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!

Here’s how photographers recommend dealing with stolen images.

Always register your images with the Copyright Office which will then allow you to collect a maximum of $150,000 for each infringement if it was willful.

Several software companies are recommended for tracking stolen images and getting settlements.

Ultimately a lawyer will get you the best settlement and take less for their fee.

Ideally you register your images within 3 months of publication. You can still register after the infringement which allows you to sue in federal court. Registration also gives you the ability to collect attorney fees which raises the stakes considerably when you consider the infringer paying for both attorneys and damages.

@cameron.davidson.photo
I use Visual Rights Group to track-down image theft and they have been very successful for me.

@scottseriophotos
ImageRights for me since 2015.

@catebrownphoto
There’s ImageRights, Visual Rights Group, and Copycat Legal to name a few

@charliornett
I’d recommend checking into Copyright Agency

and Pixsy:

@mscottbrauer
Pixsy has been ok, for me. Most settlements have been for a few grand, and a few have been between 10k and 20k. I register all my work, which helps get higher settlements

@tinacci
Pixsy has worked for me over the years though the process is definitely very slow.

Others report that pixsy drops cases regularly, settles for less, and if they use an outside attorney you get 25%.

Many recommend using pixsy to track infringement then engage a lawyer to settle:

@david_paul_larson
There’s been many of these companies over the years. You’re getting peanuts to what a real lawyer would get you. The max my lawyer takes is 40%. Usually about 30%

Here are recommendations for IP lawyers:

@toddspoth
Look up attorney David Deal and tell him I sent ya! Thank me later!

@laurengrabelle
Higbee & Associates is reputable

@meredith_bruner
@mad.ip.law @bmadanat as an intellectual property law recommendation.

@robertfreundlaw I believe handles this.

@chrismurrayproductions
@mpkelley_ Mike Kelley has a website called @apalmanac .
They are a treasure chest of information. If you reach out to AP Almanac they can refer you to the right attorneys. Super legit.

@sampson.photography.fl
Attorney Rachel Brenke (@thelawtog) handles this type of work

@brentdanielsphoto
Imagerights has a great IP lawyer in Australia

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.”

The Photo Industry Need To Do Better.

“This industry is unkind to mothers, there is no denying that.”

“Leading up to giving birth, I completely hid my pregnancy and never mentioned it to anyone. Even when I became so obviously pregnant, I just never talked about it to clients unless they brought it up.”

“I can’t tell you how many women shooters/assistants have felt they have to hide their pregnancy in order to keep working. The whole topic/concept is so difficult to navigate.”

“I didn’t share it on social media or tell anyone in person until I started to show. I hated it, I wanted to shout my exciting news from the rooftops but I knew the impact it would have on my work, which is incredibly sad”

Here are some comment from a post I made on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/C4yc-K6O-dq/

Leading up to giving birth, I completely hid my pregnancy and never mentioned it to anyone. Even when I became so obviously pregnant, I just never talked about it to clients unless they brought it up. I was terrified of losing a job if someone found out/like I’d be an undesirable person to work with. I did almost lose a job with a very large well known client who found out through word of mouth that I was in my 3rd trimester. They stopped emailing with me and instead called me to ask me very personal questions like when my due date was, if I was physically able to take on the job, etc. it was so sketchy that the woman did it all over the phone.

A week after my son was born, just home from the hospital, my editorial shoots and hustle paid off. I got a call from one of the big three agencies in Boston at the time. The Photo Buyer *gushed* over my work, the creative team loved it! They couldn’t wait to meet me. When can I come in? In my half awake new mom haze I said “I just got back from the hospital with my first baby. Let’s get something on the books in three weeks.” She hung up on me. I never heard from them again and still haven’t shot for them 20 years later.

DO NOT TELL A SOUL. I worked til 37 weeks but could have gone until the day I delivered. The main issue was being uncomfortable driving. I took 2 months “off” but it was extremely slow afterwards and no one hired me for an ad job for another year. If I did it again I’d keep it all a secret, unfortunately I lost a huge IUD pharma campaign because they found out I was pregnant. The irony! Obviously it’s illegal but what can you do?

Luckily I didn’t show and I hadn’t told anyone when Covid lockdowns started so I could kind of hide it through not being outside. Even after having my baby I didn’t really tell any clients or post about it. When my main client found out I had a kid the jobs dropped off dramatically.

During my first pregnancy which was 18 years ago, I had a photo editor tell me straight up when I went to the office after a shoot that she “wouldn’t have hired me if she knew how pregnant I was” – at about 32 weeks. In general I hid my pregnancy for fear I wouldn’t get work.

I kept my pregnancy to myself and did not share publicly or with clients. I just showed up to work pregnant and did my job just as well (sometimes better) than I did not pregnant.

Pregnancy is the easiest part of navigating life as a freelancer (I told clients on a need-to-know basis while pregnant 13 years ago, and happily worked until 39 weeks). The hard part of working in this field really happens once the child is born. I know many female photographers whose careers were sidetracked by the challenging logistics of balancing an unpredictable photo schedule and childcare.

I kept it very private. Nothing on the internet until my daughter was born. Almost 100% of the time, I only told clients once I was already on set because it was visible. I was soooo scared to lose work because I thought people might assume hiring me would be a risk.

I worked until I was 38 weeks pregnant but also didn’t tell any clients that I was pregnant for fear of not being hired. The part I found difficult was after I had the baby, trying to be 100% on shoots after little to no sleep some nights but the pumping was really difficult, having to take a break somewhere private every few hours was very tough.

Never told anyone but also wouldn’t lie if asked. Wore oversized clothes on set and worked up until a month before birth. Booked an extra assistant if needed just to have an extra person to have my back. Was back on set when baby was 8 weeks old which was a bit unnecessary/early in hindsight (for me – everyone’s different). A few clients didn’t book me because I was pregnant but I figured I don’t wanna work for them anyway – it’s my choice.

In my experience as a event and editorial shooter in LA at the time, not telling anyone i was pregnant until it was very obvious was a good choice for me, only because once the clients knew I was pregnant they were all very kind but many were also much more cautious and concerned about me, and acting as though i was much more delicate like I should be doing something at a desk LOL so I had to really reassure more people that i was absolutely fine and capable. And that women have done this since the dawn of humanity and i’d let them know if i was ever feeling not capable.

My boss and management was not supportive at all. I was scrutinized even if I only came in 30 minutes late due to doctors appointments and so I scheduled each doctors is the very first appointment of the day so I could rush to work

This is a really important topic to discuss as a lot of us feel we cannot tell people we are pregnant for fear of not getting booked. I was also one of those people. I didn’t share it on social media or tell anyone in person until I started to show. I hated it, I wanted to shout my exciting news from the rooftops but I knew the impact it would have on my work, which is incredibly sad. I would turn up to shoots and shock people not only because I was pregnant but because I was still very much capable. IMAGINE!? Once the news was out and baby arrived, I did have some clients presume that I wouldn’t want the work we had in the calendar for the coming months and THAT is the problem. The attitude towards pregnant people drastically needs to change

Book pregnant photographers and support them by booking them when they are back to work.

Let’s try and change this crappy narrative, we deserve better!

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.

Where is the Cool

“Good question. Let this pretentious magazine give you the answer.
This biannual printed magazine is available here (yes, they ship internationally)

Creator: Laurent Laporte

Heidi: You founded this project 10 years ago, looking back, what would you tell your younger self?
Laurent: You were absolutely right not to listen to people who try to demotivate you.

How has the content evolved as you’ve gone from a blog to Instagram, and finally print?
In a completely organic and instinctive way and by making mistakes that make you learn and understand how things work, more or less.

What notes need to be hit to be featured in Where is the Cool?
It is also very instinctive. It’s very contextual, each issue starts as a puzzle, and sometimes you know which pieces are a miss, sometimes you just find it without really looking after it.

How did your background in advertising inform your decision to make this magazine and not include ads?
99% of the time advertising is aesthetically disgraceful or not in line with the aesthetic of the magazine. I wanted to make something pure where nothing comes to break the attention of the reader. Also, we only talk about cool things and there are not so many cool brands today.

People say print is dead (I disagree) what are your thoughts on advertising being dead?
It depends on who is talking. I know that many people interested in fashion, love to buy fashion magazines and also to see the ads. It gives them today’s tone, and keeps them aware of what’s happening. On my side, I don’t even know how I can explain how much I found this lame.

The variety of subjects in each issue is very diverse. Is there a personal thread tying everything together, or a subtle theme for the viewers to enjoy finding for themselves?
It’s a personal project at the end, so I speak most of the time about very subjective opinions trying to make them in a very objective way.

So refreshing! A magazine with more photography than writing but still something to say and engage in cover to cover in 1 hour. Why 21 topics? (I read you cover 21 items an issue)
It was a model that worked well when I needed a reassuring structure of the puzzle. Now it’s more free.

What are the hardest parts of producing such a magazine that most people wouldn’t even think of?
Nothing is hard here, if you believe in it, it happens. Constraints make things happen. Will it work? You will know that later, as with every project. But in the end you made something and the that’s most important part.

How do people pitch in ideas?
I receive a lot of pitches every day from a lot of people who never bought the mag, so they don’t understand the editorial line behind it. It’s me pitching photographers with ideas most of the time.

I enjoyed your piece on Relax Watch, can you share how that piece came about?
I stumbled upon that interesting project about Rolex parody watches and I find it super interesting. It looks like another signal in my head about the saturation of luxury things. In a world that needs to step back, it’s very strange that people still want to stay in a world of ostentatious things that do not fit with the new ideals we should look for today.

The Art of the Personal Project is a crucial element to let potential buyers see how you think creatively on your own.  I am drawn to personal projects that have an interesting vision or that show something I have never seen before.  In this thread, I’ll include a link to each personal project with the artist statement so you can see more of the project. Please note: This thread is not affiliated with any company; I’m just featuring projects that I find.  Please DO NOT send me your work.  I do not take submissions.

Today’s featured artist:  Al J. Thompson

NPR: The Picture Show

At the same time, gentrification can be both pervasive and personal.

Photographer Al J Thompson entwines these two ideas in his debut book, Remnants of an Exodus.

A pool of light on asphalt, the dangling Jordan’s of a boy on a tree limb, a police officer from the shoulders down, his right hand resting on his holstered gun. Thompson’s photos pose a truncated perspective of Spring Valley, N.Y., the New York City suburb where he came of age. The frames shy from literal views of change — Thompson intends to leave the big picture incomplete.

“This could be anywhere,” he says. The causes and effects of gentrification in cities across the country have spawned fierce debate in recent years about how to keep rising housing prices from driving out longtime residents.

Thompson considers gentrification to be “a term that relates to the undermining of a community by building new empires.”

It’s this visual tension — between the specifics of this neighborhood and the ubiquitous issue of displacement — that carries the viewer through Thompson’s work.

When Thompson migrated from Jamaica to the U.S. in 1996, he joined his mother in Spring Valley. The two were part of a largely Black community of Caribbean immigrants. The town park served as the meeting place for everything familiar. Jerk chicken sizzled during cookouts in July. Men played cricket on long weekends. And during many nights when floodlights illuminated the grass, Thompson and his friends ran through the park fields playing soccer.

Today, a development called Park View Condominiums overlooks that same space. The three-story housing complex is just one of the many long-litigated results of the area’s urban renewal push. Since 1990, Spring Valley’s Hispanic population has seen a sixfold increase and its number of ultra-Orthodox Jewish families has soared, shifting the demographics of what a community looks like. The proportion of Black residents has declined by 10% over the same time.

With this perspective, Remnants of an Exodus is as much a meditation on memory as it is an examination of place.

“By shooting this project, I’m also experiencing nostalgia,” Thompson says. “The sense of community, at least within the African diaspora, that’s been gone.”

Thompson also invites viewers to revisit their own recollections through his selective visual compositions. A quick pace of vague images allows the reader to project — a folded sign affixed to a chain link fence, the point where a willow’s limbs meet the ground, graceful fingers around an umbrella handle. Interspersed, direct portraiture brings pause. We spend time with the determined eye contact of a young girl with beaded braids and the knit brows of a woman set back in foliage.

“It’s very rhythmic,” Thompson says. “It’s almost like a musical.”

Just one explicit depiction of change interrupts this rhythm. In his only wide landscape, Thompson shows the viewer those new condos rising just beyond the fence that surrounds the park. In at least this frame, the past and present appear in harmony.

Maura Friedman is a visual journalist based in Washington, D.C. Follow her on Instagram @maurafriedman.

To see more of this project, click here.

APE contributor Suzanne Sease currently works as a consultant for photographers and illustrators around the world. She has been involved in the photography and illustration industry since the mid 80s.  After establishing the art-buying department at The Martin Agency, then working for Kaplan-Thaler, Capital One, Best Buy and numerous smaller agencies and companies, she decided to be a consultant in 1999. She has a new Twitter feed with helpful marketing information because she believes that marketing should be driven by brand and not by specialty.  Follow her at @SuzanneSease.  Instagram

Success is more than a matter of your talent. It’s also a matter of doing a better job presenting it.  And that is what I do with decades of agency and in-house experience.

Hark Pack Magazine

Editor and Founder: Zach Seely

Creative Direction and Design: SOON Services, Brendan Dunne, Ken Tokunaga

Fashion Director: Benoit Martinengo
Designer: Christian Sant

Heidi: What compelled you to start a niche print publication based around skiing?
Zach: There’s a simple reason for starting Hard Pack. I have a passion for skiing, images and words. In that sense, it sounded like a lot of fun.A more complex reason is because I was tired of the images and media around skiing. To me, how the media had represented the sport felt stuck and ossified in a particular mode. For all the variety of the sport, why had the image of skiing felt so undifferentiated? The majority of media around skiing falls into two camps. The first camp comes from the perspective of an elite hobbyist. It focuses on apres ski, expensive gear, resort reviews, and pricey hotels. The second camp comes from the perspective of a ski bum. It focuses on lots of powder, steep lines and probably some Grateful Dead vibes.
I have nothing against these two images, but they are not my experience of the sport. There was an opportunity to subvert those traditional images of skiing. The new image would be multi-dimensional, philosophical, and weird. It would embrace stories on architecture, fashion, design, poetry, fiction and criticism.I started Hard Pack to publish new voices whom you would not find in other ski and outdoor publications.

What makes this magazine different from endemic titles that have (may have) disappeared or gone exclusively digital?
Our title Hard Pack is both an homage to Powder which I grew up with but also a provocation. Hard pack snow, of course, refers to the type of snow no one celebrates but the majority of us ski on. We take that provocation as our editorial mandate to do things other titles wouldn’t do. So, of course, we will never publish resort reviews or rankings or a gear review. But we go beyond that. We want to develop a new lexicon for the sport. To do this, we prioritize photographers and writers outside of the ski industry. And by working with these types of creators we end up with stories not typically seen in a ski magazine. We also have a fashion component. Benoit Martinengo is our fashion director. And he leads the fashion editorials for each issue. By engaging with the sport through the lens of fashion, we are able to have a perspective on the rise of outdoor technical clothes in the fashion industry. Finally, we are a print-only publication. We invest a great amount of our resources in the print object. The creative directors, Ken Tokunaga and Brendan Dunne of SOON Services, design the magazine. Each layout is custom. We don’t have a set flatplan. We let the stories inform the design and vice versa. Each issue has multiple paper stocks and unique print inks. We want to create an object you want to hold onto.

How old were you when you first started sliding on snow?
Apparently my dad told my mom that if I can walk then I can ski. He put me on skis at the age of three and took me to Alta in Utah. Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons became my playground essentially. I was able to see the tram at Snowbird from my bedroom window.

In a few words, tell us what skiing is for you and how it has shaped you personally, and creatively…
I’m not super interested in over-romanticising the sport. Obviously, I’m obsessed with it, but it’s only one aspect of my life. Skiing is my favorite outdoor sport among many others like surfing and road cycling. Skiing is also an intellectual pursuit of mine. I’m always reading about it, seeking out poetry that mentions it, and finding cinema that references it. It’s a generous sport to think with. But it’s also an expensive hobby that is part of an industry that is complex and not always good to every stakeholder. That means I have some complicated feelings about the sport, as well.

How did launching Sandwich magazine inform this work, both creatively and through the nuts and bolts of business?
Sandwich magazine was a surprise. I was running a marketing team at a small food CPG company. We needed something to bring a bit of energy to a very crowded and challenging category. We had grown tired of producing food content for the algorithms. We were looking for content that was more in-depth and that mirrored our own passion. We had been big fans of Lucky Peach, the independent food magazine. We thought we could publish something similar. We ended up partnering with TCO out of London to bring it to life. We called it Sandwich. Its mandate is to publish overlooked aspects of food and culture. Each issue takes inspiration from the ingredients of a sandwich to talk about new stories. It blew up on social media. It did well at newsstands. Sold surprisingly well online. It became a viable independent magazine. From that I learned a lot about the magazine publishing world. It gave me great contacts with printers, distributors and retailers. Also, it gave me my first peek into the life of an editor.

How are you trying to make the objects of skiing photographically arresting? Silent Snowfall by Lara Giliberto is gorgeous.
Well, one thing we are trying to do is bring in new voices to the sport. Lara’s work in issue two is one such example. Lara does incredible still life work working often with M Le magazine du Monde out of Paris. She collaborated with set designer Camille Lichtenstern for this work. What they achieved with “Silent Snowfall” is particularly gorgeous. They took ski objects like avalanche shovels, ski wax, and boots and paired them with high-fashion objects. That type of lens meant we’d be able to see a ski boot like never before. The idea of shooting a ski boot upside down is very simple but never done and that’s what they did. It’s quite the statement but hard to pull off. It takes an outside eye to achieve that. In main ways, this story is our response to the season-preview gear reviews that typical magazines publish. We happen to prefer to showcase these objects not as functional objects but as objects of high design.

Matthew Hensen and his legacy were celebrated in the launch issue with the story “That Went Downhill Fast”. The project is beautifully photographed by Samuel Bradley and exquisitely styled by Benoit Martinengo. Tell me about the evolution of this project.
Well, Benoit is our fashion director and he knows Samuel Bradley. Samuel is one of the best fashion and editorial photographers around. Benoit approached Samuel about contributing, and Samuel was immediately interested. We had discussions about different stories. We ended up landing on something that Samuel could shoot in London. The inspiration came from Matthew Hensen, who was the first man to reach the North Pole. The historical photos of this explorer are stunning. It became a cool collaboration for Samuel and Benoit. Benoit had the challenge of recreating those looks with contemporary brands. They still had to feel modern though. What he achieved feels very timeless. That’s thanks to many of the brands like Roa Hiking and Lemaire. Samuel is able to fill the entire story with a sense of humor. That humor is a necessary component to this story. The skier, our model, has veered off course finding himself in the streets of London. Samuel has a great eye for capturing humor while creating stunning images. In the end, the story is one of my favorites we’ve ever created. It is a fun commentary on the entire streetwear meets gorpcore movement. It’s able to make a nice comment while remaining thoughtful, sophisticated and beautiful.

What are your hopes for this printed project?
I generally hope that we get to keep making them. I hope that enough people want to read and own them that it becomes a sustainable business. Very simple stuff, to be honest. It’s rare to put a print object out in the world in our era. It’s meaningful to connect with others who share a similar passion for the sport and for print. On the creative front I hope we continue to work with exciting photographers like Samuel and Lara. Doing editorial work is a labor of love, and it’s so meaningful to have photographers who want to work with you. And, finally, I hope we are making a meaningful change to the ski industry and the way it portrays itself. Even if the impact is small, we hope we are widening the scope of the sport. We hope to make it accessible to people who have never picked up a ski magazine before.

What surprised you the most, now that you’re well into your 3rd issue?
Honestly, what surprised me the most is that we got so many inbound requests from photographers and writers asking to contribute after only our first issue. It’s a small thing but the response from the photo community has been special.

Any advice for anyone who is launching a print magazine?
Reach out to the editors of your favorite magazines and take them out for coffee. I find that the community is all about support. I’ve received so much help from countless industry veterans to newcomers.

How can photographers get involved in the magazine?
Send us a note at info@hardpackmagazine.com

Bikepacking

Photographer: Nathan Khalsa

Heidi: How did this project come about, were you published by Bikepacking before?
Nathan: The project was born out of how most of my work is born. I want to go do a thing, and I bring a camera along. Lucky for me, I was accompanied by two other photographers so the body of work was much more substantial. This was my first time contributing to Bikepacking. An editor that follows me on Instagram had reached out to me to ask if I’d like to do a little write-up to be featured. I thought it was an awesome opportunity because I love that publication, I didn’t even realize it would be paid until after I turned it in. I was just stoked for the opportunity. I haven’t had a consistent writing practice since college, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t challenging, but I’m eager to keep looking for more opportunities to develop that side of my storytelling.

Did you keep a journal to remember all the details of the trip?
I do find great value in a journal, but I don’t typically find that it fits into my process, especially when I’m trying to shoot and be present. For this particular narrative, I feel the photos did a good job of being the journal. They go a long way to bring back feelings and memories. On my next bikepacking escapade, I would like to make an effort to keep a journal, because it is a great way to document the little details you may forget.

How difficult was the photo edit and how many rolls did you shoot?
Between the 3 of us over a 4-day trip, I think we shot 10 rolls. I shot 3 and a half. The editing was extremely difficult, but I always have a hard time editing down. Especially with 2 other photographers, it was difficult getting it down to the number Bikepacking specified, telling the story, and making sure we all had good representation. I feel like a lot of interesting moments were captured, some that unfortunately didn’t make it into the final article. I suppose that’s just the nature of the beast. 

I know you can ride a lot and manage work from the hearty numbers you posted for the Patagonia Global strava challenge and your 2020 bike tour. When you’re bikepacking, there’s always something to prep or clean up, how did you find time to create the images?
Good question. There is also the dichotomy of living the experience and being outside of it to photograph it. I think I have been doing it for a long time, so at this point, I am always looking for those interesting moments. I’ll drop anything I am doing if the light is hitting just right, or a composition jumps out at me. It also helped to have 2 friends who are also very familiar with the photographic process, so they are easy subjects.  An ill-advised but handy trick is to ride with one or no hands and shoot from the bike, which allows for some really cool and dynamic shots. That is something I got lots of practice with on my 2020 bike tour. Being relatively comfortable with the activity is also important. I am comfortable living off of a bike, and have a system down that works, so I don’t have the stress of “Where the hell am I going to put tonight’s dinner in one of these bags?” or “I thought I packed my pump…” Being prepared goes a long way so you can focus on not only shooting, but enjoying.

It’s not bikebacking until your pushing, a friend once said. Tell us about this photo.
This photo didn’t make it in the final edit, but is a pretty good visual on how hard we were working climbing up Mt. Constitution. The trails were at inclines that were not bikeable, so it turned into a 2 mile slog pushing heavy bikes up the mountain. Paddy and I were both worried about Hank as he was having some health issues feeling faint, especially at high output. Not having many options besides keep going up, we were hoping to find the top sooner or later. Hank has one of the best attitudes though. Always down for an adventure, and hardly said no to anything, he pushed through and was ok. When we got to the top, the road coming up had closed, so the ride down was a smooth, fast, car free descent at sunset back to camp. Worth every ounce of hard work.

Summit Journal
Editor: Michael Levy
Creative Director: Randall Levensaler

Heidi: As a senior editor for many titles in the outdoor industry, you’ve seen dramatic change, why resurrect a magazine, and why summit journal?
Michael: There are a few reasons, I guess. Some of it had to do with other examples I’d seen of that. Duane Raleigh, my former boss at Rock and Ice magazine, bought the rights to Ascent magazine in the 2000s at some point. Ascent had been an annual climbing publication put out by the Sierra Club, and it did some incredible stuff, but it was well past its heyday by the time Duane acquired it. He breathed new life into it and created a wonderful new version of Ascent that – until a couple of years ago when it ceased publication – was the best climbing pub around, for my money. 

And so that model, of resurrecting a former title, really intrigued me. It allows you to leverage an older publication’s wonderful history and legacy, but also do something new. To have kind of the best of both worlds. Summit had been on my radar for a number of years. In the back of my mind, I’d always thought it seemed ripe to be resurrected. It was the first monthly climbing magazine in America, founded in 1955 by two women, Jean Crenshaw and Helen Kilness. They were visionaries, way ahead of their time in terms of climbing journalism. And so for a long time, Summit was the climbing magazine. Jean and Helen published it until 1989, and then they sold the rights. The title had a second life from 1990-1996 as a glossy quarterly that also did some great stuff. And since then it’s been dormant. 

So what I loved about the idea of resurrecting Summit was being able to draw a straight line from Royal Robbins, Yvon Chouinard, Doug Robinson – all legends from the Golden Age of Yosemite Climbing who were involved with or wrote for the magazine – to today. Also, the magazine just had such a bold aesthetic: the retro covers are just too cool. Very stylish. I’m hoping to channel some of that into the new Summit Journal.

Will there be any digital content or only print?
It’s print only. My thinking on that is, basically, with the glut of content online, there’s something to be said for a highly curated, physical product. There’s so much out there on the Internet that a lot of stuff, much of it quite good, just gets lost in the noise. But something tactile that you can feel between your fingers and read over a cup of coffee or a beer, that prioritizes long-form. It might not reach as many people, but the people it does reach will be that much more invested. Print feels a bit like vinyl to me; what’s old is new again. Just like vinyl isn’t going to replace Spotify, print isn’t going to replace digital, but there is a very real audience out there (and I’m in it) that likes analog media, and appreciates reading things that aren’t on a screen. 

And building off that, print also felt like a more achievable business model, in a strange way. Though print has a higher bar to entry–the hard costs to get it off the ground are greater, and without attracting enough subscribers you’re dead in the water–once cleared, the way forward feels much clearer. You can only fill a magazine with so many articles, after all. 

Tell us about your first conversation with Paula Crenshaw, Jean’s niece, about bringing the Summit back.
So I actually first emailed with Paula several years ago, after Jean died. I wrote a short obituary. When I got back in touch with her early this year I shared what at that point was just my very vague idea of resurrecting Summit – and she was really supportive of it from the get-go. (That’s been one of the most gratifying things about this project: everyone has such fond memories of the original that they get really enthusiastic about the magazine coming back for a new era and a new audience.)

Paula herself was a climber back in the day. These days her real passion is marksmanship – she’s a competitive shooter! But professionally, she’s a doctor. Resurrecting Summit was never something that she wanted to do herself at any point. But she thought it would be a lovely thing for me to revive it – if I could figure out how, which was still a big if at that point. Until chatting with Paula, the idea was still just that, if only because as I told her in that call, I wouldn’t have pursued it any further without her blessing. The legacy of Summit, and what Jean and Helen built, didn’t feel like something that I had the right to mess with without getting explicit permission from their family. That was really important to me.

Who else is still involved from the magazine’s genesis and what has been their greatest insight?
So beyond Paula, another great supporter has been David Swanson, the guy who bought Summit from Jean and Helen in 1989 and then published it from 1990 to 1996 as Summit: The Mountain Journal. David’s publishing from that time is obviously worlds away from what the landscape is like today, but storytelling and good imagery never changes – he’s been a valuable resource and sounding board as I got my feet under me helming Summit Journal. He also has some great historical knowledge and connections. I’m in touch a little bit with John Harlin III, who edited the magazine in the 1990s and really did an incredible job. I’m hoping to have him write something for the new Summit at some point.

How are you sourcing photography?
So for this first issue I mainly turned to photographers whose work I was already familiar with from working in the industry, and then a few others who I stumbled across on Instagram and whose work I just really admired. Very little for this first issue was on commission – most of it, with a couple tiny exceptions, was already shot. 

But I’m hoping to shift toward more commissioned work going forward to get more of a balance between the two: I’d love to be able to fill the pages with photography that hasn’t already been plastered far and wide across social media, and that is in direct conversation with the written pieces in the magazine.

Another thing I’m trying to do is find ways to incorporate non-climbing photography into the magazine. Climbing photos are obviously at the magazine’s core, but I don’t want it to just all be dramatic mountain vistas and action shots. So in our first issue, for example, I commissioned an essay accompanied by some breathtaking macrophotography. Basically, even though Summit is a climbing magazine, I don’t think that limits us. If something is climbing-adjacent and allows us to broaden our mandate, that to me is really exciting.

Because this was founded by two women and there was controversy and pen names in its heyday, how are you planning to honor the two female founders and be inclusive?
This is something I’m very cognizant of. In short, though I don’t have any formula or anything, I’m trying to always have an eye on the overall make-up of the magazine. In the first issue, our contributors are roughly half women, and half men. At the end of the day, the final criterion for whether something makes it into the mag is whether it’s either good writing or good photography, but there’s fantastic and powerful storytelling and imagery coming out of every corner of the climbing world these days. The main problem is that I can’t fit it all!

And I’m happy to take pitches for photo essays. We have pretty few opportunities for one-off shots in the mag, but photo essays will figure heavily in each issue. Pitch me at mlevy@summitjournal.com. Our first issue is due early 2024.