful opportunity to knit all of these elements together, again coming back to the idea of helping audiences to engage with what is going on, why a story matters, why they should stop scrolling and engage in more detail, and why this subject deserves their concern. In distilling complex issues into tangible stories, photography can play a vital role in taking climate storytelling out of the abstract, humanising technical details and building a compelling, relatable sense of why stories matter. 

What examples came across your desk recently that felt powerful to you?
We recently worked on a project looking at the effects of air pollution on communities in Indonesia, Poland, South Africa and the UK. In South Africa, photographer Gulshan Khan made some great work with communities in the Highveld region, showing the serious health effects of air pollution in the area. These effects were part of the so-called Deadly Air Case, where the poor air quality over the Highveld Priority Area was deemed a breach of residents’ section 24(a) constitutional right to an environment that is not harmful to their health and well-being. These photographs, combining striking portraits of affected individuals with documentary images of daily life and compelling general views really tell the story of the effects on the local community.

Maria Nkosi* demonstrates how she uses a few times a week for her asthma at her home which is a street away from a mine in Clever, Witbank, Emalahleni, South Africa, on November 28, 2023. In 2021 the High Court in Pretoria confirmed a judgement in what was called the Deadly Air Case, that the poor air quality over the Highveld Priority Area is a breach of residents’ section 24(a) constitutional right to an environment that is not harmful to their health and well-being.  *not her real name. Photo credit: Gulshan Khan/Climate Visuals

Samuel Nkosi* walks through a plot of land next to a mine where he farms vegetables which he donates to the church in Witbank, Emalahleni, South Africa, on November 28, 2023. *not his real name. Photo credit: Gulshan Khan/Climate Visuals

A map of the Vosman area drawn by founder Vusi Mabaso hangs on the wall of the offices of Vukani Evironmental Movement (VEM) discuss the issue of informal miners called Zama-Zamas at their offices in Witbank, Emalahleni on November 28, 2023. VEM is a non profit organisation that was established in 2016, focused on environmental justice issues like Air Pollution, Climate Change and Energy, Water and Sanitation. Photo credit: Gulshan Khan / Climate Visuals

Similarly, in Indonesia, photographer Aji Styawan photographed taxi driver Istu Prayogi in Jakarta who was part of a group of residents of the city who filed a lawsuit relating to air pollution problems. In portraits and reportage of daily life, these images help to ground an expansive problem in real world, relatable stories.

Istu Prayogi (58) working as an online taxi driver, looking for passengers amid the traffic in Jakarta, Indonesia, on November 16, 2023. Every morning he coughs and spits out ripples of thick blood, affected by the air pollution. In 2016, Istu was diagnosed with respiratory problems, referred to as Acute Respiratory Infections (ARI). In August 2019, Prayogi as part of a group of 31 residents who are members of IBUKOTA (Capital) Coalition filed a citizen lawsuit to the Central Jakarta district court related to air pollution problems. They sued the President of Indonesia, the Minister of Health, the Minister of Transportation, Minister of Environment and Forestry, Governor of Jakarta Capital Special Region, West Java and Banten Province. One of their demands is regarding improving regulations for handling air pollution in Jakarta and its surroundings. Photo credit: Aji Styawan/Climate Visuals

Away from our work, I thought that Chris Donovan’s photography of St. John, New Brunswick, recently featured in the New York Times, was a standout example of the power of deeply reported visual storytelling to communicate complex, intersecting stories to an audience and I was really pleased to see the work given the space to tell the story in this way. 

Ewa Pisarzowska worked for over 25 years in the coal mines and salt extraction industry in Rybnik. She lost work during the pandemic and so did her partner, they soon could no longer afford to rent an apartment and for a few months lived at their friend’s place. Recently they rented a studio apartment with central heating, but without furniture. They struggle to pay for food or electricity. Ewa sometimes helps at the “Wspolny Stol” center, she looks for food, still edible but not for sale, in dustbins near big grocery stores. To save money on electricity and still know what is happening in the world she often uses TV as the only source of light in the house.  Rybnik, Silesia, Poland. December 14 2024. Photo credit: Kasia Strek / Climate Visuals

While photography could be a game-changer for climate litigation, there are real, structural, and even ethical barriers that prevent the kind of visual storytelling and documentation that would truly support justice-centered climate work. What do you see as the biggest barriers?
Firstly, time and money. Much of what Climate Visuals advocates for has detailed, in-depth, photographic storytelling at its heart, which as we all know is often expensive and time consuming to produce and all too often out of reach for many. Relatedly – display space. This kind of photojournalism needs to be afforded the space on publication to get into the detail and hold a narrative structure. Whilst there are outlets publishing fantastic, long-form and in-depth, visual reporting, the opportunities for this are only ever decreasing, whilst all the while the dominance of single-image distribution via social media grows. This is a challenging environment for the kind of imagery our evidence tells us audiences want to see. 

Interlinked with these three challenges is the appetite for a less literal, limited and illustrative role for photography in the coverage of climate change. As above, much of what our evidence base encourages becomes more possible when photography’s role in storytelling is not restricted to place-holder, generic images at the top of web articles and in social media thumbnails. Whilst digital platforms provide near limitless opportunities for complex and in depth visual storytelling formats, all too often comprehensive reporting is accompanied by generic, familiar imagery and the potential for compelling and engaging photography is missed. 

As a photography industry we need to continue to push for the expanded role that I’m sure we all believe images should fulfill. We need to seek evidence and rationale for this expanded role to build that justification – be it research evidence like at Climate Visuals, or case studies of high performing exemplary content through audience metrics. It is with these kinds of insights that you can build a case and achieve the necessary buy-in. 

Beyond those structural barriers, I would highlight a couple of other key issues, firstly the safety of participants. This must be at the heart of any considerations about visual coverage of climate litigation and include the full spectrum of potential image uses into the future. Appearing in imagery and being linked to litigation could bring with it significant personal and community risks for participants. Truly informed consent and frank, detailed and empathetic conversations including all available information with any potential participants is essential. Added to this is the ethics of using individual stories to represent wider, more systemic issues. This needs to be carefully considered on a case by case basis, and individuals and their stories need to be appropriately protected, for example with clear limitations on how, where and when imagery can be used. Ensuring that a diverse range of perspectives contributes to the visual coverage is also key. As commissioners and photographers we must collaborate with communities in telling their stories, seek to work with photographers connected to the stories, locations and contexts they are photographing and prioritise expanding the diversity of perspectives seen by audiences. Only by doing this can the full potential for engaging, empathetic and ethical, justice-centered climate visual storytelling be realised. 

Visual evidence-based imagery can serve as critical documentation in legal cases – how are you verifying these images are not manipulated?
Climate Visuals works to, and promotes, photojournalism industry best practice with regards to image manipulation. With commissioned work we are collaborating with trusted photographers who know, understand and actively represent the values and ethics that underpin our work. With submitted images we work with a set of submission guidelines that include standards for manipulation as well as ethical best practice. In addition to these safeguards we carry out verification checks on imagery through a mix of processes including OSINT analysis of content, scenes and locations, fact checking of details and caption information, and working with trusted local partners to confirm image and story details. 

We also prioritise accompanying images with detailed caption information and encourage its inclusion when images are used to ensure that further detail, context and nuance accompany the images.

The solar park located outside the village of Feldheim, Germany on February 21, 2023. The park produces  enough energy to meet the yearly electricity demands of approximately 600 households consisting of four individuals each. Feldheim is the first village in Germany to be completely self-sufficient in energy. With the help of wind energy, photovoltaics, biogas, biomass, a regulating power plant and a local heating network, the village covers its own needs. The large amounts of surplus energy generated in the process are fed into the public grid. Photo credit: Ingmar Björn Nolting / Climate Visuals

What role do you see photography playing within political activism to support the themes of climate change and justice?
Photography can play an important role in helping audiences understand and relate to complex issues. From performing an evidentiary role, recording and highlighting what is happening around our planet, to driving public concern and opinion, there’s a long history of photography playing a powerful role in the issues of climate change and justice. In our ever increasingly image-saturated world I still believe that photography has an essential role to play here, but I do think that the way in which it can play this has changed. I believe that the potential for single photojournalistic images to take on ‘iconic’ status and go on to represent whole issues is now greatly reduced, the volume of new imagery being produced and consumed, and the speed of its consumption, is just too great. Instead, photography’s power as a tool for in-depth, empathetic storytelling, across different platforms and use contexts, should be prioritised. In a highly competitive visual environment, compelling visual reporting presents an opportunity to capture audiences’ attention, inform and build understanding, concern and empathy. To do this however, photography’s role in telling stories of climate change and justice needs not to be restricted to pure illustration, but instead to have the scope and freedom to tell these stories in depth, from a diverse range of perspectives, and with adequate space on publication. Only then can photography fulfil its full potential to humanise complex issues and build empathy, ground stories in a reality that audiences can relate to, and build a weight of evidence behind concerns. 

I also think photography can play an important role in helping audiences to visualise a future. It can show how a situation could be improved, how a community elsewhere came together and solved a similar problem, and what opportunities could come were a cause to be fought. Photojournalism’s role in telling constructive stories shouldn’t be overlooked – we know from our research that images of climate change impacts are very emotionally powerful, but they can also overwhelm audiences. One way to combat this is to pair them with images highlighting tangible, relatable actions that audiences can take, or visual reporting that shines the light on ‘what happened next’ – it’s vitally important to record and show the devastating impacts of climate change, but don’t stop there, seek ways to demonstrate future potential through imagery too.

Firefighters are surrounded by a scorched landscape as they continue to work to tackle a large moorland wildfire in the Goyt Valley, near Buxton in the Peak District. Derbyshire, England. 3rd May 2025. The blaze caused extensive damage to vegetation in the area. Credit: Alastair Johnstone-Hack / Climate Visuals 

Rachel cycles her children to school on a cargo bike, through busy traffic, in Didsbury, Manchester, UK. 2nd February 2024. Photo credit: Mary Turner / Climate Visuals

How did you get involved in Climate Visuals and what are your core themes?
I came to Climate Visuals from my previous role as Deputy News Picture Editor of The Times and The Sunday Times newspapers in London. Before that I was an agency news photographer in south west England. I have long been a keen follower of the work Climate Visuals was doing to combine research insight with practical, usable guidance and resources, and jumped at the chance to get involved. 

At the heart of what we do is our evidence base – this underpins our guidance and the resources that we provide users. It is founded in an original piece of research looking at audience responses to different climate images and led to our 7 Climate Visuals Principles. Since then, we have continued to expand our understanding through further projects, including ones focussed on photographing the ocean and climate link, diversity in images of England’s green and natural spaces, best visual practice for working with those with, or who are from, Indigenous and forest communities of Central and South America, and guidance for photographing extreme heat.
Alongside our guidance resources we run an image library which contains thousands of images that exemplify our findings. Many of these are available through licences that allow for free non-profit, editorial and educational use – making compelling and engaging images of climate change available for those who often find them out of reach. You can browse the library here.

If a photographer wanted to submit images, are you centered around specific themes?
I’m always interested to hear from photographers and see any work people think we might be interested in. Our thematic focus depends on the specific projects that we are working on, but broadly I’m always excited to see images and stories that fulfil our guiding principles/evidence and tell new, compelling environment and climate stories. Whilst we aren’t always able to accept submissions, I am always seeking to expand our network and awareness of photographers working on climate and environment stories in case the opportunity arises for collaboration.  

How does the funding work and is there any assignments, or is this all submission based?
It depends on the project we’re working on – we work with a mix of commissioned assignments, such as with this project on air pollution, and submissions such as with our Ocean Visuals and Visualising Climate Change initiatives. For updates on what we are currently working on you can follow us on social media @climatevisuals.

Photographers! It’s here! Click the link below to learn more about completing the @aphotoeditor and @hmphotoprof 2025 State of the Industry Survey!

We’re recruiting photographers to participate in a massive, state of the industry survey. Open to all professional photographers from all genres and markets. Please share with your colleagues and within your photo network. The more folks that participate, the more accurate the information.

Results to come in summer 2025.

Link to fill out the survey:

Click Here to take the survey

Research conducted by: Heather Morton, professor at Sheridan College heather.morton@sheridancollege.ca and Rob Haggart, PhotoFolio

This research has been reviewed and received ethics clearance by the Sheridan Research Ethics Board. SREB number: 2025-03-001-005

Approximate time to complete the survey: 12 minutes.

Aidan Klimenko

Heidi: Your work has an impressive range – it would be hard to categorize. You mentioned your work asks questions. What questions you thinking about in your recent personal work.
Aidan: I’ve always been drawn to photography because I’ve seen it as an access point to the world. A license to ask, to look, and to learn. Sometimes I find answers, but most often I just find more questions. With this current work that I’m making while in grad school, I’m taking my interest in landscape—an interest that’s been fostered in objectively beautiful places like Antarctica, the Amazon, and Patagonia—and applying it to the contemporary urban, corporate, and residential environments of Los Angeles.
The questions that I’m finding myself thinking about while I walk around and photograph stem from my personal experience of moving to a big city for the first time after years spent living on the road, mostly outside in nature. LA is bizarre and layered. It’s a mix of so many things without really having a centralized, defined identity. And it’s home to a lot of this American obsession with concrete, stucco, and bright colored walls that I’ve been finding myself interested in using as elements to question our relationship with this environment we’ve built and surrounded ourselves with. I’m using this time in school to learn about creating work that provides space for the viewer to have their own relationship with the images—space to ask their own questions instead of making images that are limited by the answers they provide.

It’s interesting, you’re challenging what a wall is – using that typology to question the meaning of a barrier or confining something. Is this an act of resistance in your mind?
Yes, I think so. Or, at least it started out that way. When I first started walking around Los Angeles, it was easy to make work that directly contrasted the open air, natural landscapes that most would think of when they consider the term “landscape”. The images came easily, but quickly felt cliche. Somehow singular and predictable in their general pessimism. It’s easy to focus on the strictly negative–especially here in LA. It’s a dirty city with a massive unhoused population contrasted with insane wealth, all in and around and on top of itself. To treat it only as one thing—whether grimy or glamorous—would be a very narrow point of view. There are so many aspects to LA, and as I continued to walk and to photograph, I began to find myself interested in the complexity of these layers and in how they’re represented in the community architecture of subways, storefronts, traffic markings, and yes, walls. So much of it is colorful and built to look nice, but ultimately to direct or deter us in one way or another. Not meant to be comfortable. Liminal in nature. You’re allowed here, but only to a certain capacity and not for very long.

And then, layered onto these surfaces of glossy colorful paint or polished steel are traces left—markings, scribbles, covered graffiti or hand prints that show a back and forth that is sometimes violent and other times subtle. Visual responses to this landscape, or in resistance to it.

It’s been a fun exercise to shift from relying on obviously compelling subject matter (like penguins in Antarctica or secluded communities in Greenland) to make compelling images. I miss spending my time in nature, and I’m sure that’s seeping into my work. But this has been a very rewarding chapter that’s leading me in a direction that I’m finding quite engaging.

Rather than responding to a market need and losing control of your photographic voice, you are staying true to your development.
Hey, I’m trying! Your best work will always be the stuff you’re passionate about. I’ve always believed that leaning into finding and establishing your own voice as an artist will eventually lead to an identity that’s more uniquely yours rather than a style that looks like everyone else’s following whatever the latest trend. And on top of that the work that is the most fun to make often is the often strongest. Good things come from good work so I try to stay true to making work that inspires me.

I’m still very much on this path of finding my visual identity and am constantly reminding myself to prioritize making work that gets me excited. But doing this is easier said than done, especially when you depend on your artistry for income. In my 20’s, my answer was to live in my truck. By not needing to keep up with rising rent costs I was able to pursue projects that I resonated with rather than having to sacrifice my vision to pay bills. But I recognized this as somewhat temporary solution—despite lasting 7 years on the road without paying rent!—and not likely a sustainable long term path that would lead to the things that I wanted for adult-me, like a stable family lifestyle. Now that I’m in LA, married and starting a family, things have changed and that discipline of staying true to the work that inspires you is much more difficult. LA is an expensive city and my continued path of finding my place within its working professional photography scene has not been a direct one or particularly easy. But it’s led me to some interesting places—some of which have resonated in surprising ways, like commercial fashion and architecture and others not as much. I’ve tried to remember that it’s hard to know whether or not you like something without ever trying it. There are lessons to be learned in even the most unexpected places and on the most unpleasant of jobs.

How do you exercise discipline and fight the temptation of trends?
I’m as tempted by trends as anyone and I’m happy to experiment with new ideas and see what sticks. I take with me whatever I think I can use to get closer to my evolving identity and leave the rest behind.

How does fashion and architecture interplay in your images, does one inform the other?
I’m curious about what connects us, both across continents and within our communities. My work has always touched on environment, sometime on a personal or cultural level and sometimes in more remote, abstract ways. But even when I’m in the middle of nowhere I’m thinking about how we are affected by these places and how we in turn affect them. Fashion reflects how we present ourselves to one another socially—how we choose to either fit into a social environment or stick out from it. One of the many “threads that connect us” if that’s not too on-the-nose. And I think architecture deals with how we as a society choose to interact with our physical environment. The building materials we use, the colors we choose, the space we give ourselves (or don’t) reflects so much about our societal values, our place in the world and our relationship to it. The work I’m making in school is architectural and while it doesn’t directly feature people (yet) it is still very much about people.

Your Antarctica work is a sharp contrast to your state fair work in both tools and approach. Tell us about the approach for each.
Both my Antarctica and State Fair work are ongoing projects and contrast each other (and themselves) as they are both unfinished collections of images made over the span of a few years and a few different developmental stages in my photographic path. I’ve had the privilege of having visited Antarctica a handful of times since 2019, and each time I go down I’ve experimented with different viewpoints and perspectives. This often manifests in a variety of obsessions with different cameras and the aesthetics that each camera system provides. From grainy black and white 35mm to color 4×5 film to digital medium format… who knows where I’ll be in my journey of endless experimentation the next time I get the opportunity to get back down there.

As far as the State Fair goes, my wife’s family runs a chocolate chip cookie company at the Minnesota State Fair. I was never a big state fair goer growing up but since it now looks like I’ll now be going every year to bake cookies until the end of my days, I figured I’d better make some images along the way. I started with my 4×5 over my shoulder finding quieter moments amidst the dusty chaos of fried food and farm animals. The 4×5 is an ice breaker. People are curious about it and much more willing to have their photo taken than when I carry a more “normal” looking camera. But after starting back at school I was tasked with trying something completely different. Give up control. So I decided to lean into the chaos, ditch the tripod, shoot digital, play with flash, and shoot from the hip (maybe glancing at the camera’s fold-out screen, maybe not). I’ve recently been combining the 4×5 images with the digital in editorial pitch-deck PDF’s with the thought that it shows the breadth of my technical skills while covering a single event.

After commercial and editorial success, here you are back with creating more personal work – asking more questions – what are you hopes for pushing the personal body of work?
I’ve written like 10 different responses to this question and still don’t know if I’m any closer to being able to answer it. I’ve been pushing into the commercial and editorial worlds and I’ve certainly had wins here and there but I have by no means found any sure-footedness in either. While I continue to pursue financial stability I keep coming back to the mindset that I mentioned above: make the work that makes me feel something, at any cost, because that will be my strongest work. All the “wins” or “successes” I’ve had seem to have stemmed from work that I’ve made solely because I’m passionate about it. Personal work.

However, when I was last in South America making Autopista Autopsia, I wasn’t quite able to find the creative flow that I’ve heard other artists talk about. I was pushing my personal work in a new direction but I was having a hard time knowing how to get there. Listening to interviews and reading about the making of projects and books that I’ve always looked to for inspiration, I would hear stories about how one image would effortlessly lead to the next or about how good it felt to be making the work that artist was making. I, on the other hand, was feeling blocked up and I didn’t know how to move past feeling like I was forcing the work. On top of it all, I didn’t feel like I had the right community to turn to for constructive criticism. For too long, I was using social media as the only arena for showing personal work and getting feedback.

I needed help rethinking my creative process and reestablishing my relationship to the medium altogether.

The pursuit of a MFA in photography will absolutely not provide a road-map to success in the commercial world. In fact, if anything, it’s sure to steer me in a completely different direction all together. Though I do think it will bring me closer to creating work that points me towards the core of my artistic identity. And the stronger the personal work that I can put out into the world the more likely it’ll lead to that next “win”.

I won’t ask you about your truck, when was the last time you heard from the previous owners?
The truck! The previous owners are a Swiss couple who are currently living out of their van somewhere in Europe. We follow each other on Instagram and I drop them a line every few month with photos or with mechanical questions about this or that as all the manuals they left me are in German. It’s a very wholesome relationship that I hope to have with whoever I pass the truck along to, someday, maybe.

This seems like a good time to remind everyone that the photography industry had a brief “me too” moment back in 2018-2020.

Several big photographers were named in a couple of excellent articles in the Columbia Journalism Review by Kristen Chick and Vox by A.J. Chavar.

I’m sure there are many who never came forward because while the initial outrage caused the named to disappear and delete all their social media, they soon crawl back. Two people I’ve been following are David Alan Harvey and Patrick Witty.

In the article by Kristen Chick, “Eleven women have described to CJR inappropriate behavior from David Alan Harvey over a span of thirteen years, ranging from suggestive comments to unwanted sexual advances to masturbating without their consent on video calls.” His agency, Magnum, was told about it and sat on the information for a decade before suspending him.

So what is David up to now? He’s very active on Threads, where he has 57,000 followers. On Instagram, his account is private, but he has 441,000 followers. On his website, he’s selling prints, has five in-person workshops slated for 2025, and offers online mentorships.

In the article by A.J. Chavar that talks about Patrick Witty: “I spoke to more than 20 people — some of them friends of mine in our shared industry — who said they experienced unwanted interactions with Witty, witnessed the inappropriate behavior, or were told details at the time the events occurred that corroborated the women’s stories. These stories included accounts of unwanted touching, kissing, and other advances at a variety of professional events during and prior to Witty’s employment at National Geographic.”

So what is Patrick up to now? Semafor is reporting that he’s been hired by the White House. Prior to that he was very active on Instagram with 72,000 followers, Threads with 12,000 followers, and has a substack with 3,300 subscribers where he lists his bonafides as a photo editor at National Geographic, WIRED, TIME, and The New York Times.

Do I think these people should be cancelled for their alleged creep-ass behavior that potentially ruined the careers of 30 women plus countless others who headed the other direction once the alarm sounded in their heads?

YES.

But you can do what you feel in your heart. When I brought Patrick’s behavior to the attention of “A Photographic Life” podcaster Grant Scott (former AD at Elle and Tatler) and his host Bill Shapiro (former EIC at LIFE), after they quoted him in a podcast, they refused to remove the quote or take down the podcast where they recommended people subscribe to Patrick’s Substack. Bill has subsequently become chummy with Patrick on Threads, engaging him in conversation on several occasions.

If that weren’t enough, in a subsequent podcast, Bill Shapiro quoted Bill Frakes who has a Wikipedia entry that states “The University of Nebraska–Lincoln (UNL) found that Frakes engaged in sexual misconduct and sexual harassment while he was a visiting professor. Frakes was found to have made unwanted comments about women students’ bodies and clothing according to a document obtained by The Omaha World-Herald.”

I think it’s important not to memory-hole what happened. Grant Scott told me he had no idea about Patrick since he works in the UK. Bill Shapiro just told me I was being mean. If industry leaders, despite their cranky old age, refuse to acknowledge the hard work of journalists and the women who brought this information to light, there’s no reason this behavior won’t persist. Personally, I refuse to forget that our male-dominated industry creates challenges for women, and we need to continuously work to rectify that. Lets not erase the work that has already been done.

PACIFIC PALISADES, CALIFORNIA: Cars left behind in driveways following evacuation.

Jay L. Clendenin

Since leaving the Los Angeles Times,  Jay Clendenin has primarily been photographing corporate and commercial projects, mostly in the entertainment world where he spent the majority of his 16 years at the LAT.
“When doing editorial work, I’ve started distributing my news and enterprise images through Getty Images and entertainment work through Shutterstock – all that got turned on its head last week with the merger of these two companies.”

We caught up about his experience covering the LA fires.

Heidi: Please share your thoughts on citizen journalists and what they need to consider.
Jay: The term “citizen journalist” makes me cringe. I am very aware of human behavior and the desire to “know” and “report” what’s happening (in particular when it’s their neighborhood). But there are a couple of significant distinctions between said “man-on-the-street” spreading a “story” and a trained Journalist (capital J) reporting: ethics and facts. It’s true that the Rodney King video (dating myself) was “citizen journalism” and was incredibly impactful on society – unfortunately, not enough to convict?! Where as today, I’m seeing people abusing the homeless with humiliating videos of their circumstances, all in the name of “citizen journalism.” And with the fires, people are sharing wild accusations/aspersions about the number of fire personnel, water supplies, and who happened to be on vacation when the fires broke out. No investigating for facts, just hitting “share” and adding “this has to stop,” as if the things said were facts vetted by credentialed journalists.

You were a staff photographer for the Los Angeles Times where editorial integrity was essential.  How have things changed when stories go unchecked or lack empathy for the crisis?
Being a trained, experienced Journalist as part of a major news organization comes with great responsibility. We try for multiple sources, probe officials for more info, and try to be on the ground to see things first-hand. It is also important to vet people we talk to. During the Palisades fire, after a couple of questions to some people on e-bikes, I realized they did NOT live in the neighborhood, and I said they shouldn’t be riding around amongst the ruins. If they didn’t have bad intentions, they could easily have been accused of it. And thankfully, there are curfews now and they’re making arrests.

LA Magazine and Wired were recently called out for posting illegal drone footage – how has the increase in social media and scooping news impacted traditional media gathering practices?
Drones are an incredible tool that can add a very visceral, immersive effect to story telling. I’ve embraced it, even got my Part 107 license. Part of getting a license and being “legal” is following FAA regulations and local laws. During major disasters, especially fires, a Temporary Flight Restriction (TFR) often goes out, to keep the skies clear for fire and safety aircraft. You don’t fly your drone. Period. When these media outlets choose to run these very “clickable” videos acquired illegally, they encourage the behavior. And for the “haters” on social who love saying “you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first!” Let me tell you, all of us licensed operators, are VERY aware of the visual impact of these scenes and have interest in capturing the scene with our drone, but we KNOW the safety considerations and are very conscious of the illegal behavior by un-licensed “content creators” and hobbyists.

Explain the danger of flying drones during an active fire of this magnitude while a Temporary Flight Restriction (TFR) is in place.
The near-worst-case-scenario of flying a drone during a TFR happened during the Palisades fire, when a fire righting aircraft hit a drone, damaging the aircraft and knocking it out of commission. Someone’s greater interest in clicks, lead to interrupted fire-fighting capabilities during this horrific disaster. I can’t imagine the anger of homeowners who see that story while they’re praying all the efforts can save their home and community.  Losing the air attack is huge. I was at the top of Mandeville Canyon last night (Saturday) and the fire retardant and water drops did the majority of flame suppression, slowing the growth on the eastern flank. Further update on drone activity and arrests can be read about here. “California authorities say there have been at least 40 incidents in which unauthorized drones have forced firefighting aircraft to pause operations, putting more lives at risk as the fires continue to spread and firefighters on the ground are left without air support.“

What safety considerations have you taken while covering the fires?
I have a fire brush jacket and pants, helmet and goggles. I use n-95 masks, conveniently on-hand after Covid! I don’t have “fire” boots, but wear my Blundstones and try to avoid walking on smoldering piles – they aren’t rated for that high a heat. I also work to only wear cotton items, which is hard these days, as so much of my wardrobe has become nylon/synthetic fibers. Synthetics are much quicker to ignite and I’d rather decrease the chances of melting clothes on my body.

Are you part of a photo collective during a local crisis?
I’m not part of a formal collective, but stay in contact with many photojournalists on assignments, who tend to have more resources available to them. Again, with big events, experienced PhotoJournalists know the ropes and safety is a priority. I’ll ask for best routes to enter areas, etc. It’s also great for hearing about spots that are super sketchy or not easily accessible without additional gear, like a 4×4 vehicle.

How did you get your start in photojournalism?
I started in photojournalism at L.A. Pierce College, running on several fires in the L.A. region in the early 90’s. We had our college paper as an outlet/publication, but also were able to get the Daily News to let us process and print our film, occasionally publish, and always give us replacement roles of film. We weren’t fully-vetted journalists yet, we were training to be. So we were still more reliable than a “citizen journalist.” I don’t want to prevent accurate reporting from being done, but someone who has a big TikTok following, does NOT a journalist make. Reach out to real Journalists, see how they report, what questions they ask. And please stop with the video Supercuts of people’s property burning and using gimble spins, even if you actually did it “by hand” and brag about it. 🤬

Daniel Pullen

Heidi: You started during the tail end of disposable cameras and analog creativity—how did that impact your early career? 
Daniel I started with disposable cameras, then eventually moved on to a point-and-shoot and then an SLR. Shooting with film was challenging for me; it had a steep learning curve. You would wait weeks to get the film back, only to learn from your mistakes. Additionally, I couldn’t afford a lot of film, so I had to be selective about what I wanted to shoot. You really had to think about what you were photographing. Now, with digital, I often find myself not thinking and just firing away—there’s not even an inkling of thought, just mindless shooting. Forcing myself to slow down is difficult; however, I find that I make better photographs when I take my time. I believe that slowing down works for both photography and life.

Homesick was your first zine, documented on film, followed by Mommicked—both have soul-stirring narratives, why no surf photography?
Homesick was a zine my wife and I put together; they were all shot over a few years using a digital camera. The idea was to highlight aspects of Hatteras Island that I would miss the most or things that are dear to me. There are very few surf photos, but the ocean is prevalent in the zine. Surfing is obvious; however, I didn’t want it to revolve around surfing. There is so much more to life here than just surfing. Hatteras Island is incredibly dynamic, and putting surfing prominently in my work would have pigeonholed it. A couple of years later, we released Mommicked. Mommicked is about living through and navigating heavy weather here on Hatteras and how it impacts our community. Once again, even though surfing is the obvious focus, I chose to go in the opposite direction—to showcase what truly happens here before, during, and after storms. I guess I moved away from surf photography and fully embraced documentary photography.

How did working with film inform your digital work, if at all?
When I began photography, I was shooting film. Since I wasn’t developing my own work, I had to get it right in the camera, which became ingrained in me: get it right in camera, get it right in camera. That mindset has certainly carried over into the digital side of photography. Although there is more leeway with post-processing, I still aim to do my best in getting it right in camera, which also means less time sitting in front of a computer.
You’ve been photographing dynamic weather for almost 30 years—how did that documentary work evolve into a successful wedding photography business?
Documenting weddings and family portraits provided income to cover my bills and living expenses. Documenting the weather has always been a passion for me, but it never really generated that much income. Even to this day, it doesn’t generate income, but photographing weddings and family portraits gives me the time to shoot the things I’m passionate about (weather/surf) that don’t generate income but feed my soul. I photograph an average of around 40-50 weddings and about 90-120 family portraits a year. This allows me to pursue my passions while managing wedding and portrait numbers, which is definitely a juggling act.

Tell us about the making of this photo from an abandoned rental home and the trajectory that followed.
We are a really small community here, and pretty much everybody knows everybody. You grow up with half the island. It has its faults, but for the most part, it’s great; I love the small-town vibes.
The houses aren’t abandoned; they are rented out by the week. I think, for this particular storm, the people who were supposed to stay at that house were moved to one that wasn’t flooding. My friend Jake Throne posted a video of water pouring into the downstairs area of the house, which had a pool table in the middle of the room. I texted him to ask which house it was. I knew it was in a general area but wasn’t sure which particular house it was.

The next morning, I went out with my daughter and entered the house I thought Jake was talking about, but it turned out to be a completely different one. When we went in, the pool table was racked; someone had already played and set it back up. My daughter broke the balls, and I snapped a few pictures of her playing pool. I then asked her to step out of the frame so I could take a few empty shots. There wasn’t a danger of getting arrested for trespassing, just the potential for a tongue-lashing for being in a rental house. We yelled before stepping inside to see if there were any renters there, but it was empty.

There is a massive rental home industry here on Hatteras Island and the Outer Banks as a whole. When I was a kid growing up here, there weren’t many houses on the beach. The rental property industry exploded in the 80s and 90s, with very few zoning laws to keep things in check. Thank God for the Park Service and the National Park, or else every square inch of the island would have been developed. Homes weren’t necessarily built on the beach, but over time, they have ended up there due to island migration, erosion, and sea level rise. Now, there are rows of houses in each village that are in danger of being destroyed by the ocean. When it’s calm here, the views from the houses are great, and the proximity to the beach makes for a short walk to the ocean. However, that doesn’t translate well when we have a storm.

I snapped about 10-15 frames, was in the house for about 5 minutes, then left. I shared the image on Instagram, and within 24 hours, an editor from Time Magazine reached out to me. It was initially supposed to run in a climate change issue but ended up as an image in Time’s Top 100 of 2020. It’s surreal to have the image in that collection, especially since it seemed like the world was on fire back then, and the images taken worldwide were incredible. Having a photo in that collection will always be a career highlight for me.

You’re a self-described climate advocate and have been documenting the barrier island, which behaves like a living, breathing piece of land. When did you start to see catastrophic changes, and what are your hopes for this body of work?
I live on a barrier island off the coast of North Carolina. It is a sandbar—a thin strip of sand located 30 miles out in the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a wild place. Barrier islands are supposed to migrate over time from east to west. When you take something as dynamic as a barrier island and place static structures on it, like roads and houses, conflict is bound to arise over time. It’s a slow process, but it currently appears to be happening rapidly; this has been building up over the past 40-50 years. Houses are falling into the ocean, and roads are washing out. That has always happened here, but due to the way homes were built in proximity to the ocean, we are witnessing drastic changes. I think we have lost about six houses this year due to island migration, erosion, and sea level rise, and the road has washed out numerous times. As for houses collapsing, there has definitely been a shift over the past couple of years, and it is only going to get worse. I don’t have a specific plan for what will happen with the photos I am creating about these storms, but for now, my aim is to tell the story of how our community is dealing with these weather events. If my work can somehow inform policy changes related to zoning laws and educate people about how barrier islands function, I suppose that would be the long-term goal. At some point, I would selfishly like to create an updated version of Mommicked.

You grew up in Buxton, NC, home to the famed Old Lighthouse Beach, the spot where East Coast pro surfing was born. Russell Blackwood, a great surfer and photographer, was a friend and mentor and he passed down advice along with his old Nikonos V camera. Years later, Russell’s son, Wolfi, named you as one of his mentors. What does that say about the Cape Hatteras community?
Daniel: I wouldn’t say I’m one of Wolfi’s mentors, but we are good friends. I got to see Wolfi grow up and was there for his first attempt at paddling out at big Lighthouse and getting denied. I’ve witnessed him turn into an amazing surfer, charging the Lighthouse at its absolute rawest. We still surf together—me, Wolfi, and his dad. Wolfi and his wife are expecting a girl in a couple of months, starting a family of their own. It’s super odd to think that our kids will grow up together since I have a 20-year-old, an 18-year-old, and a 1-year-old. Our community is incredibly tight-knit. We are small, and for better or worse, we experience our community’s highs and lows. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Best career advice?
I wish I would have gotten this advice when I first picked up a camera (but I prolly wouldn’t have listened)…over 30 years ago.
Buckle up….
Compose and wait.
Create photos that resonate with the heart.
Do what it takes, do the work.
Be honest with yourself.
Don’t take the easiest safest path.
Technical has to be automatic…like breathing.
Make your work personal.
Look beyond the obvious.
Compose and wait…(needs to be said again and again and again)
Work the scene.
Trust your gut.
In every situation there is opportunity for a great photograph.
Always shoot with a purpose.
Show the truth.
Success does not give you knowledge, failures do.
Start appreciating things around you.
A moment can change your life.
Great photography is always on the brink of failure.
In any given moment…we have two options…to step forward into growth…or step back into comfort…

And worst?
Probably when I was starting to shoot surf photos.
you need to shoot really tight.
You have to shoot surfing a certain way…
Looking back it was so cookie cutter…but I get the advice…it was a way to help you produce surf images that fit into a narrative or into the pages of a magazine or website…
But leaves absolutely no room for growth or creativity

by Angie Smith

Angie: How did you get started in your career as a photographer?

Charlotte: I’ve been a photographer for the past 15 years. I studied photography here in Germany. I had chemistry and art as majors before I finished high school. We had a photography assignment and there was a small dark room that we could work in. I know it sounds so cliche, but when you are in the darkroom and the image suddenly appears on paper, it’s this magic moment. I said to myself: ‘Oh, this is fun and I think I’m good at it. Is a photographer something that you can become? Let’s see how this plays out.’

Sometime into studying, my father passed away and I had to get rid of his things. The attic was full of his photographs and Super 8 films. I remembered that he taught me a lot about photography. When we would go on holiday, he always had a camera. There are pictures of me as a 4-year-old trying to take pictures. Now looking back, I realize photography was such a big influence, it was always there. So the idea of becoming a photographer didn’t feel too far-fetched.

Angie: What was your first published photo?

My first proper assignment was for Nylon magazine.

I was interning with a photographer in New York and she had to travel to LA for work. She said: ‘I can’t take you with me on the shoot, but you’ll have time, so I’ll give you contacts. Why don’t you show your portfolio around?’

I said: ‘I don’t have a portfolio.’

She said: ‘Okay, when I’m back, you’ll create a portfolio and start showing your stuff around.’

She gave me all her contacts. I was very young and I had no fear. I would go everywhere and anywhere. I went to Nylon Magazine and asked for a meeting. I had my meeting and the next day, they called me with a small shoot. I got paid $50 for it, which I would never accept now, but I thought: ‘If I can do this in New York, I can definitely do it in Germany.’

After my time in New York, I photographed a cookbook with a friend. We sold the concept to the publishing company– that was the first book that I made and was the gateway into my next project, Makers of East London where I visited artists in their workshops across East London, documenting their workflow. That period of time was full of a lot of coincidences and luck and it was one of the most important times that prepared me for everything else because I was constantly producing photographs for my portfolio.

When people ask what kind of photography I do, I say that it’s everything that’s atmospheric.
I’m a very emotional person and I do emotional portraits, but what I’m good at is giving people space. My portraits are good because I can hold space for people to just be themselves. Which I find is important for the work I do.

Often, the person will see their image and say: ‘No one has ever photographed me like that. I feel like it’s the first time that somebody has seen me the way I really am.’ That is the biggest compliment you can probably get as a photographer.

I’ve been freelance for the past 15 years. The pandemic was quite good for me. I think it divided the people– some stopped working and for others, it fueled them.

I was successful because it’s just me and my camera. I don’t have much overhead, assistants and tons of equipment. During Covid, people knew I could be distant from the subject and shoot quickly. That was kind of my thing and editors knew they could get what they wanted.

I think a lot of photographers pushed through the pandemic and then it came to that point for me where it wasn’t working anymore. I didn’t get assigned to anything. People stopped reaching out. Financially it was really, really bad. In the beginning, I thought, well, it’s gonna pick up but it never really picked up.

In a way, I got lucky because I was dealing with an illness and I couldn’t do anything. I had to stay in bed for a really long time and I was constantly thinking about my career not working.

I had a lot of time and I was thinking about what else I’d be good at. I have experience with grief and death in my family. And it’s been something that I’ve had to deal with and do on my own. In Germany, no one talks about grief and death because you’re not taught how to.

I photographed a grief counselor once and the memory popped in my head again. I thought: this could be something. The second I said it out loud, I thought: This is what I’m going to do.

I applied to a program and it’s going to start in May. The training goes for about a year and then I’m a certified grief counselor. After that, I want to go into the funeral business.

I think what connects grief work and my photography is that I’m able to find beauty in whatever I see. Obviously death is not beautiful but it is natural, it’s part of life and it’s happening for all of us. To define the beauty in something makes it easier for people. And to be honest, we are all gonna die. It’s just something that’s part of life.

Angie: What has the grieving process been like with your photo career changing? Have you let go slowly or made a sudden cut?

I do feel like I need to make a cut. I think I’ve just reached the point where I know I am good at what I do but I also have so many more talents and it’s just time for me to move on. Photographers put so much into their careers—it’s just so personal. Every time you get rejected, it’s hard to not take it personally.

Photography is something that I’ve been successful at and I’ve loved it. But I’ve been angry for so long. I’ve asked: ‘Why? I don’t want it to be over. It’s something that brought me so much joy. I met amazing people and I went to great places. Why is this ending?’

I have a small studio and I have it for another couple of months. I made an offer to people who want to be photographed– that they can come to the studio and pay whatever they can afford for a portrait. This is me slowly saying goodbye to the studio.

I’m probably going to keep one small point and shoot. I don’t think I cannot take pictures. It’s something that I’ve done for the past 20 years– it’s a big part of my life. When I talk about it with people, I feel happy with the decision and that it’s the right decision but I’m also sad and I circle back to the same question: ‘Did I do something wrong? Is it my fault that my photography career isn’t working anymore?’

I’ve been breaking up with my identity of being a photographer and I have been going through all the stages of grief over that.

Angie: What a beautiful way to say goodbye. When did you know it was time to throw in the towel?

I think that’s everybody’s own personal decision. I’m slowly approaching 40 and I always want to know how to pay rent. I’m just tired of constantly being the person saying to the photo editor: ‘I need more money. I can give you what you want but you have to pay me properly because I’m good at what I do.’

I’m young enough to start over and feel like I can do so much more. And you know, I don’t want to be that person in 10 or 15 years when there’s no no other way. I am at peace with having made that decision and I’m excited to do something different. But I still ask myself: ‘Why did this not work? Is it my photography? Am I not at the right time in the right spot? Should I have done something differently?’

I am a hard worker and I gave it my all – but it just didn’t happen.

[Six months later…]

Angie: How did it go letting go of your studio? How did that feel and where are you in the process of changing careers?

I am still working on letting it go. I’m starting to slowly be okay. It’s still a dream that I had to give up. I have been crying a lot. When I went through images of my career for this interview, I was going through my archive, bawling my eyes out. This has been a great 10-15 years of lots of hard work. I did amazing things and I met amazing people. Sometimes I still ask ‘why do I have to stop doing this? I am really good at what I do’.

I just started the grief counseling program and I am in the middle of it now. Going through the training, we talk a lot about finding creative ways to make people feel comfortable and seen. Taking portraits of people is very similar– trying to empower people and have them look at themselves and make them feel good and seen and safe. I realized that they are trying to teach me something I have been doing for the last 15 years.

Angie: How does it feel to be on the other side of changing careers?

It’s been a really hard process with so many layers but I’ve finally come to a point where I am excited to reinvent myself. I am so free, it scares the shit out of me. I can be whoever I want, I can explore myself and different ways of living.

In the beginning I thought I wanted a hard cut from photography. But at this point, I am starting to be softer with myself about ending it. I have no clue where I will end up, I am just here trying my best to find myself and find new ways to explore my talents.

With photography, I have more boundaries than I used to have, which gives me the freedom to be more myself with making photography work. I am declining a lot of jobs because I don’t accept the terms or budget and it gives me the freedom to choose what I am the best at. I am making great work now because I don’t care as much about what I should do. I am excited for the first time in a very long time. I found my way back to why I got into the business in the first place. Sometimes I wake up and ask myself: ‘Who am I today?’ It’s so nice. I am trying to be gentle and give myself space and see where life takes me.

New York Times

Photographer: Haiyun Jiang
2022 -2023 The New York Times Fellowship Recipient – Washington, D.C. 

Heidi: You created Grassroots, a magazine that focused on individuals involved in the different aspects of the 2018 midterm election. What trends did you notice then, and how were they represented in this 2024 election cycle?

Haiyun: When I created Grassroots for a class assignment at Ohio University, I felt the momentum from local Democrats, as well as women, to run for public office at a local level, after almost two years into Donald Trump’s first presidency. I was interested in how local elections reflected a national sentiment or lack thereof. I followed Erica Crawley, a black single mother who was running for Ohio State Representative at the time, on her campaign.I covered both former President Donald Trump’s and Vice President Kamala Harris’s campaigns on and off for this election cycle, and from my experience I felt a stronger sense of urgency from both sides to get their candidates elected to the White House, more so than the 2018 midterm election.

Did your photography approach change as the election and divides became more unpredictable?
I am constantly trying to learn and refine my photographic approach on every assignment, and the learning will never stop. I freelance for the New York Times for the majority of the time and the Times always is on a mission of searching for unique, revealing, fair, and strong visuals to inform its readers. And that mission requires photographers, like me, to find new ways to illustrate mundane situations. I think it’s more the sense of providing readers with information and scenes I see in the field that helps refine the photographic approach than the election itself. The image you were thinking was made after the first attempted assassination of the former president. I have seen lots of photos of snipers as a sign of heightened security around Donald Trump’s rallies from my colleagues and I was trying to make frames that could offer a bit of larger context. The election and divides might have become more eruptive but the bottom line for my photographic approach has always been and will always be remaining fair to whomever I may cover.

Did you pre-visualize this image? or was this a surprise moment for you?
I was assigned to document former president Donald Trump’s rally in Grand Rapids, Michigan, right after the Republican National Convention in July, 2024. After a while, I started walking around the “press pen”, where all my colleagues from different media outlets were typically confined at rallies. When I noticed a glare from the stage, I stopped and observed for a bit. I wondered what the rally attendees, who were sitting at this exact angle towards the podium, could see with the glare. Then I made the photo.

How did this election coverage challenge you as a photojournalist?  or what made this one different?
This election, in many senses, has been an unprecedented one. With the current president dropping out after the first presidential debate and the vice president having to scramble together a campaign that helped reintroduce herself to the nation, nothing was ordinary. It challenged me to be adaptable and flexible, having a sense of knowing things may happen super fast and being ready for anything. Physically, especially, it could be exhausting for photojournalists to hop from place to place, and still remain focused and creative on every assignment. My mentors and colleagues, Doug Mills, Erin Schaff, and Kenny Holston, spent on average 12-14 hours a day following a candidate across multiple states. I think the human resources and effort into this campaign were remarkable.

What were the most salient points Doug Mills, whose been photographing presidents since 1983 shared with you and why is it important to have a mentor?
One of the most important lessons I learned from Doug is not to dwell on your mistakes. Learn from them, then move on to the next thing. Also, do not be afraid to take risks. Instead of getting the “safe shots” that everyone else is making, do something or go somewhere different. It is a tough business to be an editorial freelancing photographer. There are very few staff jobs available and I am very, very fortunate to be able to work consistently on editorial assignments. Having a mentor has helped me navigate the photojournalism industry and get feedback often. And Doug Mills couldn’t be any more nicer, wiser, and generous towards younger photographers like me. I am very lucky to have him as a mentor.

Can you share thoughts about your process for covering the election?

My process of covering the election, again, was mostly informed by the NYT’s mission in searching for strong and unique visuals that help provide the readers more context. Therefore, when I covered campaign events, I was trying to keep an eye on details, subtle moments, etc. that might have been overlooked.
For the most part, when I covered candidates, I either joined them on the tarmac as they landed in the city of a rally or campaign events, or I did preset at the rally venue. There usually was not much of a location scouting for me, per se, before events actually started. I would have some ideas of photographs that I would like to make but also need to constantly remind myself to be alert and flexible as anything could change in a split second. I finished my year-long NYT fellowship at the end of May in 2023 and have been freelancing since then. I am extremely fortunate to have continued working for the Times, but most of the campaign coverage I have done was during my time as a freelancer.

Can you share the mood, your approach, what it was like photographing VP Harris?
The SNL photos are more of moments from a photo spray than a project. As VP Harris finished a campaign rally in Charlotte, North Carolina, and was scheduled en route to Detroit, Michigan, the traveling press was told midway through the flight that we were making an unscheduled stop in New York City. After holding for more than three hours, the traveling photographers were brought into the SNL studio and when Vice president Harris took the stage, we were given the time of the cold opening to photograph her interacting with comedian Maya Rudolph. Audience members erupted as they saw her on stage and the mood was jubilant.
When I photographed VP Harris, I was always trying to find moments that she was more introspective, not performative. I would try to educate myself about the news of the day and observe how it affects the mood of hers, as well as her campaign’s.

What is a photo spray?
A photo spray is when press photographers are brought into an event or meeting for a short period of time to photograph. It can range anywhere from 10 seconds to 5 minutes.

Where were you on election night and what was your assignment? Take us to that moment – what was going on in your mind as the results rolled in?
I was assigned to photograph Republican presidential nominee, now president-elect Donald Trump’s election watch party at the West Palm Beach Convention Center. There were supporters of Mr. Trump trickling in throughout the night, wearing his signature red “Make America Great Again” hats, and lining up at mini bars for drinks. There were many TV news outlets and photographers on a riser and on ladders at the back of the ballroom where the watch party took place. The mood was jubilant among the crowds as the election results rolled in. Many news reports stated that we wouldn’t know the election result on election night but I was prepared for anything that might happen. It was incredibly fast as the results rolled in and the crowds’ mood improved significantly. I thought to myself that there was a good chance that we would know the result tonight and Mr. Trump would take the stage once his margin of victory widened more. Therefore, I was keeping an eye on the movements on stage as well as the TV screens.

What moments were you looking for that evening and what stood out to you during those subtle times?
As news coverage as the election results rolled in I was looking for moments of either despair or jubilation among former president Donald Trump’s supporters, depending on how the electoral map looked. More importantly, I tried to keep an eye on more subtlety, people chatting, taking a moment for themselves, etc.
At the end of the election night, after president-elect Donald Trump’s remarks and his supporters exited, I noticed workers of the convention center started cleaning up the plastic cups as well as other trash discarded on the floor. I photographed the workers bending over to pick up trash, with the America-themed lights as background.

Photographically covering an election requires a range of elasticity and neutrality for your own personal feelings, how do you stow that away?
When I am working, I am focused on making photos that help illustrate a story and identify moments that sometimes writers may have overlooked; and I’l fairly good at compartmentalizing. When I am off, I do not spend time thinking about work and instead, I focus on my hobbies, such as Legos and reading. As a journalist, I remain neutral to whomever I may cover and my number one goal has always been fair coverage. It is not my job to insert my personal feelings to make the public feel certain ways. My job is to be their eyes and bring photos to the audience for information consumption.

How do you take chances or risks to convey a point of view?
When I see a photo with potential, I would stick with the frame. I may miss other photos but it’s a risk worth taking. For example, the snipers photo at Mr. Trump’s rally that you mentioned, took five minutes for me to be in the same spot, to get the right symmetry and composition. That means I might not have photographed the candidate himself or his supporters behind me during that five minutes. That being said, I always photograph with both of my eyes open, so I could see peripheral movements while photographing.

Photographer: Tyler Lekki

Heidi: How long have you been living in Chaltén?
Tyler: I have been on and off for around 5 years now. It all started with a three-day trip, and then the following year, I returned for the entire three-month climbing season. Each year, I returned for the season February – April, and finally, two years ago, I pulled the trigger on moving here full-time. It’s been around 1.5 years straight and over 2.5 years cumulative. I just can’t get enough of this place.

Do you study local flora and fauna to see the changes year after year?
Yes, I have spent 5 fall seasons here in Chaltén over the years, and it’s fascinating to see the difference in when the leaves on the Lenga and Ñire trees begin to change to their fall colors. On my first trip, we didn’t even plan for the fall foliage back in 2018, but we were here during the perfect week—it was April 4th, and the colors were at their peak. It’s interesting that I’ve seen the colors last until late April and even into early May, depending on the season. It really does vary from year to year.

How did you integrate with the community?
It took a few seasons to really get involved with the locals. Coming here only for the Autumn photo season, and good weather, it was tough to meet people because I was always out in the mountains hiking and shooting. It wasn’t until I really moved here and spent the winter season that I felt my experience changed. Getting involved with the local Asado cookouts and getting to know the climbing and ski community, who go to the mountains every chance they get, was really special during my first winter season. It’s a small community, and everyone knows each other. I love that everyone helps each other and is always there to lend a piece of gear or help with beta when needed. The climbing community has welcomed me with open arms, and while I’m still getting more experience, I feel at home among them. We all share the same love for these peaks, and being present and lending a hand when needed goes a long way in this place.

How has your love of nature informed your eye, and when did 360-degree photography enter your kit?
When I first started, it was all about the adventure, and my love for nature grew deeper as time went on. The idea of hiking into a place like Los Glaciares National Park with everything you need to survive for a week, all to capture dramatic photos, is what truly excites me. There’s an element of unpredictability—you never really know what’s going to happen. Chasing the right weather conditions has made me appreciate this place even more. Through a lot of trial and error, I’ve learned what to look for when capturing images here.

One day, while flying my drone, I realized that a 180-degree panorama just wasn’t wide enough to capture the full scope of the landscape, so I decided to try a 360-degree shot. I had no idea at the time that this would become my obsession over the next two years.

Still images offer a moment and leave the rest up to the viewer—360-degree photography is immersive and allows anyone to travel. What were you trying to convey with this work?
When I first started taking 360 images, I didn’t initially think about how impactful they would be when viewed through a VR headset. But the first time I experienced it, I realized the incredible potential it had. You’re not just looking at a photograph—you’re transported into the scene, feeling like you’re truly there. The ability to bring people to these remote places especially those who might never have the chance to visit in person, is something really special.

While sharing photography has always been rewarding, seeing someone’s reaction when they put on the headset and are fully immersed in the landscape is on another level. It’s deeply gratifying and makes all the effort worthwhile. Beyond the immediate experience, I believe these 360 shots will serve as valuable references for years to come, particularly in glaciology and environmental research. They document the glaciers and landscapes in a way that traditional photos can’t, showing the impact of climate change on these mountains over time. This work is not just about capturing beauty—it’s about creating an immersive, educational experience that can inspire a deeper connection to nature and greater awareness of our environmental challenges.

Was this a straightforward response to the shift towards moving content these days?
After years of doing traditional landscape photography, diving into 360-degree photography felt like a breath of fresh air—something new and exciting to offer. The response has been overwhelmingly positive; people really seem to love the immersive experience it provides.

Once I captured those first few 360 images, I became obsessed with the possibilities and started building an archive of them from all over the Chalten Massif. This technology not only allows people to explore these remote landscapes as if they’re actually there, but it also opens up these incredible places to a much wider audience. The accessibility of these images is what drives my passion for this project—they make it possible for anyone, regardless of where they are, to experience the beauty and majesty of these mountains.

I’d love to hear the backstory about your first climb…
I have been doing novice mountaineering trips for a few years now, slowly learning the skill set. This past May, a good friend, Kiff Alcocer—a fellow North American and experienced climber/mountaineer who also lives here full-time—took me up Cerro Doblado. This was my first time on an ice mushroom. It was a three-day adventure, and we reached the summit with a view over the Patagonia Ice Field that stretches for hundreds of miles. I’m fortunate to have friends who take me to the mountains and to places I wouldn’t yet be able to visit on my own.

Chaltén draws the best alpinists in the world. Tell us about your first experience with friends on the mountain.
It all comes down to the experiences and the people you meet here. I’ve now gotten to know many of the world’s best alpinists who come and go each year, and I’ve realized that they’re all here for the same thing: the love of these unique peaks. Chaltén is a special place, and there’s really nothing like it in the world. My first experience in Chaltén was a three-day trip with a bunch of new backpacking gear in 2018. A friend and I didn’t even know how to set up the tent, but that short trip was all I needed to spark my return. We saw peak fall foliage and even a puma on that first trip, making it very memorable. I didn’t grow up with an outdoor background, so there is alot to learn, especially living here.

How has living in Chaltén pushed you both as a photographer and a newer alpinist?
Chaltén has absolutely pushed me as a photographer. Every spot here has its challenges, and there’s so much to do around here. All of the approaches are long, and with all the gear, there’s been a lot of learning. Plus, Patagonia—and especially this area, Los Glaciares National Park—is known for its crazy, unpredictable weather. Getting your butt kicked by the wind firsthand is really the only way to learn. Chaltén has always taught me that you just have to be out there. You can’t get too comfortable in town; if you want the shots, you’re going to have to go out there and wait for the right conditions. Anything can happen here at any time and you need to be prepared.

What inspired you to spend the winter in El Chaltén?
Winter images, especially with snow-covered peaks, have always held a particular allure for me. There’s something about seeing these mountains dusted with snow that amplifies their beauty. I was especially inspired by an image captured by Dörte Pietron, which featured Rolo Garibotti—a central figure in the climbing community here in Chaltén. This image was from the summit of Domo Blanco during a winter cloud inversion. These happen a few times a year in the winter and to be up there with the inversion above the cloud was something else. It really made me want to spend the winter season and try and capture this spectacle.  Rolo has been an incredible resource for me, always willing to offer weather advice, beta, gear, or just be a friend. His Patagonia Vertical guidebook has been a huge source of inspiration, filled with images from all around the massif that you wont see anywhere else. 

How would you describe your first winter experience in El Chaltén, and how does it compare to the summer season?
My first winter in El Chaltén was truly special. It was during this time that I really got to know the locals and had my first real taste of winter camping. Before this, apart from a few chilly days in autumn, I hadn’t experienced much snow. Teaching myself the ropes of winter camping was both challenging and rewarding. There’s something about winter that I find captivating, the conditions are more dramatic and moody, which adds a unique depth to the landscape.

Last winter, I became obsessed with a spot called Filo del Hombre Sentado (Sitting Man Ridge) on the west face of Cerro Chaltén (Fitz Roy). I made three week-long trips there, and we were blessed with amazing weather, week-long windows with no wind, despite the -20°C temperatures. This spot is particularly special because it lies outside the national park, making it a perfect location to fly the drone. It’s where I created most of my 360 VR series and experienced a few days out there with the cloud inversions of winter. This was the highlight of my season. 

Last winter, I became obsessed with a spot called Filo del Hombre Sentado (Sitting Man Ridge) on the west face of Cerro Chaltén (Fitz Roy). I made three week-long trips there, and we were blessed with amazing weather, week-long windows with no wind, despite the -20°C temperatures. This spot is particularly special because it lies outside the national park, making it a perfect location to fly the drone. It’s where I created most of my 360 VR series. Compared to summer, winter here offers a completely different atmosphere. The solitude, the snow-covered peaks, and the small community of the Ski community makes it really special. 

You’re up in unique and turbulent airspace, how many drones have you crashed? Are you 3D printing any parts (blades)?
The wind is such a challenge here. I’ve learned to study the weather reports and read the wind at different elevations, which has really helped me plan the 360 photos. I’ve crashed around four drones but was luckily able to recover them. It really pays to have insurance from DJI to get a replacement. I’m not using anything special when it comes to drone blades, but I am painting them all bright orange in case of a crash theyre a bit easier to find. I am using a drone that can go up to 1,000 meters, which helps with the height of these peaks.

NIKE SPEED PORTRAITS –  2004

BLANKA  VLASIC – 2009

ANNA BESSONOVA – 2011 

RYAN LOCHTE 2011

MONIKA PYREK 2011

MICHAEL PHELPS – 2011

TREY HARDEE – 2012

CHRIS HOY – 2012

NATHAN ADRIAN – 2013

DAYRA KLISHINA – 2015

KIRANI JAMES – 2015

TIA BROOKS – 2015

KOREAN WRESTLERS – 2018

TAEKYUNG PARK – 2018

GIANNIS ANTETOKOUNMPO – 2019

ANNA HALL – 2023

NOAH LYLES – 2023

Carlos Serrao

Heidi: You shot Super 8 movies and animations in 5th grade – that’s ambitious for a kid!
Carlos: Like many from my generation, the 1970’s and 1980’s’s sci-fi movies like the original Star Wars or Close Encounters were the catalyst into the visual arts. It was the first time seeing all the behind the scenes TV specials and making of stills in magazines like Starlog and Fangoria that showed us kids how these filmmakers problem solved and came up with creative solutions. My early super-8mm films were mostly claymation with sci-fi themes, as well as creating short animated films on subjects like “The Amoeba” for school science fair projects. Everything was shot in sequence in camera until I as able to get my hands on a reel to reel super8 viewer, where I was able to tape spliced scenes together. Later on, I was able to get a Sears branded 35mm Ricoh camera and darkroom kit, and taught myself how to process B&W negatives and printing.

Did you also skate?
Yes. I was heavy into the skate scene in South Florida if you could even call it a scene. This was the era when all the skate parks from the 70’s and early 80’s had all shut down, and no one was paying attention to skateboarding. Skating was mostly underground, on vert halfpipes in backyards, and of course street skating.

How did looking at urban geometric space, sequences, and movement in skateboarding impact your photographic style?
Interesting question…. as skaters, we were always sizing things up that could possibly be used to skate on. Miami didn’t have a lot of those above-ground drainage ditches like they do in the western states, and unless a swimming pool was built pre-Second World War, the transitions were too tight to skate. Because of that, we were always on the lookout for what could work, or what we could scrape together to build. It was the quintessential “Skate and Create” vibe. Also, a few of the backyard ramps we would visit were owned by some of the older guys who were already in high school and just entering college age. Those guys were doing really interesting stuff with photocopy punk skate zines, creating art and photography — the real D.I.Y. stuff. Being exposed to that, really inspired me to pick up a camera and try to emulate what was happening in those zines, as well as the great skate photographers from Transworld and Thrasher magazines like  J. Grant Brittain and Dave Swift.

Fast forward to a 20-year history of photographing Olympic athletes kicked off by shooting Nike’s 2004 Speed Campaign – looking back on that project can you share a few important creative moments?
At that time, I was starting my career, and I wasn’t shooting a lot of sports. I was mostly focused on portraiture and fashion editorials for more independent magazines like Paper Magazine and a few smaller apparel lookbook shoots for brands. At the same time, Nike was starting to hire some fresh, young art directors, and in their words, were moving away from a lot of “runners in fleece photographed motion blurred running thru the forest” imagery from the 1990’s. They were interested in experimenting and creating photography that would be much more aligned with fashion editorials with more of a controlled studio lighting scenario while merging that look and feel with sport. The perception at that time was that “fashion photographers” would shy away from anything that wasn’t deemed “high-end apparel”, and that those sportswear brands were strictly for sports-focused photographers. That impression seemed to shift after the global recession around 2008-2009, when we suddenly started seeing those deemed as higher profile fashion photographers expanding their genre and work for these types of brands. Nowadays, with mutual branding, it’s extremely commonplace.
For the Nike 2004 global Olympic campaign, Heather Amuny-Dey, a young art director at Nike, approached me to collaborate with her on this project. She had seen some of the lighting from a fashion studio shoot I did and thought the look would be a good fit for the creative direction of the campaign.
Six months before we started the Nike Speed campaign, we did a preliminary shoot with a few athletes in the summer of 2003. This allowed us to experiment with the lighting and create a proof of concept for her clients. This portion of the project was shot on film. One thing that I quickly realized, was that these elite athletes only have a finite amount of energy they can expend per day during their rigorous training schedules, not to mention the concern of injury. Because of this, we might only get one, or two takes to capture whatever respective sport action. This limitation helped hone my timing in looking for the athlete’s body’s “tell”, that would happen a faction of a second before the peak of action. We also had to work little hacks with the strobe lighting packs and transmitters available at that time, to achieve the highest flash duration to freeze the action. Because it was shot on film, and also while traveling to different countries, there was a little bit of frustration in waiting a few days to get the film back from a lab before knowing if we had gotten the shot.
The main campaign started ramping up in February 2004, and by that time a few viable digital camera systems had finally hit the market. I had shot with one in the interim on a small fashion brand project, and although I wasn’t fully impressed yet with the color look of the raw files, I thought this would be a perfect tool for the Speed campaign since we could instantly see if we got the shot. The art director had expressed concerns, as she had done a shoot a few months earlier with a different digital system, and the resolution and quality was subpar for their uses. The client requested we do a test shoot with this newer digital system we were proposing. We emailed the test jpegs in real-time during their project meeting in the Portland offices, and after seeing the results, they were sold on this approach. The only stipulation was that we traveled with backup film in case we encountered technical issues. The digital backs at that time were wildly expensive, so we could only afford to lease one to travel with.
Nike had come out with the “speed suit” which was novel in that the apparel is like a second skin that covers the athlete head to toe. We wanted to emphasize the sleek form of the apparel, as well as the musculature of the athletic bodies in action. We explored this by edging the lighting with a hint of a warm, red tone that was focused on the trailing end of the athlete’s body, like a glowing meteor trail. We kept all the action either straight on, or profile to keep the shapes graphic.
We started the shoot in early March of 2004 in a sound stage in Amsterdam. We then continued throughout the US to the various cities that the athletes were training in, then wrapped it up in Paris and London. It was encouraging to hear that all the creative teams back in the Nike global offices were excited and giving great feedback from the sample of images we were sending from the road.

Shortly after that campaign the book: Beauty of Speed featuring 37 global athletes was published by Nike – what was your biggest takeaway from creating that book?
The book was a surprise, as I had no idea they were going to collate all the athletes we shot into a book. I think it was something that wasn’t on the table until the work came back and everyone was stoked on the results.

How did your sport work transcend into fashion and portrait work?
As mentioned above, it was kind of the opposite, as the fashion work first transcended into these early sports campaigns. The only downside was once that campaign came out, clients and photo editors tended to pigeonhole me, and suddenly I was only being considered for the “athlete kicking ball in studio” shoots. It was lucrative and allowed me the budget to continue to learn more lighting techniques, but it took me a while to come across photo editors who could see past the sport angle and realize that the work could be applied to non-sport portrait or fashion photography.

Your use of color and shadow has a surreal, visceral quality (I’m struggling to define it – the viewer emotionally plugs in and there are no words) – where did that aesthetic stem from?
Thanks! That’s a hard question, as I’m not sure where the aesthetic came from either! It’s probably a bit silly, but I pride myself in knowing how to light and doing things really D.I.Y. Perhaps at times that approach has been detrimental, like not hiring out a DP. For me, researching and experimenting with the lighting is still part of the fun. I can’t wrap my head around some of the stories I hear of high-end photographers that don’t know how to light themselves, or worse those who don’t even push the shutter button, as that’s a whole different world! I think I’m always trying to mix the pragmatic of what lighting will work to achieve high shutter speeds, but also be subtle enough to feel simple and just a little more elevated, yet feel real and organic.

How did your collaboration with Monica May come about?
My partner Monica May is a great photographer, her work feels thoughtful and considered. The first collaboration we did together was in 2008, for an Esquire fashion story. The magazine wasn’t asking for a motion asset, but it was a nice editorial with male models in suits on a dry lake bed, the type of fashion story that pretty much shoots itself! Monica shot super 8mm, and since it was natural light, she was able to get the look cohesively with the stills. We got the film processed, scanned it, and fumbled a bit learning the editing software. We turned the final edited film to the magazine along with the stills, in case they wanted showcase the film on their website. It was extremely well received, and Esquire began to ask for these companion film pieces for our commissioned fashion shoots. Being editorial, the budgets could only allow little to no compensation for this additional asset, so they were mostly a labor of love. We used these types of shoots to learn and experiment with different processes. Eventually, we started bringing in higher quality motion cameras onto some brand ad campaign shoots (again on our own dime), and continued to hone these skills. We would do all of our own editing, not only for cost, but for the learning process as well. Editing can still be an exciting component for us because it’s like working on a complex puzzle.

Around this time, we were also getting ad jobs where on set timings would be shared with a TVC campaign. For whatever reason, the crews on the TVC motion teams were always a bit hostile and flexing some weird competitiveness with the stills team, even though we were all working for the same clients. We weren’t even taking on projects that required us to use their same set, but even with being completely autonomous, there were unnecessary complications thrown at us. We started thinking it might benefit these types of projects, especially in these pro athletes’ shoots, to school ourselves in continuous lighting that would allow us to capture both stills and motion simultaneously. The client began to see the potential and the benefit of hiring us as a team to capture both.

Tell us how you two harmonize creatively through the process.
We’re both technical, but as mentioned, she’s probably the more thoughtful one in her approach. I might be quicker to jump in and try to problem-solve along the way. Monica works with the motion cameras and her team, while I mostly handle the lighting and still photo aspects so it’s seamless between the stills and motion. Sometimes we cross over. Both of us tend to be highly involved with the production process, as we tend to get a lot of the more complicated timings and multiple asset request projects. We both work the logistics as well. While on set, we are either able to capture certain scenes at the same time due to the consideration of the lighting, or able to bounce the subject’s attention back and forth between my lens and hers. We both love to edit when the project allows, and we have developed a nice workflow where Monica usually takes the first pass and creates a “trim bin” of her favorite takes, then I take that and begin to assemble an edit, then we bounce it back and forth during this process. We also found we love working with music composers and sound design collaborators, since sound can evolve and reinterpret things for these short form projects.

Is The 20 Years of Olympic Imagery a good example project.
I don’t consider the 20 years of Olympic imagery as a project per se. It actually came about spontaneously over the first weekend of the 2024 Paris Olympics. I’m not a huge fan of social media, or the focus on “self branding”, but for better or worse, it’s obviously just another tool to showcase work. I’ve been reluctant to share older imagery, or ones that are heavily sport specific, with concern that the style of imagery might feel dated, or again get pigeon holed with the perception that I only shoot sports. I think the catalyst to share this work was seeing some recent Olympic campaigns with a similar aesthetic to the 2004 Nike Speed campaign, and realizing that the style within photography had once again come full circle, as trends tend to do.

I quickly edited the one minute collage film on the first Sunday of these Olympics, while watching the start of gymnastics and swim competitions, and posted it on the first Monday of the games. I didn’t have a plan going into it, so every night while watching the competitions, I would collate and resize imagery for the next days post. By not calling out brands, or the clients that these images were created for, I instead, wanted the focus to be solely about the athletes and the photography.

Life can be broken out into seasons, how would you describe your current season?
I’ve been fortunate enough to have a long career so far. No huge breakouts, and I’ve never considered myself a critic’s darling, just slow and steady. I can look back and see specific projects that were stepping stones, like the aforementioned 2004 Speed campaign, and those that were fulfilling and allowed us to discover, or learn something new. With all of that, I still find that I am excited to learn new things, hopeful for what the next project will bring, and confident in the experiences that have come with the years of work. So perhaps it’s a hybrid of all of life’s seasons!

What has changed the most – you, your process, or the Olympic Games, or photography itself?
That would take up another whole interview! I can attest that the landscape has changed so much since I started out, and moved even quicker in the last few years due to the sheer amount of photographers, directors, brands, social media, etc. With regard to the Olympics and photographing professional athletes, many of the changes I see are with the athletes themselves. Most of these young athletes have grown up with social media and self-branding. That can be an asset, as many understand all the publicity and brand asks of being a sponsored athlete. However, there are times I’ve seen all the self-branding and the focus of social media become a hinderance. There are also a lot more agents and PR representatives now then there used to be, and while it is necessary to have someone looking out for the athlete’s best interest, some come on set already with that “power flex”. They tend to forget that everyone is there to execute great imagery, while also creating a safe environment for the athlete. There are also a lot more brands besides athletic wear companies that sponsor the Olympics, like credit card companies, insurance companies, etc, that normally don’t shoot athletes, which limits access and timing further.

What are you excited about moving forward?
I think moving forward Monica and I want to continue doing these types of projects, but we are also looking to hone the work to showcase some more simplified and graphic work, as sometimes less is more, in the hopes that not every shoot needs to be a huge science project!

New York Times
Photographer: Kang-Chun Cheng

Heidi: “Find a place you trust and then try trusting it for a while” was one of the truths of activist Corita Kent. What drew you to Nairobi as a home base for 4 years and counting?
KC: I get this question a lot, which makes sense! My first time in Kenya was in 2018––I’d just finished my post-grad fellowship in Arctic Norway and Finland, staying with Sami reindeer herders for nearly a year and a half (unusual, I know)––and was feeling lost. I’d studied ecology and studio art for my bachelor’s and had little idea what I wanted to do. The Arctic was amazing because I was more or less working as a long-form documentarian, staying with a few families over months, following them around, taking photos, and asking lots of questions. My project was about how climate change and tech are impacting traditional reindeer herders and their identity and culture. But I felt out of place coming back to the US, where most of my peers were working in banking or consulting, or pursuing more education––I knew none of that was for me. I visited a good friend in Nairobi, who’s Kenyan, and invited me to go ‘figure out life’ with her, and ended up staying for 8 months. It was my first time living in a city, full stop, and an African city undergoing remarkable changes at that. I just remember feeling very curious about everything, and how much buzz was going on.

I ended up moving to Nairobi, nearly inadvertently, in early 2020, which is when I started seriously looking into how to work as a journalist/documentary photographer.  It was a steep learning curve, having not only zero connections to the industry, but also knowing nothing about pitching/the editorial process. But I was very drawn to it since it felt like a neat way to engage and learn about what is happening around us.

I think ultimately I’m drawn back to Nairobi time and time again for a few reasons: because it feels like home––I spent a lot of time building my community there!–– and the diversity in landscapes is amazing. I love spending time outdoors; there’s great climbing, hiking, deserts, a beautiful coast, savannahs-  a lot of weekend adventures abound. From a professional outlook, it’s amazing how many underreported stories there are within Kenya, a country very saturated by journalists, both foreign and local. We’re very lucky to enjoy great press freedom, especially relative to neighboring countries since I don’t generally cover breaking news, I love working on stories that have just been sitting there for a while, years even, that no one else has picked up.

You continue to explore the mysterious kidney disease affecting coastal and rural communities in Sri Lanka – how long have you been working on this story?
I first became interested in Sri Lanka in late 2022, when I was semi-stranded there trying to get a visa to India for a friend’s wedding. I ended up working on a couple of stories about how fishermen there are heavily impacted by both climate change and the ongoing economic crisis. My time there really stuck with me, and I became connected with a few Sri Lankan researchers, which is how I came to learn about the kidney disease linkage. Besides Ed Kashi’s work some years ago, which is more confined to the photojournalism realm. I hardly remember any reporting on chronic kidney diseases of unknown causes (CKDUs) in media, and feeling like that was a gap that could be filled.

I usually work with a local ‘fixer’ (lingo for translator or guide), or a researcher familiar with the community at hand. They help explain my motivation for being there– what story I’m working on–to set the context for the questions I’m asking. From my set of experiences, whether it’s northern Kenya or Sri Lanka, I find that the folks I’m working with are often very marginalized within their communities due to their ethnicity or remoteness––are generally very happy to share their experiences, and glad someone is paying attention. This is not to write off very real questions about foreigners not approaching communities in good faith, but I am someone who very much believes in vibes–in the sense that it’s hard to hide your real motivation. If you’re genuine and sincere, people can sense that––it’s something that transcends cultural and linguistic barriers.

Congratulations on your long list of grants, awards, and recognition
– which are the most memorable for you and why?
Thank you! They are special in different ways :) being accepted as part of the Women Photograph mentorship class was a pretty visceral moment since I remember coming across the website more than 5 years ago, and just being blown away by the quality and scope of what these fantastic photojournalists were working on globally. I remember wondering if I would ever be able to make such work or have anything to contribute. I think I applied 4 or 5 times to the mentorship class before getting in!

Photographer: Seth Beck

Heidi: You have been scanning the 1000+ slides for the past 10 years – what did you think when you first saw all the boxes of slides?
Seth: Honestly, I was ignorant of the scale of the task. I had only scanned slides in small batches before. In the end, the effort felt appropriate given the subject matter. It was a struggle, just like the hike, but it also came with a real feeling of accomplishment. That said, I will likely have someone else scan a hundred slides of my parent’s thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail in 1972.

What were your feelings about handling tangible slides?
Some of my earliest memories are the slideshows my parents and friends would put on at Thanksgiving. These slides would transport me from our small farm in Vermont to wild adventures far away with crazy characters. They set the spark that would lead me on my path of adventure and exploration. That made the process of handling them that much more meaningful.

Beyond the personal side, I love the time capsule aspect of physical slides. Not only the content they hold but the little physical details, the fonts on the slide mounts, the discoloration on the edges, and the date stamps from 1974. These are from a different era, a different time. They age and change with time, there is life to them.

My father had handwritten numbers on the slide mounts. Those personal touches separate physical media from digital and give them that life. Now and again during the process, I would be struck by the fact I was holding slides that my parents had taken and curated over 40 years ago. These are the only records of this period in my parent’s life and some of the few images documenting the early days of thru-hiking. It made the project feel more profound. I made a point of putting scans of the physical slides in the book because they came to mean so much to me.

Since you’re involved in tactile experiences with The Postcard Project and other collages was this a different way to express a tactile medium?
For the postcard project, I used vintage postcards from the 1930s, sketched blue ink portraits across three postcards, and mailed them separately to an unsuspecting recipient. The postcards share a lot of the little touches that the slides have. They are a tangible connection to the past, with a life to them. I have always been fascinated by taking something with that life and adding art to it.

I think the key difference between the PCT project and many of my other projects was the process of first digitizing something old, then creating something new via software, and finally printing it as a new physical book. I relished the storytelling process through the layout while infusing some of my aesthetic and style. The challenge was retaining the life of those slides in something new. I specifically left some of the images uncropped with the jagged edges of the slide showing. These imperfections are increasingly important to art as AI can create near-perfect original pieces. It is the imperfections that make art human.

I am also really intrigued by physically mailing items to people. Today most people only get packages, bills, and marketing in the mail. We are losing that unique experience of being surprised by something showing up from someone we care about. The postcard project was an opportunity for me to create that experience for people. I sent one of the PCT books to my parents’ hiking partner Bill Jahn. He had no idea I was scanning the photos, let alone making a book. It caught him off guard and I got a very loving note from him afterwards. I don’t think you can have that type of impact with digital mediums.

Did your parents talk much about their archive?
In some ways, I don’t think they fully appreciated what the archive represented, to them personally and to the hiking community. There had been discussions about digitizing the slides but it was not a strong push. For many years, there was no talk of the slides at all. It made the moment they opened the book that much more fulfilling. I could see in real-time the realization of the scale of what they had done.

What do you think is lost in the digitalization of family archives/history?
One of the promises of digitization is that it will make the content more accessible. Instead of being stored in a stack of boxes, requiring a projector to view, they are readily available on a shared drive. The reality is that you don’t end up spending the same quality time with them. I still love flipping through photo albums from my childhood and lament that my kids don’t get that experience. This was highlighted the other day when my kids were going through the photo album on my Facebook page. I realized this was one of the only places they could see all their childhood photos. I am resolved to get some books of our photos printed now.

A task like this is daunting – how did you approach it?
It took nearly ten years to complete, so I’m not sure about my approach. I made a concerted push at the beginning, getting 400 or so done in the first month. Then I would do 50 in a go when I had time. It was such a repetitive monotonous process that it was difficult to keep the momentum. When I took a moment to review the images and saw how great they were, I got motivated and pushed for the next group to get done.

Were you always planning on making a book for your folks as a gift?
When I started, the only goal was to get the slides digitized and on a shared drive for my mother and father. Through the process of handling the slides and seeing the images for the first time in years, I began to feel they deserved something more. I don’t think you can engage as deeply with the photos through a screen. Once the book was printed, I spent hours flipping through it, finding new details and discovering new favorites.

Now that the book is done – what would you do differently – are you inspired to document your life?The book was made for my parents and as a result, I prioritized getting as many images in as possible. I laid out the book quickly. I wish I had taken more time on the layout and reviewed the photos closely. Once I saw the photos printed, some were much better than I had thought when I saw them on the screen and justified more real estate. I would also like to add quotes from those involved to bring more life to the images.

Personally, the process confirmed my belief that documentation, digital or physical, of these types of life experiences is important. It provides a way to relive the experience and to keep the memories alive. It made me commit to improving my photography skills and capturing as much as I could on recent trips to Greenland and Newfoundland.

Another offshoot of the PCT project was that I started doing public presentations of my trips. I had such fond memories rekindled of my parents’ slideshows and lamented that we don’t share our experiences like that anymore. I find it to be much more gratifying than simply putting up an Instagram post.