Jordan in black and white

I’ve never understood the meaning of contrasts better than in Jordan. After spending four days here, my mind and my heart realized there is life, there is joy where land offered nothing but sand and stones. Sometimes is scary and beyond comprehension that contrasts can have such a great marriage.

But being here, breathing the power of the sand, as an outsider, I could understand that life is harsh, sometimes bitter, but never sad.

I’ve seen everything in black and white, because the energy of this place is incredible and I wanted my feelings about it to be revealed entirely.

Ana Maria Prelipcean

Operation Winter Kimchi

Kimchi

I’m a part-time nomad, and these days I reside in Seoul.

During my youth when I lived in St. Louis, the point of origin for T.S. Elliot, WilliamnBurroughs and Chuck Berry, the mile-wide Mississippi River was the background to everything.

My earliest influence was the writing of Samuel Clemens in his persona of Mark Twain, who grew up on the Mighty Mississippi, just 90-miles north of St. Louis. For the longest time, my only ambition was to be like Huck Finn and escape the accountant’s truth, to “light out for The Territory” and find a world that made sense.

For now I have found that world on the nearly mile-wide Han River in Seoul with my Korean wife.

It’s a long way from St. Louis-to-Seoul, and an even longer way from working briefly as a cowhand one cold February in south-central Montana with cattle rancher Don Kampfe and eating some of the best steaks in the American west-to-the life of retirement in Seoul, a city of 10-million plus people, and eating some of the best vegetarian food in this part of the Orient.

A leopard can change its spots.

“K” is for kimchi, and I have become a convert to the most traditional of Korean foods.

If it is November in this part of the world, it is time for Operation Winter Kimchi.

Each year my wife swears she’s getting too old for this project – yet there is tradition and the family recipe that has been handed down among the women in her family for generations.

My wife claims that many of her friends have passed the torch to their daughters – or thrown down some serious money for kimchi at the pricey food section of the Hyundai Department Store (there are 10 in the city). Yet the relationship between a Korean woman from the 1950s and earlier – and the kitchen is serious business.

Nonetheless, this is a Ricoh GR II photo essay of Operation Winter Kimchi from our kitchen with a view of the Han River and the National Assembly in the background. A dedicated street photographer cannot pursue the passion on an empty stomach. Besides, there is more to life than the call of the street.

For a background on the history of kimchi, and first-rate recipes in world-class cookbooks – the kind one would expect from M.F.K. Fisher, (1908-1992), the American writer whose artful personal essays about food created a genre, “get thee to some on-line sources,” with a side dish of kimchi and some LA ribs.

Bon appetit.

Some essential materials for winter kimchi:

1. thin green onions and one thick stalk, kimchi cabbage, radish, sliced radish and cabbage in bowl atop sauce.

2. Kimchi cabbage with a vegetable mix of radish, garlic and green onions.

3. Close-up of green onions.

4. A mix of chili, radish, garlic, green onions and fermented fish sauce.

5. Close-up of the sauce.

The Process: Mixing everything together

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Michael Kennedy

"The Rising Tide" by Shubhodeep Roy

Recently, I visited the seashore on the eastern coast of India, near the Bay Of Bengal, and for the first time in my life, I literally witnessed the rising tide, myself along with many people talking about climate change like it's so far away in the future, but by walking through the coastline of India and talking to the locals, I realized, it's actually happening now. Natural disasters are nothing new for the people living along the northern Bay of Bengal coast. If we don't act soon enough, slowly the rising tide will slowly increase and will disappear innumerable islands and coastal areas around the world.

Climate change is not a problem for tomorrow or the future, it's a problem for today and now.

As a documentary photographer, I found it my prime responsibility to start documenting climate change and to raise awareness as much as I can.

While documenting the seashore and its inhabitants, I have witnessed many mundane moments turn into exceptional visuals with the infusion of the strong human spirit battling the rising tide, these photographs are a part of my ongoing project long-term project "The Rising Tide".

Shubhodeep Roy

Bullets to the sky by João Coelho

They have not known the meaning of home or family for a long time. Most of them came from the countryside provinces and arrived in the city innocent and full of dreams, but they were soon pushed into a life of outcasts. They can only rely on themselves to survive, but at the end of the day they always return to this abandoned house to share with each other what unites them: food and drugs.

Cannabis, here known as "liamba," is part of this gang's life. They take turns among themselves to buy small individual portions, wrapped in small paper packages. But the most prized drug is what they call "balázio" (big bullet) or “speedy ball”. These are small drug rocks that burn on top of a hole made in a crushed soda can, while they sip smoke through the opening of the can. The way they smoke this drug resembles that of traditional opium smokers.

One of them, with the nickname LP, is usually the one in charge of cooking. He can work miracles with manioc flour, some tomatoes and onions, and modest pieces of meat or fish to give the final taste.
LP seems to seek inspiration from drugs when cooking, performing theatrical movements when lighting the fire or mixing the ingredients in the pot. It is like a ritual in a world of his own, where drugs and food are only one and he alternates between states of euphoria and apparent heartbreak.

The liamba cigarettes and the cans with the speedy balls pass from hand to hand, in a silent complicity consented to by all. It is a moment of sharing, a moment when everyone seems to lower the defenses they have kept up while wandering the streets of the city. All that can be heard is the hissing as they sip the smoke and a sort of inner cough as they allow the drug to travel down their windpipe into their lungs while they hold their noses tight. The effect takes only a few minutes to come on. Eyes lost in the infinity and a listlessness to their surroundings denote that the drug is already circulating in the blood and is beginning to flood the brain, its final destination.

When the cigarettes are dying out and the speedy balls have been totally consumed, they eagerly sip individual small packets of whiskey, rum, or gin, to amplify and make the effect of the drug last. The mixture can be too strong, and they often fall to the ground in convulsions or a catatonic state. It is the clearest shot they can take towards heaven, but also the most dangerous as it is terribly close to overdose. Depending on the state of lucidity that everyone is in, they react in a random and irrational way when one of them reaches this dangerous border. From absolute indifference to punching their friend lying on the floor in the chest to make him wake up, it is the drugs in their blood that will decide lately. One of them wields a knife and is willing to pierce the throat of his friend who can't seem to breathe. He assures them that he has seen this many times in the movies and that this is what they must do to revive him.

Knives are always present, in one way or another, in their lives. During the day, they help them to convince the reluctant who refuse to hand them money or cell phones on the street when they are approached by them. At the end of the day, they are also used here now as a symbol of power and authority. Dubabulo is the gang leader in this house. Still under the strong combined effect of the liamba and the speedy balls, he makes a point of showing his superiority while overpowering his friend with the knife, in a gesture of enormous theatrics and drama. He clearly has no intention of hurting him but makes a point of showing the gang who he is and that submission must be total. The tattoo she has engraved on her chest, with the words "Mother's Love," accentuates the dystopian nature of the scene and raises several questions about this character's personality and story.

Despite the drama of many scenes that unfold in this house as the drugs take their toll, there are others that are disconcerting in showing the tremendous camaraderie and mutual aid among the gang members. Uncompromising hugs, uncontrolled laughs and innocent jokes, brings out the children that still exist within them and are only discovered under the influence of drugs.

In this house, the bullets are silent and are fired towards the sky, where the gang members want to go and not come back. It is there that the dreams they want to live are; it is there that they may feel safe, sheltered from the predators that inhabit the jungle where they live during the day; it is there that they may rediscover moments of peace and happiness they probably experienced when they were younger, but which have long since faded and blended into the dust that stubbornly covers the slums where they live.

But unfortunately, the ticket the gang buys for this trip is always one-way. It's as if those bullets they always shoot towards the sky always ricochet and come back to hit them, this time waking them up to the real world. The dawn the next day discovers, once again, the harsh reality and brings with it the disappointment of dreams that have been broken. Maybe they are left with fragments of another world or pieces of sensations disconnected from their miserable life they eagerly seek to discover and live every day, even if only for brief moments. Maybe this is why they return every afternoon to this house that has nothing, but where they find everything they are looking for.

The king still reigns

A narrow alley on one of the neighborhood's less frequented edges is one of the places where the gang gathers during the day to answer the call of the drug that claims their vassalage, relentless and insatiable. The beast has to be fed, it cannot wait until the evening, otherwise it will take revenge on its hosts by inflicting pain and disorienting them until they can no longer bear its absence.

For them it is nothing more than a trip to a world where they seek refuge, where time seems to stand still, and where their lives do not have to be lived in dark alleys. But no, in fact everything is ruled by the drug that has definitively installed itself in the most hidden corners of their brains. It is the drug that holds the keys to the gates of this supposed paradise and beckons them in a macabre way, luring them into a dark journey. A journey that in reality has no return, towards an ever deeper and darker hole.

As the drug takes hold of their fragile minds, tensions within the gang grow and physical confrontations become more frequent. Dubabulo has few lucid moments during the day, he hallucinates more and more with successive doses of “speedy balls”, and his reactions are increasingly unpredictable and violent. He cannot tolerate being contradicted or questioned by the other gang members.

Lano has begun to frequent the house, he is one of the dealers who regularly supplies the gang with drugs. His arrival brought some generosity in sharing the drugs he usually sells. “Liamba" and "speedy balls" now abound in the house and Lano quickly became very popular in the group. This has triggered a kind of challenge to Dubabulo's leadership, who has had to show who's boss in the group and in the house. He quickly became involved in an unequal fight with Lano. Stronger and more resistant to the effect of the drug, he easily dominated Lano and forced him to almost kneel before him, in a submission gesture with a clear message to the group.

LP, the oldest of the gang and the one who headed it before Dubabulo claimed his place as a kind of king, recognizes an opportunity in the confusion installed to attempt to regain the throne and simulates a friendly approach to the gang leader. The two smoke “liamba” while embraced in a strange game, where the line between joking and openly declaring struggle becomes increasingly blurred. But just like many other strategists who underestimated their opponent, LP went to war weakened. Still barely healed from debilitating malaria and heavily weakened by a powerful cocktail of alcohol and “liamba”, he was also quickly dominated by Dubabulo.

He is the undisputed king and his kingdom is this house, a kind of jail where the drug has imprisoned them all.

The penalty for LP's coup attempt is his summary expulsion from the house. Weakened and with torn clothes, LP is dragged out into the street by Dubabulo's acolytes. Perhaps he will be accepted back into the gang and return to the house, but he knows the price he will have to pay. More than the ticket to the world that everyone seeks in this house, he will have to pay a much greater price when he will have to bow down before the king who still reigns.

João Coelho

...Childhood...

Childhood... by Corinne Spector, Inés Madrazo Delgado and Luiza Menescal

Small projects we are working on. Childhood is a theme that is close to our hearts.

Desperately Seeking Emotions by Don Scott

Street photography speaks an international language. The emotions that fill the frame can be understood around the world.

When I am walking on the street, looking for photos, I usually repeat a mental mantra: “Look for interesting people and strong interactions.” I am drawn to scenes where people are showing their emotions. I have seen hearty laughter and vehement arguments. I have observed couples; some who seem deeply in love and others who seem on the verge of breaking up. I have witnessed frustration and elation. Even though emotions in some of these scenes run very high, these subjects don’t seem to care that they are displaying their feelings in public. These are the scenes I search for on the street.

Don Scott

A whales journal

They have been doing this long journey of thousands of kilometers from Antarctica and back for hundreds of years, the very same journey.

Every year, at the same time at the end of July, they arrive to Mozambique to breed, give birth and to take care of the “little ones” until the journey back home to Antarctica begins.

These are the Humpback whales. If to be more accurate, the pod called C1.

For the past two years, I got to fulfil a lifelong dream and join a research expedition on Marine mammals as a photographer and a research assistant. Very far from my usual street photography passion, but my love for these breathtaking creatures is even stronger than that. And…just like in the street, while taking pictures of wild animals- if you don’t get what you want, a second later it’s gone. You need to be focused and alert every second because you can’t predict when a whale will jump right next to the boat. This is something you don’t want to miss!

This expedition of an amazing organization called IMMRAC, Israel Marine Mammal Research and Assistance Center, led by Dr Oz Goffman, sets course to the small city of Vilankulo every August for the past five years to study the cetaceans of the unique Bazaruto Archipelago.

This study has a few important Goals. The main one is to study and document the C1 population, observe the animal’s behaviours, identify specific animals from previous seasons, record their unique singing underwater and learn as much as possible about the mother-claves connections.

Another important purpose is to provide recommendations to the Parks Authorization in Vilankulo as to whale watching tourism which hasn’t really started yet, but in a few years, it will.

Vilankulo is still pure. It hasn’t been flooded by tourists yet, the people and nature of this amazing place are still authentic and untouched and so are the whales. They have a quiet and safe environment to do their business without many interruptions, as it should be. But soon this will change. Although they are the most delicate creatures on earth, they are huge! They get to 18-meter-long, each side fin gets up to 5 meters. They have the biggest fins in nature. And let us not forget, they are wild animals. If people will not respect their space and know how to behave with them, it will not end well. Not for the whales and not for us humans.

The Humpback whales stay in Mozambique for about three months. During the whole time they don’t feed at all, they are busy with so many other things.

In most the whale population there are couples of mothers and babies. Whales give birth to only one baby each time, once in a couple of years. The babies nurse from their mothers for a few months. During this time, they swim together and the mothers teach their babies important whales skills and behaviours.

We got to observe hundreds of small pods of mothers and babies, sometimes with an escort male (which is not necessarily the father). We got to see a couple of days’ baby whales swimming next to their mother, we got to see a two week old baby practising breaching nonstop for half an hour, and we saw endless whales breaching, tail and fin whipping. You name it, we saw it. And photographed it.

There were days in which our boat was surrounded with mixed pods of tens of whales and dolphins. A sight that no words can describe. This is experiencing nature at its most overwhelming power.

Sometimes we had pods of hundreds of dolphins of various kinds escorting our boat. Imagine that…dolphins as far as the eye can see.

One of the things we do there is to record underwater sounds and the singing of the whales. What can I say? Listening to whale sounds on the internet is one thing, but listening to whales while they are under your boat- that’s a totally different thing. The connection you feel to the animals in moments like this is overwhelming! You want this to never end.

We spent very long days out in the ocean after waking up very early in the morning, but no matter how many hours we spent out there and how many whales we saw, it was never enough.

Speaking of mornings…the sun in Mozambique rises in the ocean. In Israel, where I live, the sun sets in the ocean.
What can be more perfect than starting your days watching the sunrise in the ocean?

This year the expedition spent a month in Vilankulo. And just like last year, now that I’m back, I’m counting the days till I go back again next year to that untouched piece of heaven. That special place where people are the nicest I’ve met, nature is just breathtaking, whales and dolphins can just live their lives and children’s eyes go straight into your soul. But that, on another story…

A whales journal - one

Returning to homeland by Delfim Correlo

In dreams I have always return there, to that small town by the Atlantic Sea, in the far north of my country, where I spent my childhood.

Viana, a small town between the river, the mountain and the sea, with only about 90 thousand inhabitants, where people know each other and where every little joy or personal tragedy cannot be hidden.

However, every year it fills up with people during the month of August. People arrive, not only from various places in Portugal, but also from abroad, as tourism has had a great impact on the local economy for a long time; Galicia is nearby and the emigrants from last century still returns, bringing other generations with them...

On the 20th of August, the cult of its people to Nossa Senhora d'Agonia (Our Lady of Agony) is celebrated. The devotion to Mary, mother of Christ, who agonizes at the sight of her son's suffering, without being able to do anything - except have faith - emerged centuries ago, in the heart of a fishing community whose women turn in their suffering whenever their men and their children went out to sea…

Thus, every year, the fishing community shows its devotion to Mary, in a festival that the locals call Romaria, in which Catholic devotion merges with an ethnographic festival, full of color, music and dance to which the entire population joins… the folkloric groups perform throughout the city filling it with music and color; women wearing colorful traditional costumes and, those who can, show off their gold in parades around the city.

Fireworks are launched every night and, on the eve of the 20th, the fishermen draw colorful carpets with salt in the streets of the town's riverside, after all, the next day, their Saints walk these streets and go out to the sea, and then go up the river, in decorated boats, so that they bless its waters and the men who sail in them, allowing them to safety return…

And this year was a special year. It was the return of the festival after two years of absence due the pandemic. An absence that deprived people of celebrating their saints, their dances and songs; and which also deprived them of the money that tourists and emigrants leave in their passage. Because local services and commerce need them to come, as the land and sea no longer attract their people as they used to...among the fishermen a small community of Indonesians appears now, they too carry their litter with a saint, but that is another story.

Thus, this year the president, the minister, the bishop and the mayor joined the procession of the saints and their people, in a pilgrimage that seems to have broken attendance records.

The night falls and the festival descends to the city garden, by the river, next to my childhood home. This is where people gather to see the fireworks that are launched over the river at midnight.

I remember my mother just before she died, imagining herself back in Viana and the house where she was born, asking to take a last walk in that garden by the river.

“We always return to the place where we belong”, a friend once told me.

Delfim Correlo

Finding light by Dzung Viet Le

“Essentially, what photography is, is life lit up.” – Sam Abe

“What makes photography a strange invention is that its primary raw materials are light and time.” – John Berger

“Light makes photography. Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth, and you will know the key to photography.” – George Eastman

Dzung Viet Le

THROUGH THE WINDOW by Nadia Eeckhout

Since childhood, I’ve had that bad habit of peeping into dwellings of others, peeking through windows, doors or other look-throughs (that is to say bigger than a keyhole). Out of curiosity for sure, in search of stories other than mine, I guess. Not a whole story, that would be too much, too easy or too complicated, too boring. A glimpse, a moving shadow, a word not a whole conversation; things like that. As a child, I remember, I found it very fascinating to look through windows that revealed a staircase or a garden without a fence, sometimes leaving that much space to my imagination enough for a dream. The whole thing had to happen very fast, so that everything would be left veiled. At home, I would make drawings of what I had ‘discovered and more’ on my way back from school. Some of those drawings depicted funny, incredible, weird, but above all -I later realized- far-fetched stories. Alas, none of them survived my sloppiness or my mother’s eagerness to clean my bedroom.

Fortunately, I’ve stopped those drawings, but I haven’t stopped stealthily looking through windows. A bit embarrassing at my age being that peeping woman wandering about, had it not been for my camera which has become my partner in crime, accompanying me whichever window I’m passing by. We gather evidence of those precious moments and constellations which trigger my imagination; those glimpses of mystery.

If I had the choice of shooting the same scene with the same character(s) in plain air or through a window, my response would be prompt without thinking twice. Plain air provides too much information, showing scenes and faces too clear for my fantasy to open her eyes. That window, on the contrary, offers so much more space for less. And on top, it is a generous host welcoming that delightful sunlight on its condensed dirty pane, those drops of morning dew leaping down its surface revealing a face so pale. That marvel drives me even closer to that window. In some cases, catching the attention of my protagonist, who is not always as happy as I am at that very moment.

This host is even that generous as to reflect what is happening on the other side, bringing different stories together in one frame. He is the producer of a scenario in which he is taking part in a Hitchcockian way; the transparent conductor leading an orchestra of capricious reflections, mood, textures and tones to a crescendo. A cocktail I am addicted to.

Like most street photographers, I am – before all – in search of authenticity. Eager to catch and frame that precious jewel, in a way like Dahl’s giant wants to catch and bottle human dreams, I believe that I have a greater chance of finding it behind a window or canvas than in broad daylight. At least in the places where I usually take my shots; but maybe I am wrong. Anyway, sometimes I walk miles on end before I find it.

Once discovered and caught, windows help me to double-frame that genuine subtle smile or bitterness I am looking for; the face astonished (disturbed) by my presence; that mind full of thoughts or memories, her face and hand around the knife eager to start on her sunday pancake, the daydreamer, ... Isolated transience. Transparency of small human life.

Nadia Eeckhout

A city of flowers by Deepbrata Dutta

I went to Khirai, the flower valley of West Bengal, because I wanted to find colours and work on light contrasts, on minimalist subjects. One more step in my growth as a photographer

It is on the bank of the Kansabati River in the East Midnapore District. This place is West Bengal’s own Flower Valley, with flower fields of marigolds and chrysanthemums, spread out almost as far as the eye can see. Mostly marigold is cultivated in a widespread area. Both men and women used to cultivate. They harvest then and when properly bloomed the flowers are picked, packed and taken to the flower market.

Deepbrata Dutta

Khirai is a Paradise for Flowers

All about Love by Irina Escoffery

Since Batsceba asked me to write a short text to accompany my little project I’ve been thinking about what LOVE means to me. I truly don’t know. Well, of course I know, everybody knows what love means. But… the first time I fell in love, I was in the first grade at elementary school. I kept looking at this boy secretly and thinking to myself that I will love him forever. Doesn’t matter how young I was, it was a very intense feeling. After that, I remember falling in love many more times and every time I thought it would last forever. At that time I didn’t realize that FOREVER doesn’t exist. And love is a very short moment like a lightning strike that can hit you hard. Hard enough to destroy you or change your life.

Later on I did discover that there is an everlasting love. The love for children; for we will never stop loving them. A mother’s love is a very powerful feeling. Now I can look around and see that love is everywhere. Humans, birds, animals; life perpetuates because we love. We love and so we exist.

To tell you the truth it is so much easier for me to present the idea of LOVE in my photos than to describe it in words. So, here you are…

O Tell Me The Truth About Love

Some say love’s a little boy,
And some say it’s a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
Some say that’s absurd,
And when I asked the man next door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn’t do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It’s quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I’ve found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn’t even there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton’s bracing air.
I don’t know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn’t in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I’m picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

Irina Escoffery

Dutch Holocaust memorial

Dutch Holocaust memorial opens after years-long legal deadlock

Amsterdam unveiled in September 2021 a national monument bearing the names of over 100,000 names of Dutch Jews, Sinti and Roma who were killed by the Nazis during the Holocaust.

The walls of the monument, designed by Polish-American architect Daniel Liebeskind, are shaped after four Hebrew letters meaning "in memory of."

לז

They consist of 102,000 brick walls, each bearing the name of a victim.

I needed to see this. Coincidences don’t exist. The day I went to visit it rained…Water from heaven and my eyes.

It was impossible to read each name and their ages, besides, what was I looking for? I laid a few stones…

My grandfather hid Jewish people in his house in Amsterdam during the 2nd World War and was betrayed by some neighbours. Arrested and deported to the infamous Buchenwald camp, he was shot on March 3, 1945, when the Germans learned about the capitulation and the subsequent end of the war. As were many others…

He will be remembered with a Stolperstein.

So what was I looking for? His name wouldn’t be there…Pondering while wandering around suddenly it hit me. I was looking for names that were NOT there. People that maybe made it through the war thanks to those in the resistance of which my grandfather was part. I’ll never know, but I found the purpose of my visit.

Why am I writing this? War is wrong. It should not happen en we cannot tell the stories enough to those that carry the responsibility of the future of this world.

My grandkids will know this story and I hope if that everyone with a story to tell, tells it, it will multiply and who knows...One can dream…

Frans Kemper

In memoriam

Christiaan Carel Kemper

1887-1945

Frans Kemper

Maritel… emigrant by Pacho Coulchinsky

Following the beautiful story published by our beloved Lola Minister, "The Dove Club", the ineffable Bogo Pecnikar spoke of a quality that street photographers must not forget: serendipity, understood as a valuable find that is produced accidentally or by chance. Anyway, I don't believe in chance, I see causality.

An event that filled my life with happiness a few days ago I think is the result of serendipity.

Here's the story:

A few days ago I received a message from Maritel: “would you like to take a photo of me here in my birth town? I will soon be returning to Winnipeg because I start working on a new production, and I would like a photo for posterity somewhere in Reconquista.”

What a surprise: we had met in 2018, after having seen each other again in 2016 after almost four decades.

In the mid eighties I was an University student studying Architecture at the Cordoba University (Argentina) and she was a ballerina with the Ballet de Cordoba, the second city in my country. Once, our paths crossed by chance, and we couldn’t remember if it was in Cordoba or in Buenos Aires, (with the passing of time my memory is not the same), however, I do remember that she told me about her plans to follow up her passion for dance and travel to Canada.

We experienced childhood with the freedom of playing totally safe in the streets of our small town. We had after school activities that our parents gave us to try and improve the education of their children, not much in a small place. The girls took dance lessons, some of them by obligation, others to explore a possible vocation. At the end of the year the girls demonstrated what they had learned… or not, at the end of the year Recital that took place at the "Teatro Reconquista".

On that stage we saw "majas españolas", bullfighters, "bailaoras", black and white swans (or whatever fabric was available), Cinderellas and other characters, the dance moms were happy … and nervous, the boys anxious to watch the girls dancing on stage, a situation very different from the every day life. (You must understand…) Let’s say that times have changed and bullying today carries a “death sentence”, but at that time we weren’t so civilized and the laughs and jokes were uncontrolled. But, when the small Maritel was on stage we were all speechless and quiet: something different happened up there.

Then, she was 17, the "Institute Superior de Arte del Teatro Colon" accepted her on a scholarship, the "Ballet Oficial de Cordoba" as a member, and from there to the "National Ballet School of Canada" as a student teacher, while dancing tango to make a living during her student years. Over the years, she collaborated in many dance projects and performances. Flamenco became her new passion and she travelled several times to Spain, the cradle of the art form, organizing an educational trip for her students.

Currently she is a teacher at the "Royal Winnipeg Ballet School", and runs her own Spanish dance program. She is creating a new work for a contemporary dance company called "Nafro", and also choreographing for a performance that will be presented next December 2021.

The love and care for her parents makes her come to Reconquista with more frequency, the ties that bind are still there.

It is very hard to be an immigrant, my only brother emigrated to another country, great childhood friends are scattered around the world. Argentina ... perhaps the country that received the most immigrants in the late XIX and early XX, expelled millions of people in recent decades, you can find an Argentine around the corner: take care ... (don't worry, I'm just kidding). I could one of them, scholarship in hand or various proposals. But my scruples always held me back: “What right do I have to enjoy a state of well-being in which I have contributed nothing to build it?” ... but, fortunately, not everyone thinks that way. All my migrant friends have contributed all their talents and much more to the societies in which they have been inserted.

You may think: "This is not Street Photography" ... maybe it is, but having a camera in hand to tell a story that surprises you is something inexplicable, the springs that move between the photographer and the photographed are unfathomable.

The thread that weaves the fabric of life, may be thinner at times, but not broken. These small grand moments that continue writing our life stories give life the vibration of etertnity.

Pacho Coulchinsky

Reconquista, November 2021

nafro

Maritel centurion

Dancer: Geneviève LaTouche

Choreographer: Maritel Centurion

pacho coulchinsky

A few weeks in heaven by Anat Shushan

A whales journal

I love the ocean.

I love its power, its magic, its mystery, its beauty.

The ocean is like a parallel planet to the one we know, or think we know, the land.

It has creatures living in it you can’t even begin to imagine.

The beauty is endless and is many times so overwhelming, its beyond words to describe.

For many years I’ve been fascinated by whales and dolphins. Both, besides being so cute and beautiful, are so wise! They have interesting and clever behaviors that us, humans, can learn so much from.

In the past 15 years I’ve been following the activity of IMMRAC (Israel Marine Mammal Research & Assistance Center), a non-profit Israeli based organization lead by Dr. Oz Goffman and dedicated to the study and conservation of these magnificent animals.

In the past 3 years, each summer, this unique organization sent a research expedition to the Bazaruto Archipelago in Mozambique, Africa to study the Humpback whales arriving for 3 months from Antarctica.

On August 2021 I went with them on a journey, I went to fulfil a lifetime dream.

I knew it was going to be exciting, I knew it will be fascinating, I knew I will have a great time.

I didn’t know how much!

On July 23rd we had the preparatory meeting to the journey. When I got there I already knew I got to the right place with my kind of people and a smell of a real adventure was in the air.

Due to Covid restrictions and constant change in guidelines and also having our scheduled flight canceled, we couldn’t be sure till the last minute that we will be able to go, but we had a mission, a goal, a dream. We weren’t willing to let anything stop us. And so, on August 3rd, the journey begun.

Instead of flying from Tel Aviv straight to Johannesburg, we had to take a “short” detour through Frankfurt which made the trip 22 hours long. Traveling during Covid times… Finally, we landed in Vilanculos, already united and looking forward to meeting the whales.

For some of the people it was already the 4rd time there after spending their previous summers with the expedition.

For some, like me, it was the first time.

Since it was also the first time I got to travel ever since the pandemic stormed into our lives, it was like going back breathing. I missed traveling so much and getting to a totally new place, one I’ve never been to before and that is so totally different from everything I knew was so exciting to me and I made sure from the very first moment that I am fully present, leaving anything related to my everyday life out.

On the way from the Vilanculos airport to the lodge where we stayed, a 15 minutes drive, my eyes were going crazy of what I saw and the frames that were passing me by. We drove through the market and the small streets of the village. Fascinating!

And then we got there, to Baraka beach, our home for the next few weeks.

We got to heaven, no less than that. The place was built and belongs to an amazing Israeli couple who had a dream to have a place like this and 4 years ago they made it happen.

I think letting the images speak will be best at this point.

**My room was the upper one on the right**

The whole place was built by hand, with local materials only and local workers with maximum consideration in the environment and the heart and soul of Orna and Avner, the owners, is felt in every corner of the place. Very simple and goes straight to the heart.

From my porch I got to see each morning magnificent sunrises like I have never seen before.

The next day, we got up at sunrise, had a quick breakfast and headed out to the open ocean, not knowing what will the day bring.

We knew that the whales got to the Archipelgo about a week before but we couldn’t be sure if/when we will see them.

The ride from the beach to the open ocean takes about an hour, it takes time to cross the Archipelago.

Once we got to the open sea it didn’t take long. After just a few minutes we spotted the first whale and from there it just kept getting better and better.

We saw tens of them that day, mostly couples of mothers and calves. We couldn’t believe our eyes! The smile didn’t leave our faces. We even got quite close to some of them.

I was one of the documenting photographers on the boat. I can’t tell you how happy I was and how grateful for being a photographer. Pure happiness.

Being a street photographer, I am used to being alert and with quick instincts. But shooting on a rocking boat and with animals that are gone in a second, wasn’t easy. I needed a couple of days to get the hang of it and I did.

We went out to the ocean almost every day. From sunrise till afternoon, many hours and hard work, getting sun burns and being washed with cold water, we were the happiest people on the planet.

That was our reality for weeks. Spending most of our days with whales. Tens of them, right in front of our eyes, sometimes they were curious about us and got closer to check us out swimming under our boat.

This specific sub pod of Humpback whales called C1, makes an unbelievable journey every year from Antarctica to Mozambique to give birth and educate the “little” ones before heading back to Antarctica.

This sub-pod is combined of couples of mothers and their calves and usually another male, not necessarily the father, who is the escort. He keeps them safe.

During the 3 months in Mozambique the whales don’t feed. They are concentrated on their task. No time to hunt and feed, only the calved feed from their mother’s milk.

Since education is what it is about, we got to see some really fascinating behaviors of the whales while the mothers where teaching the babies how to be whales.

The young ones really enjoy jumping. Their huge side fins and tales function like huge motors and they jump with their whole body out of the water.

They do that of several reasons, mostly to practice since that’s one of the ways of the adult males to show power when they court the females. Also, they are calves, they just enjoy playing.

On some of the days we had a whale jumping so close to the boat that it didn’t go full in the frame. I had to get them in pieces.

A female that jumped three meters from our boat

Besides documenting the whales with pictures and video, we also lowered hydrophones in the water and recorded the whales talking to each other.

On the first time (and second, and third) I put the earphones on and heard their voices, I started crying. It was totally overwhelming!

I listened to recordings of whale voices before, but to listen to then live while they are right under our boat is something so powerful, that words can’t describe it.

The work on the boat never ends. But we also had lovely moments of just enjoying the ocean and being with each other. Unforgettable moments.

Dani with his grandson

And we had the most amazing skippers driving the boat and helping us spot the animals.

Besides whales, we got to document 4 different types of dolphins- Tursiops aduncus, Stenella longirostris, Stenella attenuate, Sousa plumbea, sometimes in pods of hundreds and a pod of a unique mammal called Dugong dugon.

What a breathtaking site it was. Most of the times I just stood there watching, without even taking pictures.

The most exciting thing to see was dolphins swimming alongside the whales. Wow!

Right under our lodge there is a beautiful beach from which our boat left every morning.

Every morning, at sunrise, the local fishermen prepare their boats and head out to the sea, sometimes for days.

In the afternoon, when the men come back, the women of the village come to the beach and in minutes an improvised fish market is alive and kicking. This is the scene we came back to every day when we got back from our days in the ocean. We were able to sit for a long while and just observe this.

On the few days we couldn’t go out to the ocean because of the weather, we usually headed to the village and to get to know the local people. These were amazing days.

The local people are really nice. They accepted us wonderfully and in some cases some beautiful friendships were created.

Most locals are very poor. They hardly have any material thins. Many of them live in straw huts having earth as their floor. And yet, they are so gentle, welcoming, heartwarming.

Whenever we could, we gave them cloths, toys for the children, sunglasses. All those things that mean nothing to us but are a whole world for them.

Of course, for me, as a street photographer these days were pure joy.

We spent a few weeks in heaven, connected to nature in the deepest levels, enjoyed the total pureness of the place, forgot all about TV, computers, cell phones.

A few weeks with amazing people, each and every one is a story, an inspiration. I came back from there with a new family. Dear people that will always be deep in my heart.

Anat Shushan

The Dove Club by Lola Minister

One afternoon, having finished work early, I decided I’d go out in search of shots for the Windows Challenge. Walking around the old town of Antibes, I discovered how tricky it was to get such shots in these narrow streets.
At one point I had to lean against someone’s front door, my camera perched on my head, when I heard the door being unlocked behind me and had to shout “Wait!” (in French of course), or I’d have fallen backwards into the lady’s home. I had hoped, having explained my reason for being there, that she’d let me in to get a better shot. But no, either because of Covid or simply because she was annoyed with me, she made no such offer. In fact I took her dirty look as a reason to move on.
I wasn’t having much luck but continued to look for opportunities on my way home, and spotted two doves over the doorway of the Club Privé. My eyes trained on them, I noticed that as two men entered the building, one of the doves flew in behind them. When, in surprise, I remarked that one of the birds had flown right in, I was told that it was perfectly normal. In fact one invited me in to watch his friend feed them. So, I duly followed and got shots from the inside of this simple meeting place for ardent players of boules and pétanque.
I left happy. Not quite “two birds with one stone”, as the saying goes, but I got some window shots AND a short story.

Lola Minister

When they cross the line by Keef Charles

I distinctly remember when I was barely more than a kid, going to Canada, staying with relatives in Victoria, on Vancouver Island. I’m ashamed to say that my first camera was one those cheap jobs, effectively a roll of film, placed in a box brightly emblazoned with Kodak’s corporate livery, with little more to make it technical than a lens, a button to release the shutter and a wind-on lever. 24 shots in all. Several of which, and this is the point, were of mannequins, shot through the window of a clothes store, downtown. Even back then, in the late 70’s, when we called them ‘dummies’, they were slightly unnerving, especially with the proliferation of books talking about modernia, the projected future of society and a Brave New World.

OK, it’s true that selling, marketing and persuasion are part and parcel of our consumer society. Without doubt, we all need to buy clothes, accoutrements, hairstyling and the like, to a greater or lesser extent.

But here’s the rub…

Hang clothes on a rail and some find it hard to visualise. Drape them on a mannequin and people start to get the picture. But when the mannequins are made to look too real, that’s when they cross the line, step off the display stand and slip through the window as a consciousness.

Of course the mannequins themselves are still only shapes and bodies to model the apparel, they’re not actually an artificial intelligence. Have to accept though, that by making them too life like, they become more like fashion models than the old style dummies, guiding people’s notions of what’s considered desirable. The perfect look, the seller’s idea of beauty, they’re designed to sway and compel the buyer. The line has been crossed, between reality and the fake world, as a friend terms it.

So it felt with this award winning provider of ladies’ wigs in Chester.

Their use of these realistic looking mannequins certainly drew my attention. I shot, went back a few weeks later and shot again. I’ll continue to return, intrigued by these soulless entities that somehow offer many a human their dreams. Yep, with new displays, outfits and styles, these mannequins have become compelling. However, I must admit, I’ve no intention of being persuaded to buy one of these wigs. Oh no, if I want something new to adorn my head, it’ll have to be another cap.

Final note, on processing. I’ve opted for b/w, as colour just pretties it up. For me the high contrast b/w shows the darker side of the fake world. Who are the dummies now?

Keef Charles

The Camera Time Tunnels by Shimi Cohen

DEVELOP-24 copia.jpg — **The Camera Time Tunnels**

**by Shimi Cohen**

The first episode set up the series: Drs. Tony Newman (James Darren) and Doug Phillips (Robert Colbert) are scientists working on Project Tic-Toc, a time control experiment.

Lack of results in their time experiments are leading to budget cuts, so Tony rashly enters the Tunnel before it can be fully tested.

A few bright lights and explosions later, he finds himself on the H.M.S. Titanic.

To save Tony (and potentially the ocean liner), Doug follows.

There are lots of arguments and plans, but the Titanic sinks anyway.

There are several reasons that The Time Tunnel appealed to many of us as kids. First, Tony and Doug got to go back in time to see famous events, along with a few imagined ones in the future. The history you learned about in school was dramatically presented each week!

As a child of the 1980s, living with reality shows of the 2020s, I still hold out hope for The Time Tunnel to return.

This year I will try to search through the camera time tunnels.

The first: Haifa, Bat Galim Beach, July 2021

Shimi Cohen

The Time Tunnel

People by Pablo Abreu

© Pablo Abreu-18.jpg — **People**

**by Pablo Abreu**

As the years pass by, seeing it with the perspective that the times give you and making a deep introspection, I have noticed that since I was a child I have always liked observing people. At first, it was the curiosity of a child, that everything which surrounds him is a new world, a discovery, new experiences.

At the same time that that child was growing it was also growing inside him that curiosity for people, for human beings, that was always there.

As time went by I discovered photography and it gave me the opportunity to reflect as something permanent everything that was inside my head unconsciously all my life.

When I go along the street with my camera I am always looking for that something that distinguishes a person from the rest, that spark, a rough beauty, of those pronounced features which show signs of the path to make me see that just in front of me there is somebody whose soul deserves being photographed, real people, overflowing with a story. I am not interested in standardized beauty, those that seem to be like a stone, like a sticky copy which doesn’t say anything to me, but only those features, those scars that are like different layers that represent the life of that person and the union of them shape what it is the instant which is being photographed.

Reaching this point and continuing with my introspection I tend, most of the time, to pay attention above all to elderly people, that with their expression say it all about their thousands of battles and the marks left as time goes by, which transmit me better than anyone all those layers and deep down is a way of discovering myself, I was, I am and I will be in future while I am photographing an instant of the life of other people.

I like to be unnoticed, not to take part in the scene, so I can shot the exact authentic instant, which makes any interest in that person to be full, not getting his attention, showing himself to me as he really is, without filters, without making faces or poses, his only rough soul.

People most of the time don’t notice or actually continue with their life as if I didn’t exist. Sometimes they ask me and at that moment I take the opportunity to know a little more about them and to show my gratitude for giving me that instant that becomes part of me, not only of my photographic files but also of personal files.

I am finishing this text as I began, talking about introspection and reaching the conclusion that there has only been a part of me photographing. Consciously I have noticed that unconsciously photography has always been inside me, taking photos with my mind when I didn’t have a camera, looking for that spark, that moment, ever since I was a child.

Pablo Abreu

Forbidden dives by João Coelho

It's a gang of kids and teenagers who live off what they can get on the city streets during the day, collecting money by shining shoes, doing errands, or simply begging at stoplights. Most of them live in neighbourhoods far away from the city centre, but at the end of the day, they gather at the waterfront to share the best stories of the day, to try to catch some fish with a hook and line, or simply to have fun, bathing in the protected waters of the bay and performing acrobatic dives.

Bathing is forbidden on this waterfront, but the gang is not intimidated by the onslaught of police who regularly patrol the area. Hiding or cleverly evading the cops is part of their usual routine and daily enjoyment. Ever vigilant, they raise the alert when police rounds are detected from a distance and take refuge behind bridges and trees or simply swim into the bay, where they wait patiently for danger to get tired of waiting and go away.

As soon as they arrive, they hide the pieces of clothing that cover their bodies and their worn-out slippers in holes or recesses in the bridges, before launching themselves into the water. Those who shine shoes are less fortunate; they carry rudimentary wooden boxes where they keep their cans of shoe polish, their worn-out brushes, and the rags they use to clean shoes. They call them "tocas", named for the noise they make when they hit the boxes with their brushes to announce their presence on the city streets and gain customers. The "tocas" do not fit in any hole, have to be left under bridges, and cannot be let out of sight by the owners.

The beauty of this waterfront, used by many for sports or leisure walks, and an almost mandatory setting for wedding photos, conceals the sad reality of the pollution caused by most of the city's sewage that is discharged here, in the open air and without any treatment. It is precisely at the top of the sewer mouths, higher above the waterline, that is chosen as the preferred ramp for dives. They know the tides and wait for the moments when there is enough water height to practice the most acrobatic dives.

Most of them bear wound marks on their bodies, some of them earned here when they encountered rocks at the bottom of the bay or scraped on the rough walls of sewer pipe mouths while diving, or simply when they were running away from the police on insane runs.

Over and over again, they dive, swim, and play in the water. The adults they prematurely became by having to survive on the city streets, disappear here, in these waters. The smiles, the jokes, and the joyful looks of children who still really are, come out now, naked, sincere, and pure.

When they get tired of playing in the water, they lie down on the ground heated by the sun that has just set on the horizon to dry off. Others, still strong enough, continue to practice acrobatic jumps on land, as if they were in some kind of gymnastics competition.

The end of the day and the arrival of night arrive rapidly at this latitude, that is the signal for them to go get the dry clothes kept in the holes that only they know and start the long walk back to the houses where they will sleep. Some of them are not lucky enough to return to a home, they have to wander back into the murky streets of the city where they take refuge in porches, abandoned cars, or ruins of houses where they spend the nights. When they wake up tomorrow, they will all be back on the streets again, scrounging for any odd jobs to get some food or change, until the time comes for what they are most looking forward to: the forbidden dives.

The Preacher by João Coelho

JOÃO COELHO