TIme Tunnel T.V. Show still- photographer unknown, (altered) Collection of Jason Eskenazi
turkish foto roman, 1974 redubbed
9/22/1920- Boston, MA- Three women pickets are shown patrolling the waterfront in East Boston. Bettmann Archive via Getty Images.
“Judge women as people not as wives.” Washington DC, January 1969. (David Fenton/Getty)”
Memphis strike, 1968: Sanitation workers with the sign “I Am a Man.” Credit Ernest C. Withers.
3/08/1981. A group of feminist demonstrators marching under the banner of the Movement for the Liberation of Women (MLF) on International Women's day, 1981. Keystone-France.
Washington, DC. 7-3-1989 Protestors for and against abortion on Webster v Reproductive Health Services. Photo by Mark Reinstein/Corbis via Getty Images.
Civil Rights, Marchers Carrying Banner "We March with Selma!", Harlem, New York City, Photo by Stanley Wolfson, 1965.
Karlovy Vary, Czechoslovakia. Bettmann Archive via Getty Images.
Two Garment Workers Picketing, circa 1909. (Photo by : Universal History Archive/UIG via Getty Images) JT Vintage / Glasshouse Images.
May 1968 Protest, France. Photo Courtesy Unknown.
While living in Istanbul I began to collect cheap cameras, from an old street market called Dolapdere Bit Pazar, that still had film inside them. Most cameras were under 5 TL (between $1 and $2). I wondered what latent images lay undeveloped. I loaded them with fresh batteries and shot the rest of the roll. But often times the cameras were too corroded to work again. Their batteries leaking acid. Or after shooting and developing, the roll turned out to be blank and black, without any images on it. I made cheap 10x15 cm lab prints from the negatives that survived, and saved the film canisters and cameras for display. I tried to remember to shoot my hand against the sky to mark the first frame taken by me. But that too I often forgot. After too many bad results I decided to double-expose the film if the leader stayed out upon first rewinding of the film that was originally found inside the camera. The title Solaris comes from the first roll I found, and of course it's an evocation of the Tarkovsky masterpiece. Like the movie, this project is about the past and present. And about memories lost forever, like a blank roll, or simply imagined. The book is a combination of photos from the roll shot by the camera's unknown original owner, and the new photos that I took after I recovered the cheap plastic box from the bazaar. For most of human history there were few fixed images. Cave paintings, illuminated manuscripts perhaps tattoos. And few ever saw one in their lifetime. If an apparition appeared in cloud formations it was soon dispersed by the wind. It wasn't until the modern era of reproduction that it became common to see fixed images in newspapers, books, posters, billboards. Even the cinema, tv, and live streaming are fleeting like life and can not be considered fixed. Today we are inundated with 1000's of images per day. I can no longer distinguish between good and bad photos. The so-called good ones seem boring; The suffering of refugees crossing a river. Perhaps it's about predictability. The bad ones at least are interesting, and don't fit into any ready-made categories. Ill-composed and unsharp. Accidental in a way. Whose only purpose is self preservation and to be fixed in a scrapbook or on a refrigerator. Almost always breaking the fourth wall. Center stage. Looking into the lens at the viewer. The holy books banned fixed images because of their potency to sway us towards irrationality. That restriction was about creating idols. Visual memories were meant to fade. In that process memories slowly evaporate and the pain of sharp edges soften and we move on in life. But lost film brings the past back into sharp focus. It becomes our past. This project recovers images that were on the edge to destruction, separated from their owners long ago, but saved one last time by a chance find in a flea market by the collector/me.
- Grazia Moreno (1987, Salonika, Greece) has been a member of KRISIS Reporters since 2016. For more info about her work, please contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org
Dektol Hill collage combines photos of Robert Frank, Diane Arbus, Henri-Cartier Bresson, and the Koudelka dog
turkish foto roman, 1974 redubbed
Blow-up by M. Antonioni, movie still - photographer unknown, Collection of Jason Eskenazi
In the Land of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King: Dog Food asked a few colleagues to unleash their thoughts about Fake News.
man walks into a local fruit and vegetable store and asks for a kilo of onions. He sneezes and the other customers turn to wish him good health. Every one spots that he's wearing a toupee and avert their eyes. The man pays for the onions and walks out onto the sidewalk and a dog barks at him afraid of the hairy thing on his head. The man knows he's wearing a toupee. The customers know he's wearing a toupee. The dog knows he has a dead animal on his head. But the man doesn't know that they know that he's really bald. Fake photography is kinda like a toupee. You can spot it a mile away. But bald men keep on wearing one thinking that no one will notice. And photographers will keep setting up photos hoping for credibility. There's no law against either. It's just a case of authenticity. All living creatures have an antenna for fakery. The man went home and gave his wife the onions and she made a soup out of it. For the first time in ten years he said he loved her and she believed cause she felt it to be true, unlike years before. They were amorous that night. Baring all, even his bald head. Sometimes photographers buy onions too. There are many bald photographers who do not wear toupees. I don't think I'd ever trust a bald photographer wearing a toupee to make an authentic photograph. But who knows maybe they'd make a great onion soup. ~ Roland Barks
Do You Play Forte-Piano? Back in 1993 I was still wearing my Capa-esque military green multi-pocketed jacket. I was an image maker in a foreign county, but also recreated myself in the image of what a photo-journalist should look like. I had slung a few cameras around my neck. The latest gear back then; Canon's, a short and long zoom, and a Leica down the middle. I was in the Soviet Union when I arrived and Russia when I left, even-though I myself stood my ground. The putsch had come and gone. There was no email back then and we had to communicate with home base (mom and agencies) via an Alphagraphics copy shop on Tverskaya Blvd in Moscow for faxes and phone calls. Moscow had the largest magazine and newspaper bureaus, before the tectonic news plates shifted them to China, South Africa in the mid 90's, and to the Middle East in the 2000's until it got too dangerous or our appetite for such news was defunded by the corporate sponsors closing many of them. Or maybe it was simply the Internet which drastically cut sales. Local photographers, who were once fixers, became photographers in their own right and worked alongside the foreigners. This happened systematically from the Moscow of the 1990's to the Baghdad of the 2010's. And I'm sure way before my experience, in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Korea. But they rarely had any journalistic training; instead direct pressure from an editor to deliver a dramatic image for desperately–needed money perhaps to find escape for themselves and their families from the very conflict they were covering. They often had the access that the foreign photographer didn't, or were able to get past the radar of suspicion.
Photography in those oppressive societies, and covering issues of oppression was exactly why foreign photographers were there to begin with, was manipulated for ideological reasons that resulted in kitschy montages on billboards or in local newspapers. Back in the 1990's we brought certain ethical journalist standards with us that came through the journalism school route, and others like myself, weaned on HCB and others, came with intrinsic "western" ethics, that photographs were there to be captured by the ever–ready eye, and not by setting them up. There was no pressure from above unless you worked for a newspaper where editors expected certain visuals because of what they had seen or heard, and which most times didn't actually exist on the ground. I have to admit I was the worst assignment photographer ever. I'd never hire myself. I had a hard time producing images that I didn't care about. The only pressure was from myself. I had no overlord, except for my conscience. Yet I was also the hardest on myself. I can't say I never removed a piece of paper from a scene or a plastic bottle. I'm no angel. But assignment photographers have other pressures from above. You have to come up with the goods. No excuses. I did do my share of assignments but hated every minute of it mostly because the writer led the story and you had to shoot everything they mentioned. We were just illustrators. But we have to admit that there is a difference if you call yourself a documentary photographer or photojournalist. In the post-Watergate world, photography has moved from illustration based to the accuracy of the written word. Didn't Eugene Smith who proclaimed "Let Truth be the Prejudice" set up photos in Spanish Village in the 1950's? Especially that scene where you see different modes of transport converge on a rural intersection.
I was once assigned by TIME to head down to a small village in southern Russia where the Chechens had taken over. It was dark and depressing in Moscow. I had to bring a helmet and a flak jacket. When I arrived, all the reporters had gathered on a small icy road where the Russian military had set up their line. We came day after day but they refused us entry. Then a few Russian colleagues had a bright idea. We had seen some local cars let through to the next village. Our village was a few after. We dressed like locals in and old Zhiguli car passed the first check point. Then the second. Suddenly we found ourselves across a big field from the village. We got out and without hesitation the Russian photographers said Davay! let's go. There were helicopters flying above, and it all seemed dark and apocalyptically foreboding as I recall it 30 years later. We entered the field and saw tracer lines. The first photographer said to the second, ‘Don't step on those lines’, and the second said to the third, ‘Don't step on these lines’ and the third said to me, ‘Be careful! don't step on those lines’. The tracer lines got denser. We saw a dead cow. Then midway we came upon a Russian unit that shouted, ‘What the fuck are you doing here!’ My Russian was good enough not to need translation. We backtracked and went around and found ourselves in the village. There were some bodies lying around and we snapped away. The Chechens had left. After sometime, the Russian photographers said that they were leaving, but I stayed because I was on my first TIME assignment. I was arrested. I hid my film in my Barber jacket and Russian hat but it was found and it was confiscated along with all my camera gear. They said, ‘come to the line tomorrow and we will give it back’, sans the film. The following day
I saw all the reporters at the line and got my cameras and headed to the airport with my tail between my legs. I had called my editor and he had told me to come back. I ran into my same Russian friend who also wanted to get in but we thought it was hopeless. On the way to the airport I said that we had to go back. When we returned, the Russian military let us in and we took some of the same pictures that I had taken the day before. As we stood over one of the corpses, we saw a Babushka in the distance and my friend called her over knowing that she would wail when she saw the body and that's exactly what she did and we shot it. That picture appeared in postage- stamp size in the magazine a few days later. I was a TIME magazine photographer! I returned to dark and damp Moscow and gulped down a few cto (100) gram of Pertsovka. Many iconic war photos were probably staged events after the fact, from Alexander Gardner's moving of corpses during the American Civil War to Roger Fenton's distribution of canon balls on a field to make better compositions. Or in other cases photographers were just too late on the scene. Most probably Joe Rosenthal reenacted the flag raising on Iwo Jima. And now in the digital age most staging happens with redistribution of pixels. These are just reminders. We all have seen these examples before. I never thought that photography was objectively true, except that the camera recorded what was in front of the lens at that moment. But how did that moment occur? We all know it's subjective. We chose the angle, the moment, the distance. If you call yourself a fiction writer, no one can ever claim you are guilty of inaccuracy but if you are a non-fiction writer you must have your pins lined up in very straight rows. There will be facts checked. Photo-journalists are non-fictionalists. But we are not invisible. We do affect the scene just by being there/ Heisenberg! Some women cry on cue between the grave stones when the lens cap comes off. Yet we know photography has been manipulated since day one. How did Lincoln's head appear on the body of Senator John C. Calhoun. How did the pole disappear from the head of Mary Ann Vecchio at Kent State University? How did the second watch disappear from the wrist of the Soviet soldier on the Berlin Reichstag? Were their motives to deceive? The poll was just a visual annoyance. Did it change the facts? No, not really. Yet on the other hand can we just delete it because it stuck out of her head? The entire shooting at Kent State lasted just 13 seconds. The image captured is miraculous. But the first lesson in photography was how to turn three dimensions into two. And if a tree stuck out of the subject’s head in photo school the instructor pointed it out as a no-no. Times have changed. It was ok for a photo editor or photographer to do that in the period
from the 1860s to the 1970s, but today it's no longer acceptable. Watergate/Vietnam was the watershed moment. After that no stone could lay unturned ever again. Truth in advertising, a strange confabulation, but truth in journalism found its moment back in 1973. I was 13 and about to get Bar-Mitzvahed. We live in our world of photo-legends, as mythical heroes, believing that they never manipulated a photo. They loom large in our collective image-nation. Then we go out into the world never moving a leaf and seem never to be able to get those images we see in books. Again in the mid-90's I found myself in the ruins of Sukhumi/Abkhazia with a photographer friend. We came upon a destroyed house. There was a girl with her mother there. She had Down Syndrome. There was a piano. I'm not sure if I said it or my colleague said it but out came the question Te igryish forte piano? The girl looked at us. We looked at the piano and she proceeded to pound on the keys. We praised her talent, snapped the picture, and said Spacibo. Somewhere in this time neighborhood I think we learned that Robert Doisneau's 1950 photo of The Kiss, shot for LIFE magazine, was staged using two actors whom he had spotted kissing. He then took them to three different locations and ended up using the one shot by the Hotel de Ville. Sort of like the three flags brought to Berlin which ended up on the Reichstag. Not surprising, I think. He was no HCB. Life is rarely so perfect! There were other faux pas from seasoned pros. And most recently we must ask how did a female figure from Mary Ellen Mark's book Falkland Road go unnoticed by so many photographers and editors appearing in Souvid Datta's photo story on prostitution? Or were they so consumed by their anticipation to see their man get the prize. There's a bit of reverse discrimination going on with awarding more Third World photographers with prizes. What's an aging male Jewish photographer to do? And anyone who has ever been on the ground in Islamic countries, would know that a man would never be allowed to photograph in a lingerie shop in Iran, especially when a curtain is left undrawn as a girl snaps on her bra. Smells like a set-up! And it was by an Iranian photographer. It's not just a problem with so-called Third World photographers. It's an industry problem from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli; from New York to Beijing and back. Over the years photographers had to inch ever closer to the front lines to get the more dramatic moment. If your photos aren't good enough you aren't close enough has been drilled into our heads.... yet we know that the darkroom lab guy in New York didn't burn the negs from D-day, causing the
blur, but that Bob was shaking too much and got back on the first boat out of harm's way. Not blaming him. He was very brave! But the legend that surrounded it for many years probably sent other photographers to their death in pursuit of a falsehood. Poor Cynthia, Poor Remy poor.... Yes, they chose to go. But they were also chasing an ideal on the battlefield created by the photo-mythologists. Have we set the bar too high? Is this a case of photo McCarthyism by out–of–work photo Joes? Maybe it's the finger pointers that should worry about their own ethics and reasons. Photographs cannot be facts. Photographers manipulate the scene in post-production to enhance the scene, to be what they want it to be whether it's on the computer screen or in the darkroom. Would W.E. Smith be awarded the same prestige today or chastised for set-ups? He probably couldn't survive the current climate. He famously ferro-cyanided the eyes of two women looking at him during a funeral only to recast their gaze towards the dead man in the coffin. Fiction has truth in it, but journalistic truth cannot have fiction. So back in 1993 a scandal broke out during a quiet summer in Moscow. A photographer from Reuters had alerted TIME magazine that the cover story they were just going to publish about child prostitution in Moscow was false. I knew that the picture they used could have never happened. There were no young boys dressed up as girls in cars down the slope of St. Basils off Red Square in those days. Yes, there were pictures. But Russia loomed large in the news as the post–Soviet collapse of an empire and the ashes that it stirred were important evidence to what was created in its wake. The editor of the piece was also the creator of PEOPLE magazine. TIME needed Moscow on the cover and a young Russian photographer had what they needed to prove their story. Because it was a slow summer, other media outlets jumped on the story proving it as a falsehood. It was quickly found out that the boys were paid to pose. But because Reuters was a big client of TIME, the "snitch" was sent away. TIME cancelled all the Reuters contracts until the photographer was fired and wrote a nasty discrediting "Letter to Our Readers" about him in the magazine. He sued TIME and years later was awarded a good sum of money for his silence. But he was blackballed from the industry because he stood up for journalistic ethics. Really it seems not so different from what's happening on FB now with the recent manipulation scandals, but back then all that was available was a CompuServe message board to call out TIME for their lack of checking the true nature of the photos. Putting the cart before the horse. They were warned. They never heeded. The media storm had to march on! And what happened to the young Russian photographer? He's now the
Kent State Massacre - John Paul Filo, 1971
governor of Russia's Smolensk region. And the TIME executive editor? Was later hired by Reuters to run their Journalistic Ethics Committee ~ Certainly a hard crease to iron out that irony, in the starchy white shirt of journalism. In fact, the AP, NPPA, World Press Photo, and Getty organizations have nailed this down with their codes of ethics. Not so different from the Hippocratic Oath and the American Emoluments Clause. But these ethical standards have been in place for years and in the case of NPPA since WW2, but that is almost 70 years ago. Certainly, digital photography has provided the need to reinforce the codes. Overseeing these regulations is the job of the editors. But who will oversee the editors? For anyone who has ever stepped into a battlefield, over corpses, it can be said that these newspapers, and magazines do not show the reality of the situation on the ground. It's a sanitized version of the truth. Editors must answer to their editors-in-chief who in turn must answer to the conglomerate owners. It would be just too hard to eat our breakfasts and sip our lattes in which also, absurdly enough, they have financial interests. From cluster bombs to clusters of raisons and nuts in our flakes. It all ends up soggy if you put too much milk. Humans have a propensity for storytelling, for coloring, and darkening skies for dramatic effect. Each culture has it own methods of representing the past, present, and future. Human representation was never to be an accurate portrayal of events, from the hunt in cave paintings to the holocaust in Guernica. Events get sifted and sorted through imagination, to be then applied to stone and canvas. Then along comes this machine that reproduces what it sees in front of the lens. But the lens too is a distortion or interpretation. We do not see in 28mm. It would be like learning a musical instrument and not be allowed to improvise. Just play what you see on the score. There will always be a tendency to break the rules by even the best photographers. Only their fixers know for sure. All cultures, societies, and times, have their own definitions as to what's acceptable practice by the photographer in the field. Certainly in Soviet times there was no such thing as investigative photo-journalism. Can't we even say that the Farm Security Administration (FSA) was just a propaganda tool. We are simply feeding the machine of the Communists and the corporations, and must follow the party and bottom lines of each. It's not so much that we need a code of ethics for photographers, that will be broken time and time again, but a code or responsibility for editors/editors-in-chief as the overseers and middle men between the photographer and the public. The take-away is that there will always be
manipulation. New technologies will always make it easier and easier to do and go undetected. As media outlets for photographers continually disappear, competition will rise and photographers will feel the need to raise the pitch ever so slightly above their colleagues. As weekly and daily newspapers cede to minute-by-minute online news services, more mistakes, less fact-checking, and pressure to be first will dominate the food chain to feed the beast. We still want an idealized version of reality, not so different than what the old masters depicted on their canvases for 1000 years. History was recorded before the invention of the camera. I think I just did a 180. Anything other than photo-journalism is the photographer’s own business. They can cajole, set up and 'fake' anything they like. It would be nice if they admitted to it when asked but they are under no obligation. What 'photo-police' could monitor such a thing? I've done little more than I have written and admitted to, but perhaps I should have erred more on the side of "truthy" and would not have gone home kicking the metaphorical bucket about missing the shot. Each photographer has to live with their own photographs so it's really their call. As photographers we all want to make great images. But it seems to get harder and harder. What's happening? Too many photographers on the scene? Times have changed. The world seemed to have turned a corner after the late 20th century regimes fell in the 1990's. I'm tired of waiting for the decisive moment. Too many obstacles. Trying to capture uncertain collisions of chaos. Too much money spent and too little return in images. Yes, these are the words from an aging photographer. All too human! Automation is coming! It's here. So, in the end, news outlets may just use photo robots and drones, or satellites and duck blinds armed with light meters, compositional grids and AP guidelines. No need for gas masks and flak jackets, to capture 1000's of images daily that an editor can choose from while having a BLT and Diet Coke. Let's call the first robot Capa. Yes, CAPA, with a Hungarian accent, and a propensity to take a gamble. Ah yes! About the hair. That thick Hungarian mane. Let's fit it with a black wig. - Jason Eskenazi/Krisis Reporters
Beware of Shifting Sands in Photojournalism (or Even Friending a Russian Ruler) National Geographic’s editors squeezed the whole world into their own little idea of a globe, even if it meant moving one of Egypt’s great pyramids a few feet to the left or right with photographic magic. It made a slightly nicer composition for their famous yellow-bordered cover. When word got out, the reaction of their loyal subscribers ranged from a shrug all the way to bloody hand-wringing from the Slippery Slope photojournalists. The real problem is much, much older than that. With ordinary, devilish choices that photographers have long had, we can choose one particular point of view and create fiction out of thin air. The pyramid’s own hieroglyphic murals are quite an early example, they portray extravagant, flattering chronicles of royal life. Without skipping a beat, they also show unbelievable, monstrous animal gods wandering here and there, always comfortable, seemingly approving all that they survey. But if you’re hungry to know who built the pyramids, who gave their sweat and blood carving and pushing tons of stone, the image preferred by pharaohs have little to enlighten us. Using photography today, perhaps you’d like to say something romantic and timeless about the pyramids, and stick to those observations only. By shooting only under the stars, or during the golden hour at sunrise, the grounds surrounding Giza’s plateau can appear nearly deserted. Be there during the Light and Sound Show extravaganza, and paint the monuments any dramatic color borrowed from their palette. Use your portable or built-in flash to give Egyptians a gritty look, or for a more painterly, Rembrandt light, use diffused umbrella bounce. A patient, clever composition can crop out intruding modern touches. A well-chosen, perhaps extreme lens can exaggerate the scale of a camel in the foreground, or stack up a highly compact telephoto view of stone and sand. Photographers with a modicum of experience and an imaginative eye know that a limitless portfolio like this could be told. If one’s client happened to be the Egyptian Tourism Ministry, or some stock agency, or a calendar publisher devoted to historical themes, or even National Geographic, all of them might be delighted with your interpretation. None of it would feel particularly familiar or recognizable to residents’ of Cairo, but many photo editors and viewers would readily accept it as Truth.
Or perhaps you’d rather show what a choking, polluted, corrupt, overcrowded, ungodly mega- city Cairo has become. You could show casinos and belly dancers, oil sheikhs, gawking tourists, beggars and grinding poverty, all using the pyramids as a backdrop, or even beneath their very shadows. The Muslim Brotherhood, or even the Islamic State, might greatly prefer this angle, and underwrite such a portfolio for their own magazines. In March 1978, the Japanese television network NHK received a highly unusual permission from Sadat to build a new pyramid right next to the Sphinx and the Great Pyramids of Giza. Master stone masons from Japan, along with Egyptian crews who would provide the muscle, promised to use only authentic methods and the simple kinds of tools used three thousand years ago. The practical answers to how the pharaohs managed to do it have always been a mystery. The Japanese believed their exercise would wipe away the unknown. The bargain struck, however, was that they would have to finish their pyramid in two months, and then pull it down immediately. The proposal, as announced, seemed fantastic, and because I wanted to believe in the lunacy of it all, I do everything I can to convince Eli Antar that we should give it thorough coverage. The Japanese arrived with great amounts of pride and hubris, with far more energy invested in their outfits than in how the stones would be finished and moved into place. Weeks melted away with little progress to show for it, and the pyramid design similarly shrank, trimmed itself back drastically until it was only about fifteen feet high. The be-robed local workers did everything they could to push and shove and tip the one-ton cubes into place, all by hand. But in the end, a crane committed a great deal of cheating to hoist up the top pieces. It turned out as a sad lesson for me on the difference between hype and the hard facts on the ground. Just because photos can be spliced together digitally instead of with a knife doesn’t mean we have come that far. It’s still a matter of how we have gotten really, really good – even seductive – about making pictures out of thin air. But is that much different than the way Washington crossed the Delaware River, or Stalin’s friends seem to come and go? Since we know that all photographs, by default and the very limitations of optics, must come from a certain point of view. So how should we as photographers conduct ourselves and choose such a perspective. We might try to grit our teeth and work just as a bank camera would, floating above it all, pretending to be neutral. But after all, we chose to visit the bank on this day, or else we got assigned to it, but nevertheless,
that is a value judgment. Why are we not emphasizing something else, such as the love that an olive farmer feels for her land, the land of her ancestors. Perhaps the more moral position would be to fully embrace that farmer’s point of view, using our expertise, our craft to explain her perspective as passionately, as persuasively as possible. We need not resort to fabrication at all if we stick to observable facts, and add those to her emotional state of mind. It would be disrespectful then to water down this one story with someone on the other side of a hot argument. Keep the stories coherent. Give each side their own turn, and be sure to add breathing space in between each. We must still search for surprises, for the little known, to shine light on those that have been ignored or forgotten. We should behave generally as illuminators, just as scientists and scholars do, and within democracies, to help in the crucial role of keeping voters informed. The truth about fakes is that it all starts in the heart, not in the manner of execution. - J.Ross Baughman
Orientalist Narrative At its core, fake news images aim to create an alternative narrative from everyday reality. An alternative set of facts if you will. In the case of Middle Eastern photography, the collective we know as “the media,” tends to envision and support a defined storyline. This narrative entertains a narrow vision of what we think we know of the Middle East. For most part, the visual representation of the Middle Eastern is far from everyday reality. This view may not always be actual fake news, but it perpetuates stereotypes and fails to fully inform the viewers. This vision is an orientalist view and one that the industry gatekeepers tend to prop up over and over again. Historically the orientalist narrative represents a hierarchical variance and a patronizing view regarding the East and the West. These variations are based on a set of assumptions that are prejudiced in nature. Nissan N. Perez, a photography historian, in his book Focus East, explains one way of thinking about how orientalism operates: “Literature, painting, and photography fit the real Orient into the imaginary or mental mold existing in the Westerner’s mind. … These attitudes are mirrored in many of the photographs taken during this time [19th century] … Either staged or carefully selected from a large array of possibilities, they became living visual documents to prove an imaginary reality.”
Staging, Photoshopping and selective editing remain, to this day, to uphold orientalism. This way of thinking has enabled photographers to stage photographs and label them as documentary and photojournalism. Such behavior has been supported in the media in Europe and the U.S. Some photographers have gone as far as winning prestigious and international awards, which only endorses their unethical actions to feed selfish aspirations. The Middle East was one of the first regions outside Europe and the U.S. to experience photography and to become subjected to Westerners’ visual survey of its landscape and people. Soon after the invention of the camera, Naser al-Din Shah (1848-1896) of the Qajar Dynasty in Persia (current Iran), brought one of the first cameras to the country to photograph his court including his many wives. He went as far as appointing and creating a photography position and a studio in his court. The Shah himself learned to make pictures and authored many photographs. During the same period, several Europeans arrived in Persia as Western officials and military attachés and began an active presence in introducing photographic techniques. One notable photographer is Antoin Sevruguin, a Russian of Armenian-Georgian ethnicity. Sevruguin set up a studio in a business district in the capital Tehran, and amassed a collection of his own. These activities resulted in an extraordinary collection of images from the Qajar period, which have been exhibited and studied internationally. Outwardly this collection is a study of Persian culture during the period. However, everyone in the Middle East knows that the true people of everyday life are absent from the reality of these orientalist visuals. As Perez explains in his book, this massive collection is exceedingly selective and highly staged and sometimes with strange Western customs. In some images, women of the king’s court are photographed wearing ballet tutus with traditional Persian headscarves. These are astonishing images given that no one in Persia or the Middle East ever dressed like that outside of the king’s court. In fact, I would go as far as saying that the collection that came out of this period only supports the orientalist niche for the curators who intend on preserving a preconceived view of Eastern cultures based on such photographs. It goes without saying that these photographs are abeyond-belief visual feast. There are even several seminude and risqué photographs from the Shah’s collection during his reign. In Iran, contemporary photographers have turned the table and have used this orientalist point of view to tell their own story of struggle and daily life. Shadi Ghadirian, a female photo artist created a portrait Raising a Flag over the Reichstag - Yevgeny Khaldae, 1945
series simply titled ‘Qajar’ to address the story of her generation being pushed and pulled between tradition and modernity in post-Islamic Revolution Iran. In essence, Ghadirian used the images of Naser al-Din Shah’s court and recreated/reinvented them for her own anecdote while bucking the orientalist narrative. The Orientalist vision has even played a role in changing the politics of the war in Afghanistan in recent weeks. It was widely reported that Donald Trump’s national security advisor, H.R. McMaster used a photograph of young women in miniskirts in Kabul from 1970’s to pursuade Trump in sending more American troops to Afghanistan. The photograph was meant to send a message to Trump about what Afghanistan could be and to demonstrate the possibilities of Western ideologies of an orientalist prophecy through American political and military might. Today the visions of Orientalism continue to persist in the gaze of Western media editors. Almost four decades after the Islamic Revolution in Iran, magazine editors are still lured by staged images of Iranian women smoking hookahs and drinking alcohol. Similarly in Saudi Arabia, stories of women’s basic rights go under-reported, but a pixilated video of a woman in miniskirt walking in the streets of Riyadh goes viral. For photographers and editors these stories define the standard quality of international photojournalism only because they are published. Real socio-economic stories are widely under-reported due to valuable print space and resources are devoted for the same tired vision that has been around in many forms since the 19th century. National Geographic, one of the most widely-admired and distributed magazines in the U.S. is one of the main sources in disseminating orientalist visualization. To this day people of color, from Africa and the Middle East to Asia are depicted as exotic among other attributes that are not given to Caucasians. In the same manner as women photographers are trying to attain proper representation with major publications, there is a burning need to change Western perspectives and the orientalist perception. - Ramin Talaie
Recipe for Freshly Faked Fotos
Disaster Ruins Everything
The Freshly Faked Fotos are a new take on the old smelly Candid Fotos. They have a more savory megapixelish smell with a dash of plastic taste. They go well with cabbage stew and broccoli steak seasoned molded cheese. Perfect for fancy meetings of gear aficionados.
"The disaster ruins everything, all the while leaving everything intact. ...Remembrance of the disaster which could be the gentlest want of foresight." - Maurice Blanchot, The Writing of Disaster
Total Cost: 4000 euro in gear (cooking pots, spoons, cups, plastic wrap, various undisclosed posing fees) Prep Time: 10-50 minutes - Cook Time 5 minutes INGREDIENTS 1 freshly painted background 1 torn poster 2 people 1 bottle of vinegar 1 few shades of dramatic lightning 1 black cat 1 yellow pot 1 blue plastic ball 1 fish, because the fish knows, the fish knows everything. INSTRUCTIONS 1. Get a piece of freshly painted background, very colored, rich in textures. 2. Add graffiti and a poster of a seminude red short-skirted girl. Make sure it’s randomly shredded but leave the boobs intact. 3. Separately add a homeless person. Make sure you use lots of vinegar to make the scene as spicy as possible. 4. Add a rich friend and make him stand bluntly and expressionless near the homeless person. 5. Tie a rope to a black cat. Dip repeatedly in the scene towards the homeless person on a descending diagonal movement 6. Spritz some colored debris, stirring constantly. Use blue and yellow for maximum culinary impact. 7. In case the pot is too full remove at will any ingredient. Use food colorant on dish for desired alterations. 8. Put in oven and expose to harsh dramatic fire to create deep rich contrasts. Keep lit until you can smell the burned crust. 9. Place on large watermarked plates. Serve hot in large doses to social network groups. 10. Enjoy and don’t forget the old saying “Fake it ‘till you bake it!” - Christian Bassa
It had been a few weeks since the earthquake. The dusty port town of Léogâne, Haiti was the epicentre. Nearly every concrete structure in the town was destroyed, 20,000 people had died instantaneously, and everything was in disarray. Makeshift homes made of cardboard boxes and sheets were put together in haste to accommodate the living. Streets, pavements and parks soon turned into dwellings and life was lived on the streets. Mass graves had to be dug because they had run out of place to bury their dead. The son of the local pastor who made his way to give his people their last rites instead rolled up his sleeves and helped move the dead to their communal graves. “The dead grow heavy with regret as they stay unburied. That is why they are so heavy.” People lived in disinterest, detached from disaster, hurrying to make new plans, as they prayed, scavenged, looted and learned to live again. When people’s lives collapsed along with the buildings, they took with them souvenirs of their past. Broken vases, crushed calendars, headless toys and photographs inside cheap plastic albums. Stories grew around these objects, reclaimed from the disaster. They had new meaning and belonged to a pantheon of retrieved objects. In memories new museum these were deified objects. In the abrupt absence of twenty thousand who had disappeared, each previous act of normality became the last clutches of mortality. Stories about last meals, terrible fights, of hasty love making, and broken promises multiplied in the absence of the bodies. New meanings and stories were consistently woven into the fabric of disaster. The people they had become in death bore little resemblance to the people they had been in life. One afternoon walking back from the Red Cross camp to the camp where I was staying, I ran into Marylene again. I had met her earlier in the week at the St. La Croix hospital in Leogane. I was the dark Indian amongst the mainly white aid workers. “You look like us, but your hair,” she had smiled with excitement.
Marylene had been a teacher in Port Au Prince and then a midwife. She made her daily rounds to various aid organisations that had descended upon Leogane, offering to translate for them or helping at the hospital if it was short staffed. The first time we meet, she took me to the ocean, and together we saw a large American Naval fleet stationed at a distance.
good one and very difficult one.”
"It is usually the rain and the police who robs us off everything twice a year. This time it is the earth." She said alluding to the turbulent hurricane seasons in Haiti. For the first time in months, I saw a landscape empty of debris and the dead. I don't remember much of that day except for the silence I had experienced after a long time.
Soon after the earthquake a herd of international news organisations, aid agencies and celebrities descended upon Port Au Prince. An actor even managed to run his very own internally displaced camp outside the purview of the Haitian government.
The next time I meet Marylene, we stopped for street food of fried plantains and then walked around her wounded city. Marylene chatted away, and I mostly listened. We saw building after building destroyed. In walls that had survived the earthquake, people had hastily scribbled their numbers, along with signs saying "Save us" or "Help us" or "Help needed". There was still traces of blood on the street, a dark shade of crimson that refused to be scrubbed away. "Tell me your story Marylene?" I said. "No story to tell", she replied like an impetuous child, about to pull a face. As we strolled, a few blocks later Marylene asked if we have a duty to live? “What if someone had been willing to die, not like the soldiers who go to fight, but just comfortable with dying…They had no desire to live...What about that…?" Marylene continued to talk, and while she spoke, I quickly wrote her question, with her name and date right next to it. When she saw this, she responded with a curled smile. She leant over and took the book from my hands. She stared at her name that I had misspelt as Marilyn. Then she crossed her name out, rewrote it in all capital letters. With the letters "M", "R" and "Y" leaving strong impressions on the subsequent pages. Then right below her name, she wrote: “A story? No. No stories. No Stories for you." As she handed my book back she asked again, “Do we have a duty to live?”. “I don’t know,” I said. Marylene said that she had asked her Pastor the same question, who in return had spent the next hour not listening to her. But giving her a sermon on the lure of evil. "He had not understood my question", she said. “It is ---- maybe not a question,” she said a minute later. “No. It was a question,” I told her. “A very
In those years, the profound question that Marylene has asked was lost on me. I was yet to confront the mortality of someone I loved. Death and disaster were abstract ideas. I had witnessed death and destruction, but never felt or fathomed what it meant to have your life reduced to debris.
Stories of survival and resilience of the Haitian people made its rounds. The photographers photographed many of the same sites of death and destruction. Black bodies in pain, dead and twisted were featured on the front page of newspapers. Suffering had become both a spectacle and a commodity. The images of the dead had no purpose beyond their need to convey the immensity of the devastation. Those images had no history except one of immense and unexplainable violence. Photo-editors justified these pictures as, "that kind of image that changed people's minds." Truth dies that moment, and many times over. Post truth world was not birthed in the last year. There was no epistemic break or shift. Rather for many, the oppressed, the wretched and the marginalized, who have been the disproportionate subjects represented by photography truth exists in moments before erasure. "Would this have been the same kind of picture had this earthquake happened in Sweden as opposed to Haiti? If the bodies were white? Would we photograph "them", as we photograph "ourselves"? Days after the earthquake fifteen-yearold Fabienne Geismar was killed by a single shot to the head by the Haitian police. She died holding to plastic paintings they say she had stolen. The paintings that lay next to her body were mass-produced cheap plastic home accessory made in China and sold in one of Port Au Prince's large markets, two purple flowers embossed on a white flower pot. (Photograph: The death of Fabienne Cherisma, from the series Haiti, 2010, © Nathan Weber/NBW Photo.) Fabienne might have survived the earthquake, but she joined many dead who lay unattended in the streets of Portau-Prince for running away with cheap paintings. Fabienne father Osam, sister Samantha and brother Jeff witnessed the shooting, her fall and that long agonizing minute it took, for her to die. As her body lay on Marthely Seiee Street, a group of
photographer, mostly foreign, mostly white, mostly men crowded around her body and took "another shot" at her. Few bothered to look at Fabienne's body, clad in a pink and grey top and her pink skirt, even as they stood in line to photograph her. Death had become so prevalent, that its origins and ends no longer mattered. The small crowd watched Fabienne's father move her body to the cart, and her mother stood wailing in grief, barely able to stand. Later she collapsed onto the ground. Even as she struggled to understand this violent death of her daughter, over a few plastic paintings, the photographers swarmed around documenting her painful private moments of grief. *** Marylene, unlike others I had met, refused to talk about herself. Other Haitians I had met told stories about their lives before and after the earthquake. I would often walk away knowing them entire history. Marylene’s personal life was vague. I never got a story, or answers to my questions, just random facts that I had to piece together. In our walks, together she assumed the role of an interlocutor between her damaged town and an unlikely outsider. She spoke continuously about the surroundings. She presented facts about old colonial churches, the shortest way to the ocean, how many times a day the Canadians patrolled the main street and where the aid workers drank their beer. As we strolled, she asked if I wanted to join her for a prayer meeting. God was a distant figure, and the church she had gone to since she was a child was destroyed. The pastors in each neighbourhood had started conducting prayer meetings on cleared grounds. "Everyone was looking for something. It is hard when so much is lost so quickly", she paused. "Some come to pray in the hope of finding that something. But I go so I can sing. I sing to cry without tears.” I said I would join her and we walked towards the other side of town and passed more makeshift homes before we reached her place. We walked past injured in pain laying in their tarp homes, their families sitting around in apathy. She pointed to middle-aged women sitting outside her temporary shelter. “She is just waiting for him die. The doctors said they can't do much, gave him medicine for pain...He is clinging on to life, and she is waiting for him to go.” Pointing to another tarp home as we walked by: “They are too sick to make it to MSF camp.” As she pointed to these homes, I took pictures. Half way through our walk,
Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima - Joe Rosenthal, 1945
Marylene asked why I took these pictures. I responded thoughtlessly. "I had to", I said. "I had never seen destruction on this scale before, and I've travelled to war zones, and I have never seen anything like this." "So what if you have never seen anything like this? Is that a reason to take pictures? Would you like a stranger taking pictures of your home as it rots?. You are a tourist," she said. “Only instead of Paris, you come to witness terrible things. You like to see terrible things happen to ordinary people. And you think seeing makes you understand. But you don't see. You collect. You collect, pictures and souvenirs." Marylene finished these scathing observations with a smile. I am not a tourist I told her. I don't know who I am yet. But I am not a tourist, I protested. I apologised for the next ten minutes as we walked to her home. I don't remember what I said, just the memory of profound shame. Marylene laughed. My ramblings and the defensive argument softened her. Perhaps it even brought a soft smile to her face. Then with her eyes gleaming, she said, "Then you are a petty thief, who steals people's moments. Like the boys who capture fireflies, you catch beautiful images of horrible things." We finally made it to her new home made of tin and tarp. Marylene had salvaged a mattress and had a few cooking pots lying around. On her tin door hung a small piece of a larger broken mirror. Right next to it was a small cheap purple lipstick and a little plastic box that said Ponds Cold Cream. She stepped out with her water canteen, washed her face, came back and applied her purple lipstick. She said it was from Port Au Prince; she had gotten it when she was there last with her family. I looked around, and there were no signs of a family, expect of two other women she lived with, Rosa and Brelyne. On our way back, she pointed to the distant rubble of yellow walls and said that her family was still entombed in the rubble of their home. “No one came to help,” she said, and then added, ”I can’t stand the stench anymore.” “Many are buried like this”, she said with indifference. Then, only seconds later she waved to a Canadian soldier patrolling the street. He waved back in recognition. “The soldiers are protecting us”, she said, and then quickly moved on to something else. I was still taken by the information of her family trapped inside. Her purple lipstick was still fresh. It bothered me and distracted me at once. I had expected to see grief and morsels of hope, not bright purple lipstick. Unable to broach the subject, I began a
long disingenuous sermon on hope. I told her that things would get better. “Comme la vie est lente Et comme l'espérance est violente.” How slow life is And how violent hope is. "Don't you miss them, Marlene?" I asked her. "Don't you feel sad?" Marylene went quiet and cold. I had bullied her into a brief silence. After this, Marylene didn't say much. In the end, it was not her garrulous prose, but the deafening silence that I remembered the most. "Hope is not violent. Hope is insufficient…” Marylene said with her beautiful, angry eye. She paused and spoke in a hushed voice. “Do I have to be hopeful to make you feel less guilty? To make you comfortable with the Hell I call home”. We didn't go to church. Instead, she walked me back to where we met earlier in the day and disappeared behind the Canadian tanker behind the square. I never saw Marylene again. But I had visions of her crying for help. Or returning every day for a week with diminishing hope, and then abandoning her home because the stench became too much to bear. It was not hope, but the pain that is violent. To experience the disaster and to think about disaster are two different things. Marylene thought about it with an elegant sophistication that escaped me. I had abstained from empathy. I had spoken to console myself and forgotten about her. The ones who came to bear witness, those who came to help seemed most taken by the disaster. When confronted with silent violence and vulgar disparity of life, the natural instinct is always to aestheticize. To create them in our mirror image, excluding them and including ourselves in the narrative. Our relationship to the country and the people became decided even before we meet them. But in the end, none of us understood its immensity. We became the mediators of a reality, and in that process depicted not the real world but the world that is a product of a certain culture and market that demands a certain kind of image. The truth then becomes a product of the market and the culture its sustains. We reduce truth merely as a function of replicating an object and rendering it flat on the surface. In the template of engagement with people like Marylene, the vulnerable, and the dispossessed are cast in a similar mould. And we demand two qualities from them: servile obedience and passive quietude towards the outsider. Two years later, I would stumble upon an incoherent answer to Marylene’s question. Where life does not reign, where decisions are perpetually poor, where living
is to endure by waiting for a misfortune about to come. Where future and the past come together in the absence of the present, dying is living. - Suchitra Vijayan
The Apparatus Can't Mistake When I travelled round with this machine, the homely folks used to sing out, "Hillo, mister, this ain't like me!" "Ma'am," says I, "the apparatus can't mistake." – Salem Scudder in The Octoroon by Dion Boucicault, 1859 I am less surprised by the manipulation of photographs in photojournalism than I am by the outrage expressed towards photographers accused of doing so. While I understand the ethical boundaries in journalism which uphold a public’s faith in the press that journalists shall not willfully manipulate the truth, photojournalism has always hung by a thread regarding its “journalistic” integrity – it didn’t begin with Photoshop. A photograph shows you what exactly – objects arranged? The caption is where the who, what, why, when, where of journalism is found. The camera’s verisimilitude plays with imagination, assumptions and preconceptions - it is the caption that steers the viewer into the ballpark of specifics. While recently watching the Ken Burns documentary on the Vietnam war, I was surprised to see color film footage taken around the same moments as Nik Ut’s Pulitzer prize winning photograph of “napalm girl”, the nine-year-old Phan Thi Kim Phúc running down the street naked and screaming. I couldn’t ever recall seeing this footage before and the contrast between the still image from Ut and the film footage is remarkable. In the film footage, Phúc, not screaming or even seeming to cry, most likely in complete shock, looks almost composed as soldiers try to tend to her wounds with water from their canteens. Although untrustworthy in its own right, film and video place their subjects in a wider context and thus are imbued with greater sense of “truthfulness.” Seeing the footage made me question which was closer to the truth, the still or the film, since they created two very different understandings of that brief intersection between time and cameras on June 8th 1972. All that said, we are approaching an era where all of these arguments over still images will become moot. I saw a video on YouTube earlier this year that scared
the shit out of me. It was demonstrating software that creates Real-time Face Capture and Reenactment of RGB Videos. The system uses an ordinary webcam to project the facial expressions of a user onto the face of anyone else. The video demonstration featured the faces of Barack Obama, George W. Bush, and Donald Trump being manipulated in real-time using the system. In combination with Adobe’s newly released VoCo voice editing software, the prospects of creating fake evidence of conspiracy theories and sowing media distrust will become limitless soon. The specific content is not a huge concern for me, be it a “discovered” video of Hillary Clinton and John Podesta “caught” on camera discussing their child sex ring in the basement of Planet PingPong or Obama laughing about being the first US President born in Kenya. Rather that the process of debunking the fakery will add yet another layer of weariness and fatigue which will eventually wear people down until they must tune it out - that these politically charged videos will make it even easier for each side to bunker down and fortify themselves from finding common ground upon which to speak of our differences. Imagine if that barrage of misdirection and fake realities (unrealities?) forces you to question your everyday perceptions. What will happen five, ten years down the road? How do you maintain a democracy when you can’t trust anything you see or read? As the constant drip, drip, drip of doubt pushes us towards paralysis, then the idea of manipulation of still images might seem downright quaint. - Jeffrey Ladd
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1959, Basra - My grandfather in front of 800AD Grand Mosque.
Photos Courtesy of Hala Alsalman
1957, Turkey Black Sea - My grandfather in the middle, father on the table, aunt on the right and grandma on far right.
A shoebox full of slides arrived to our home in Dubai after decades of collecting dust in a basement in Baghdad. These were family photos, mostly taken by my paternal grandfather Jamal Alsalman with his Pentax camera between 1955 and 1967. Little did he know that he would give us, the grandchildren, a precious glimpse into our past and what Iraqis call “The Glory Days”. I never lived in Iraq but I do have memories of visiting as a child, albeit nowhere near as crisp as these pictures. We seldom see colored images of the Arab World in the 1950s and these photos are so vivid, it’s almost as if they were taken last week. It’s a strange feeling to see the life of your relatives come alive when you were nowhere near being born. When we started developing the slides we found an incredibly vibrant visual record of mid-century life in Basra and beyond: Picnics in the desert, road trips to Ankara and political functions with foreign dignitaries. The British were still very involved with Iraq at that time and my grandfather was the mayor of Basra. He was a promising engineer from an upper class family, appointed by the young King Faisal II in 1957. We only discovered his penchant for photography towards the end of his life, which came as a surprise because he had never mentioned it despite being very present in my life. Maybe it’s because the last time he finished a roll of film, life as he knew it began to unravel very quickly. By 1963, the Baath party had taken over with a violent coup d’état and what followed was something out of a political thriller: My grandfather had a falling out with the new governor of Basra and a warrant for his arrest was issued while he was at an Engineer’s Conference in Beirut. My grandmother Naila had to fly to Lebanon to warn him in person and they planned their escape to Kuwait. “In those days there was a revolution with every season change,” she would say about the turbulent political climate of the time. Interrogation chambers were set up all over the place and it was the beginning of a reign of terror that would usher in Saddam Hussein, who was rising the ranks quickly. Like many Iraqis, the events lead to the displacement of our family until today, floating from one diasporic life to another between Kuwait, Dubai and Montreal. Even a brief stint in Baghdad during the 80s proved to be an alienating experience. Iraq was not home anymore. It had become a hostile place. A tragic degeneration of the idyllic life portrayed in these slides. And that’s what struck me the most about these pictures; those fleeting moments when my grandfather clicked the shutter button, neither he nor his subjects had any inkling of the dramatic turn their lives would soon take. - Hala Alsalman
1965, Basra - My dad's uncles home in Shatt el Arab. The little boy is a prominent doctor in Chicago now.
Photos Courtesy of Hala Alsalman
1955, Basra Desert - Picnic with relatives from Baghdad.
1959, Basra - Garden gathering.
1957, Turkey - Black sea with Turkish family (maternal side).
Photos Courtesy of Hala Alsalman
1959, Basra - Charity sale.
1959, Basra - Backyard gathering my grandfather's friends.
1959, Basra - Military Parade.
1957, Desert Basra - My dad's cousin Ayad Alsalman during a picnic.
1959, Basra - Charity sale.
1959, Basra - My Turkish great-grandmother Baidaa (L) during her children's charity sales. Her daughter was my grandma Naila.
Photos Courtesy of Hala Alsalman
1956, Basra - Family Picnic.
195,6 Basra - Picnic with Indian consul. My grandmother is laughing with his wife .
KAT FOOD in conjunction with GAN School for Photographic Arts announces the coolest photo contest ever!
KOOL KAT KONTEST 2018
Amazing prizes: • • • • • • • • • • • •
Gain Important and Critical Exposure for your Work! Free cup of coffee at the famous Cafe Le Post in Perpignan. (Available during 9-10am only, not during festival days). Handshake by Larry Towell (not valid in Canada). Free portfolio review and body cavity search by famous male editor (Females only). A 24-hour Facebook blast, with a guarantee of 250 likes. A congratulatory pre-recorded phone call by Melania Trump. $25 gift certificate from Adorama (excluding leather and glass products). Free membership to LensVulture. An ounce of the water, mixed with drops of champagne, which Robert Capa and Gerda Taro took a bath in from the Spanish village of Cordova. Circa 1939. $100 discount off a $3000 workshop by famous photographer of your choice. Free limited edition T-shirt from Magnum, Noor, VII, or KRISIS Reporters (only XXS and XXL available). Gloating Rights: Have the pleasure to say thank you to all your friends and how honored and humbled you are to receive such a prize, then send them only mail chimp updates about your continued success.
Judges Illuminati: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.
Clark C. Charles lll (Author of "How to Kill a Photo Agency"). Arthur Fellig, inventor if the Ouija board. Edwardo Martins - Humanitarian Photographer. Maggie Prescott/ Quality Magazine Fashion Editor. Alek James Hidell/ Photo-lab assistant, Dallas, 1962-3. Pippo Palermo/ Dog Food contributor, now Kat Food prisoner. Martin Purr/ Photographer. Books include Kat-mandu, Kat-alina, Purr-fect Daze. Ron/ London Photo-Agent, famously portrayed in the classic Antonioni film Blow Up. Al Lee Katz - owner of largest Cat on Velvet collection in the world. Famous dead photographers that have given their proxy votes to their former assistants. Others to be renounced.
(Judges listed may not have been contacted or asked to participate as of this announcement, but are used primarily to get more submissions, which means more money for us).
Fee: $75 per image; $235 per series up to six images. Non-refundable. Special offer: $900 We will enter every contest across the globe for you. (not including contest fees) with a 10% finders fee if you win.
Categories: • • • • •
Best Cat photo or series. Best Dead Dog photo or series . Best manipulated image (raw files must be submitted). Hottest new female photographer under 30 (portfolio not required). Falling Soldier Award awarded by former president of Catalonia.
Video Category: Kutest Kat video award under (2 min.) Feature length Kat video, including ball of yarn. (100 min.)
Plus: a special new addition to our contest.
- Dead Dog, Syria, 2016, 1st Place Prize, Best Dead Dog Single. Serkan Serkan/ KRISIS Reporters.
Old Jewish Photographer Lifetime Achievement Award It's not a secret that if you are a male Jewish photographer over 50 then it's nearly impossible to get an assignment or grant these days, so we at Kool Kat Kontest want to celebrate and keep quiet those complaining "unchosen" people. You cannot apply to this award but will be chosen during a minion gathering by ten other old Jewish photographers on the first Saturday after Passover. Those under consideration include Sid Kaplan, Ken Schles, Mary Ellen Mark, Jason Eskenazi, Richard Sandler, Jeff Mermelstein, Bruce Gilden, Susan Mieselas and Kevin C. Downs (honorary).
CONTEST RULES Please read these rules (the Rules) before submitting your photo(s) [the Photo(s)] to Kool Kontest 2nd season's Competition ‘Cat Scratch Fever" (the Competition). By participating in the Competition, you (You/ Your/ the Participant) understand, acknowledge and fully, irrevocably and unconditionally agree to abide and be bound by the following rules:
SUBMISSIONS A cat or part of a cat must appear in every frame submitted either naturally or digitally manipulated. The competition is open for online submissions only (the Submissions), through the competition online registration page available on www. koolkontest.org. Kool Kontest will be referred to as KK. Submissions will be accepted from 00:01 on 1st August 2018 until 24:00 on 31st October 2018, UAE local time, (i.e. GMT +4).No Submissions made after the deadline will be accepted. Participants must be individuals aged eighteen (18) years and over at the time of their submission(s). You must be a virgin. You hereby certify that you are eighteen (18) years old or older at the date of submitting your photo(s) to the competition. You further understand and agree that KK will automatically and without further notice discard any photo(s) that are found to be submitted by a participant that is below eighteen (18) years old at the time of its submission. All photos submitted become the property of KK which can sell your photos to any outlet/ or submit them to any contest, under a new name, without any consent by previous author in-perpetuity. By submitting to KK you waive all rights to ownership of your photos in-perpetuity.
YOUR PHOTO(S) You may submit up to one (1) photo in each category of the competition including the sub categories under the General category. Except the Portfolio category where you can submit between 5 – 10 photographs, and the Video category where you are allowed to enter one video submission in the category. You must provide a title and description for each photograph submitted including ones in the Portfolio category. The same photo must not be submitted in more than One (1) category. Any photo submitted in more than one (1) category will be discarded from the competition. Submitted photo(s) must be in JPEG format, with high quality and resolution, of a minimum 5 MB in size, the minimum of the longest edge should be no less than 2000 pixel and the quality no less than 300dpi to be suitable for publication. In the Video’ category, the accepted video format is MP4, not exceeding 300 MB in size and must be between 30 - 60 seconds in length. The video should be a high quality HD quality 1920 X 1080 with an aspect ratio of 16:9. The format must be MP4 H264 and 25 fps. You are kindly requested to upload the original photograph (RAW) or the photograph without any editing on the time of submitting the photograph to the contest. This does not apply the Video category which may require you to send over some original frames of the video at a later date. Black and white photographs are permitted in all the categories of the Competition except for the Color sub category under the General category. For the Portfolio category, you are requested to submit a series of photographs on the same subject matter. The number of permitted photographs is minimum 5 and maximum 10 photographs. All submitted Photos/ Video(s) must not contain any tag(s), signature(s), initial(s), frame, border(s), logo(s) or any other references and/or marks added by the participant. Basic technical editing of the photo(s)/ video(s) is acceptable, provided any such editing does not affect the authenticity and/or genuineness of the photo(s). Advanced editing used to create illusions, deceptions and/or manipulations, including compositing and creative retouching of the photo(s)/ video(s) is prohibited. KK preserves the right to assess and discard from the competition any submitted photo(s)/ video(s) deemed, at KK's own discretion, contrary to the foregoing. Photos/ Video(s) that portray or otherwise include inappropriate and/or offensive contents, including nudity, violence and/or any other contents deemed to be contrary to the Absurdistan religious, cultural and/or public morals traditions and practices will be disqualified. Photo(s)/ Video(s) that have won any previous award(s), whether in any KK prior competition(s), or in any other competition(s) whatsoever and announced before 31st October 2017 , and/or Photos that have been previously used, or are intended to be used, for any kind of commercial purposes, must not be submitted. Any Photo(s)/ Video(s) submitted in contrary to the foregoing will be automatically and without further notice discarded from the entire Competition.
THE PRIZES KoolKontest appointed judging panel shall assess and determine the winning Photos/ Video(s). The results, prizes and the winners will be announced in a public ceremony that will be held on March 2019. The winner(s) will be contacted by KK and must provide KK with their bank account details and personal details within 7 days from KK request. The cash money prize(s) will be received by each winner within a period of two (2) months following the announcement of the Competition's results. KK judging panel has the right, at its absolute discretion, to turn down or reject any Photo(s)/ Video(s) or Submission(s) without having to give any notice or explanation to the relevant Participant. Any federal, state/ provincial/ territorial, and/or local taxes, fees and surcharges and taxes (whether foreign or domestic, and including income tax) on any prize that may be awarded to you under the Competition will be solely paid by you. The decision of KK judging panel is final and binding on all Participants in respect to all matters relating to the Competition. INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS Submitted Photo(s)/ Video(s) must be a single work of original material created and/or taken by You, must not contain any materials owned or controlled by a third party for which You have not obtained a license, must not infringe the copyright, trademark, moral rights, rights of privacy/publicity or intellectual property rights of any person or entity. Upon making Your Submission, You grant KK a perpetual, worldwide, non-exclusive, royalty free, sub-licensable right and license to use, publish, reproduce, display, perform, adapt, modify, create derivative works, distribute, have distributed, print, promote Your submitted Photo(s)/ Video(s), in whole or in part, in any form, in all media forms now or hereafter known, anywhere in the world for any purpose, related to the Competition, the publication in KK promotional digital and/or printed materials and formats broadcast such as on KK magazines, printed leaflet and brochures, KK website and/or through other public online feeds, promoting subsequent competitions and/or the work of KK generally. You must obtain, solely bear the cost for, and provide KK within seven (7) calendar days of any request to do so by KK, with any or all of the following: A signed written consent, release and/or permission of each and every identifiable individual person(s) appearing in Your submitted Photo(s)/ Video(s), clearly authorizing You to use their picture or likeness for submitting the Photo(s) in the manner contemplated by the Competition, and authorizing KK to reproduce, distribute, display, and create derivative works of the entry(s) for all purposes, in any media now or hereafter known. Please click here to download the draft of the Model Release Form. A signed written license from the copyright owner of any sculpture, artwork, or other copyrighted material that appears in Your submitted Photo(s)/ Video(s), authorizing KK to reproduce, distribute, display, and create derivative works of the relevant entry(s) for all purposes, in any media now or hereafter known; and/or A signed written license from the owner of any private property included in your submitted Photo (s), authorizing KK to reproduce, distribute, display, and create derivative works of the relevant entry(s) for all purposes, in any media now or hereafter known. 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If, for any reason, the Competition is not capable of being conducted as anticipated, due to computer virus, bugs, tampering, unauthorized intervention, fraud, technical failures, or any other causes beyond the control of KK, which corrupt or affect the administration, security, fairness, integrity or proper conduct of the Competition, KK reserves the right at its sole discretion to cancel, terminate, modify or suspend the Competition as deemed appropriate, disqualify any Participant, and/or select winners from all eligible Photos submitted prior to the termination, cancellation, modification or suspension. KK reserves the right to correct any typo-graphical, printing, computer programming or operating errors at any time. GOVERNING LAW The Competition, Your Submission(s) and the Rules shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the Emirate of Absurdistan and the applicable federal laws of Absurdistan, and any aspects or disputes arising out of or in connection with the Competition and/or Your Submission(s) will be subject to the exclusive jurisdiction of the Absurdistan courts. Photographers who accept the funding “agree to grant KOOL Kontest a worldwide, royalty free, perpetual license to render the project available for license on its platforms until the ice caps melt or the 2nd coming, which ever occurs first. If a winner is not announced then all proceeds will go to the Cat Refugee Fund and KatFood 7 printing costs. Please do not contact us for any reason. The judges decisions are final.
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turkish foto roman, 1974 redubbed
The View-Master was first launched at the 1939 Worlds Fair in Queens, New York, and it's not a coincidence that it also was the original home to the United Nations, located on that very same spot in Flushing Meadows Park, a meeting point to many nefarious affairs. The View-Master, which gave optical pleasure to millions, and perhaps billions, of people across the globe, was also used as a secret war weapon, that switched hands as often as secret agents turned double agents and visa versa, from the 1930's until the 1970's. It's even been rumored that Buzz Aldrin would have not found the moon without the NASA modified Apollo View-Master. The View-Master nicknamed the Spy-Master was as important to the ultimate success of the Allied forces in defeating Hitler, as was the Enigma Code found on a recovered German U-boat, or the plutonium bomb dropped on Nagasaki. Yet few know the real story. Even the View-Master instruction guide left out this important information of how this toy saved us all from growing small mustaches and learning Japanese. Back in 1938 Harold Graves, President of Sawyer's Photographic Services first met William Gruber, a camera buff, at the Oregon National Caves Monument, who had two cameras strapped together. Gruber explained that he planned to update the 19th-century stereoscopic 3D viewers with the newly developed Kodachrome color-slides and a hand-held viewer. They shook hands and the View-Master was born, presented at the Worlds Fair the next year. Yet the German born Gruber held one secret from Graves. He was an avid fan of the Chancellor of Germany, Adolf Hitler. Secret reels were produced, unbeknownst to Graves, as Hitler invaded Poland, and many other countries that were to become the Soviet eastern block. When Hitler was welcomed with flowers in Budapest and
Sofia, as well as greeted by fainting women in Berlin, and to the cheers of millions of German citizens, it seemed evident to Gruber that the Fuhrer would soon rule the entirety of Europe. Gruber prepared the secret reels to unveil when Adolf would set foot in Piccadilly Circus, and reset London's Big Ben clock to his 1000-yearReich timetable. Well, as we know, he never got to cross the Channel. Though none of these reels still exist Gruber's notebooks were recovered from a funeral pyre of the Nazi reels in the VM H.Q. parking-lot in Beaverton, Oregon, the day after the Soviets happened upon the first concentration camp in Majdanek, Poland, on July 23, 1944. Gruber had also cast a unique black indestructible VM Fuhrer model, with a solid gold Swastika emblem and Zeiss glass, that he had hoped to personally give to his leader, including a golden reel of all his conquered lands,entitled "View Master Race" #VM1000, which was never given, and then never found. Some say Gruber was buried with it.
*Some of the Nazi titles produced or planned included: -The Fuhrer's Best Poses by Leni Riefenstahl and Heinrich Hoffmann. VMG Reel #546713 -Juden: A Race to the Death. VMG Reel #967477 -Adolf and Blondie Play Catch. VMG Reel #152117 -Approved Mustaches by the Third Reich. Reel #unknown -Lebensraum - A Guide to Backyard BBQ's on the Volga. VMG Reel #V191745
Many different reels were made in the VM lab that never made it to the market, or made in limited editions, or made on special order for famous people. During the killing spree of Bonnie and Clyde in the VM made special bootleg series of the couple that sold in brown unmarked sleeves to teenaged girls. When the famous Lindbergh baby was kidnapped VM aided the F.B.I. by producing 1000 reels of the baby's face from six different angles for identification. A Kennedy Assassination reel was produced using some Zapruder stills, but was quickly taken off the market, because Chanel didn't want to see his pink creation, worn by Jackie on that fateful day in Dallas, covered in blood red. Andy Warhol, who didn't like surprises, had a special repeating frame View-Master made. It was said that it inspired him to make his repeating Marilyn silkscreens. And the famed color minimalist, Ellsworth Kelly, had a one of a kind View-Master reel which when clicked showed only a solid primary color. Due to the right eye-left brain/left eyeright brain effect Kelly saw colors no one else ever saw for which he owes his genius. Especially interesting to photography buffs was the VM#36X24 reel called "Faked Photographs of History." Only 500 reels were made for educational purposes. Included on the reel was the famed FallingSoldier by Capa; flag Raising over Iwo Jima by Joe Rosenthal; Berlin Reichstag Flag Raising by Evgeny Khaldae, and more. All 500 reels mysteriously disappeared after the death of Capa, except for one, recovered by the DogFood Forensic team, from a junk bazaar on the outskirts of Moscow. One of the most popular reels VM #4726542-K9 reel was "Dogs of war', including Laika, the first dog in space during the Cold War; Dogs parachuting behind enemy lines; Dog fitted with gas masks, and even Blondie, the only living thing Hitler ever cared about, but the reel was taken out of circulation after complaints by the JDL. During WW2 the US military purchased 100,000 viewers and 6 million reels. B-52 bombers over the Pacific were equipped with the special green metal VM for identification of Japanese enemy aircraft. The Navy had the waterproofed version for identifying German Battleships, and the Marines on Okinawa were supplied with reels of images of edible plants when food supplies were scarce. There was even a venereal disease reel which was the most popular at the mess tent. There was also the "Fake Real" which was dropped along with the VM
apparatus hung from tiny parachute over enemy territory in order to confuse the soldiers, most of whom had never seen a foreigner. Some of the Japanese soldiers still lost and hiding for 30 years on a few small atolls in the Pacific, who were never told the war was over, still thought that the Eiffel Tower was located in Hawaii. VM had a special Casablanca factory during the war, operating until the 1970's, encoding special VM frames with secret information for spies that included, nuclear fission techniques, detailed itinerary schedules for diplomats to track them for assassination, poisonous dilutions and their antidotes. Anyone going to Casablanca, especially in the 1950's, saw strange sights on almost every street corner of men in trench coats, with dangling cigarettes, looking into the sky with a black View-Master frantically clicking through the reels trying to find the antidote to the poison just dropped into their morning coffee. And until the time of his death, Albert Einstein, the hair-raising Physicist, was working on a secret project converting a titanium View-Master, that not only showed 3D, but was able to look into the 4th dimension. The calculations were so long that he finally ran out of chalk and space, and then just ran out of time. Those romantic spy vs. spy days are long gone, but the View-Master survived. Today millions of children and adults still love the View-Master, even after 1.5 billion reels, without knowing that this small plastic wonder saved the world as many times as you can click through a reel. For now all they see are the anthropomorphic Disney characters, Mickey, Goofy, Pluto, Donald Duck, and a cast of 100's of animated humans living in the small enchanted world of a California theme park, and its copy-cat cousins from Paris to Shanghai, and Tokyo too.
10 Photographers name 10 Books and 10 Films that have inspired their life. Igor Posner
Books: Radetzky March - Joseph Roth Labyrinths - Jorge Luis Borges Demons - Fyodor Dostoevsky Savage Detectives - Roberto Bolano Petersburg - Andrei Bely Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema - Andrei Tarkovsky The Glass Bead Game - Hermann Hesse Chevengur - Andrei Platonov 2666 - Roberto Bolano Hadji Murad - Leo Tolstoy
Films: Andrei Rublev - Andrei Tarkovsly Japón - Carlos Reygadas 20 Days Without War - Aleksey German My Life to Live - Jean-Luc Godard Distant - Nuri Bilge Ceylan The Four Times - Michelangelo Frammartino The Man without a Past - Aki Kaurismaki Museum Hours - Jem Cohen Nostalghia - Andrei Tarkovsky Down by Law - Jim Jarmusch
Books: Les Amours Jaunes - Tristan Corbière Le Cheval d’orgueil - Pierre-Jakez Hélias La Vie devant Soi - Romain Gary AKA Emile Ajar Journal d’une Fille de Harlem - Julius Horwitz Les Monades Urbaines (The World Inside) -Robert Silverberg The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum - Heinrich Böll The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera Out of Africa - Karen Blixen Collected Poems - Pablo Neruda Divine Horsemen - Maya Deren
Films: The Paths of Glory - Stanley Kubrick Earth - Alexander Dovzhenko Rocco and his Brothers -Luchino Visconti Los Olvidados - Luis Buñuel The Serpent’s Egg - Ingmar Bergman Cabeza de Vaca - Nicolás Echevarría Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring - Kim Ki-duk La Haine - Matthieu Kazowitz Before Night Falls - Julian Shnabel The Turin Horse - Béla Tarr and Ágnes Hranitzky
Books: What I Talk About when I Talk about Running - Haruki Murakami Half a Yellow Sun - Chimamanda Ngozie Adiche Scribbling the Cat - Alexandra Fuller We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow We ... - Philip Gourevitch Everything is Illuminated - Jonathan Safran Foer Sin is a Puppy That Follows You Home - Balaraba Yakubu The Diary of a Young Girl - Anne Frank Shadow of the Sun - Ryszard Kapuscinski Johnny Got His Gun - Dalton Trumbo The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
Films: Rain the Colour of Blue with a Little Red in It - Christopher Kirkley Death Proof - Quentin Tarantino Monsoon Wedding - Mira Nair City of God - Fernando Meirelles Lost in Translation - Sofia Coppola Best in Show - Christopher Guest Gone With the Wind - Victor Flemming Big Lebowski - Coen Brothers Star Wars - George Lucas Gremlins - Joe Dante
Books: El camino - Miguel Delibes La Familia de Pascual Duarte - Camilo Jose Cela El Nombre de la Rosa - Umberto Eco Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad Se Questo è un Uomo - Primo Levi The Shadow of the Sun - Ryszard Kapuscinski The Good Terrorist - Doris Lessing Caliban and the Witch - Silvia Federici Non Sono Obiettivo - Oliviero Toscani Regarding the Pain of Others - Susan Sontag
Films: Lost Highway - David Lynch Underground - Emir Kusturica In the Mood for Love - Wong Kar-Wai Requiem for a dream - Darren Aronofsky Apocalypse now - Francis Ford Coppola Death in Venice - Luchino Visconti La Dolce Vita - Federico Fellini Caramel - Nadine Labaki J'ai Tué ma Mère - Xavier Dolan Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi
Books: Amongst the Thugs - Bill Buford The Wind up Bird Chronicle - Haruki Murakami Maus - Art Speigelman Almost all of Kurt Vonnegut Working and Division St - Studs Terkel Slouching Towards Bethlehem - Joan Didion Waiting for the Barbarians - J.M Coetzee Beloved - Toni Morrison Women - Charles Bukowski What we Talk About when we Talk about Love - Raymond Carver
Films: D'est - Chantal Akerman Sans Soleil - Chris Marker The Best of Youth - Marco Tullio Giordana Bladerunner - Ridley Scott All the Brothers Quay films The Godfather Films - Francis Ford Coppola Repulsion - Roman Polanski Vertigo - Alfred Hitchcock All of Bruce Conners Films The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser - Werner Herzog
Books: Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man - James Joyce On the Road - Jack Kerouac Moby Dick - Herman Melville La Brava - Elmore Leonard Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain Julius Knipl, Real Estate Photographer - Ben Katchor Low Life - Luc Sante Dino - Nick Tosches Will You Miss Me when I’m Gone - Mark Zwonitzer King Lear - Shakespeare
Films: Taxi Driver - Martin Scorsese Blow-Up - Michelangelo Antonioni In the Mood for Love - Wong Kar-Wai La Dolce Vita - Federico Fellini Breathless - Jean-Luc Goddard Once Upon a Time in the West - Sergio Leone Stranger than Paradise - Jim Jarmusch Umbrellas of Cherbourg - Jacques Demy Citizen Kane - Orson Welles A Hard Day’s Night - Richard Lester
Books: Address Book - Sophie Calle Americana - Don De Lillo Teorema - Pier Paolo Pasolini The Golden Ass (Metamorphoses )- Apuleius Cain - José Saramago Memorie di Adriano - Marguerite Yourcenar In Cold Blood - Truman Capote Trilogia Sucia de la Habana - Pedro Juan Gutierrez Of Love and Other Demons - Gabriel Garcia Marquez Low Life - Luc Sante
Films: The Act of Killing - Joshua Oppenheimer El Sicario - Gianfranco Rosi Pi - Darren Aronovsky Cave of Forgotten Dreams - Werner Herzog Mondo Cane - Paolo Cavara, Franco Prosperi & Gualtiero Jacopetti Sans Soleil - Chris Marker Andreï Tarkovski - Nostalghia Cléo de 5 a 7 - Agnes Varda Amarcord - Federico Fellini Ma - Celia Rowlson-Hall
Books: The Peregrine - J.A.Baker Dispatches - Michael Herr Memoirs of an Infantry Officer - Siegfred Sassoon Goodbye to all That - Robert Graves Storm of Steel - Ernst Jünger The Things they Carried - Tim O'Brien Homage to Catalonia - George Orwell The Road to Oxiana - Robert Byron A Time of Gifts - Patrick Leigh Fermor The Gate - François Bizot
Films: The Birds - Alfred Hitchcock Psycho - Alfred Hitchcock The Deer Hunter - Michael Cimino The Godfather - Francis Ford Coppola Apocalypse Now - Francis Ford Coppola Full Metal Jacket - Stanley Kubrick Pulp Fiction - Quentin Tarantino The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - Sergio Leone No Country for Old Men - the Coen Brothers Lawrence of Arabia - David Lean
Books: The Echo Maker - Richard Powers Campos de Níjar - Juan Goytisolo One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel García Márquez Chronicle in Stone - Ismail Kadare The Three-Arched Bridge - Ismail Kadare Black Sea - Neal Ascherson The Rings of Saturn - WG Sebald Tom's Midnight Garden - Philippa Pearce In Cold Blood - Truman Capote To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
Books: Scoop - Evelyn Waugh Seven Pillars of Wisdom - T. E. Lawrence Churchill's War - David Irving Orages d'acier - Ernst Jünger A l'Ouest Rien de Nouveau - Erich Maria Remarque The Jungle is Neutral - F. Spencer Chapman Pour qui Sonne le Glas - Ernest Hemingway Si c'est un Homme - Primo Levi Les Croisades Vues par les Arabes - Amin Maalouf L'interrogatoire - Vladimir Volkoff
Films: Kes - Ken Loach The Third Man - Carol Reed The Sacrifice - Andrei Tarkovsky The Girl Chewing Gum - John Smith The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner - Tony Richardson Badlands - Terrence Malick Sans Soleil - Chris Marker The Red Balloon - Albert Lamorisse Midnight Cowboy - John Schlesinger Stranger than Paradise - Jim Jarmusch Films: The Cameraman - Buster Keaton & Edward Sedgwick The Great Dictator - Charlie Chaplin The Thin Red Line - Terrence Malick The Anderson Platoon - Pierre Schoendoerffer Fitzcarraldo - Werner Herzog The Duellists - Ridley Scott The Fog of War - Errol Morris Dances with Wolves - Kevin Costner Lawrence d'Arabie - David Lean Broken Trail - Walter Hill
Falling Soldier by Robert Capa, verso - compliments of Phillips Auction House