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.

Summit Journal

Editor: Michael Levy

Art Director/Photo Editor: Randall Levensaler

Heidi: With a year under your belt, what are your top learnings from the past year?
Michael: Making a magazine is the easy part – or at least it sometimes feels that way.

Editing a magazine – from commissioning and greenlighting articles and imagery to then working with the writers and photographers to perfect their work and get the assignments over the finish line – is the dream job for me. I feel beyond lucky to be doing this. But all the other stuff that comes with it? Business ops, marketing, and all the other shit… that stuff more often than not makes my head spin trying to keep it all straight and figure out the optimal way to do things. I’m constantly learning things, often things that I didn’t know that I didn’t know. As someone who has spent all my time on the editorial side in the past, wearing a bunch of different hats – from customer service rep to ad sales – has given me a new found appreciation and admiration for the folks who make everything else run smoothly. There’s just as much an art to that side of the equation. 

There were 319 past issues of Summit – and then you resurrected the title, why did you pivot on the naming convention?
There were a handful of reasons., When I shared my hopes to resurrect Summit with a former colleague, he asked me why I wasn’t going to just start a new magazine from scratch instead. “There are so many better names!” he said. Firstly, I just flat out disagree with him about the name  – what’s better than Summit for a climbing and mountaineering mag right?! Secondly, the whole point of resurrecting a magazine is to continue an existing story – to pick up where others left off. I’ve gotten to tell the broad strokes of the story of Jean and Helen, Summit’s founders, quite a bit at this point, and I still feel humbled to do so.

But just because I’ve brought Summit back to life, it’s not as though this is the same magazine it was in 1955 or 1965 or whenever. It’s a different project. Informed by that original title, yes. But not one in the same. So simply calling it Summit Magazine didn’t feel quite right. From 1990 to 1996, there was a second incarnation of Summit under which the name was tweaked to Summit: The Mountain Journal.

Calling the new iteration Summit Journal felt like a way to pay homage to both of these former eras, yet also signal that this is something new, something different.

I didn’t necessarily expect many people to read all of that into the name pivot. If anything, it’s more about keeping the mission straight in my and my art director’s heads here behind the scenes. To make sure we always remember that this title had a long, vibrant history before we came along and brought it back to life, but also that that shouldn’t dictate or limit what it is and can be in this new era.

You’ve been blending archival and current covers – are you leaning in into brand equity or balancing photography and the whimsical design Summit was known for?
It’s a bit of both. On the one hand, I think Summit Magazine’s most iconic covers are the illustrated ones by artists like Sheridan Anderson and Richard Pargeter. Continuing that tradition just felt like a no-brainer.

But doing an illustrated cover today also felt like something different in the outdoor media landscape, which has become overwhelmingly photo-centric. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that’s a bad thing; I just think the illustrated covers signal a different type of magazine.

Now, having said that, after I decided that I was going to do an illustrated cover for our first issue, I got a bit nervous. What if too many people were turned off by it? What if some people just wanted a cool climbing shot? Heck, I love an epic climbing photo as much as the next person. And so I figured I might as well do two covers – one illustration, one photo. That allowed me to have my cake and eat it. too.

And as I thought about it more, that felt like just one more way to capture the duality of this project – something old that is also something new. It suddenly seemed like the obvious way to do it. And with that in mind, we’re continuing to do two covers for each issue for the foreseeable future.

How did the archival content of Summit shape your contemporary editorial direction?
While it was always U.S.-centric, the older magazines had a very worldly sensibility. I’m very much trying to carry that forward.

The old magazines were mostly filled with pretty utilitarian stuff: how-to articles, trip reports, that kind of thing. I’m not against the latter, but I won’t be putting how-to articles or tech tips or gear reviews or any stuff like that in Summit Journal; there’s more than enough of that online. Rather, I’m trying to cultivate a more literary sensibility: climbing has, I would argue, perhaps the most literary tradition of any sport out there. There are old articles in the original Summit by climbers like Arlene Blum and Royal Robbins that are literary in a way that most stuff back than wasn’t. I’m trying to take that example and fill the entire magazine with it. Also to be clear: when I say literary, I’m not talking about esoteric think pieces or mind-numbing philosophy or impenetrable MFA-style prose. I’m talking the best kind of journalism, reportage, and essays that you see in the best of mainstream pubs – The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Esquire, the Outside of yesteryear – but with a climbing bent.

Congratulations on the mention in the NYT piece – what’s your take on the future of print publishing for independent magazines?
I’m wildly optimistic, as crazy as that might sound. In addition to Summit Journal, the NYT piece covered other great magazines like Mountain Gazette, Adventure Journal, Ori magazine, Emocean, and The Surfers Journal. But the article was focused just on the outdoors, obviously. A similar analog renaissance is occurring in seemingly every space, it feels like – whether traditional sports, or food and culinary arts, or what have you. I’m discovering new, wonderful magazines and magazine stores literally every single day. 

For me, the Internet and digital media have gotten so big that it can feel overwhelming. I have a couple online sources I rely on, but venturing beyond that feels scary – and there’s only so much time in the day that I want to be staring at a screen if I don’t have to be. In that kind of world, careful curation and high-quality print feel that much more valuable. 

I’m under no illusions that print will suddenly become the de facto distribution medium again or ever approach what it was in its heyday – no one wants that or is saying that would be good! But for delivering something different, for unplugging, for slowing down, for really absorbing a quality story and images… it’s hard to beat print for that. And I think there are enough people who agree to make it a thriving business for small, niche pubs like Summit Journal.

Have you been getting hearty photography submissions?
Yes! Right out of the gate submissions and pitches were slow – no surprise there. But now that it’s been almost a year since we announced Summit’s resurrection, there’s a steady trickle of both every week. We’ve started to commission some larger photographic stories, but our bread and butter continue to be submissions of already produced work. That’s just kind of the reality of the landscape and what we have the budget and bandwidth to work with. So with that in mind, if you have any great climbing or climbing-adjacent photos or ideas, send ‘em my way! mlevy@summitjournal.com

Documentary Program at the International Center of Photography
Joao Lutz: Baptism

Heidi: You came to NYC as a filmmaker with a handful of international clients. What drew you to the Documentary Program at the International Center of Photography?
Joao: My transition from film to stills was driven by a desire to explore a different form of storytelling. As a filmmaker, I was used to working with motion and sound to convey narratives. However, I became increasingly fascinated by the challenge of telling compelling stories through single frames and the magic space that breathes in the gaps between them. Photography offered me a new way to capture moments and emotions more intimately and immediately

In filmmaking, I often create stories, but with photography, I had the opportunity to discover and reveal the unexpected narratives that exist in the world around us. This element of surprise and discovery is exciting. The amazement of realizing situations a documentary project can take you is extremely fulfilling.
I was drawn to ICP because it provided an opportunity to deepen my understanding of visual storytelling through real-life narratives. The program’s emphasis on developing a cohesive narrative through still images resonated with my desire to hone my skills. Although I transitioned to still photography, I haven’t stopped working as a filmmaker. I continue to pursue both fields. I believe they don’t have to be set apart and are exceptional tools to create rich, multidimensional approaches to storytelling.

How did the Baptism project come about?
Baptism began from my fascination with the resilience and dedication of open water swimmers in Brighton Beach, New York, during the winter months. Growing up in Brazil, I spent most of my time on a farm or in a small town by the ocean. When I moved to New York, the beach became a place of comfort and familiarity. It made sense for my first documentary project to focus on a location where I felt somewhat at home. The project involved waking up at 3:30 AM two to three times a week to be at the beach by 6:00 AM to photograph these swimmers.

Initially, I was drawn by the extreme nature of their practice and the stark contrast between the bustling city of New York and the serene, spiritual connection these swimmers found with nature at Brighton Beach. This juxtaposition of city life and nature’s tranquility fascinated me. As I spent more time with them and engaged in deeper conversations, I realized it was much more than that. The project evolved to capture a community of people who come together to find spiritual solace and connection in the water.

Was it difficult to connect with the group of swimmers during their swim ritual?
Initially, there was a gradual process of building comfort and familiarity, both for myself and the swimmers. As with any natural human connection, it took time for us to get to know each other and for me to understand their ritual and stories. By consistently showing up and respectfully observing, I gradually gained their trust and became more familiar with their practices. Engaging in conversations, sharing my intentions, and showing genuine interest in their experiences helped build a rapport. Once they understood my goal was to document their journey authentically, they became more open and enthusiastic about participating in the project. I needed to approach the project with sensitivity and respect for their personal and often meditative practice.

How did the ocean inform your photography; what did you learn from this project?
The ocean and the elements played a significant role in shaping my approach to this project. The ever-changing conditions of the ocean and the weather influenced the mood and composition of my photographs. When I started, it was cold but still sunny, and as time went on, it became cloudy, snowy, and extremely windy. Adapting to these conditions was an incredible learning experience. I also began getting into the water myself, which helped me connect with the swimmers on a deeper level. By putting myself in their shoes and feeling the cold water on my skin, I gained an understanding of their experience. This project reinforced the importance of being present and responsive to the environment, allowing the natural elements to guide the visual storytelling. Most importantly, I learned that the practice for these swimmers is not just about physical endurance but a spiritual journey through their connection with the ocean and their surroundings.

What made the most impact for you at ICP? What surprised you?
The most impactful aspect of my time at ICP was the exposure to diverse perspectives and the rigorous critique process. Engaging with a community of passionate photographers and educators pushed me to refine my vision and technique. Coming from a filmmaking background, where I worked for five years, I had never worked on a documentary project. Moving to New York and starting ICP, where I had to work on a long-term documentary project, was challenging. I was used to creating stories rather than finding them in the world.

I struggled with going around and finding stories, which made it challenging. However, jumping into the “Baptism” project made sense because of its connection to my background. Once I opened myself to the project and trusted the process I was fascinated. I felt lucky to have access to such a new world. The more I do it, the more grateful I am to have a camera. It almost feels like a free pass or a passport to stories that I would never be able to see or live.

I was pleasantly surprised by the collaborative spirit and the depth of feedback I received at ICP. The opportunity to learn from industry professionals and peers alike was invaluable. The critiques, though challenging at times, helped me grow as an artist and understand the importance of narrative and emotional connection in my work.

How did the portfolio reviews go?
The portfolio reviews were an enriching experience. I received valuable feedback that validated my efforts and provided me with new directions for my work. Reviewers appreciated the storytelling and visual metaphors in my “Baptism” project, and I gained insights into developing and presenting my work.

How did you prepare for the reviews?
To prepare, I curated my portfolio carefully, ensuring it showcased a cohesive narrative and represented my artistic voice. A significant part of my preparation involved studying who my reviewers were, and understanding their backgrounds, interests, and the kind of work they do. This allowed me to adapt what I showed and how I presented my work to better connect with each reviewer. Knowing and planning how to engage with each person was crucial since every reviewer comes from a different background and interests.

What’s next for you?
I plan to continue exploring subcultures and communities that come together for unusual reasons. My work focuses on capturing these unique groups and the beautiful stories that emerge from their interactions. One of my ongoing projects, “Wheelie,” documents the city stunt bikers in New York City. I’m excited to dive deeper into this project and continue discovering and sharing the compelling narratives within these communities. I also look forward to potential collaborations and assignments that challenge and inspire me to grow further as a photographer.

Patagonia Spring Journal

Photographer: Ben Ditto
Read the story here

I caught up with Ben Ditto after Patagonia featured his work in the Spring 24 Journal, he was currently in the center of Nevada at a little cliff he’d been climbing on for a few years – and was kind enough to share a few thoughts- the best office is a mobile one.

You have a category on your site called, The Wild Bunch, which looks like a good time. Who are these fellows and how did this trusted merry band come to life?
Ben: Myself, Nico Favresse,  his brother Olivier, and Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll were dubbed by Captain Bob Shepton before our 2010 Greenland big wall and sailing adventure for which we won the Piolets d’Or. Bob must have seen some early videos from Nico and Sean such as the ‘Power of Jam‘ and ‘Free South Africa ‘in which there was a lot of music and light-hearted antics all while sending the gnar.

Previous to that trip we had been climbing together for years, initially meeting Sean while staying at Miguel’s Pizza at the Red River Gorge in the early 2000’s.  Visitors can see an old newspaper clipping on the wall where I’m walking a slack-line, and Sean is in the background.

You recently were on a team that headed to Greenland, the objective was a 4,000 ft slab of granite: The Mirror Wall – how did that come about and what made you say yes to this ambitious trip?
Well, this was to be our third trip together sailing in Greenland and climbing big walls, so when the offer arose it was hard to say no to. Again, we have Bob Shepton to thank for instigating the 2023 trip to Greenland. Bob, in his 80s, has long since sold his sailboat, the Dodo’s Delight, but he’s not out of the adventure game yet. Turns out Bob had met a young British skipper named Mike Brooks who owns the steel sailboat, Cornelia. Mike is a keen adventurer and offered to take our group of climbers to the Arctic.  After a few phone calls daring each other to go, we decided to try to climb the mirror wall.  

I stay in touch with Nico and Sean and all their exploits but it’s been years since I’ve done an expedition with them. However, I wasn’t too surprised to get the call to join them as the photographer on the trip. It does take a special sort of appreciation for adventure, climbing, sailing, and hardship.  It was tricky deciding whether or not to join this expedition, but ultimately my summer was free and I was psyched to go.  

Since our other expeditions, my work and life have taken on a different form.  For most of my 20’s and 30’s I was constantly on the move, now I’m usually staying closer to home.  Part of me thinks that if I’d had other work during that same time, I might’ve missed out on all the good fun we had in Scoresby Sound.  

Previous expeditions to Mirror Wall used helicopters for the approach, you guys green-pointed instead. This round-up isn’t for the faint of heart.

• 7 days of prepping the boat in Scotland
• 16 days of Sailing and 5 days waiting on a storm in the Faroe Islands, then another 14 days in Iceland waiting for the ice pack to clear.
• 10 days of strenuous hiking, and 9 days of challenging climbing
• How much pre-prep goes into a trip like this? (both physical and mental) 

Ha ha yes, the stats are pretty dizzying, especially when you consider we went through all that to climb approximately 1/2 of a big wall FA.  I lost track along the way but there must have been over 30 glacial river crossings to add to the list.  We all stay in good climbing shape, covering all the bases of hiking and physical strength you need to do an expedition like this.  But there’s a lot of it you can’t train for. The things that take a beating are your feet from the jagged glacial surface and your hips from wearing backpacks and harnesses.  A non-climber would probably wonder why to bother going to these difficult-to-access places; let alone humanly powered. Packing three months of food and climbing equipment for seven people is no small task. We have Nico to thank for accomplishing that task. We usually share a few spreadsheets and take care of finances on TriCount.

Cornelia and the lads sailed from Scotland in June and picked me up along the North Coast of Iceland, before continuing North to Scorseby Sound.  For our team, part of the experience is overcoming uncertainty and being in the moment that sailing provides.  We never knew if the pack ice would provide passage until we pushed into it.  Similarly, we didn’t know what the Mirror Wall would yield until we started climbing.

I’m forever impressed with the athletes who mastermind these missions – however, the photographers are equally as impressive. You’re on a dual track – athlete and creative, how hard is that to manage?
I think everyone’s career is balanced with everything else that’s happening. I’m not suggesting that being a climbing athlete is the same as being a parent, for example, but similarly, I have to juggle a few priorities.  

I find myself operating in distinct modes. I’m either a photographer or a climber on any given day, but I rarely mix the two unless work requires it.  You know, as photographers were constantly multitasking to solve problems and it’s nice to be able to simplify and just go climbing now and again.  

 What was it like to photograph the “featureless, shield of granite?” for the first time – what was running through your mind?
Approaching the wall I found it impossible to avert my gaze.  It was like a puzzle to solve:  where is the line we will climb? Where are the cracks in the mirror?!

As a climber, I have a deep sense of appreciation for climbing at the highest levels.  Watching Sean pour everything into this line on the mirror wall was pretty much the greatest show on earth, and I was the only one who could see it.  The photographs (and footage) are my way of sharing this performance with the world.  

How much camera gear did you carry and was it hard to shoot in the frigid conditions, any gear failures, this area is known as the “Arctic El Cap”
On the boat, I took two camera bodies, two drones, a bunch of batteries, hard drives and cards. But for the actual load carrying and big wall ascent, I had to pair everything down to one camera 2 lenses, and one drone.

It pains me to say it, but I had a problem with my DJI drone while we were up on the wall.  Due to our remote and un-connected location, I couldn’t log into my account and my drone would only fly a couple hundred feet away from me at any time.  It was a pretty frustrating feeling because I had tried to find a workaround for the DJI log-in issue and ultimately couldn’t find anything that would work. 

Can you tell us the average temps?
We were on land most of August and sometimes on the load carries it would be very warm, which was good because of all the water crossings.  It seemed impossible we’d see a polar bear in those temperatures.  ( we didn’t see any).  

The wall faces North and only gets a couple of hours of sun each day, which can feel pretty nice.  However, in the shade average temps hovered just below freezing most of the time.  

Looking back on the trip now, what comes up for you?
On an expedition like that, there are innumerable challenges we’re forced to face each day.  However, with time, most of that stuff fades into the background and I’m left feeling lucky to experience such an incredibly wild place with an amazing group of characters.  

How long have you lived in Bishop and how has that influenced your photography?
I moved to Bishop in 2010 from SLC. Ultimately, I chose to live close to the mountains rather than close to work or clients.  I still travel for work, it just takes a half day longer to get to an international airport.  

However, The Eastern Sierra is a desirable place for productions of all sorts and we see everything from commercials to feature films shot nearby.  For those shoots, my work has transitioned into location management, but I often wear several other hats.  It’s always appreciated when a producer understands the value a local can bring when working in a faraway place.  

How long have you been working on the Great Basin project?
While studying photojournalism at the University of Utah in the early 2000’s I became aware of ranchers in the Great Basin who were fighting against the SNWA ( southern Nevada water authority) to keep their water rights secure from exportation to Vegas. 

This story is still unfolding.

What excited you about studio photography? It’s the antithesis of raw nature.
In college, I assisted a product photographer (shout out to Butch Adams!) where I learned to love lighting portraits and products.  Our property in Bishop includes a commercial office building where I keep my studio. It’s great to have a place where I can make a big mess and then leave it for the night without anyone caring.

As a yearbook photographer in High School, I learned that a camera was my ticket to freedom.  With a photo assignment in my pocket, I could wander the halls, leave school early, and generally be on my program. Climbing is also known as ’the freedom of the hills’ so really it’s a perfect combo for me.  

Photographer: Sofia Aldinio

Heidi: How did you learn about this community and the impacts of climate change on this once-thriving area?
Sofia: In 2020 while traveling through Baja California, Mexico with my family in our 1978 Mercedes Fire Truck. On New Year’s Day, we decided to commit to a 6+ hour dirt road to chase some waves. It was out there. We had never been so remote with the van. We were only 7 km away from the town, right at sunset, we were stoked and relieved that we were almost there, when we felt a huge pull in the van and we saw our back wheel driver side wheels sliding off the axle. We were then stuck for 3 days, on the side of the dirt road.

The local mechanics tried everything to avoid a four-hour drive by truck to the closest town to help us move the van. They finally worked their magic and we moved the van into town. We were stranded on the oceanfront and surf paradise for over six weeks.

In my time there, I was so curious about the area. In just a few days we met so many locals. At this time, I was already developing a story about the small fisherman communities and their struggles to sustain a living. On one of my daily trips to the beach, I met this one American woman who shared with me that I had to visit a community located 2 hours away. She then described it as something you will never find in Baja. I was immediately so curious and before you knew it I was driving with her to the community to spend an entire day out there. I was hooked. As soon as I got there it felt to me that I was witnessing the past in the present moment. I fell in love with the slow pace and the old tales you could feel hanging in the air. It was a sense that these are the last keepers of this community.
Most of my work focuses on climate impacts and I was already reporting on the fishing community and how they were being impacted by the changes in the weather patterns and climate change, I immediately started questioning how the canyon community was affected. I then learned about the lack of rain, the unpredictable weather changes, how this is affecting the existing crops, and how the one and most important life source, water, has been significantly decreasing over the years.

Despite the unforgiving landscape and harsh living conditions – you found pockets of hope and resilience – when did that begin to unfold?
Since my early 20’s I have been always roaming around in and out of small villages in Latin America. It really didn’t take long for me to discover the joy that there is in simply living in a community surrounded by nature. The joy comes from just feeling that nature provides everything you need. Many times I have encountered travelers or outsiders thinking that these communities are poor, the truth is that they don’t have much, but also they are content as they are. I don’t want to sound naive, I am aware that there is a lot of poverty and in many cases, people there do desire more and they end up choosing another way of life. It’s complicated. Today fewer people choose to live in this way, and most refuse it. But there is still a small portion of close communities that do enjoy it, and they do want to preserve their heritage. That’s what I found in San Jose de Gracia.

In the San Jose de Gracia community, the land has provided for them, daily. They also have a long relationship with it. They are part of it. Most of the people were born there and still live there to this day. The memories are everywhere, and I found this created so much joy in them. It goes full circle. The land provides and they will become a part of it, no matter what, and I call this resilience.

When did the photo project begin?
I have always been intrigued by slow-paced stories. The stories that are not often “dramatic”. Stories that can speak of daily life with ordinary people. I think there is so much to learn from them. The idea of photographing someone in a remote location who is simply living sounds extraordinary to me. Eugene Richards once said “People’s lives are revolutionary in little ways.” I love this. I love ordinary moments, just a detail that we can all relate to.

So, going back to the question, I think this photo project began even before I went to the community. When we lost our van wheels and were stranded, I just knew everything was happening for a reason. And then I heard about San Jose de Gracia and I just knew that was why I was there.

How did you approach storytelling within a community of just 21 people?
I often approach any story, assignment, or project the same way. I never make a plan. I like the feeling of seeing where the story and the photographs take me. I might walk into the story with an idea of how I wanted to approach this kind of work, but then the work starts showing me it’s way, and dictating how it should be displayed and photographed. There was one thing I knew, that I wanted to be collaborative. I wanted to provide the community a space to tell their story.

When I decided to focus on the intersection between climate and cultural heritage I immediately knew it would be beautiful to ask community members if they wanted to draw places in the community that have changed over time. On one of my trips I brought with me paper and a lot of pencils and what they drew was so beautiful. I was able to see into their past. They started drawing their memories. So what started with just photographs, ended up with archival materials, drawings, and photographs. Patience and time are key in projects like this. I think it is important to challenge the conventional way. When we let the people that we are photographing take part in it, something magical happens, a new depth is created.

Congratulations on your Pulitzer Center’s Eyewitness Photojournalism Grant – was that always a goal for this work?
When you spend several years working on a project, you need financial and community support. What I liked the most about the Pulitzer Center was the opportunity to be part of a community of storytellers and reporters. I was excited about the opportunity to share my work through their teaching programs. Over the past years, I have had some opportunities to share my work with students learning about climate change and Mexico here in the USA, which was so rewarding. It also gave me the chance to connect with other storytellers working on climate change stories.

How will this work evolve?
It is constantly evolving. It’s like every relationship.

Sometimes my mind works like a filmmaker. I am not your classic photographer who will come back with this one frame that encapsulates everything in one photograph. I do very much love this idea of a photo story. This series of photographs can compose a story. It is my favorite thing. I am obsessed with it. One image will reveal the next and so on. I also love audio. Today I am working on putting together a multimedia piece to combine the illustrations, photographs, audio, and a little bit of video. I like to experiment in my work. And I think in some cases photos are just not enough. I also like the idea of reaching a different audience by creating multimedia pieces.

How does memory and cultural preservation vs erasure come to life in this work for you?
To me, it comes to life when people experience the work and can walk away asking themselves what would it mean to keep losing places and communities like San Jose de Gracia. The purpose of the work is not trying to answer any questions, it is trying to ask them. Behind the purpose of this work is the question that has driven me forward.

Creating a multimedia exhibit where people can experience the tension of preservation and erasure through the real-time experience of San Jose de Gracia has always been my goal. A place where you can feel in real time – these memories fading, traditions being washed away, and all that is left is their land while at the same time witnessing the few struggling to keep living in their way.

I hope it inspires US audiences to view migration as a shared challenge and instills a desire to live more sustainable lifestyles and preserve wild lands, sacred traditions, and cultural heritage.

How has being a mother, a wife, and living a determined and considered life impacted your work?
Being a mother has been an extremely beautiful, and challenging journey. Especially because I decided to be a full-time freelance visual journalist at the same time, I became a mother. This was extremely painful because I wanted to be in the field for infinite hours. I have such a big pull for this work, but I couldn’t leave my kids behind. Sometimes I brought them with me. I did anything I could to keep working and being a present mother. It took everything out of me. I got burned out. I was up working most of the night and then up with the kids. It took a big hit in my relationship. I knew I didn’t have the luxury of time. So I told myself I needed to become good, really fast. I needed to be able to get the shot super fast. I trained myself to be very efficient in the field. I am not sure if I was always successful, but I know that when I’m shooting I’m working super hard to capture the right shots, not just a lot of shots.

The biggest way motherhood has impacted my work is that when I’m photographing someone, I am always aware that this person has a mother or children. Before photographing a person in a harsh situation, I always ask if it is worth it and how this photograph is going to benefit them. The way I feel and see photography today is not the same as it used to be before having kids. I think it is ok to challenge photography in this way. I love seeing all the new approaches by photographers to talk about migration, racism, climate change, and other topics.

During covid you took your kids traveling – nature was the classroom – tell us more about that.
My favorite memory was a trip we did in the Green River where we decided to follow the John Wesley Powell journey and the pioneers. It was so much fun. We bought a book and learned about their journey, went to the museum, and took the kids on some multi-day kayak trips in the Green River learning about their journey and what it looked like to that trip back to them. It’s my favorite memory from that time. I still dream about paddling more sections of the Green River with them!

Photographer: Karabo Mooki

Heidi: How did the Black women’s Skateboarding project evolve – did you notice they were a force but underrepresented?
Karabo: Skateboarding isn’t always embraced by Black communities, and my own experiences having limited proximity to Black role models in skateboarding have had a massive impact on my feelings toward the sport and the culture of skateboarding. It’s made me wonder what skateboarding means to Black women immersing themselves in this world. What does it mean to take up space in a predominantly white male sport? I became aware of the increasing presence of Black women in skateboarding and then developed organic relationships with the community.

Understanding that South Africa has a tumultuous history with gender-based violence; the right to occupy public space is not equally shared amongst genders. Women are often met with harassment, micro-aggressions, and other threats that make them feel unsafe and unwelcome in public spaces. Crews of skateboarders such as the “Island Gals” and “Spectrum” are recreating the narrative by actively organizing and occupying spaces that many have previously felt uncomfortable being in. 

Their passion for skateboarding and community transcends through each individual and there is an undeniable sense of dedication to skateboarding and pushing for greater representation within the sport.

The collective work of Black women in skateboarding has been impossible to ignore, and as a documentarian, I found myself in the fortunate position of working alongside these dominant forces to help share their message globally.

How did you approach the female skateboarders, how did you explain your intentions to them?
As a documentarian, it is important for me to learn about the experiences of the community I am working with and to earn their trust. I invested time in understanding the community’s goals and spotlighting what they have overcome to realize their accomplishments.

I intend to create awareness and celebrate the importance of the social-political work perpetuated by these young freedom fighters. Many marginalized communities in post-apartheid South Africa are still carrying the weight of systematic oppression and my duty as a photographer is to let the truth be told and realized by local and global audiences.

Tell us how your style as a photographer evolved and how you got your start.
My passion for photography is rooted in my interest in human connectivity, history, and culture. I’ve been in a photographic dialogue most of my life, and the focus of my photography has developed from documenting counterculture to placing a more acute interest in political and cultural themes. Over time, I realized the weight of institutionalized colonialism that I was carrying and how systems of oppression had created doubt in my self-worth. This is why it is so important for me to highlight and celebrate Black culture in all its glory. 

What were your influences then and now?
Not so much what, but who – Peter Magubane, Ernest Cole, Dawoud Bey, and Joseph Rodriguez have been great storytellers I have sought inspiration from. Documentarians whose work upheld a deep sense of integrity and truth. They sought to tell stories of communities close to them and the social-political work they achieved is everything I aspire to in my work.

How did the Freedom Charter inform the culture in Soweto and your work?
As I mentioned earlier, Peter Magubane and Ernest Cole are prominent South African photographers and freedom fighters who taught me the importance of adopting a revolutionary mindset.

I learned that photography is a powerful tool to decolonize my mind and that of the communities I began working with. Photography has taught me so much, especially the importance of searching and sharing the truth of my people’s stories. I focused on stories that invite viewers to engage with political and social issues. 

Photography has allowed me to find my place amongst constant change and given me a voice to communicate and connect through this form of dialogue. The process has taught me to be intentional with my approach to photography and value the connections I’ve made with people along the way.

“As part of every encounter, Bey gave each person a small black-and-white Polaroid print for themselves as a way of reciprocating and returning something to the people who had allowed him to make their portrait” What practices do you have in any of your portraits encounters?
As an independent photographer, embarking on personal projects requires a lot of investment. I pour everything into realizing photo stories, but it’s not easy. Production costs are difficult to cover independently but as time goes on and my investments become greater, I find that simultaneously the relationships created are strengthened. My gratitude for the time and trust is expressed by upholding the integrity of the communities I work with. When I can afford to, I print out images on archival paper for the people I have worked with.

Ernest Cole’s House of Bondage was six years in the making. Each chapter represents life under apartheid, illustrating segregation’s impact on housing, education, employment, childcare, medical care, and daily life – which images are the most memorable to you and why?
The image that is engraved in my mind is the image of a schoolboy who squats on his haunches in an overcrowded segregated classroom, beads of sweat streaming down his face as he intently grips a pencil and a notepad in his small hands, following along with the teacher’s lesson. Ernest Cole provided audiences outside of South Africa with their first visceral view of apartheid, his work draws viewers into the beauty of this quiet act of defiance, this small moment of creation, which Cole ensured would one day be seen. Cole’s work captured my people’s struggles, and his photography’s message lives on as historical moments in the liberation of Black communities.

What parallels exist between your skateboarding work and the AfroPunk scene images from your Dogg Pound Days.
The AfroPunk skateboarding world brought together an unlikely group of Black and white youth, crossing a divide entrenched by Apartheid.

The makeshift independence of DIY culture is a crucial component of punk, where everything is self-constructed, from the experimental music and performances that take place in unconventional—and, as with skateboarding, sometimes unauthorized—locations, to crews building their ramps and filming skate sessions. My images capture the energy of the punk/skateboarding scene—the freedom in its expressions of rage, the power that comes with asserting one’s own identity, and the culture’s deep camaraderie.

Dogg Pound Days Captions
1. Curious kids from the neighborhood try to get a glimpse of a punk show.
2. In true punk rock style, Thula ‘Stroof’ Sizwe – guitarist of TCIYF – continues to perform after being electrocuted by a short-circuited fuse.
3. Searching for street spots to skate in Soweto is challenging, both physically due to the lack of infrastructure and attitudinally due to the general population’s misperception of skate culture as one that is destructive and dangerous. The Soweto Skate Society has made it their mission to shatter the belief that skateboarding culture can only exist in spaces outside of the township.”

High Country News

Photographer: Emily Sullivan
Photo Editor: Bear Guerra

Heidi: How has your experience as a backcountry guide informed your photography
career, were you an athlete first and then a photographer? No doubt being a
guide took to you some magical places.
Emily: I was a photographer first—I got my BFA at VCU Arts in Richmond, Virginia, where I
fostered a longstanding love of photography and film through large-scale installation
pieces. Much of my time in art school was spent creating imagery that integrated
sculpture into landscapes and vice-versa. I grew up as a city kid, but my passion for
chasing light and landscapes later inspired me to seek out hiking, backcountry skiing,
and other forms of wilderness travel. Working in the outdoor industry as a guide helped
me to develop hard skills that allow me to now travel deeper into the mountains and
other remote locations with my camera.

You’re originally from the South East, what drew you to the vastness and wilds of
Alaska and how long have you been there?
I grew up in Richmond, Virginia, and lived there until I was 22 years old. In my teens, I
was drawn to Alaska with photography in mind—I wanted to experience and document
the unique landscapes that Alaska had to offer. I first came here in early 2010. I didn’t
know a single soul, but I wanted to learn more about the place and experience the land.
I spent the first nine summers guiding hikes and working seasonal jobs in Denali
National Park, then I moved full-time to Anchorage in 2019.

How did you weave your way into the community in AK and eventually, retrace
the (some) steps of the famed naturalist and conservationist, Mandy Murie, a
voice in helping create the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge?
My relationship with the Alaskan landscape eventually inspired me to direct my energy
towards conservation issues. This is how I became more deeply entwined in
community—once I began working on land protections with environmental non-profits, I
became invested and involved with others doing similar work.
I was originally inspired to travel through the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge following
Mardy Murie’s steps to raise awareness for the importance of protecting the
Refuge’s coastal plain from oil and gas development. It wasn’t until later that I began to
understand how integral Indigenous land protectors have been to these issues, though
conservationists like the Muries are more widely celebrated. I also began to learn about
some of the harms of conservation—how designated Wilderness can prevent
Indigenous communities from accessing or hunting in their ancestral homelands.
Since then, I’ve turned my attention and efforts toward uplifting Indigenous knowledge
and stories in conservation work. My last four visits to the Arctic National Wildlife
Refuge has been with Indigenous land protectors involved in a project called the
Imago Initiative, who have taught me so much about the importance of ancestral
reciprocity with lands and waters.

Tell us how you met Deenaalee Chase-Hodgdon and learn about their Smoke
House Collective.
Deenaalee and I met when we both worked seasonal jobs in Denali National Park about
ten years ago. We got to know each other better in recent years—Deenaalee is deeply
invested in land and water protections, so our work would sometimes overlap. Alaska is
a huge state with a small population, so our community is relatively tight-knit.
I learned about the Smokehouse Collective when Deenaalee shared an early fundraiser
to help the Collective purchase a commercial fishing permit. I loved what Ruth and
Deenaalee were aiming to do—reclaim cultural practices while redistributing fish,
berries, and other foods to communities that are experiencing food insecurity due to
colonization and the climate crisis. I wanted to support this work in any way possible.

How many days did you spend with her and what was the conversation in
between photo moments?
I spent a few days with Deenaalee in Interior Alaska, one day with their co-founder Ruth
in Anchorage, and then six more days in Dillingham with Deenaalee. We hadn’t planned
to shoot in such a concentrated manner, but plans changed a few times due to illness
and travel commitments. I was very appreciative of the trust Deenaalee showed me by
inviting me to join them in Dillingham. Shooting in small communities in Alaska requires
trust from the community and awareness of cultural norms and consent.
Deenaalee had established relationships in Dillingham from their time there as a
fisherman, but had just moved there full-time after a long period of nomadic movement
throughout Alaska. Between photo moments, Deenaalee was not only trying to get their
new home set up, but they were attending meetings with funders and partner
organizations, connecting with community members over Smokehouse initiatives, and
doing a lot of the behind-the-scenes work of getting the Collective up and running.
This made for interesting reporting as I got to learn a lot of the background of the nuts-
and-bolts of establishing a grassroots non-profit like the Smokehouse Collective.
Deenaalee and I even attended a local meeting of the federal Subsistence Advisory Council in Dillingham. These “down moments” added a lot of context to the story the
photo essay would tell. The on-the-ground reporting inspired us to run the image
captions in long form, adding nuance to the wonderful written intro by Joaqlin Estus.

How did this project come about and what is the Climate Futures Fund?
In August, I received a call for pitches for a photo grant offered by High Country News,
specifically seeking to tell stories of climate resilience. HCN offers such grants a few
times a year to support assignment-based photo essays for their special issues. The
Climate Futures Special Issue was focused on sharing the message that “it’s not too
late to create a better climate future,” and I thought Smokehouse was a great example
of boots-on-the-ground work towards creating climate resilience in Alaska. I reached out
to Deenaalee for a pre-interview, and then I wrote a 500-word pitch explaining my approach.
In September, I was awarded the grant. The final edit was due in November. HCN and I
agreed that the story would benefit from an Alaska Native writer, and the magazine
assigned the intro text to Tlingit journalist Joaqlin Estus.

What type of direction did you get from the HCN, most notably from the photo
editor Bear Guerra.
I met with photo editor Bear Guerra and issue editor Emily Benson a couple of times
before beginning my reporting, and then I met with Bear several times throughout the
assignment. He prompted me to consider how we could visualize the early phases of
Smokehouse’s resource distribution (Deenaalee jarring salmon), encouraged me to
show the behind-the-scenes work of establishing the Collective (Deenaalee and Ruth
meet on video calls), and helped me think through a number of challenges that arose
during my reporting.
A few of the scenes I hoped to capture were just not possible, so Bear provided
encouragement and was a great thought partner in pivoting towards what was possible.
I came back from Dillingham with more images and scenes than we could use
in the story, so Bear gave me an opportunity to cull and choose my own favorite images
before he curated the final set. I’m really happy with the set of images Bear ultimately
selected, and his input as a photo editor was vital to telling a cohesive story.

El Pais

Photographer: Daniel Beltra
Photo Editor: Gorka Lejarcegi

Heidi: Your work balances a line between environmental beauty and catastrophe with a focus on
aerial photography. How difficult was it to work from the ground, I know you had planned to fly a drone.
Daniel: Working from the ground was complicated, security is understandably tightened, and lots of different permits needed to be secured. There are also many military checkpoints all over the country.
The main difficulty for me was to wrap my head around the fact that the project I had planned and trained for most of the year (I had never flown drones before) was gone and I needed to get in gear and do what was possible.

Heidi: What foiled those plans and how hard was it to pivot? What was the lesson there?
Daniel: Even though my initial project using drones was supported by the Ukrainian authorities, things changed once I arrived in Kiev. A total ban on any civilian flying was implemented with no exceptions made. For a while, we tried to get special permission without any luck.
Flexibility would be the lesson, I had to adapt. I was concerned and had doubts, but I always told myself that the only way to take photographs was to go out and take them. Too much thinking or worrying is counterproductive. I just had to start working and get a feel for it. Now, almost three months after my return, I’m happy with the results.

Heidi: There’s an abundance of imagery covering the destruction in Ukraine, what drew you there?
Daniel: There are so many talented photographers showing the direct and brutal impact of the war.
The project I was trying to execute was different: documenting the war’s environmental impact from the air had not been done, at least not on a larger scale.
As horrible as the consequences of this terrible war were for Ukrainians, I wanted to show that there were other long-term consequences.

Heidi: Tell us about the planning and what support you had going into this trip.
Daniel: My project was sponsored by the Embassy of Spain in Ukraine and the Spanish Agency for International Cooperation and Development (AECID). I also got a couple of private donors to help.
Organizing a project like this remotely is challenging. The team at the Embassy in Kiev was crucial to get the planning going. It was them who made all the connections with the Ukrainian Ministry for the Environment. I also consulted with Greenpeace (I have a very long relationship with them) and they helped suggest locations to photograph. Between all these parties we came up with a list of locations that we thought were interesting. We then had to get the permits to be able to access them. Many were not available due to their proximity to combat zones.

Heidi: You mentioned working with the military who was juggling 100s of journalists’ requests a day – how did you hope your imagery would stand out?
Daniel: As I previously mentioned, the ecocide (environmental impact of the war) had not been covered extensively. I am not a war photographer, in fact, for this project, I had no access to the current front lines.
The final set of images diverted from that original goal. They show some of the scars the war is leaving in the country.

Heidi: Your images are haunting and absent of the human element – but indicate humanity, was that always the plan?
Daniel: That was part of the original plan. A lot of my work is done from the air. This unique perspective helps emphasize the impact we are having on the environment.
That was not an option in Ukraine. More artistic and abstract images helped give a different perspective, less harsh than pure photojournalism but also efficient to convey the ongoing tragedy.

Heidi: Knowing your work and plans for this project,  I thought the first image was land scars shot from above – I was wrong. Tell us about the image.
Daniel: I like images that can be confusing on a first approach, where the viewer needs to go an extra step to understand what’s on the frame. Through that tension, I hope to inspire some reflection. This particular photograph shows the snow-covered, bullet-ridden windshield of a van damaged during the battle in the small village of Lukashivka. I shot the image from the inside of the vehicle, what happened to the occupants? It’s a haunting frame.

Heidi: Do you have plans to return?
Daniel: Hopefully before this summer, working on that right now.

The Russian invasion of Ukraine began in 2022, what were your observations on how daily life has adapted since then?
We just passed the second anniversary of the invasion. I was amazed by the Ukrainian’s resilience, despite the daily missile and drone strikes and the endless air raid alarms. Most of the nights I was there the alarms were going off, even on multiple occasions on a single night. One day a Ukrainian friend asked me if I went to the refuge during the air raid.  When I answered I stayed in bed, and she replied you are Ukrainian now.  It made me reflect on how tough it is to be living constantly under threat and how humans manage to adapt to almost anything.

ESPN

Photographer: Hugh Kretschmer
Photo Editors: Kaitlin A. Marron and Robert H. Booth

Heidi: How did this moving portrait series idea come about?
Hugh: The idea for the portrait series originated while I was capturing moments of a longtime friend and her daughter as a special gift. Although we explored various concepts that day, the “layering” concept held the utmost significance for me. Initially, I had planned to craft a unique artwork by creating a combined portrait through a practical collage. My original idea involved producing large prints of their individual portraits, cutting them into strips, and intricately weaving them together.

However, a pivotal moment shifted my approach away from collage. While shooting tethered and utilizing the overlay feature in Capture One, I was captivated by the results when aligning two captures and adjusting the opacity of the overlaid image to 50%. By reducing the opacity of the overlaid image by 50%, a hybrid of both subjects emerged – a Third Person – becoming the namesake of the entire project.

Has generational transmission of knowledge, passing down stories, and cultural identity helped inform this idea?
No, I comprehend the direction of your question. This project is solely a visual exploration of genetics. I lack a deep familiarity with most of my subjects, preventing me from incorporating elements that authentically convey their stories. The nuances of their gestures, expressions, or body language may serve as the only components beyond facial features that could contribute to a more intricate narrative.

Nevertheless, the initial commission took a different approach, delving into the family’s history and Frank Senior’s remarkable NFL career before progressing to Junior, who is following in his father’s footsteps. I empathize with Junior and the potential challenges he might encounter in living up to his father’s success. 

It resonates with my own experience when I chose to pursue a career in photography, following in my father’s footsteps and facing the pressure to meet a set of expectations, largely my own.

Is this series a response to the layered narratives available in both double exposure and moving images?
Absolutely! I’m incorporating more motion into my work because I find it enjoyable and stimulating. It’s a fun challenge that allows me to expand my problem-solving skills, and this project is a continuation of that exploration. While motion is always a consideration during a shoot, I typically don’t start with a storyboard. Instead, I keep an eye open for opportunities as they arise during the session and proceed from there.

I strive to align the chosen technique with the narrative and vice versa. For instance, the double exposure effect in this series aligns perfectly with the theme of genetics, which is why I used it to depict a family’s heritage through these “double” portraits.

The ideal moment for incorporating motion occurred while photographing Frank Senior, first in his graduation gown and then in his everyday attire. I was struck by how consistently Frank Senior maintained his expression throughout. Remarkably, I found one frame in each set that matched so precisely that there was no discernible change in his expression or head position when I merged the images.

Your parents were fluent but polar opposite creatives; looking back, how has that influenced your work?
My father served as a photo-instrumentation engineer for NASA, imparting to me both photography skills and the art of problem-solving. On the other hand, my mother, who had an artistic influence on the family, acquainted me with 20th-century art movements.

Even after their passing, they remain significant influences on my early work, albeit indirectly. I can still hear my father saying that every problem has a solution, no matter how complex or insurmountable. Under pressure, he would often share a favorite piece of advice: “Getting a man on the moon was just an idea at first.” (It occurred to me much later in life that he might not have known the answer to my question and offered those “words of wisdom” to avoid any embarrassment.)

In contrast, my mother took a gentler approach to my countless questions, sitting with me and delving into every detail of a subject I inquired about. She would retrieve museum catalogs or art history books from her library, opening them up to explain the composition, color choices, and techniques employed by artists to bring elements together uniquely. Thanks to her, my work consistently reflects the art movements she introduced me to, an influence that persists to this day.

ESPN retired its print issue. How has this digital-only context opened up ideas for you creatively?
Certainly, they retired their print issue, and honestly, that’s a disappointment for me. I have an affinity for the printed page and miss the tactile qualities of a finely printed magazine. However, the transition to digital has brought about both opportunities and a few challenges.

Given that ESPN is predominantly viewed on phones now, the magazine requested versions of specific images to be cropped in different aspect ratios, particularly extreme horizontal formats. This information before the shoot allowed us to plan and capture backplates in vertical and horizontal orientations to meet their requirements. 

One notable advantage of digital magazines is the ability to incorporate motion. While not specifically requested for this assignment, I volunteered it as an option. (I’m not sure if they used the motion in the issue, but it provided an opportunity for me to showcase the possibilities to the photo editors.)

Tell us about the creative process for the portrait of  NFL Running back Frank Gore and his oldest son, Frank Gore JR. (is there any crossover with you, living up to a parent’s identity?
Your question is indeed intriguing and resonates with me, as Junior and I share a similar experience. Like Junior, I chose to walk in my father’s footsteps by pursuing photography. However, the stakes seem higher for Frank Junior, considering his father’s immense success and stature. Additionally, his journey mirrors his father’s even more closely, given that he’s playing the same position.

My path diverged somewhat from my father’s. While he was involved in scientific photography at NASA, I ventured into the commercial side of photography. Nevertheless, I, too, grappled with the challenge of meeting his expectations. That’s where our paths differ. Frank Gore Jr. might be striving to uphold his father’s legacy, whereas I was, in a way, seeking my father’s approval.

What were the obstacles of the project, if any, and how did you problem-solve?
The primary challenge we encountered was the exceptionally low ceiling in the hotel conference room where our photo shoot took place. This limitation meant we couldn’t capture the Gores in a standing position, leaving us with no option but to photograph them while seated. To address this, we improvised by using a makeup chair we found in an adjacent room. Surprisingly, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The chair served as a stable anchor, simplifying the alignment of my subjects and facilitating the registration of their facial features during post-production.

Despite this initial hurdle, the remainder of the shoot proceeded seamlessly. We successfully captured all the necessary elements for the nine deliverables within the allocated two-hour time frame.