RPS House, 337 Paintworks, Arnos Vale, Bristol, BS4 3AR, UK
rps.org
Incorporated by Royal Charter
Registered charity number: 1107831
WE ARE Magazine Team
▪
Editor
Rachel Nixon
Designer Liz Benjamin
Contributing Editor
Frankie MacEachen
Copy Editors
Miranda Gavin
Victoria Medina
Proofreaders
Isabelle Desgranges
Dr Jane Robb
Victoria Robb
Women in Photography Group Committee
▪
Chair
Sue Wright
Secretary
Louise Knaresborough LRPS
Exhibitions Coordinator
Christina Osborne
Social Media
Victoria Stokes ARPS
Treasurer Vacant
Members without Portfolio
Member Adviser
Julie Derbyshire ARPS
Photobook Editor
Dr Eli Pimentel ARPS
The RPS Women in Photography (WIP) Group’s objective is to facilitate the celebration, education and collaboration of female and femaleidentifying photographers.
We are not a genre. These are our stories. We are the discussion that drives a greater awareness of women photographers past, present and future.
Membership of the WIP group is available exclusively to RPS members. Visit our website for more information about who we are, what we do and how to join.
rps.org/groups/women-in-photography
“A
Front cover - Wendy Carrig Katy
“Actor and musician Katy O’Kane photographed at Dungeness, Kent.”
Back cover - Gabrielle Motola Pandemic
friend at my home in Shepherd’s Bush, London, during the pandemic.”
Scan to order your printed copy of WE ARE Magazine from Peecho.
IN THIS ISSUE
Jennifer Charlton
Louise Yeowart
Louise Sayers
Liza Faktor
Honey J. Walker
Manuela Federl
Emma Godfrey Pigott
Karen Brickley ARPS by Frankie MacEachen
Tia Lloyd by Christina Osborne
FROM THE EDITOR
Hello!
For decades, the “decisive moment” has been among the most influential ideas in photography. In this issue of WE ARE Magazine, I’d like to propose the importance of another kind of moment — the moment of serendipity. The thing that happens seemingly by chance, setting us off on an unexpected course. For photographers, it has the power to change not just one image but our entire approach, maybe even our life.
There’s serendipity in the story of Jennifer Charlton, whose acceptance of a small financial gift put her on a decisive new path towards becoming an award-winning professional photographer. After listening to a radio interview, Honey J. Walker took her practice in a very different direction when she created a series in support of a charity for women in extreme crisis. The pandemic may not have had much to recommend it, but, as portrait photographer Fran Monks recalls five years on, the abrupt closure of in-person projects and exhibitions led her to make work via Zoom, encountering people around the world whose stories were previously untold.
At the heart of a serendipitous moment is acting on it — no matter how improbable or difficult the outcome may seem. Taking the leap is often not without fear, but I hope the stories and work of these and other photographers will bring you some inspiration of your own.
It’s hard to summarize all of the work in this issue, but one other standout theme is the regenerative
power of nature, even — or perhaps especially — in the face of the climate crisis.
For Liza Faktor in Oregon, the ancient forests of the Pacific Northwest offer healing and kinship. When Veronica White explores abandoned buildings, she finds green shoots reclaiming derelict spaces. And in Louise Sayers’ garden in Southern France, small occurrences like the first bloom of a flower, or the first nightingale song, are big news. As Louise notes: “Nature adapts and continues, an ongoing harmony of cycles and biorhythms, seemingly without end and which, especially in darker moments, I am endlessly grateful for.”
Elsewhere, we find photographers grappling with the manifold intricacies of families. Ruth TodaNation is a caregiver for her ageing father, and their photographic collaboration finds her reassessing their relationship. Chloe Sastry uses her family archive to confront difficult memories. Louise Yeowart seeks out an abstract language for her journey with IVF and approaching motherhood.
In print
This marks the 10th issue of WE ARE Magazine The publication has expanded since the first edition was launched in November 2021, and the magazine is now available in print form for those who appreciate a physical version. This issue, and the September 2024 issue, are both available for purchase from the Peecho print-on-demand
service. So far, the feedback has been positive and I can confirm (in my not entirely unbiased opinion) that it is a thing of beauty. One thing that has not changed since day one is our desire to celebrate and spread awareness of the great work by brilliant female photographers, so, of course, WE ARE remains free to read online via Issuu.
We’re featuring 18 photographers this issue, as well as shining a light on the work and insights of others in the Viewfinder section through Favourite Photobooks, One Thing I Know and more. I was struck by how much the winners of our Cover Competition perfectly sum up a sort of duality that I’m feeling these days. Unbridled joy, on the one hand, at the amazing community we find here; on the other, heightened watchfulness at the relentless pace and nature of events in the wider world. Congratulations to our cover winners Wendy Carrig and Gabrielle Motola for their evocative images, as well as to our runners-up, also included in the issue.
None of this would have come together without our editorial team who have worked diligently these past few months to bring it all together — thank you to all of you for volunteering your time and skills. Welcome also to Frankie MacEachen, who joins us as a contributing editor.
I’ll close by wishing you a happy International Women’s Day, if you’re reading this when this issue launches. The theme for this year’s IWD is “Accelerate Action” towards gender equality. I hope we’re playing a small part in that goal by sharing talented women’s photography and helping their stories be heard.
In solidarity and strength, Rachel Nixon Editor, WE ARE Magazine
by Jan Beesley ARPS, Alison Buchanan ARPS and Susi Petherick ARPS
Three RPS Women in Photography members give advice and share insights gained from putting on their first group exhibition last autumn.
Gallery
Having met through photography some years ago, three of us — Jan Beesley, Alison Buchanan and Susi Petherick — exhibited together for the first time as a trio at Gallery Uno in Seaford, Sussex from September to October 2024. We felt we had enough in common as artists to create a coherent exhibition, especially as we all use creative techniques in the taking, editing, and printing of our work. We called our exhibition Looking Beyond to encapsulate the idea that we were going beyond the obvious in our work, looking differently at the world about us, exploring new possibilities and, to some degree, challenging traditional boundaries.
Putting on a group exhibition offered many advantages. It gave us the opportunity to collaborate and learn together, have fun, and share resources and responsibilities. The latter included sharing the cost of exhibiting as well as the practicalities relating to managing and staging the exhibition. Furthermore, by working together on promoting and publicising the event, we hoped to attract a broader audience through our shared and different networks. In terms of confidence building, it also felt easier to promote the work of the group rather than our individual work.
I am a Sussex-based photographer inspired by the beautiful and diverse landscape of the area and our interaction with it. I enjoy the playfulness of using my camera as a creative tool to make intuitive abstract images.
Alison Buchanan ARPS
I embrace both traditional and more experimental techniques to create images which reflect my vision and imagination and love exploring the countryside and coast near my home in East Sussex.
Susi Petherick ARPS
I love learning new things, experimenting, creating images that express how I feel about the world about me, ones that often end up looking like something between photographs and paintings.
The following is a checklist of questions we compiled, which others might find useful:
What is the purpose of the exhibition? Is it
■ to sell your work?
■ to share with other artists?
■ to raise your profile?
■ to raise money for a charity?
Deciding on the reason for exhibiting will help determine how you then set about curating and publicising it.
Choosing a venue
■ How much space do you need?
■ How will your work be hung?
■ What kind of footfall does the potential location have?
■ Will the venue provide stewarding, sales support and publicity? If so, what is their commission on sales and what sort of work is the venue known for?
Designing the exhibition
■ What is your story? If you are exhibiting with other artists do you have a common theme, whether it is subject matter or techniques?
■ Do you need a name for the exhibition?
■ How will you arrange your work on the wall? If you are sharing the space how will the work fit together?
■ Will you be selling other items (e.g. prints, cards, books)? If selling, think about pricing, labelling work etc.
Publicity
■ What is the best way to reach your target audience?
■ Think about creating graphics you can use for social media, printed flyers, magazine features etc., and consider the timing of publicity.
■ Show images from all artists in the publicity material.
■ Remember the importance of the gallery window in drawing in people.
Opening and managing the exhibition
Reviewing the exhibition
■ If you are having a private view, send invites and arrange refreshments.
■ Organise stewarding to ensure cover for busiest times.
■ Think about using a clicker to count visitors. It can be very useful.
■ Be brave and engage with visitors; they love to hear about the work from the artist but be mindful not to overwhelm them with information. Getting this balance right isn’t always easy, particularly with creative photography, where visitors will find their own way to connect with the images. It can be an education to hear what visitors see, or why a particular piece resonates with them.
■ Think about how it went and what you learnt and remember to celebrate your achievement! continued overleaf
Gallery Install
LEFT Gallery Install
Main takeaways from exhibiting together:
■ Collaborating and exhibiting is more fun, and often more cost-effective with others.
■ Exhibiting with people who will give you honest, constructive feedback is valuable.
■ Creating an exhibition can give you a great focus to make a coherent set of images of your work.
■ Talking about your work to visitors can help you to understand and articulate your own motivation better.
■ Listening to viewers’ ideas about your work is always interesting.
■ Seeing your work on a gallery wall is a great feeling, and even better when people happily take it home!
www.janbeesley.art
Instagram: @jan.beesley
www.alisonbuchanan.co.uk
Instagram: @alisonbuchananphotography
www.susipetherickphotography.com
Instagram: @pethericksusi and @susipetherickabstract
Capture the power of women in parliament with the 40% Project
Celebrate the remarkable rise of women in politics by taking part in this bold initiative to make portraits of all current female MPs.
by Rachel Nixon
The 2024 UK general election saw a significant milestone with 263 women elected to Parliament — the highest number ever, and comprising 40% of the House of Commons.
The RPS Women in Photography group is delighted to celebrate this important step towards gender parity with the 40% Project — an ambitious initiative to capture all current women MPs through the lens of female and female-identifying photographers.
WIP members are encouraged to get involved by nominating an MP they would like to photograph. The group is working to exhibit the results on railings in Central London and other high-profile locations across the country.
The project has received a positive response so far, and 65 members have been introduced to MPs, some of whom have already made plans to meet up for their portrait.
Members interested in participating are asked to sign up by the end of March 2025. Sue Wright, chair of the RPS Women in Photography group, said: “Join us in celebrating the achievement of women
in leadership! The 40% Project will help showcase the incredible women MPs through the eyes of talented female photographers — amplifying voices, capturing progress, and inspiring change.”
Get involved
Passionate photographers can nominate their chosen MP by submitting a brief explanation of why they want to portray that person. Where multiple participants select the same MP, the organisers will allocate photographers accordingly.
Project co-lead Christina Osborne said the project represented “a fantastic opportunity to be part of one of 2025's largest photography initiatives.”
To make this important endeavour happen, volunteers are also needed in areas including press relations, marketing, portrait photography training, contracts, and printing and publishing.
Find out more about the 40% Project on the RPS website, and email Sue Wright at wipchair@ rps.org to get involved.
Let’s make a meaningful contribution to celebrating women in leadership!
The 40% Project: rps.org/groups/women-in-photography/the-40-project/
Share your work
Each month, the RPS Women in Photography group offers two opportunities for members to showcase their work and connect with other creatives.
At Show and Tell for Members, you can share your work and receive valuable feedback from fellow members in a collaborative environment. This event is led by Christina Osborne.
At Show and Tell for Photography Students, you can show three to five images and engage in meaningful conversation with other students. This event is run by Stefania Distante.
Just eight places are available at each of these monthly online events to ensure everyone has the opportunity to participate.
Find out more and sign up on the Women in Photography events page.
ONE Thing I Know
Photography has taught me just how integral it is to my overall well-being. When I go too long without photographing, I start to feel unbalanced, almost as if I’m craving a fix of creativity to ground myself and restore a sense of normality. There’s something truly magical about the connection and the moments captured through the lens — every image holds a story, a fragment of life that feels like pure alchemy.
Photography has been my companion on an extraordinary life journey for 30 years, offering me the chance to experience so much of the world and connect with the most incredible souls along the way. It’s a gift that keeps enriching my life, and I feel profoundly grateful for everything it continues to bring me.
Scarlet Page
Reading, England instagram.com/scarletpage
I remember the day I took my first street capture; shot on my phone, it was hardly a memorable capture, but the moment itself was lifechanging. It felt illegal, but, admittedly, it also felt great –to capture a slice of life no one
We asked you once again to share a valuable lesson that you’ve learned about life, art and the wider world from your practice as photographers. Your replies continue to inspire and enlighten us.
else would notice. It felt like a treasure hunt.
Since then, I’ve become a pro at lurking in the shadows and hiding behind corners to get candid, close-up shots of unsuspecting citizens. The thrill of the game never gets old –whenever I end up getting the shot I wanted, with the right light and the desired subject perfectly aligned, I walk back home with a big smile on my face.
Street photography has taught me to be in the moment like nothing else. The second I embark on my usual route, camera in hand, I feel like a German Shepherd – becoming acutely aware of my surroundings, all my senses heightened, getting fully absorbed in the art of observation. In a world full of distractions, photography gave me my focus back, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.
One of the most important things photography has taught me is to follow my curiosity. This can be curiosity about a subject, or light, or to just wander with the thought, “I wonder what’s
going on here? I wonder what’s over there? I wonder how it feels? I wonder…”
I heard recently that it’s better to follow your curiosity than your passion because passion can die out but curiosity is endless.
Photography has taught me that the ability to observe and “see” a photograph is often more critical than the photographic gear we might have. Great cameras, lenses, lighting, and light modifiers are things we can aspire to use but are not always required to create impactful images. I’ve always held the belief that a great photograph can be taken with less than “optimal” equipment if one takes the time to look, observe, feel, and interact with whatever the subject is.
Take a camera with you wherever you go, but don’t feel compelled to carry something big, expensive, and complex all the time. I’ve seen powerful photographs made with phones, pocket “point and shoots”,
vintage, and disposable cameras. Play, experiment, and fail. That’s where the learning is. Don’t allow the lack of equipment to hold you back. That being said, sometimes you need great gear to realize your vision!
Trish Crawford ARPS
St Catharines, Ontario, Canada www.trishcrawfordphoto.com
Photography has taught me how to switch off from the distractions of daily life and immerse myself in the subject I’m capturing. I started taking photographs as a child, but I didn’t fully appreciate the value of photography until I was much older. Over time it became a way to slow down and to capture details that might otherwise go unnoticed. When I look through the lens, everything else fades away. It brings an instant sense of stillness and calm. In those moments I feel completely present and absorbed in what is in front of me. It’s meditative for me and allows me to stop thinking about any stress and worries.
I’ve always been drawn to the visual arts and have taken photographs since childhood. However, it was many years later that photography became truly meaningful for me. I was at that stage of life with ageing parents, teenage children, work, and home — I was pulled in so many directions, not waving but drowning in the stress of it all. Walking the dog each morning gave me a small window of time to myself, and I became absorbed in taking photos. This calmed my mind, helping me to connect with the world and be fully present in the moment.
Since then, I’ve been constantly learning and experimenting, meeting like-minded people, and discovering a form of expression I never realised I needed. They say, “What we see is what we are” (Ernst Haas), and I believe every photograph reflects the self, even when it’s not obvious.
One thing I know is that photography is a deeply mindful activity. It connects me to the world around me and helps me find clarity and stillness amid the chaos.
Jan Beesley ARPS
Buxted, England janbeesley.art
One thing I know: You should never take pictures to impress people, but rather for yourself. Consider photography
as an internal journey. What message or narrative do you wish to convey, what story do you want to tell?
In this sense, photography became a mirror to the soul, allowing me to express who I really am in a process that is also about self-discovery.
More than just taking aesthetically beautiful photos, I always try to use photography to tell a story because I like to think of it as a meaningful and intimate experience. When you embrace the personal aspect of it, you’ll also notice that you’re slowing down, paying closer attention to the world around you, breathing with the wind, and merging with nature. It is not always easy; sometimes, your mind is full of thoughts, making it difficult to focus. But with this mindful and calming mindset, I am always able to enjoy what I am doing, making photography more personal and focused on capturing the beauty that surrounds me.
Valentina Parente
Milan, Italy valeparente.com
I have been teaching photography in an all-girls school for over 10 years. In that time I have had the great privilege of seeing many of my students find courage and confidence through the study of
photography along with finding joy in being able to express themselves, their ideas and identity through photography.
As the world of photography has moved through phases of development and evolved into the gloriously diverse space we see today, I have been able to share this journey with my students. We have visited exhibitions and festivals in London, Bristol and beyond. We’ve changed our practice through lockdowns, seen the world change and found a voice to share our thoughts and perspectives.
Whilst I still insist on a thorough grounding in the technical, I also relish and deeply encourage artistic and personal expression. Photography has taught me how to empower young women to find their voice and their confidence and express themselves and their ideas beyond words.
Amy Lawrence
Hertfordshire, England instagram.com/_amy_l_lawrence_
One thing I know about photography is that if you keep an open mind you can be constantly surprised. A memorable lesson for me was really early on when, aged 14, I was trying out my first camera. I was taking black and white photos of a baby in a high
ONE Thing I Know
chair eating lunch, but when I processed the film and then started printing it, I found the most exciting aspect of the image was the gritty, textured wall behind the baby. It taught me to look more carefully but even now, years on, I can be surprised.
I have taken a number of photographs where I had the composition and subject lined up carefully and was convinced I knew what picture I was taking, yet when I was downloading and editing, I noticed an even better image within my frame than the intended one. Sometimes the magic happens in postprocessing, revealing nuances you didn’t fully perceive at the time of capture. This is a good reminder to stay open to possibilities and experiment.
Sue Macpherson ARPS
Dorchester, Dorset, England suemacpherson.co.uk
Photography has taught me to go slower. In doing so, it has given me the space to find calm and serenity, to learn there is no purpose in comparison, and that kindness to oneself and other artists is what will nurture your creative practice.
Josie Purcell
St Agnes, Cornwall, England josiepurcellphotography.com
FAVOURITE PHOTO BOOKS
In our ongoing series, we asked you to recommend a book by a female or female-identifying photographer as we seek to amplify their voices and encourage others to discover their work. Here are this issue’s selections.
Breathing Space: Iranian Women Photographers by
Anahita Ghabaian
Thames & Hudson
Etehadieh
Although this book is not authored by a photographer, it serves as a profound celebration of the work of 23 remarkable photographers. Edited by an Iranian curator and founder of Tehran’s first gallery dedicated to contemporary photography, the book showcases the artistry and resilience of female photographers in Iran. Spanning three generations, these women have used their lenses to fight for their rights and envision a better world.
Despite photography being a relatively young art form in Iran, the works featured in this collection radiate a rare blend of poetry and maturity. They deserve to be seen and celebrated far beyond their borders. Among the many talented artists in the book, I was particularly drawn to the work of Newsha Tavakolian, whose project Listen has left a lasting impression on me. Through this series, Tavakolian gives voice to Iranian female singers silenced by Islamic regulations. Her portraits imagine CD covers for albums these women were never allowed to record — a poignant and powerful statement on censorship and creativity.
This book is a source of deep inspiration, reminding me of photography’s power to expose societal injustices. At the same time, it highlights the courage required to wield a camera in the face of oppression.
Julie Bélanger ▪ London, England
Breathing Space: Iranian Women Photographers by Anahita Ghabaian Etehadieh
If The Woods Whispered Would You Hear Them
by Charlotte Bellamy
Self-published
This stunning photobook chronicles Charlotte Bellamy’s three-year woodland project, blending images and words to document her journey. Through her lens, the trees are brought to life, portrayed as characters with their own stories, and are honoured as living entities within the vast, ever-changing backdrop of the woodlands. Using a mix of creative photography techniques, Charlotte captures the ethereal beauty of individual trees, evoking an emotional response that transcends mere visual representation.
Each photograph is paired with a piece of poetry or prose, drawn from her feelings in the moment, adding another layer of depth and connection to the images. The book is thoughtfully curated to reflect not only the shifting seasons but also the impact of storms and the environmental damage wrought by human activity.
Charlotte’s work has inspired me to approach my own photography with more mindfulness, encouraging me to pause and truly listen — both to the world around me and to my own inner voice.
Valerie Huggins ▪ Newton Abbot, Devon, England
Blue Violet by Cig Harvey
Monacelli Press
I love Cig Harvey’s photographs and the way that she sees the interaction between humanity and nature. This book is really wonderful because it combines various sensory elements and allows the reader to explore the book in a very emotional way.
Allyson Klein ▪ Crawfordsburn, Northern Ireland
If The Woods Whispered Would You Hear Them by Charlotte Bellamy
Blue Violet by Cig Harvey
Drinking From The Eye by Honey Long and Prue Stent
Perimeter Editions x Photo Australia
This is one of my favourite photobooks, offering a renewed perspective on our relationship with the surrounding environment. The body of work deconstructs natural landscapes into isolating form, texture, and material, which are then amplified and juxtaposed with the abstracted human body to mirror ourselves in nature. As Long and Stent put it, “From the micro worlds we explore – gardens, rock pools, ponds etc. – hybrid creatures and uncanny moments emerge which speak to desire, fantasy and the urge to see ourselves reflected in the natural world.”
Unlike other works that leverage the uncanny to primarily express human beings’ inner emotional world, this series takes it further, inviting a return to nature and a sense of belonging within it.
Qian Li ARPS ▪ Twickenham, England
Photo Rituals for Disappearance by Marilene Ribeiro
eKphrasis Publishing Mexico
This book comes at a time when women’s rights are being threatened all over the globe. It sheds light on powerful, ancient feminine strength and wisdom, which have resisted through history and passed through generations. In this book Marilene confronts her painful loss with courage and grace; alone in her grief but accompanied by physical and spiritual healers. This book is about the endless cycle of life and death, creation and destruction, where love is the main binding ingredient.
A truly wonderful magical book which will surely enchant and spread its healing properties all around.
Photo Rituals for Disappearance by Marilene Ribeiro
Mariana Lima Abreu ▪ Fleet, England
Drinking From The Eye by Honey Long and Prue Stent
As it may be by Bieke Depoorter
Aperture
Belgian photographer Bieke Depoorter visited Egypt starting in 2011, capturing intimate moments of Egyptian families in their homes during the revolution. In 2017, she returned with a first draft of her book, inviting others to write comments directly on her photographs. The resulting work exposes various views on country, religion, society, and photography — opinions from people who, under normal circumstances, would never meet. As it may be includes a companion booklet with English translations of the original Arabic notes. The photographs have a painterly quality — rich in texture and colour — and depict visions of domestic order and chaos. Their homes may look different from mine, yet they feel familiar. Despite the stark cultural and political differences in our lives, we are all engaged in the same daily rituals — feeding and bathing children, putting them to bed, watching TV, doing laundry, and cooking.
What stands out to me is the personal nature of these spaces — the images move beyond the headlines we typically read about the revolution in the West. It feels voyeuristic — but tenderly so, gently peering into the lives of others. Depoorter’s photos convey a profound feminine strength. They are quiet and largely devoid of men. This book is a journey transporting readers to another culture. It offers the rare privilege of being invited into the private lives of others during a time of upheaval.
Trish
Crawford ARPS ▪ St Catharines, Ontario, Canada
this is how the earth must see itself by Tamsin Green
Self-published
A beautiful handmade book that expands the concept of what a photobook can be. The layers of geology overlap with the photography and the wandering, all bound in the reassuringly familiar OS map style.
Emma Davies ▪ Guildford, England
As it may be by Bieke Depoorter
this is how the earth must see itself by Tamsin Green
I Imagined It Empty by Ruth Lauer Manenti
Co-published by PHREE, Ediciones Posibles, and RM Editorial
Ruth Lauer Manenti’s I Imagined It Empty is a poignant photobook exploring grief, memory, and the lingering presence of loved ones.
Manenti’s mother, initially reluctant to be photographed, allowed her daughter to document her final days, adding a sense of vulnerability and acceptance to the images. The black and white photographs are tender and bittersweet, capturing moments of quiet reflection and the subtle beauty of everyday life. The book’s title suggests the void left by a loved one’s absence but also hints at their spirit continuing to inhabit familiar spaces.
The book encourages slow, deliberate viewing, with each photograph given ample space to absorb the details and emotions. This mirrors the mourning process, requiring time and patience.
I Imagined It Empty is a meditation on life, death, and enduring connections. Manenti’s work reminds us that even in loss, there is beauty in memories and the spaces we inhabit. The book’s contemplative nature encourages reflection on our relationships and how we honour those who have passed.
I Imagined It Empty by Ruth Lauer Manenti
Kathryn Audet ▪ Calgary, Alberta, Canada
I Imagined It Empty by Ruth Lauer Manenti
Ossa by Kathryn Martin
Jane
and Jeremy
This is my favourite photobook from 2024. I picked it up at Photo London in May and have been transfixed ever since. Such a peaceful book, calmly blending original archive photographs, delicate botanical studies, land and skyscapes, and recovered archaeological material from a late Bronze Age settlement on the white chalk of Itford Hill, East Sussex. A beautiful consideration of, in Kathryn Martin’s words, “the intricate web between archaeology, wildlife, habitats, history and folklore”.
This is one of those books I can’t stop looking at — the paper, binding and sequencing are so wellconsidered and have inspired me to rethink the way I might present my own work in future. I can almost “hear” the quiet of the landscape when I look at the images.
Chloe Sastry ▪ London, England
Members’ photobook library
We’ve gathered a collection of photobooks created by the talented members of the RPS Women in Photography group. Explore a diverse range of captivating visual stories and artistic expressions in this online library ▪
We would love to see your work if you’ve made your own photobook — it doesn't need to be published or for sale. Please contact wipchair@rps.org to find out more.
Our Lockdown Garden by Ruth Toda-Nation
Ossa by Kathryn Martin
The Darkroom: Crime scenes through a female lens bookreview
The memoir of a pioneering forensic photographer sheds light on the crucial role of crime scene photography and the gendered violence she witnessed in her work.
by Sue Wright
A.J. Hewitt’s memoir The Darkroom (Seven Dials, 2024) explores forensic photography through the eyes of one of the first women in the role working at New Scotland Yard. Her work involved photographing the scene of murders, often of vulnerable women — typically killed by partners — whose punishments rarely matched the crimes.
Hewitt’s photography gave these women a voice, highlighting the inequality in how violent crimes against women were often treated less severely due to their social standing. She humanises the victims and talks of authorities’ reluctance to address their mistreatment.
The author also discusses how the introduction of crime scene photography revolutionised investigations and became crucial in murder cases. Through her lens, detectives were better able to piece together details of violent deaths — from blood spatter to body positioning — helping to create clearer narratives and aid investigations.
A.J. Hewitt was always the first to enter a crime scene, stepping into the eerie stillness before anyone else arrived. It was just her and the lifeless body — a stark reminder of a life cut short. The
weight of the moment was never lost on her, yet it was her duty to capture every detail and preserve the raw, unfiltered truth. With each flash of her camera, she etched the grim reality into evidence, ensuring that the story of those final moments would be told — no matter how haunting or harrowing.
The memoir reveals the gendered challenges Hewitt faced in a male-dominated field. Her male colleagues doubted her abilities, and her role demanded emotional detachment from the trauma she witnessed. Yet the psychological toll of seeing such violence — especially against women — was inevitable.
I began reading this book because I was interested in gaining insight into the world of forensic photographers. I didn’t expect it to leave me thinking so deeply about femicide and the realities of violence against women. The impact of this book was profound — it not only shed light on the crucial role of crime scene photography but also forced me to confront brutal truths about gendered violence and society’s silence around it.
The Darkroom: Case Files of a Scotland Yard Forensic Photographer by A.J. Hewitt (Seven Dials, 2024) is available in paperback and as an audiobook.
COLLABORATION exhibition in London
The work of British-Irish photographer Wendy Carrig can be seen as part of a two-person show in London throughout 2025. COLLABORATION is a boutique exhibition of fashion, beauty and travel photography by Carrig and Paul Mitchell , and curated by fashion expert Kim Undy.
Carrig lives and works between London and the Kent Coast. Her narrative-led images often fuse documentary and fashion, still life and portraiture. Included in the exhibition is Carrig’s image Katy, which was chosen by RPS Women in Photography members for WE ARE Magazine’s front cover.
COLLABORATION is at The Style Studios, Peter Jones, Sloane Square, London SW1W 8EL.
Admission is free and booking is recommended via kim.undy@johnlewis.co.uk
Tears, fears, resilience, and the art of daring to dream
The first woman to win the Scottish Portrait Awards shares her photographic journey — from taking chances trackside, to pushing herself to academic success, and using her skills to spread awareness about the mental health crisis.
Photography changed my life. I first picked up a camera when I had just left an abusive marriage and was scared of everything and everyone. Looking back, I was in a permanent state of crisis, but it has taken me 16 years to see that.
Walking the dog with a cameraphone in hand gave me a new pair of eyes. I noticed small details around me, bringing me instant, newfound peace. It was absorbing and took my mind off all my worries, gave me time for myself while caring for three young children, and time to breathe. It became addictive.
A good friend saw my potential and sent £150 in the post asking me to put it towards my first camera. I desperately needed the money for essentials, but her act of kindness and foresight gave me permission to spend it on something I would otherwise have felt guilty about. Vicky will crop up again in this story.
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Hearing motocross bikes at my local track one day in 2016, I went to investigate and was mesmerised watching them jump, the smell of twostroke, the danger. I knew I had to try capturing this; it looked dangerous and difficult. I turned out to be good with a lot of practice and this led to a seasonal nomadic lifestyle in tents and caravans every other weekend, staying in the paddock at race meetings. We had found a new family.
Despite being told by one male photographer I would never get accreditation for the biggest event — the British Superbikes — I made it my mission to prove him and others like him wrong. The next year I found myself trackside, with bikes hurtling towards me at 140 mph and making split-second decisions whether to stay put and get the shot or run from imminent danger.
“The female perspective — I had found my USP.”
Knee Down
Miscalculation
Jack, Bike Racer
Being put down or made to feel incompetent because of my gender became a regular occurrence, so I learnt to use my anger to prove the men wrong, constantly pushing myself to my limits, in turn creating a newfound resilience. I hoped my two daughters were watching and learning. One thing was always in my mind: if something happens to me the kids have no one else.
Later that same year, I saw some boxing photographs online and felt the same rush I’d had when photographing the bikes. The first fight I captured featured the female boxer Chantelle Cameron, who years later became the undisputed World Champion after fighting Katie Taylor. I was
surrounding myself with the best possible mentors and idols.
A lot of hard work, money and travelling later, I found myself often the only female in a maledominated industry, proving we can not only do it just as well but cast a different pair of eyes on a situation. Lacking the hi-tech cameras of my counterparts, I had to always think outside the box to compete. Besides nailing the action in the ring I would turn my camera the other way, seeking out the girlfriends, sisters and mums in the crowd, capturing their anguish, watching their men fight. The female perspective — I had found my USP.
Boxing
Anything is possible
I began to realise I didn’t just want to be known as a sports photographer — I wanted to learn how to shoot studio work — so off I went to night class at Edinburgh College, with a neighbour babysitting, feeling guilty asking for help. Looking back, this guilt motivated me to excel and not settle. I felt I had to prove to my children, to my friend Vicky and to that neighbour that I would excel at photography to justify it all.
The pressure felt huge, but in reality, I was only putting it on myself. A decision had to be made. Did I want to continue being a hobbyist photographer or was I prepared to put everything on the line and try to make a career out of it? It felt audacious to think I would be good enough. There was a constant inner battle of feeling guilty, selfish and exhausted and juggling being a full-time single mum, and I
knew this would involve a lot of compromises and sacrifices for the whole family, but I had to try to make a better life for us all. I did not want to be cleaning toilets for the rest of my life — I had to show my kids anything was possible — so I decided to continue my formal photography education and pursue a degree.
The 5 am alarms, three-hour daily commutes on four hours’ sleep and using part of a brain I was convinced had been extracted with the placenta at childbirth brought lots of tears. The low point was the week before Christmas in the first year with no money left for food. I went to tell my tutor I would have to quit. He knew how much photography meant to me and most importantly believed in my ability. He dragged me down to the finance adviser as I found accepting help unthinkable. Sent on my
Erin, from A Hidden Community
way with emergency funding and supermarket vouchers I stayed on the course; I now had my tutor Raymond to thank and he was added to the list of people I could not let down.
A second low point was catching Covid, leading to Long Covid, which made me fear I might not be able to continue. I made physical and mental readjustments to my life to learn my new limits, especially in light of the brain fog and fatigue. I had given up too much already to quit so that was not an option.
I took inspiration from the professional boxers’ attitude I had witnessed and adopted the tunnel vision required to continue. Edinburgh College was amazing: as well as its extraordinary lecturers, it offered counselling, learning support and additional funding. Without all of this, it would
have been the end of my journey. Back home, two of my children were on CAMHS waiting lists and life had become unthinkably challenging and frightening in equal measure. We have since all come to terms with the autism/ADHD diagnosis which has made a huge difference.
continued overleaf
Georgia, from A Hidden Community
Giving back
Later in the degree, you can choose your own projects. It would have been easy to choose sport assignments, but I saw no point in going to college to stay in my comfort zone. I wanted to become skilled at genres I didn’t understand such as documentary and portrait photography. After learning to use the studio I needed a new challenge: how to make beautiful work using only natural light, inspired by photographers such as Simon Murphy, Margaret Mitchell and David Eustace
Four years in, I gained a BA in Professional Photography with a distinction. The opportunity to stay on and complete a BA with Honours arose and as I was suffering with Long Covid this seemed a sensible use of my time as full-time work was out of the question. However, another year of studying and debt required a first-class grade — nothing less would be good enough for me.
During the Honours course, I chose to focus on mental health for my “photography in context” assignment. Four generations of my family have been affected by mental health issues, and our recent experience had taught me that the UK was in crisis. This meant making myself vulnerable by taking on a subject close to home, but if I was to
ask others to open up the least I could do was meet them halfway. I also knew this was a project I wanted to continue after graduation. If I could use photography to raise awareness, this would be my next mission, my way of giving back.
A Hidden Community was made. I interviewed people who would share their mental health stories with a portrait taken in their happy place. The aim was to show the depth and breadth of mental health issues, and how no one is immune. All of the courageous people who shared their stories are encouraging others to step forward, and building a community where judgement doesn’t exist, only support, compassion and empathy.
This series of pictures began to win awards and consequently garnered press attention, gaining the reach I had hoped for at its inception. Then, the most incredible thing happened: my image of Vicky’s son John won Scottish Portrait of the Year. I made history as the first woman and the first digital image to win the award. The judges were my idols and heroes Simon Murphy and Margaret Mitchell. Their work had been a constant source of inspiration throughout my transition from a sports photographer to a portrait and documentary photographer.
“If I was to ask others to open up the least I could do was meet them halfway... The aim was to show the depth and breadth of mental health issues, and how no one is immune.”
ABOVE LEFT to RIGHT Emma, Elaine, Jeff from A Hidden Community
Life had come full circle; the jigsaw was complete. This was the biggest thing to happen to me and I could not see how it could be topped. New goals had to be set. Did I dare to dream I deserved more good fortune and could make the project into an exhibition, maybe even a book? Last night I put a Post-it note next to my bed with “A Hidden Community” and “Saatchi Gallery” written on it. Manifestation has been an important tool I have learned over the years. My next dream is to have a solo exhibition to encourage as many people as possible to read the incredible stories of those who have stepped forward and been brave
enough to share their experiences in the hope they will help others.
I share my own story in the hope that if there is one single mum out there who has a dream, please take the terrifying leap, the rest will work itself out one step at a time. Be prepared to dig deeper than you thought possible, and your dreams can come true. Embrace the fear and you will become a warrior woman free from the shackles of your previous mindset after your tears have dried. Shoot what you know and what terrifies you. If you have no self-belief it will come — one step at a time. It is a beautiful journey, and you will make friends who become new family.
Nathan, from A Hidden Community
About Jennifer Charlton
Jennifer Charlton is a portrait and documentary photographer living in the Scottish Borders. She graduated from Robert Gordon University/Edinburgh College with a BA in Professional Photography in 2023 and was awarded a first-class honours degree through Kingston University and Edinburgh College in 2024.
She made history in September 2024 by becoming the first female and first digital photographer to win the Scottish Portrait Award (Colour) with a portrait from her mental health series A Hidden Community. This ongoing personal project was also a finalist in the AOP student awards and runner-up at the Photo North Student Photography competition.
The most recent recognition came from Edinburgh College when the single mother of three was presented with an “Outstanding Achievement in Photography” award at her graduation. Jennifer is currently photographer-in-residence at The Maltings Theatre, Berwick-upon-Tweed, where she is making a historical document before the building undergoes a two-year refurbishment.
A moment of serendipity leads the photographer to an ambitious project recognising the work of charity staff, healthcare professionals and other caregivers — and raising much-needed funds along the way.
by Honey J. Walker
Why Are We Both Invisible?
One never knows when something seemingly inconsequential can be a pivotal moment in one’s life. Four years ago I was sitting in my car with BBC Radio 5 Live on, listening to a segment with Naga Munchetty about a small charity called the Marylebone Project for women facing homelessness. My husband and I were in the process of selling our family business and had decided to give some of the proceeds to a charity. My husband wanted to focus on homelessness and I wanted to focus on women in crisis. We both agreed it needed to be a charity where we could see a direct impact. Call it serendipity, but that interview changed my life.
Today I am the ambassador for the Marylebone Project — a role I am immensely honoured to hold. The charity provides life-changing services for women facing homelessness and/or extreme crisis. It is the largest and longest-running centre of its kind in the UK. The centre has 112 beds on
the Marylebone Road in London. The charity also operates the Sanctuary — the only 24/7, 365-day-ayear drop-in centre for women in the UK. My role is to raise awareness of the charity and its work and to raise funds and services. We need to raise £1.3 million each year just to keep the Sanctuary doors open.
All charities operate in a very overcrowded space. The ability to stand out and gain recognition and donations is increasingly difficult. Additionally, the public is much more receptive and empathetic to situations they have experienced or feel they might experience. Women and homelessness, domestic violence, abuse and trafficking are not on most people’s radar.
Yet abuse and violence against women has risen by 37% in the past five years in England and Wales — and that is only what is reported. London has become one of the primary centres for trafficking, especially of women, who invariably end up being prostituted.
Cover for Charity Brochure
Lightbulb moment
My first task within the charity was to redo their corporate sponsorship brochure. I had never designed a brochure for a charity, but I knew the importance of immediate impact and creatively standing out in a crowded market. It was a steep learning curve. I approached it by spending three days at the charity, meeting and listening to some of the residents. Their stories were truly harrowing but the shining light was the strength, safety and dignity that living at the charity had given them. After the new brochure was completed, the first corporate recipient doubled their original pledge.
Fast forward to Christmas 2023 and the charity’s staff party. I made a speech to the staff about how important they were and the work they were doing. In essence, they were all angels.
Several of the staff approached me afterwards to say how their roles had never been spoken about in those terms before and how it had made them feel very proud. It was a lightbulb moment.
I decided to pitch a photographic project to the charity, which required taking the staff out onto the
streets, wearing enormous angel wings, which I just happened to already own.
There were several goals: To recognise the staff and shine a light on all the caregivers in society, who are largely underappreciated and go unnoticed; to elevate awareness about the work of the Marylebone Project; and to raise much-needed funds for the charity.
I now realise the easy part was coming up with the concept!
There were several challenges. Firstly, the charity had to sign off on the idea. Next, I needed to find a central London gallery that would host the images for free! Unbelievably, Yield Gallery in Eastcastle Street, W1, embraced the idea and refused to take any commission. They gave me the most incredible space for 10 days at the end of November 2024 — perfect timing for an angel-themed event.
Yield Gallery normally sells everything from Banksy to Richard Hambleton so I felt suitably in awe and frankly terrified. I now had the responsibility of not only representing the charity and its staff in a good light but also creating images that were worthy of such a prestigious gallery.
A departure
My normal photographic and creative practice is very different from what I envisaged for this project. I create using multiple exposure, a bit of intentional camera movement, mixed media, gold leaf, collage — whatever interests me at the time. I always say my images find me — my subconscious finding oxygen. There is no conscious planning, I simply play. Colour is an integral part of my images. However much I restrict my palette, colours explode out all over the place.
Are You Next To An Angel? would be completely different, involving many restrictions:
▪ Shooting in black and white.
▪ Street photography.
▪ Working with inexperienced, self-conscious models.
▪ Unpredictable public reaction.
▪ Bad weather — it rained a lot!
▪ Dodging security — it is difficult to photograph anywhere with giant angel wings and not get picked up on camera.
▪ Very limited shooting time as each model was given just one hour of paid time off work, including travel to locations.
▪ The models had to wear giant wings and look totally comfortable in them.
Locations were a mixture of iconic places in London given that the charity is based there, and quieter, everyday situations we can all connect to. Most importantly, each image had to tell a strong story in its own right without duplication. Managing my angels depended on how at ease the individual was wearing the wings in public. It took about 10 minutes to explain how I needed the angel to move and have a couple of practice runs with wingflapping and walking speed. It was normally in the
If You Go Down To The Beach Today
last few minutes of the shoot that everyone relaxed and the magic happened.
I shot the whole project with my trusty Canon R5 and a 24-105 mm Canon lens. I hate using Photoshop, so any editing I do is in Procreate which feels more intuitive. As much as possible I like to capture everything in camera.
The project took nine months to shoot but from day one, it became apparent that the public were blind to the angels in their midst. Almost without exception, people did not notice the angel beside them on the tube, or in a cafe. As the photographer I was further back from my subject so I could see people’s eye line. Literally nobody noticed.
At a time when we are more digitally connected globally through our devices, we are also more polarised and more isolated from each other. By constantly looking down at a screen we are becoming more insular and self-absorbed.
continued overleaf
She’s Behind You
Guardian Angel
Fight for your work
Early on I decided that I needed a second pair of eyes — someone with a wealth of black and white, documentary experience. I am a huge fan of Paul Sanders, former picture editor for The Times. I had met Paul in a Zoom workshop during Covid. He has a very insightful eye and understands the power of storytelling; he appeared to be perfect for the task.
Paul’s input was invaluable. He made me raise my game. When you greatly admire someone, you strive to produce work worthy of their time. Just the pressure of knowing I had to show a body of work to Paul made me properly assess the images. I would do an initial, drastic cull, after which I would present to Paul. My instincts were good and we mostly agreed on the next round of edits. There was one image that we disagreed on, that I felt very
strongly about. It is essential to fight for your own work and be open to constructive criticism at the same time. Ultimately art is always subjective, but I was very connected to that particular image and I knew it worked.
The images had to work both as a cohesive project and individually. The amount of wall space, size of framed prints, and pricing all had to be carefully considered. I self-funded the printing and framing to raise the maximum amount for the charity. One hundred percent of the sales price went directly to the charity. There was also the PR, social media, opening party and invitation list to decide on. The social media and PR aspects were excruciating, but it’s pointless having an exhibition that no one knows about or visits!
“Almost without exception, people did not notice the angel beside them on the tube, or in a cafe.”
Rush Hour
Hiding In Plain Sight
A Cup Of Tea & Two Sugars
Full circle
I had set myself a target of raising £12,000 as this was the cost of printing and framing the images, hosting the party and so on. Any less than that and I might as well have written a cheque to the charity a year before and sat on a beach. In fact, we raised £43,500 with additional promises of services and potential grant funding.
Hopefully, this figure will continue to grow as I am still receiving inquiries and further interest is being generated by media and the possibility of a book. Particularly in the case of charities, unexpected rewards come further down the line, such as donations or acquisitions made through charitable trusts. About 80% of the images sold during the exhibition — some many times over as limited edition prints. The star of the show was the only colour image I made, and I printed it very large. It was purposely the final image in the exhibition as its message was very powerful: “The idea is not to live forever. It is to create something that will.” That single sentence summed up the entire exhibition and the work of the charity.
I was interviewed on 5 Live by Naga Munchetty, which allowed me to thank her for being a catalyst in my journey and felt like coming full circle. This radio interview has also brought new sponsors to the charity and has further promoted knowledge of its services and the help it so badly requires. I always say: “You drop a pebble and you never know where the rings will reach.”
I have been supported in this endeavour by incredible friends and wonderful companies offering to discount their services or provide them for free. Along the way, I have met some truly generous angels. The experience has been a complete privilege.
Angels Walking
Become Immortal
Are You Next To An Angel? prints can be purchased by contacting Honey J. Walker through her website: www.honeyjwalker.com
Donations to the Marylebone Project may be made through its website: www.maryleboneproject.org.uk
About Honey J. Walker
An award-winning photographer based in London, Honey J. Walker first had successful careers in fashion and interior design.
Walker’s interest in photography started with candid portraiture of a deeply personal nature. She was always interested in the human inside the shell, and the story that was not immediately obvious to the casual observer.
Her images have become increasingly multi-layered both in camera and as part of a mixed media process. She is always experimenting and pushing her learning and creativity through experimentation.
She writes: “Within my photographs, there exists a converging of two scales: the physical world, things in themselves as they are; and the interior world, lying hidden in all things. A synchronism of the internal and the everyday.
“My interior world is expressed externally through my lens, the layering of images that find me, that reveal themselves as I work. My subconscious finding oxygen.”
Walker has been exhibited internationally and her limited edition prints are held in private collections. www.honeyjwalker.com ▪ www.instagram.com/honeyjwalkerphotography
A Cévenol garden in 72 micro-seasons
An intimate portrayal of nature, its cycles, and the delicate balance between all of its elements in Southern France –rooted in the principles of an ancient Japanese calendar.
by Louise Sayers
Bush warblers start singing in the mountains
(Ko micro-season, February 9-13)
Rotten grass becomes fireflies
(Ko micro-season, June 11-15)
These lyrical lines are from an ancient seasonal calendar, used in Japan for over a thousand years. First adopted in the sixth century from Chinese sources, this almanac was later rewritten to define minute changes in nature, a more precise version specific to its neighbouring country. In this calendar the year is split into four seasons known as “Shiki” – based on the same seasons we are familiar with today – and then subdivided into 24 “Sekki” points, beginning in early February. The latter are based on the moon’s orbits and other natural phenomena such as the solstice and the vernal equinoxes. Finally, each Sekki is further broken down into three periods, resulting in a total of 72 “Ko” or micro-seasons within each year, lasting around five days each.
When I first came across this traditional calendar I was struck by how an age-old approach could seem so relevant and modern, relaying a sense of ongoing cycles and alive to the ebbs and flows of nature. As our lives become more and more filled with digital sensory overload, slowing down and savouring these tiny transformations in nature seems ever more vital. Similarly, with 2024 being the hottest year on record, noting how small shifts in weather patterns can affect a whole ecosystem seemed like a timely reminder of how climate change can affect the balance of nature. On a more personal level, I wanted to find moments of calm, to be grounded in the present and to fill my year with my own observations of “golden orioles performing” and “high grasses swaying in warm winds.”
The Cévennes national park lies at the south-east tip of the Massif Central in Southern France, a region known for its resilience and insular wilderness. It is a place of deep valleys studded with tough silver holm oaks, hardy heather and craggy low mountains. No major roads or rail links keep it sparsely populated by humans and with a diverse array of flora and fauna – vast plateaus or “causses” full of wild orchids and butterflies are home to endangered eagles and vultures. Its uncompromising granite outcrops, remote waterfalls, serpentine rushing rivers and hushed chestnut forests harbour histories of subterfuge and secrets.
After a decade living in Kenya and a short period in the UK, I moved to the Cévennes hoping to find a place reminiscent of the open spaces of East Africa, where I could see the horizon and feel connected to nature. The Cévennes has since
given me this and more, becoming my home during the past 15 years.
In 2024 I signed up for a photographic group mentoring course with Charlotte Bellamy in which we were encouraged to find a project to follow throughout the year. I knew mine would feature the unique ecosystem of the Cévennes, but it was the discovery of the Japanese micro-seasons that gave me the structure and sense of purpose that I had been searching for. The concept of photographing and captioning the micro-seasons in my Cévenol garden and the surrounding hills was irresistible – a whole year of intense observation and possibility. Furthermore, trying to adapt such a complex framework provided an immediate level of continuity and cohesiveness to the ongoing project, paradoxically giving me the creative freedom to experiment with different photographic techniques.
Winter
The winds from the mountain blow cold but the light has a spring in its step. There is a hesitant haze of leaf and bud across the valley. Change is afoot – the cool air laced with the honeyed scent of heather, soft white flowers punctuate the bleak undertones. There are small stirrings in the garden, a frond unfurls and flexes its newfound energy.
gives way Sekki season
Catkins dance in high winds (February 4-8) Ko micr0-season
“It was the discovery of the Japanese microseasons that gave me the structure and sense of purpose that I had been searching for.”
continued overleaf
Rain turns to sleet and golden catkins dance to the lively tune of the north wind. Winking bioluminescence sparking against leaden skies.
Fog fills the valley (February 9-13)
Ko micro-season
After a night of rain I wake to find I am marooned on a tiny island, surrounded by a sea of feathery whiteness. A feeling of timelessness descends, of protected isolation with no interruptions, something to be welcomed rather than endured.
Nurturing the process
I wanted the 24 Sekki, the foundation of the micro-seasons, to be visually distinct so I chose early on to portray them in black and white. Shooting seasonal change this way creates its own challenges, forcing me to take a more nuanced approach as I am unable to rely on the more obvious changes in seasonal colour. When using my camera in black and white mode I always find it thrilling to look through the viewfinder and see a well-known landscape stripped of colour. Like the bare garden in winter, the eye more readily picks out textures, shapes and structures. The interplay of light and dark, as well as small shifts in tones, are more apparent. Sometimes I use in-camera multiple exposure to realise another dimension – not just a hill’s silhouette, but nature’s various layers including
the whisper of a leaf, grass, or even flowers. For the Ko micro-seasons, I try to find a balance between details and the larger canvas of trees and skies, hills and valleys. Using a macro lens allows me to capture more intimate, calming moments of careful observation – such as new buds appearing, or a curious skew of a withered petal. Other times I use intentional camera movement, or ICM, to mimic the rhythms and sway of grass and flowers. Nothing is static in the garden, and my movement becomes an expression of this fluidity. Responding to the moment or a particular mood using a variety of creative techniques is a freeing, dynamic way of shooting juxtaposed with the rigid framework that I am operating in. It is also a way of keeping the creative spark alive.
Hellebores quietly flower (February 14-18) Ko micro-season
There are spring gifts to be found. Nestled between rocks and piles of leaves, impervious to cold winds and frosty murmurings, clumps of hellebores are scattered through the garden. The delicate flowers appear above leathery leaves, in a medley of colours –husky violets and pistachio greens with mauve speckles like bewitched wrens’ eggs.
Lesser cold Sekki season
The temperatures flip-flop; today is chilly and overcast but yesterday I watched bees in the sunshine, greedily collecting nectar from the first of the crocus flowers. I try not to be impatient but instead focus on small new beginnings as winter dormancy slowly slides away.
My Cévenol garden
To keep up with the micro-seasons I have adopted an almost daily practice of spending time in my garden. It is a deeply personal place that has slowly grown over the years and melds into the surrounding hills – loved by insects and fungi, wildflowers and weeds. All are welcome. Spending so much time in this familiar space has resulted in my observation skills becoming fine-tuned. When spotting wildlife on safari in Kenya my eye became trained in looking for changes in shapes or shadows. Similarly, I have become sensitive to small shifts in light, like a new spark of white flowering gorse or a slight shimmer of new green shoots.
As a result, my year becomes one of firsts – the first bud on the apricot tree, the first nightingale
to sing, the first hellebore, lilac, wisteria flower. The project takes on its own routine and pace, reflecting the rhythms of the micro-seasons. A mindful practice which brings connection to my surroundings and allows me to focus on the present, providing a deep sense of fulfilment.
That is not to say that embarking on a long-term project has been without its challenges. Some days expectation weighs heavy and the familiarity with my surroundings can dull my creativity. However, I have learnt that there are ways of keeping my project fresh. When I feel less inspired I allow myself time to sit in the garden or on the hill, with no expectation of taking a photograph. Invariably there will be something that catches my eye – a “gendarme” sun seeker insect
Asouth wind blows off the mountain (February 19-23) Ko micro-season
The wind fights back. It toys with the treetops, breaking buds, making new leaves tremble, whistling raucously between the branches. The weighty flowers of the euphorbia sway manically, caught up in its whirling, swirling eddies like giant corals in chilly ocean blues.
feeding on a hollyhock, the Ampelodesmos grass catching the breeze – and before I know it the familiar itch to capture that moment takes hold. Even on days when the fog closes in, both figuratively and literally, getting outside clears the mind and allows space for a new perspective, a change of view.
The practical aspect of following a project so close to home is a huge advantage and should not be underestimated. Being able to wander in the garden at any time – early morning often finds me in a coat over pyjamas – means I have more opportunity to capture fleeting shifts in light, or the moment a storm comes rolling in. Not having to get in a car is a great motivator for venturing outside and being camera-ready.
The seasons ahead
Finding a community of like-minded and supportive photographers has also been hugely beneficial, and having a degree of accountability and deadlines is something I really respond to. Additionally, learning about other approaches to workflow and gaining insight into fellow photographers’ creative and diverse projects is hugely inspiring. In 2025 I continue my project but have also enrolled in a number of photographic courses to expand my learning and hone techniques. Last year I joined the Royal Photographic Society and I am now working towards ARPS qualification centred on my Sekki set of black and white photographs. Continued experimentation in technique behind the camera, as well as in
Forest awakenings (February 24-28) Ko micro-season
Remnants of mist hang in the forest, the silence is palpable. Above the treetops the sun appears from behind the clouds. Shafts of light break through the gloom. A thrush bird, somewhere high up, sensing the change, sings away the last of the darkness. A deep, meditative breath slowly dissipates along with the shadows between the trees.
post-processing and developing my own creative expression and confidence in my photography, are all key to reaching my end goal of completing the project and illustrating all 72 micro-seasons.
Ultimately, observing, noting, tracking and photographing the continuous changes in my Cévenol garden has made me even more curious about this wonderful, complex and diverse ecosystem. The more I observe and discover its metamorphoses and symbiotic elements, the more questions I have. Where do the carpenter bees go
after feeding on the wisteria flowers? What is the name of the butterfly with transparent wings that I see on my walks? Am I tracking the dragonfly or is it tracking me? Suddenly 72 micro-seasons feel restrictive. What happens next year if it becomes hotter and drier than ever before? Perhaps plotting the micro-seasons will become a lifelong project. After all, nature adapts and continues, an ongoing harmony of cycles and biorhythms, seemingly without end and which, especially in darker moments, I am endlessly grateful for.
First
muscari emerge (March 1-5) Ko micro-season
From the cold, stony earth, gifts of miniature flowers are offered. Clusters of bell-shaped petals, bright cerulean blue, edged with white scalloped petticoats. Their small stature belies their resilience, staying underground to survive the winter wet and frosts, until the sun draws them upwards. Soul-lifting blues banishing the winter doldrums.
About Louise Sayers
After completing a degree in education at Brunel University, Louise was able to realise her lifelong dream of travelling by accepting a teaching post in Kenya’s Rift Valley. It was there she later found a change in career, becoming one of the first female guides to qualify with Kenya’s Professional Safari Guides Association (KPSGA). After leaving Africa, and a brief return to the UK, Louise moved to the Cévennes in Southern France – its rugged landscapes and remoteness fulfilling her desire to once again be immersed in nature.
Photography and writing have always been Louise’s creative outlet, her camera a trusted companion throughout her travels. Continually curious and inspired by nature, she strives to explore and learn more about the landscapes, flora, and fauna she photographs. Louise also enjoys still life photography and uses seasonal botanicals to expand her creative approach and portray the poetry and drama she experiences in nature.
www.fig-tart.com ▪ www.instagram.com/fig_tart
Zooming in on the unsung
To coincide with the fifth anniversary of the Covid-19 pandemic, a portrait photographer reflects on how she used remote photography during this time to capture global images of less visible people and tell their stories.
by Fran Monks
In March 2020 Covid-19 cases were rising, and we were being asked to stay at home as much as possible. As a portrait photographer, most of my commissioned work was being postponed, and the three exhibitions I had on show in Oxford were, one by one, being closed to the public. I was in the middle of a project asking people who disagreed about a political issue to hug for a portrait when suddenly I found myself in a world where people could not hug their friends, let alone their enemies.
Luckily, I remembered one of the project ideas lurking in my “someday” spreadsheet. I had long thought that it would be interesting to try photographing people far away via Skype. As people
started social distancing around the world and using video calls as their main form of communication, I realised I had the perfect opportunity to experiment with remote portraiture.
In normal times, my portraits aim to celebrate the under-celebrated. I want to make images of people telling their untold stories. At the start of the pandemic, there were loud accolades for the key workers who were getting us through the immediate crisis. Those isolating at home were less visible, but also playing a valuable part in managing the pandemic. I wanted to document some of their stories at this extraordinary time and decided that a Zoom portrait series could be the way.
I do not have to share so much of my process with the sitter but now I had to collaborate with the subject.”
Abi was one of the first people I photographed via Zoom in March 2020.
I photographed Simmi and Vedant as part of a research project for Huddersfield University into homeschooling during the pandemic.
I started by asking a good friend of mine who is on immunosuppressants and was early to selfisolate at home. She happily agreed to take part. Later, I put out a call on Twitter and Instagram and gathered volunteers from around the world: there was a friend’s 81-year-old mum who was living alone in Edinburgh and didn’t know how to use FaceTime until I talked her through it; people in Spain and Italy who were ahead of us on the pandemic curve; even a woman in Australia who had been bed-bound for 20 years and was enjoying the fact that so much activity had moved online during the global lockdown. The volunteers kept coming.
Despite the constraints, I enjoyed this new way of working. I’m used to meeting people who I don’t know and trying to put them at ease to create a
portrait. Normally, I do not have to share so much of my process with the sitter but now I had to collaborate with the subject. First, I asked them to show me around their spaces. Then, I would make a quick assessment of the light, and ask them to place their camera device in a location that gave me a view that I was happy with.
Light is something that every photographer needs to think about, but this approach introduced new technical challenges — bandwidth, hardware and webcams all affected the final image resolution and quality. At first, I made close-up portraits, but then I decided that the images were more interesting with more of the environment included. Using this strategy, the portraits looked different from the mugshots that were becoming so familiar from daily Zoom meetings.
Anupam lives in Washington DC and was struck by how depressing it feels to have been a very active, 60-something-year-old, and then find yourself considered “vulnerable”.
Sally is an author who lived on a canal boat throughout the pandemic.
Ricky has been house-bound for 20 years and lives in Australia. Being able to photograph her via Zoom made me realise the power of remote photography to tell otherwise hidden stories.
Connie was a participant in the Pfizer vaccine trial.
Once the image was framed, people were often surprised when I got out my Leica Q camera to photograph the screen. Other photographers working remotely were taking screenshots to capture the image, or using web platforms which allowed them to control mobile phone cameras from afar. However, I liked the artefacts that I got as a result of using my camera and a screen. Even though these portraits were made using digital layer upon digital layer, I love the fact that the black
border of the computer screen looks like the black border of an analogue negative.
After getting media coverage on the BBC and PBS Newshour, I was lucky enough to get some commissions which enabled me to continue the series. I worked with the University of Huddersfield photographing mothers of school-age children in the UK to explore the lockdown’s impact on gender inequality. I also photographed people around Europe for Are We Europe Magazine and people
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Annela is a climate change negotiator for Estonia.
with macular degeneration for a specialist magazine. Undark Magazine asked me to photograph climate scientists who had been ousted from the federal government by the Trump administration. As the pandemic wore on, I wanted to photograph some people who were participating in the vaccine trials. They were largely invisible, yet their contribution to getting the world out of the pandemic was huge. Again, I used social media to recruit subjects. Privacy rules mean that
people on medical trials are rarely exposed to the limelight, so it was fascinating to learn about people’s motivations for taking the vaccines early. They were ordinary people driven by a desire to do their bit to help save lives and, for most, it was the first time they had taken part in a medical trial. Many of the trial participants were also happy to receive a little bit of recognition in the form of a portrait for their role in bringing an end to repeated lockdowns.
Kunzang is a climate change negotiator for Bhutan.
By 2021, life and work were starting to get back to normal, but I wanted to make one final series of Zoom portraits. I had long wanted to photograph the people involved in climate change negotiations worldwide. They are another example of people doing important work who are largely invisible. Given the subject matter, I didn’t want to fly around the world to tell their stories. While negotiations were mostly happening online because of Covid, I realised that remote photography was a way to capture these people.
With the help of an organisation called Oxford Climate Policy , I met a network of international negotiators. It was wonderful to hear about their different experiences and this series, The Climate
Change Negotiators, was later exhibited as part of Photo Oxford, as well as at an international climate conference.
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I’ve continued to make occasional online portraits since the pandemic, but it feels like this time has passed. I am happy to be meeting people in person again and be more in control of my equipment and the light. However, I loved this way of working through the pandemic. The next time the world turns upside down, remember that it is worth looking up the “someday” ideas buried on your hard drive.
Marcy is a climate scientist in the US who I photographed for Undark Magazine via Zoom.
About Fran Monks
Fran Monks is a British portrait photographer. She is best known for celebrating the under-celebrated through her painterly portraits of individuals who are shaping our world. Her website How To Make A Difference features her interviews and portraits of remarkable people, dating back to 2004. She has been widely published in national and international magazines and newspapers.
Monks’ work has been acquired by the Science Museum (London), the National Portrait Gallery (London), the Thackray Museum of Medicine (Leeds), and the Bodleian Library (Oxford). She has exhibited in the Oxford History of Science Museum and the Ashmolean Museum, and her portraits are on long-term display in several Oxford colleges and the Examination Schools; Lancing College, West Sussex; and Selwyn College, Cambridge.
Monks trained as a photographer at the Corcoran School of Art and the Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC, and at Central St Martin’s School of Art in London. www.franmonks.com ▪ www.instagram.com/franmonks
Signs of life
An intimate exploration of the emotional journey of IVF, in which the artist seeks a new language for her profound and sometimes isolating experiences on the path to motherhood.
as if I hadn’t actually noticed I’m a woman , or known what being a woman is , until I tried to get pregnant
Into being weaves together the threads of my IVF journey and nascent motherhood. Abstract black and white photographs, made on walks near my home in London, are combined with text fragments from my diary. It's an exploration of the hard-to-discern emotions I experienced — the mental grind of not being in control of your life for years at a time, numbing grief, and the feeling of being displaced from myself. Yet it’s also about the mind-boggling wonder of eventually becoming pregnant and moving towards becoming a mother. This series reflects some of my most private emotions. Sharing it makes me feel vulnerable. But I decided to put it out into the world because I believe we need a more varied visual and textual vocabulary to describe experiences that for a long time made me mute. The experience of IVF is hard to convey. It’s important to use non-documentary approaches to tell its story. By opening up, I have in turn been trusted with other people’s experiences;
I’ve shared moments of connection with friends and strangers alike.
The full series has 15 elements – photographs, text fragments and some pairings. I shot all of the images in my local park. Walking and photographing put me into a meditative state. The photos came about intuitively. Reviewing what I’d captured, I began to see my feelings reflected back and I’ve trusted what emerged. Someone asked me where the rage is in this project. It’s an interesting question because at times I was full of rage, but it seems to have remained buried.
This was my first time working in black and white. The impulse was a subconscious reference to ultrasounds and the dark, grainy images you peer into onscreen, or take home printed on thin slips of paper. During IVF you have a lot of scans! When you finally have an embryo transfer the sonographer shows you a tiny dot in your womb that wasn’t there moments before… Life. It’s extraordinary.
engulfed in a whole-body calm when they put the embryo in , like the flood of a drug , the tranquil few seconds before the high
there is pale pink blood where I’ve been lying , something living has been removed
a tiny speck , a star a heart beating in the dark , in the black
those that bear witness to my pregnancy are helping to bring me into being a light – growing brighter
splintered .
I feel mad .
I feel crazy unwinding slowly , trying to keep myself together
Marrying words and pictures
Working with text and imagery is an important focus of my emerging creative practice, but it can be formally challenging – how to combine the two elements? When this work was first exhibited in 2024 as part of a group show in London, I worked on a presentation suitable for the wall. I wanted the images and text to have equal importance. The photograph was situated at the top of the frame with the words underneath. The works were then exhibited one after the other on one horizontal line, creating a steady pace between them. The intention was to slow down the encounter. I took inspiration
from poetry books and the turn of a page. One visitor asked me if I would perform the work. This gave me the idea that Into being could also be spoken aloud.
I have also considered the visual treatment of the writing. My favourite detail is the comma, which has been accentuated. It breathes a little in extra space. At one point in pregnancy, the embryo is said to be the same size as a full stop or a comma. It’s a subtle reference, floating throughout the series.
I’m thinking about a book version of Into being Inspired by the arrival of my magical daughter last April, I have also been considering a sequel.
now we’re two bodies in one ,
you growing , reaching , me stretching , remoulding
if I have a soul , I think it might have split
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filled with love when we saw your heart beating also love for my body what a deep knowing of myself that I’d forgotten , perhaps have never known
About Louise Yeowart
Louise Yeowart is a London-based photographer and writer. Influenced by her personal experiences of fertility treatment, pregnancy and motherhood, her developing creative practice considers under-reported topics relating to women’s health. Into being is Louise’s first body of work. In 2024 it was shown in Change Horses Midstream, a group exhibition of female photographers at Hypha Studios in London. Louise also works on portrait commissions, which have included the artists Francis Alÿs and Olafur Eliasson.
Louise completed the London Institute of Photography’s Professional Photography Course in 2022 and participated in Siân Davey’s The Creative Body Process workshop in 2023. She also holds a BA in English Literature from Oxford University. Before starting her journey in photography, Louise worked for over a decade in communications in the art sector.
The Roma community faces many hardships in desolate settlements in Slovakia. Over two years, this documentary maker turned photographer got to spend time with some of those living there, and was especially struck by the situation of women and girls.
Romani people, colloquially known as Roma, have lived in Europe for more than 700 years and are now the continent’s largest ethnic minority.
The Roma Princesses is my first-ever photo project. I love telling stories and it’s important to me to use my work to speak for people who don’t have a voice. This also applies in my main job as a filmmaker, but it takes a lot of effort. I need a film crew, a production company and a TV channel or cinema to help me make and show my work. Projects often drag on indefinitely. Photography, on the other hand, allows me to carry out projects by myself, get even closer to people and continue working on the projects as often as I want. Since I realised this, I have loved photography. It has given me a way to use my voice to enable others to speak.
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My most recent documentary film was about the situation of refugees at the EU border between Bosnia and Croatia. There, I got to know the photographer Kristof Huf , with whom I often visited refugees in Bosnia. Then, in January 2022, we began visiting Roma settlements in the east of Slovakia. Kristof had been there several times and knew many Roma. I was shocked by the poverty and desolation but simultaneously fascinated by their will to live and survive. I was transfixed by their
Life is particularly difficult for girls and young women in the settlements. Nevertheless, they manage to look pretty and well-groomed and treat any accessories like little treasures.
happiness, exuberance and authenticity. I knew I wanted to visit the Roma more often and better understand their way of life.
Around 450,000 Roma live in Slovakia. Roma make up just under 10 percent of the population and are the largest minority in the country. Belonging to the Roma community in Slovakia — as in many other countries — is tantamount to being excluded from society. In some southeastern European countries, Roma have often been subjected to open persecution in recent years. For example, during the Kosovo war, entire settlements were looted and burned down and the residents were driven out. Most Roma were also expelled from Bosnia in the course of widespread “ethnic cleansing”.
In Slovakia, there are about 800 Roma settlements, but their living conditions are very poor. Most of the Roma live in very small houses or apartments without a sewage system, showers or toilets — inhumane conditions. The resulting hopelessness has already led many young people to become addicted to alcohol or drugs. On average, Roma die 10 years younger than others living in Slovakia. In recent years, the Slovak government has invested tens of millions in funding for Roma under pressure from the EU, but improvements are slow to appear.
In Trebišov, most of the homes have no sewage system, no showers and no toilets.
Daily surprises
When visiting the communities, the idea was for Kristof to take photographs and for me to write about their situations and carry out interviews. But once in the settlements, we were treated not like journalists, but like friends, sometimes even family. The Roma let us experience their everyday life. There was no need to write anything down as the pictures spoke for themselves.
Together we visited the Roma a total of four times for a week each time. Every day we visited different settlements. Sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in the late afternoon. We had coffee, danced, laughed and cried with them. And finally, Kristof and I both took photos. The situations spoke for themselves; people’s looks and gestures were information enough.
I read lots of books about the Roma and with every visit, I learned more about their situation. As a woman, I was particularly able to empathise more
with the girls and women in the settlements. They often take responsibility for their younger siblings while still children themselves, they don’t always finish school, they commit to a partner at an early age, becoming completely dependent on the man with their first pregnancy.
In some unfortunate cases, I saw little girls prostituting themselves to support their parents or starting to sniff glue like the boys. But on every visit, the girls and young women always wanted to talk to me — they took my hand, posed and wanted me to photograph them. I started to print out the pictures for them and brought them with me; they were often the first photos they ever had of themselves. The next time even more girls came up to me wanting to be photographed. For me, they were the little rays of sunshine — the little princesses — in the otherwise desolate settlements. This is where the project The Roma Princesses came from.
“I started to print out the pictures for them and brought them with me; they were often the first photos they ever had of themselves.”
The children in the settlements often just speak Romani — the language of the Roma — with their parents at home. They have limited opportunities to learn the language of the country they live in.
Kveta lives with her family in the settlement of Sečovce. I met her in January 2023. She speaks English and patiently answered my questions about the Roma communities.
The Roma surprised me every day. Again and again. Something unexpected always happened. We couldn’t plan anything. Life just happened and we were in the middle of it. “Kristof and Manuela” would call them when we arrived at a settlement and everyone came out of their houses. More than once a large crowd accompanied us throughout the visit. The little girls would fight over who got to hold my hand. It was often difficult or even impossible to be alone with one person — just as it is difficult for the Roma themselves to find peace and be alone in the settlements. The visits were sad, funny, scary, exciting and exhausting. All at once. And yet I enjoyed them every time.
One woman, Kveta, has become very special
to me. In her early thirties, she lives with her three children and her partner in one of the better homes. Her apartment is always warm, clean and tidy, and they even have a toilet. She is energetic, funny and reliable.
Kveta is the first Roma with whom I developed a friendship. She speaks some English, and thanks to her, I understood something for the first time. During my visits, she said things that are still important to me today and that I have tried to integrate into my life. “No worries, everybody dies!” — live and let live, just accept things, even if you don’t understand them. This is what I learned from Kveta. I’m already looking forward to the next visit in 2025, which will probably be full of emotions and surprises.
Belonging to the Roma community in Slovakia as in many other countries is tantamount to exclusion from society.
Trebišov is one of the largest Roma ghettos in Slovakia. Around 7,000 people live here in precarious conditions in cobbled-together barracks or run-down tenements.
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Originally built for about 2,000 residents, Luník IX now houses more than 6,000 people. Pope Francis visited the settlement in 2021.
Holding up a mirror
I see myself as both a journalist and an activist. It is important to me to point out injustices and hold up a mirror to our society. Everyone can change something and achieve something and I try to do my part through my work and personal commitment.
I received a lot of positive feedback from those around me. We were even able to raise money for the Roma and bring them several boxes full of chocolate Santa Clauses as well as clothes and shoes last Christmas. I also tried to sell the photos and the story to magazines and newspapers. Unfortunately, the response from many editors in
Germany was sobering: they liked the pictures, but in troubled times like these, no one wants to be burdened with the fate of the Roma.
The project not only fits in with my overall work in seeking to be a voice for others, but also marks the beginning of my photographic work, and I am now undertaking three other projects. My colleague and mentor Kristof used this project to explain how photography works and what it can trigger in people. I am very grateful to him and the Roma for this experience: to my mentor for taking me into his world of photography and to the Roma for allowing me to participate in their world.
Families live together in very small spaces — sometimes up to 10 people in one room. There is no privacy or peace and quiet.
Only sometimes is it possible to take a quiet picture early in the morning.
About Manuela Federl
Manuela Federl has worked as a journalist for more than 15 years. She studied languages, economics and cultural area studies with a focus on Romance studies at the University of Passau in Germany and the Universidad de Concepción in Chile. In 2016, she founded her company bergjournalisten. Since then she has been working as an independent documentary director and journalist for TV and film. She is based near Munich, in the south of Germany.
Manuela has made award-winning documentaries, including her film THE GAME Gambling between life and death, which was translated into five languages. She has been discovering the beauty of photography for three years and has already exhibited her work in galleries, as well as at the Zoom Photo Festival in Saguenay, Canada and the Head On Photo Festival in Sydney, Australia. www.bergjournalisten.de ▪ www.instagram.com/manuelafederl
A sanctuary in ancient forests
In the aftermath of a health crisis, the author turned to the old-growth forests of the Pacific Northwest as a means of healing. In this personal essay, she celebrates these complex ecosystems that frequently suffer at the hands of humans, and hopes for a return to “lifeways” — to kinship with the natural world.
In early January 2025, I woke up to the news that wildfires were raging through Los Angeles. It’s hard to explain my tormented reaction to someone who hasn’t lived in a heavily forested or dry, fire-prone region — someone who hasn’t experienced a wildfire firsthand, hasn’t inhaled its acrid smoke, hasn’t witnessed its devastating consequences on humans and nonhumans alike, and doesn’t have to rely on the Watch Duty app to stay informed. Besides, I have a soft spot for the City of Angels, the mysterious futuristic place lit by the brightest sun even when covered in smog,
the living dream of Blade Runner and Mulholland Drive , the place as diverse and imaginative and rich in cultures of the world as you can envision. I almost moved out there before I found myself in Oregon.
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Every wildfire is the reality of the inevitable: the West Coast of North America is on fire. Along with many other places. We burn every year with more severity. We worship the rain.
Aftermath of the 2022 wildfire, Yacolt Burn State Forest, Washington, 2023.
I moved out West from New York, as I had a romantic idea of living closer to “wilderness”, to the mighty ocean, in an open space. The landscape of the Pacific Northwest also reminded me of Western Siberia, the vast region in my native Russia that I came to know intimately but remained out of my reach.
I wasn’t in a good place for a number of years, mentally or physically. I could hardly keep my professional life going and was burnt out after encountering repeated resistance to my ideas. Eventually, after a couple of years of living in Portland and traveling back and forth for work, I got to work on my dream project overseas — which was then interrupted by the pandemic. In this overwhelming silence and being so far removed from my friends and loved ones scattered all over Europe and the East Coast, all these unanswered questions resurfaced — I was angry at being so helpless, so removed, with unrealized concepts trapped in my mind. I felt like my life was slipping like sand through my fingers. And then I had a stroke. I was not surprised; something like that had to happen. I was pushing too hard in all directions.
It is no secret that the world burns as a consequence of human greed and arrogance. Without going too deep into the causes of the Anthropogenic climate emergency, I’ll just say that natural forests, and especially old-growth forests (not sown timber plantations), are the surest way to sequester carbon from the atmosphere and avoid the tipping point of no return. They are postponing our extinction and providing habitat to numerous living beings. Most people, sadly, have never been to an ancient or old-growth forest There’s only a fraction of ancient forests left in the world, and I happen to live in a place that still has unique, majestic temperate rainforests that have never been logged or disturbed by human activity.
Despite their value, we are still logging mature and old-growth forests in the US. On top of that, we were afraid of fire for most of the 20th Century — it threatened our livelihood, homes, cattle, and forest as an extractable resource. As a result, the forest management policy over the past 100 years has been the suppression of fire. Finally, we have turned to Indigenous communities to teach us the traditional ecological knowledge of respecting and attending to fire.
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Ancient forest section, Eagle Fern Park, Oregon, 2022.
Wahclella Falls, Columbia River Gorge, Oregon, 2021.
I turned to the forest instinctively to ground myself. It was after the health trauma, after the unraveling of uprootedness and the generational traumas that I’ve stored for too long. I wanted to find a key to the landscape where I’ve been living for the past few years. What followed was a long-term investigation of the forest ecosystems and the role they play in preventing climate collapse. This would eventually lead to my series, After Us
In the beginning, the extensive research that I embarked on, both as an artist and a curator, was painful. I was overcome by a sense of loss, both the personal loss and the much larger sixth mass extinction event that we are living through. I contemplated the dubious future of our species. It’s one thing to be intellectually aware of the threats facing the environment and quite
another, to be inside the ecosystem, to read the land. Symptomatically, my artistic inquiry into Pacific Northwest forest ecosystems began in 2021 when I saw the aftermath of a major wildfire. We take pictures when we are responding to the impulse, a signal from the environment, and not because we have read books and scientific research. What feels like a massacre usually proves to be a massacre.
I found myself in the Willamette National Forest a year after it suffered from the devastating 2020 wildfires — I was gutted and deeply disturbed by how I saw the fire-scarred trees being hastily cut down by the Forest Service. I thought about all the violence that we, humans, cause to ourselves and other species and I wondered what nonhumans are thinking and how they process their loss and grief.
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The bottom of human-made Detroit Lake, Oregon, 2021. When the water levels recede in the winter months, the stumps of the logged ancient forest are revealed.
Images 1 and 2: Forest recovering from the devastating 2020 Riverside fire, Mt. Hood National Forest, Oregon, 2023
A felled dead tree left to naturally decompose in Willamette National Forest, Oregon. This forest is the top timber producer of the 156 national forests in the US, and provides an average of 750 million board feet of timber to the nation’s economy annually..
Logging of the 2020 wildfire-scarred Willamette National Forest, Oregon, 2021. A judge halted US Forest Service plans to log part of the forest after a lawsuit filed by environmentalists.
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“The most inspiring and magical sight I have experienced is watching the forest regenerate after wildfire; it’s full of life and birdsong.”
When I enter the majestic ancient forest, I forget about humanity. Or rather I dissolve in the abundance of life — ferns, moisture, giant trees, moss, sounds of rain, streams, bird calls and the overwhelming presence of nonhumans. The more time I spend in the forest and exist in this state of unity with the natural world — listening to plants and following the light — the more tangible the growth of things around me becomes. The flowering, the emergence of new life, the popping of the fungi, and the germination of something inside of me coming into light and existence. I’m able to move beyond the limitations of the short human lifespan and feel the duration of deep time.
What is a forest? It’s not just trees, it is a complex ecosystem with interrelated and interdependent things alive and transitioning.
Science has barely scratched the surface of this primal network of relationships. I sense so much more from my being within the forest world. The most inspiring and magical sight I have experienced is watching the forest regenerate after wildfire; it’s full of life and birdsong.
I became aware of the amazing intelligence of nonhumans for whom these vanishing habitats are home. This new knowledge gave me unexpected joy and hope. I started to notice self-healing in severely burnt or logged forest, repeating patterns in the landscape, landmarks. The awareness of our thin layer in geological time and the feeling of unity with other species with whom we share DNA gave me some perspective on the state of my own body and human existence — a way to process grief and face the future.
Protected temperate coastal rainforest, Oswald West State Park, Cape Falcon, Oregon, 2021.
continued overleaf
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My forest exploration and my healing journey have resulted in After Us — a series that explores the resilience of forests to human intervention, memories stored in the landscape, and prehistoric, prehuman and pre-industrial serenity. It led me to recalibrate my creative practice towards the climate emergency and healing, and a larger curatorial inquiry — an evolving inventory of visual, sound and immersive artworks by artists responding to the forests. As I look ahead, I’m hopeful that we’ll find our way back to the severed umbilical cord that used to connect us to the natural world and re-establish our kinship with all living beings, that we will turn towards vital traditional knowledge and wisdom and restore “lifeways”.
RIGHT Tree separated from the coastal rainforest by the incoming tide, Lincoln City, Oregon, 2023
Ancient Sitka spruce in a protected temperate coastal rainforest, Cascade Head and the Salmon River Estuary, Oregon, 2023.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Oregon Wild has been protecting ancient and old-growth forests for the past 50 years. They are the environmental nonprofit that I consulted with the most for this work. They provide a good explanation of the climate benefits of old-growth forests
The After Us project was supported by Oregon Regional Arts & Culture Council and The Ford Family Foundation.
About Liza Faktor
Liza Faktor is a visual artist and independent curator. Her practice explores the intertwined memories, histories and traumas of humans and the land, how both we and the landscapes process violence, and how we might heal. She is interested in how our various geographies are connected through the colonial past, as well as in the extraction economy, and in the future of the natural world. Her work has been exhibited in Spain, Norway, China, Russia, the UK and the US, and is in various international private collections.
Alongside her own artistic practice, Liza works as a curator and creative producer with visual artists on award-winning installations and multi-platform projects. She has curated over 20 exhibitions and festival programs at the intersection of photography, the moving image, and emerging media, and has lectured and taught workshops in a number of countries. She immigrated to the US from Russia in 2010 and is based in Portland, Oregon.
www.lizafaktor.com ▪ www.instagram.com/faktorl
[Re]framed spaces
Venturing inside Europe’s derelict buildings offers a window into nature’s power and ability to reclaim what humans leave behind.
by Veronica White
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“Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.”
Torn curtains move lazily in the gentle breeze coming through the broken window. Vines crawl into the room, spilling out across the crumbling windowsill. Dappled light falls on the colourful creatures spray-painted on the brick wall. Apart from the sound of broken glass underfoot, it’s quiet.
Time moves at a different pace here. Where employees once rushed to meetings, to the canteen or to the never-ending tasks that needed completing, Mother Nature has now begun to reclaim this space. Gently, slowly, silently.
In one spot, delicate white flowers have broken through the slabs of concrete covering the floor. In another, the soft fuzz of moss covers part of the wall. Looking out through the broken window, I am struck, once again, by the silent power of Mother Nature.
It’s easy to think humans are all-powerful –living in concrete cities with air-conditioned rooms and gardens packed with pesticides. We can fool ourselves into believing nature is something “out there”, something that can be controlled. Moving quietly through this abandoned building, however, this perception of our control over nature crumbles, like the plaster covering the brick walls. ▪
Urban exploration, more commonly known as “urbex”, is the examination of abandoned or derelict
structures. Since I was a teenager, my family has ventured into neglected buildings to photograph the process of urban decay. Over the years, we have visited a range of incredible locations, from an amusement park in Berlin to a cooling tower in Charleroi. We have walked through factories, hotels and schools, never forcing entry into any building. In most cases, these have obvious entry points and have been explored by many others before us –scavengers, graffiti artists and other urbexers.
The images featured in this piece are part of an ongoing series, [Re]framed, shot over a number of years across Europe. While they don’t showcase the variety of buildings I have had a chance to visit, they capture the fragile boundary between humans and nature that I experience while exploring these forgotten places. To me, these images symbolise looking forward to a more positive future – the light green growth of spring offering a hopeful contrast against the dark concrete.
Maybe next time you come across an abandoned building, your curiosity will get the better of you. And you will suddenly find yourself inside the shell of a forlorn place, only alive in the memories of those who once inhabited and cared for it. If you do find yourself tempted by the past, as I often am, take the necessary precautions to be safe and remember this important rule: “Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.”
Sunlight filters through an ivy-covered window at the Fort de la Chartreuse (Liège, Belgium).
This sprawling complex, located by a lake just north of Berlin, was built in 1896 as a lung sanatorium and abandoned in 1991 after serving as a Soviet military hospital for almost 50 years. I was lucky to tag along with some friends who spent a weekend at
the site filming a music video for their band. When we weren’t shooting, I had time to explore the massive complex, seeking out interesting photo opportunities. Unlike many urbex locations, this site is guarded and entrance can be arranged by appointment.
Fort de la Chartreuse. Liège, Belgium (December 2016 and October 2022)
Built between 1817 and 1823, this former military fort is within walking distance of Liège city centre and is a well-visited location – something that becomes obvious as you wander through the graffiti-covered corridors. Abandoned in 1982, it’s
one of the few urbex sites I’ve visited more than once – first with my family and later by myself. While solo urbex-ing is not something I would advise, I felt confident exploring this location alone as I had visited previously and knew it was a low-risk site.
Monastère Antoinette. Amay, Belgium (August 2022)
On one of our many urbex trips to Belgium, my dad and I visited an abandoned monastery we’d found online while scouring the internet for locations near Liège. Completed in the early 20th Century, it was converted into a retirement home in 1969 before
being abandoned in 2008. As we carefully explored the complex, we witnessed signs of significant structural damage, including collapsed ceilings and whole areas with no floorboards. In the inner courtyard, a stone cross stood submerged in a sea of ivy.
About Veronica White
My parents named me after Saint Veronica, the patron saint of photographers – a decision that ended up being the perfect fit. I’m currently studying for a PhD at the University of Exeter and am thrilled that my research allows me to draw on my experience as a photographer and outdoor adventurer as I cycle across England to explore visions for the future of farming. My remaining logistical question is how many cameras I can fit on my bike!
As much as I enjoy urbex photography, it’s not too often that I get the opportunity to shoot in abandoned buildings. Instead, I typically shoot self-portraiture in nature, as well as capture my outdoor adventures –many of which I share on my blog, Coves to Cliffs. Some of my favourite images have been the result of portrait shoots in abandoned buildings, combining my equal love for self-portraiture and urbex.
Through documenting her ageing father, John, as a way of navigating the challenges of being his caregiver, Ruth Toda-Nation reflects on how the photographic collaboration and process transformed their relationship, helping her to contemplate childhood experiences and, ultimately, heal her inner child.
Dad found this note in the takeaway we ordered for him from Cafe Latte on the high street. It’s been three months since he was able to get out of his flat. It made me smile and feel warm inside — kindness and community are so important.
“My name’s John and I’m a man of peace.”
As a photographer, I like to get to the heart of things and tell people’s stories. Photography helps me understand humanity and delve deeper into myself to understand and explore my unresolved feelings.
John and Me is an ongoing body of work I began seven years ago in response to the challenges of being a carer and a daughter. Through this work, I share my inner dialogue as I explore the father-daughter relationship and capture the pathos of one of the most fundamental human bonds. It is a relationship many long for, but for some, and for me, it has been a lifelong journey full of emotional contradictions.
The work is as much universal, as it is personal. With unpaid carers providing more hours of care than ever before and their value, according to
Carers UK, standing at a staggering £184.3 billion a year — the value of care equivalent to a second NHS — it is vital to share our experiences and have conversations about these issues that many of us face, particularly women.
During Covid-19, I put this work on hold to focus on photographing and interviewing Dad’s wider retirement community. This resulted in two projects: Love is a Life Story, exhibited in early 2025 at the RPS Gallery in Bristol; and Our Lockdown Garden, which became a self-published book. This series is about reconciling with the past, navigating the present and preparing for the future. With my father turning 95, we are poignantly aware that he stands daily on the precipice of his mortality.
John’s Mother
John’s mother Joan Christian Mackenzie, Madrid, Spain (1926 approximately).
The past
My parents went to Japan in the 1950s as Christian missionaries — my mother from Australia, and my father from the UK aboard the Willem Ruys liner, a journey of six to seven weeks. They met during mandatory Japanese language training in Singapore, where they fell in love. At the time, strict mission rules governed their lives, including chaperoned dates and a two-year minimum engagement period. They married in Japan in 1959, beginning a 20-year life there, during which they had three daughters, including me.
My father’s life began tragically with the death of his mother Joan, a few weeks after he was born. I came to realise through this project what a profound effect this has had on him. He admitted that he had grown up feeling guilty that he had somehow caused her death. The unconditional love he lost and sought, he eventually found in the message of Jesus. I was beginning to see the picture.
Within our extensive family archive, I found images he took of me as a child in Japan; beautiful,
intricate hand-drawn maps of imaginary worlds; every sermon he had ever preached spanning his working career; and poetry he had written from his boarding school days up until the day my mother died 26 years ago. He never wrote again after that.
I needed to care for a father who I loved but had been separated from when I was sent to boarding school at the tender age of six. Caring requires giving and sacrificing, but I felt that my parents had chosen to sacrifice our relationship in their conviction to guide people to Christ. My life had been a series of goodbyes and transience, and of not knowing where I belonged. I had a family, but we had never lived together for extended periods of time.
If I’m brutally honest, I was a reluctant carer. I had put my photographic career on hold to be a parent and aspired to reignite it. I had my business to run. Compounding this, I was aware that caring for a parent regurgitates everything we could never quite resolve. It requires us to confront our inner child and mine was screaming “No!”
John’s Poem About His Mother
Handwritten extract from John’s poem My Mother’s Grave written upon revisiting the grave in May 1992 at Southgate Cemetery, London.
The present
I initially called this project No Room for Rumination because my father was consumed by anxiety, endlessly dwelling on the consequences of his past decisions — it was painful to witness. When I started the project seven years ago, his state of mind was very different; he was incredibly needy. To cope, I turn the pain into something meaningful by documenting him and writing about the process in the form of a journal that I upload to Instagram hoping one day to bring it together as a book.
The first images I attempted, digitally and in colour, were of Dad in his dog collar with the Bible placed firmly between us on the table. The
distance between us was tangible. I realised I needed a softer approach to draw us closer together and capture those shared, fleeting moments of intimacy. So, I turned back to film and my small 35 mm cameras.
I discovered a duality in caregiving — it became something for me as much as for Dad. This shift helped me feel less resentful and more appreciative of its impact on my life. I turned caring into an opportunity to reconnect with my photographic practice, engage with Dad, learn about his life, and reflect on our relationship. Using my camera, I document our trips to the cafe, the Turkish barber, the day centre, the church, the hospital, and the
No More Hairy Ears
John at the Turkish Barber
The Best Place For the News
Dog Collar
Dad was preaching into his late eighties. It was difficult to finally put his dog collar away. The last time I asked him to put it on it was different. Dressing had become extremely challenging and putting his collar on didn’t bring the joy that it used to.
Is That Me?
Dad’s memory is fading. He desperately tries to remember, aware that he can’t remember the fall that caused the big scab on his forehead; a strange existence. He always seems sweetly surprised by the stranger looking back at him from the mirror.
dentist. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve called an ambulance to his flat, but through it all, my camera helps me detach, process, and cope.
There is also a deeper message to me as a child, almost as if I can reach back in time and speak to five-year-old Ruth, a kind of hypnotherapy. I now photograph him as he photographed me in Japan. I write to heal. We read his poetry and visit his mother’s grave. We share plenty of soft landings and sweet moments that calm my soul and reassure my inner child.
I’ve realised that this project is not about “goodbye”, though it is in the physical sense. Instead, it is a series of “hellos” and of getting to know my father in a
new way. Moments of bonding, forgiveness and, ultimately, acceptance. There’s a Japanese word for this: “OyaKoko” (親孝行). This is a concept that teaches both parent and child to cherish this special time together, ensuring no regrets remain when it’s finally time to say goodbye.
Embedded in the work is a narrative that speaks to larger universal truths about caring for an ageing parent. Research shows that what carers want more than anything is to be seen, acknowledged, and empathised with. There is a desperate need for policymakers to act and provide support to unpaid carers as well as invest financially in a social care system in crisis.
Ears
Dad is shrinking before my eyes, but the one thing that seems to be growing is his ears! I’m fascinated by his ears, hands and feet because they seem to tell his whole life story.
The future
I have noticed that carers sharing upsets people. Talking about death equally so. People don’t want to know the hard reality. In response, I am determined to immortalise my father, to tell the story of his existence to a world that shuns frailty and death and turns a blind eye. A frailty that will eventually come to most of us. I do it because I admire his strength. The more time I’ve spent with my father as an adult, the more comfortable we have both become in revealing our vulnerabilities and consequently our relationship has become stronger. Dad recently said, “I have no regrets. I am ready to go.” He seems to have
entered a kind of nirvana, a sort of freedom from matter; his anxiety has gone. Despite everything, he has never lost his faith. He is still a man of peace. I look at him and he is frail. But I’m less bothered by this and the fact that he’s fading because these photos show more than this. I am less fearful of the future because he is at peace now and so am I. I have come to a place of acceptance and reconciliation and so has he. I look at this handsome man and know that I am who I am because we share a unique history and this strange but loving bond of parent and progeny.
John at Milton Keynes Hospital Society doesn’t like to talk about ageing, but it’s a beautiful process, a time when we can go back to who we really are. We are slowly stripped away, our memory fades, our bodies fade away, and all we are left with is our inner spirit.
continued overleaf
You
Were
Always Looking Towards the Light
Left to right: John’s older brother Nigel, Grandma Mackenzie and John. There was talk of putting the boys in an orphanage. I often think how different things could have been if their grandma had not dropped everything to move from Liverpool to London to care for the two boys.
John Visiting His Mother’s Grave Southgate Cemetery, London.
About Ruth Toda-Nation
Ruth Toda-Nation’s photographic practice is informed by a nomadic childhood bridging two cultures, Japan and Britain. She began her photographic journey in Liverpool in the 1980s and later worked in rural, northern Japan. Her intimate approach flows from a deep emotional connection with the people she photographs, and interweaves themes of family dynamics and community bonds while reflecting on ageing, transience, and departure.
A fluent Japanese speaker, Ruth works as an interpreter, mediator and educator. She brings a unique perspective to her photography combining images with words drawn from interviews and conversations to give voice to people and communities. She is driven by a desire to understand more of humanity and herself to effect positive change. She holds a degree in Photography and Film from the University of Westminster.
Love is a Life Story was a winner in the RPS Documentary Photography Awards (2023) and her book Our Lockdown Garden is published by The Mindful Editions (2022). www.instagram.com/ruthtodanation
Echoes across cultures
Xuesheng Ma’s photographic series, Echo, explores how the concept of space shapes the identity and cultural definition of a female immigrant, expressed through the lens of surrealist photography. In this interview with Rachel Nixon, the artist shares insights into her work and migration journey.
by Xuesheng Ma
Tell us about the concept behind your project, Echo.
Over the past decade, I have experienced numerous relocations, moving from China to Japan and then settling in the UK. This constant migration has profoundly shaped my artistic practice. My teenage years were filled with farewells and fresh beginnings, and these frequent transitions from one space to another forged a unique emotional connection with the concept of “rooms”. My focus has been on ancient European architecture, and in 2022, I began exploring and photographing historic buildings across England. Through post-production, I infuse these historical spaces with surreal elements inspired by Asian cultural characteristics. This process allows me to blend the intricate style of Western architecture with the spiritual energy found in Eastern traditions. These spaces reflect my current state as an immigrant — existing within a fusion and seeking cultural balance in my life.
The title of the series, Echo, refers to the physical reflection of sound, which I often sense in these empty historical spaces, and provides a metaphorical connection between past and present, East and West, and the individual and space. Through this project, I aim to weave together my migration experiences, cultural identity, and artistic expression.
Can you describe the key phases of your creative process?
My research centres on exploring historic buildings across the UK, particularly National Trust sites, and hidden spaces discovered during hikes near London. Many historic buildings are in remote areas with limited access, and some require special entry permits.
These locations often feel peaceful and rich with history, which I find comforting. To prepare for each shoot, I document the space with sketches and notes. In post-production, I add surreal elements to blend the architecture with my imagination. This process feels like painting or stage design, allowing me to transform each image into something new.
How does your choice of camera inform how you work?
I work with a medium-format film camera for its distinctive texture and the intentional rhythm it brings to my creative process. The inherent limitations of film photography enable me to focus intently on the details of each frame. Unlike the immediacy of digital photography, using a medium-format camera doesn’t allow instant previews. This forces me to adjust exposure and composition multiple times, making the process more time-consuming. Furthermore, I use long exposures which require patience. It also creates a unique texture that suits the depth of these historic spaces and allows me to experience the passage of time as I shoot. This ritualistic approach becomes a form of reflection and reverence for both time and space.
continued overleaf
Who or what are your main artistic influences?
My inspiration is rooted not only in an exploration of architecture but also in deep influences from nature, religion, and philosophy. I am particularly drawn to the concept of animism, which is prevalent in many Asian religions and is a belief that all things — creatures, plants, places, and objects — have a spirit. In Shintoism, for example, there are said to be eight million gods, and the reverence for the spiritual energy within nature, exemplified by the worship of the Sun Goddess, has profoundly impacted my
creative approach. This cultural context has inspired me to incorporate natural elements frequently in my photographic work.
I am also inspired by Mariko Mori and Georgia O’Keeffe. Mori’s work blends modern technology with Eastern philosophy to explore the relationship between humans and nature, and the surreal spirituality in her work resonates with the expression in Echo. O’Keeffe, through abstract forms of nature, imbues objects with symbolic meaning, and her use of color and shape has influenced the emotional expression in my work.
How has your background, in particular your experience as an Asian woman living and working across cultures, affected your artistic practice?
Living in China, Japan, and the UK has profoundly shaped my perspective. Immersing myself in different cultures, languages, and literature has deepened my understanding of their uniqueness and contrasts. After moving to the UK, I began reflecting more deeply on my cultural background and identity. As an immigrant, I often feel caught in an “in-between” space, neither fully belonging
to one culture nor entirely detached from it. This contradiction drives me to explore my position between different cultures.
continued overleaf
Additionally, as an Asian woman, I often reflect on the role of gender in shaping identity. Through my art, I strive to give voice to my identity while offering a space for resonance and reflection to others with similar experiences. I think that identity is not a fixed concept but something fluid, continuously shaped and reshaped by time and environment. This state of multiple identities is central to my work, and, as my migration journey continues, my sense of self and artistic vision has developed.
Living in the UK has allowed me to view identity from a broader perspective. It has inspired me to continuously explore its dynamic nature through art, shedding light on the ever-evolving process of self-definition.
In what ways does Echo explore the intersection of migration, cultural identity, and surrealist photography?
Migration has been a defining thread throughout my life and serves as the inspiration for Echo. In this series, I use historic English architecture as the backdrop for my work. These buildings, rich in British culture and history, symbolize my search for belonging as an immigrant in a foreign land. Through post-production, I transform these spaces by incorporating numerous Eastern cultural elements, such as natural patterns, animals, and spiritual symbols, to produce a unique cross-cultural narrative. I try to create a visual language that blurs the line between reality and imagination. Through meticulous editing, I reshape the architectural spaces with surreal scenes. These surreal elements are both a projection of reality and an extension of emotion and imagination. From leaving my homeland to adapting to a new environment, these works reflect my redefinition of identity during migration and capture the uncertainty of shifting identities, and the hope that emerges from cultural fusion.
continued overleaf
“Space is both their living environment and a reflection of their sense of self and belonging”
Why do you think the concept of “space” plays such a pivotal role in understanding the identity of female immigrants?
The concept of "space” is crucial to understanding the identity of female immigrants, as it is not only a physical presence but also a vessel for emotions, culture, and identity. Space is both their living environment and a reflection of their sense of self and belonging. During migration, women often face challenges related to cultural adaptation, loneliness, and identity reconstruction,
and space can be imagined as a temporary refuge. The decoration of space reflects the unique cultural background and inner world of its owner. In Echo, space is not just the backdrop of architecture but a field for exploring culture, identity, and emotion. By combining Eastern elements with Western architectural spaces, I aim to express the collision and fusion of identities experienced by female immigrants in a cross-cultural environment. These works depict my process of finding my place as an immigrant living in a constantly changing environment in the UK.
How do you see your work evolving?
In the future, I believe my work will delve deeper into the themes and artistic strategies realized in Echo, especially in the context of architecture and space. I plan to explore how visual language can convey identity, migration, and complex inner emotions, and I hope to photograph more buildings in different regions of the UK or Europe.
About Xuesheng Ma
Xuesheng Ma is an artist currently based in London, UK. Born in Zhejiang, China, she has a BA in Photography Studies from the Nihon University College of Art in Japan, and an MFA in Photography from the University for the Creative Arts, UK. Her work is held in the University for the Creative Arts collection.
Xuesheng Ma’s body of work explores themes of migration, cultural identity, and the interplay between Eastern and Western influences. Combining photography and surrealism, she crafts visual narratives that blur the boundaries between reality and imagination. Her work has been exhibited internationally in the UK, Japan, France, the Netherlands, and Italy. She has received several accolades, including the 30 Under 30 Female Artists Award, and as a nominee for the International Marianne Brandt Award. www.xueshengma.com ▪ www.instagram.com/xuesheng_ma
Memory, fear, and identity in focus
Often a sanctuary, a childhood home can also be a vessel of inner conflict and oppression, proving fear can exist in the same space meant to keep us safe. In a Continuous Loop delves into these fears and memories of life in post-communist Romania, while also extending an invitation to self-discovery.
by Lăcră
Grozăvescu
The decision to return to my childhood home in 2020, at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, brought me face-to-face with personal memories and the broader cultural and political context that shaped them in my hometown of Caracal, Southern Romania. Born in the 90s and raised in a family where women were taught to remain hidden, suppress self-expression, and conform to societal expectations, I only fully understood the impact of these constraints when I reached adulthood.
My parents and grandparents had lived through communism, a regime that demanded conformity and silenced individuality. Women were expected to conform to traditional roles, often tied to state policies promoting large families such as Nicolae Ceaușescu’s infamous 1960s “Decree 770” which placed strict restrictions on abortion and contraception. The eventual democratic transition was no less turbulent, characterised by economic instability and corruption. These historical burdens became the backdrop of my internal struggles.
Growing up, I heard stories of resilience and fear – whispered conversations, forbidden books and the pervasive watchfulness of authority. Women lived with a persistent dread of masculine figures, including their fathers. My mother and her sisters, for instance, had to be cautious about how they dressed and spoke, living in a constant state of fear. I was surprised to learn they lived this way while their brother, the only son, enjoyed more privileges and was free to openly express himself.
Even the family archives reflect this disparity. In one striking photograph, two women are placed in the background while the focus is on a car –in many communist regimes this represented modernity and achievement, often tied to male accomplishments. The sidelining of women in this context reflects a wider societal narrative where their roles were diminished or defined in relation to a man’s successes.
Such revelations have deeply influenced my artistic practice, pushing me to explore themes of visibility, power dynamics and inherited silences. These stories have lingered in our home, blending with my own experiences of self-doubt and repression. During lockdown, the silence within its walls amplified long-suppressed fears of stagnation, unresolved conflicts, and the collective anxiety of an uncertain future.
Photography became a means to untangle these threads. It allowed me to challenge this generational silence and claim my voice in a lineage of repressed self-expression. Through my lens, I created a personal universe born from these life events and familial characteristics, allowing a space for reflection and dialogue.
Creativity in isolation
Stripped of distractions and subjected to a state-imposed national lockdown, I found myself confronting both an external and internal world. The stillness of isolation stretched and folded time, mirroring the loops of memory and reflection which are so central to my project In a Continuous Loop Solitude provided a rare opportunity to experiment with creative expression. Without external validation or interference, I analysed in detail themes that had
long lingered on the periphery of my work and focused intently on the dialogue between memory and identity. This resulted in the most personal and vulnerable work I have ever created.
In a Continuous Loop is rooted in introspection and suspended rhythms in a space charged with memories, tension and unspoken fears. By reconnecting with my past, I unearthed emotions I hadn’t fully confronted in years. Photography became my instinctive response, a cathartic tool to process these feelings. What began as a raw and intuitive capture of shadows and corners soon evolved into a deeper exploration of identity and healing.
Over time, the project transitioned from a visual diary to a conceptual body of work. By incorporating self-staged photography and performance elements, I placed myself metaphorically and literally within the frame. This allowed me to transform fear and introspection into self-expression, creating a narrative that bridges the past and the present.
Memory and ritual
Central to this project is the concept of memory, which shapes identity while being inherently fragmented and subjective. Through photography, I approached memory as an active process, embracing its distortions and omissions. Selfstaging became a ritual, a performative exploration of my past.
Childhood objects, from curtains to dried flowers, played a crucial role in shaping the visual language of this project. The mirror in my bedroom, once a source of self-scrutiny, evolved into a portal for self-exploration. Curtains that had once shrouded the room in privacy became a symbol of concealment and revelation. Repurposing these items became a transformative act, each image
layered with symbolic meaning while offering both personal and universal insights. As a result, dualities of shelter and control, nostalgia and unease, resonate throughout the series.
Beyond symbolism, the project explores the subconscious – the repository of suppressed feelings, childhood wounds and ingrained beliefs. This hidden dimension influences our instincts and motivations, shaping how we interact with the world. Peeling back these layers illuminated the conditioning and patterns that had silently governed my thoughts and actions. Each photograph became a step towards unraveling the subconscious, transforming image-making into a profound exploration of the self.
Refuge and transformation
Memory’s dual nature – its ability to both comfort and confine – emerges as a central theme in this project. The house where I grew up also represented this duality. It became the only place where I could truly be myself, offering a sanctuary from the outside world. Yet, it was also a comfort zone that haunted me, a space that held me captive and prevented me from being fully open or free.
Whenever I ventured outside its walls I carried an overwhelming fear of being judged, of speaking my mind, meticulously rehearsing my words before every interaction, particularly in institutional settings. On the streets I had to remain vigilant, enduring unwanted comments or car honks while
going about my day. In post-communist Romania, societal norms continued fostering an implicit fear of men, further reinforcing these anxieties.
It wasn’t until my early twenties that I began to confront these fears. Taking my camera along during walks became a small yet powerful act of reclaiming control. Photography transformed the simple act of walking outdoors into an assertion of presence and self-expression, empowering me to push past the confines of my comfort zone and the lingering shadows of my upbringing. Fragmented forms and shifting textures reflect how memories blur and reshape over time. But questions still linger: what do we choose to remember or suppress? And how do these choices define us?
ABOVE LEFT TO RIGHT Untitled II, Untitled V, Untitled IV
Untitled VI
“Memory, as I have come to understand through this work, is both a weight we will always carry and a gift.”
Engaging with memory is not just about recollection, it is about transformation. By confronting my own memories, I discovered that healing begins with acknowledgment. Through the act of remembering, confronting and releasing we can grow, understand and reinvent ourselves.
Looking forward
Through my project In a Continuous Loop, I wish to invite others to engage with their own stories, using the images as catalysts for introspection. These often layered, ambiguous forms encourage us to reflect on what we inherit from our families and cultures, and how we can reshape these legacies to reclaim our own identity.
Art ultimately bridges personal and collective experiences. In creating this photographic series, I found that my intimate fears and memories may also resonate universally. Themes such as memory and identity highlight the shared human experience of reflecting on the past to understand the present. This project is more than a personal journey; it is an exploration of how memory can shape us all. It also serves as encouragement to use the photographic medium as a lens for self-discovery and dialogue. Memory, as I have come to understand through this work, is both a weight we will always carry and a gift. It binds us to who we are while offering the possibility of renewal. In creating these images, I have reclaimed parts of myself and extended an invitation for others to do the same, to step into their own continuous loops of reflection and renewal.
What grows where land is sick
About Lăcră Grozăvescu
Born in 1996 in the city of Caracal, Romania, Lăcră explores the power of images to evoke both personal memories and a collective sense of belonging. She seeks to highlight the nuances of human behaviour through themes of identity, memory, suffering, trauma and feminism.
As an emerging artist, Lăcră incorporates embroidery, collage and video into her practice to create multidimensional projects that invite deeper emotional engagement. In addition to studying Photography and Dynamic Image at the Bucharest National University of Arts, she has also made her mark in the international art scene with exhibitions in Italy, Greece, Japan, the UK and the US.
Lăcră was recently selected as a Fresh Eyes Talent 2025 by GUP Magazine and will be presented at the 2025 Haute Photographie Fair in Rotterdam. She currently lives and works in Bucharest focusing on the complexities of contemporary human experience through a diverse range of media.
Lens-based artist Maura Jamieson’s series of portraits combines analogue and digital photography with alternative processes to explore the relationship between women, nature, and the environment.
by Maura
Jamieson
Women have played a critical part in the history of photography and continue to offer a new narrative and insight into the world and the way it can be seen. Cultural perceptions of older women and the devaluation of young women are ubiquitous, often misrepresented and ignored. The Understory II confronts this by celebrating women young and old, and by recognising how gender and nature intersect, and the powerful connection women have with the natural world.
However, not everything that drives my photography is visual — the relationship between a story and issue requires knowledge of the context above all, and that requires research. The need to ensure women’s participation in environmental decision-making is being increasingly recognised. Recently, a group of Swiss women, known as “KlimaSeniorinnen” (Senior Women for Climate Protection Switzerland), argued that their age and gender made them particularly
vulnerable to climate change impacts. The women, aged 64 and over, said their government’s climate inaction had put them at risk of dying during heatwaves. In a decision that will set a precedent for future climate lawsuits, in April 2024 Europe’s top human rights court ruled in favour of the women, saying that the Swiss government had violated the human rights of its citizens by failing to do enough to combat climate change.
KlimaSeniorinnen women refused to be marginalised or rendered invisible. In this series, I create multilayered images composed of digital and analogue exposures to highlight the interaction between culture and development and women’s roles that are neither isolated nor static. By merging images of women and plants, I hope to create a dialogue and suggest a consciousness between the two, drawing attention to gender inequality and the measurable impact it has on the environment.
LEFT Bluebells
Portraits of women
The digital portraits are constructed in the photography studio using contrasting techniques to both exaggerate and freeze movement. Motion blur is a photographic technique familiar when working with analogue and slow-sensitivity films. These elements are sometimes difficult to control. I deliberately use long exposures to animate and blur the subjects to convey meaning beyond physical likeness. The portraits are less about the individual and more about representing the collective relationship that women have with the natural world.
When in the studio, I asked each subject to move around the space — facing sideways, towards the camera and even away from the camera. No further direction was given whilst the exposures were made. As I altered the camera settings, moved the lights and took my time, the subjects tended to let down their guard and got lost in their own performance, creating an equitable exchange between the subject and the photographer. A relationship which is a complex interplay of positioning and performance.
Turning the camera on myself was an important part of this project, and the process of selfportraiture was, for me, a first. The challenge was not so much technical but in the avoidance of
overthinking or overplanning. Again, I used a long exposure with the aim of staying present in the moment and moving around the studio with ease and purpose. The act of performing for the camera was unexpectedly liberating.
Portraits of plants
Plant imagery has been used to symbolise, or even construct, national identities throughout history. This project seeks to reclaim and reimagine this tradition. The plants act as a reminder of fragility, and are inherently beautiful, drawing attention to the need to protect and care for them. The connection to the garden, growing and nurturing plants, is an important part of my practice and I have only used plants from my garden in this project. The urban garden may be small and even contrived, but its positive contribution to local ecosystems is unquestionable.
The plants are also photographed in the studio but instead of using a digital SLR, I use a largeformat monorail, analogue camera. Unlike a traditional SLR camera, this type of camera has many moveable parts, allowing for greater image
quality and image control. No other camera or post-production technique can manipulate in the same way. In contrast to digital cameras, the large-format film camera is a much slower and more considered approach. Instead of using conventional, 5x4 manufactured film, I coat my own paper negatives.
The Garden, 2023
BELOW
Images 1-5 The Process – Rudbeckia
Echinacea
Flavum
Bluebells 2
Helleborus
The process of connecting
In-camera and post-production techniques are, for me, the tools of visual storytelling. Handcoating each individual negative, exposing it incamera and then processing it in the darkroom is time-consuming and unpredictable. This might be thought of as frustrating, but the opposite is true. The unexpected details that emerge, or in some cases, no detail at all, are very much part of the creative process and what keeps me interested and motivated. The quality of the final image is also dependent on the paper used and how the liquid light emulsion is applied — a multitude of instruments are employed to coat the paper from handmade bamboo brushes to foam rollers and sponges. I prefer to use a fine brush which gives me control over the area covered including the edge of the negative.
The paper used will also create a particular type of texture and opacity to the negative. Hahnemühle Photo Rag and Japanese Awagami papers are
archival and acid-free, however, they have very different characteristics. Embracing traditional handmade techniques creates an emotional connection to the process, and every negative is a one-off. In this body of work, the negative becomes an integral part of the final piece.
The editing and placement of each image is key to creating a sense of balance within the composition. Working with Photoshop using layers, masks and blending options ensures the image is read as an integrated whole, rather than a collection of fragments. The unframed portraits are displayed as prints alongside framed photographs of the organic forms. Historically, women have occupied art as symbols and as repositories for the stories and ideas of men. For this series, the women are taken out of their assigned frames and are instead in charge of their own narrative. In contrast, the fragile negatives are held and protected behind museum glass in box frames.
Rudbeckia Fern
About Maura Jamieson
Maura Jamieson is a London-based lecturer and arts practitioner. For more than four decades she worked in photographic education whilst raising a family. Maura’s work draws on her experience as a woman and a mother, and focuses on themes of landscape, memory, portraiture and place. Her work has been represented internationally.
The Understory II Bluebells will be exhibited as part of the inEquality exhibition at Photo|Frome, UK from 5th27th April 2025. Previous work has featured in group exhibitions including The Family, curated by LoosenArt, Rome, Italy; (Re)Production: Parenthood and the Art World, Open Eye Gallery, Liverpool, UK; and the Atlanta Photography Group Portrait 24 exhibition. www.maurajphotography.com ▪ www.instagram.com/maurajamieson
Presentation of the Work
Championing alternative processes in a digital era
For a quarter of a century, Malin Fabbri has nurtured the alternative photography community through her website, events, and creative opportunities. From cyanotypes to anthotypes, her work and the images she features on her site celebrate the unexpected, the abstract, and the conceptual.
Malin Fabbri has promoted alternative photography through creating and editing AlternativePhotography.com for almost 25 years. We are talking over Zoom, and the night has already drawn in in her native Sweden.
Malin studied for her MA in Design Studies in London, when the digital revolution had only just begun. Digital cameras were convenient, but at the same time not very good. Malin wrote her thesis on the differences between the poor-quality digital images of the day and the unique quality of handmade prints she had started making. The first process she tried was cyanotypes.
Access to the internet was still through dial-up modem, and building a website had become an achievable goal. She started AlternativePhotography.com as a way to distribute her paper. Photographers and artists she had been involved with during the research quickly
asked her to display their work. Some also provided papers or articles they had written, or tips they had found when working with alternative photography. The site started to take shape and has grown organically. It is now home to over 900 articles on alternative photographic processes and displays the work of almost 300 artists. Access to learning resources and galleries is free although a subscription is required to show artist portfolios.
The companion Facebook group now has more than 63,000 members and five administrators who ensure that it stays spam-free. Malin attributes this growth to a backlash to the digital age and the time spent in front of a screen. This has increased the desire to make things away from a computer environment and to use one’s hands. “Alternative photography is a bit like slow cooking,” she says. “The objective is not to have a meal — or a print — as quickly as possible. The journey is part of the experience.”
What is Alternative Photography?
Kodak invented the term “alternative photography” to describe any photographic process that the company did not support. Most of these processes were in use before silver gelatin became the industry norm.
Many artists and photographers embrace alternative printing as a way of making images that look different from commercially produced images. Others appreciate the craft aspect of image-making.
I asked Malin what she does when there is not enough sun to expose alternative prints such as cyanotypes and anthotypes. She also promotes alternative photography through community events. In the past few years, she has run three events promoting anthotypes in the shape of World Anthotype Day in August. This printing method uses flowers and other plant-based materials to make an emulsion. The results can be found in three volumes of Anthotype Emulsions released in October 2022, 2023 and 2024.
Malin celebrated the birthday of cyanotype pioneer Anna Atkins with an open call to make images in the style of Atkins’ work, and the best entries were published as a calendar and a diary. In 2024 the calendar event continued and she ran Composites, an open call for images using two or
more alternative processes. Entries to these popular events came from artists and photographers spread around the globe.
This year the theme for the calendar event will be “A tribute to Sir John Herschel” since he discovered many of the alternative processes. Malin says: “Herschel has contributed so much to both alternative photographic processes and photography in general and much of what he discovered is the base of what we do today. Even words like ‘negative’ and ‘snapshot’ are said to be coined by him and, without him, we would not have many of our processes such as anthotype, chrysotype and cyanotype. Running an event in his honour seems like the right thing to do.” The event is open to supporting members of AlternativePhotography.com and the deadline for entry is 30th April.
Anthotypes are prints that have an emulsion based on plant material. Flowers or leaves are ground and dissolved in a solvent such as alcohol. This is spread onto a base such as watercolour paper. The result is a low-sensitivity photographic paper.
The image is created by exposing the paper to UV light (such as sunlight) through the negative. It can be a film negative or one created by digitally printing onto plastic.
Anthotypes come in a variety of colours depending on the plant material on which the emulsion is based. The images have a distinctive pale hue. They are not permanent and always fade over time. Ironically, many photographers preserve their images by taking digital photographs of the prints.
Light sensitivity was first discovered in 1816. Sir John Herschel started experimenting in 1839 and published his findings in 1842, the date attributed to the “invention” of anthotypes. Mrs Mary Somerville continued the research and published a paper in 1845 through Sir John Herschel (women were not allowed to publish).
Slow and thoughtful process
Malin prefers to be behind the camera and does not particularly like to be in the limelight.
“Creating art is a nice way of getting off the screen,” she says. “My anthotypes are on the boundary of graphics and photography. I like to create conceptual images that tell a story. I have also worked in cyanotypes, photopolymer, photosynthesis, gum bichromate, solargraphs and pinholes.
“I am usually solving a problem, for example, how should I communicate something or how the website content is organised. My image-making is far less structured. I usually start with an idea and a plan, however, one thing I’ve learned is that it never turns out as planned. I like the unexpected result and the fact that the process is slow and thoughtful. It gives me more time to let things grow and to see what is happening in my art.”
As for 2025, Malin says: “I always start the year with a period of reflection, using journalling. My work is becoming increasingly graphical, with prints built up with multiple layers. I find myself drawn to exploring images with silhouettes.” She finds herself making imagery that balances conveying an idea with a level of abstraction.
Malin loves nature and is a keen hiker. Expect to see influences from these activities feature in her prints this year. She also envisages using the cyanotype process in 2025; this choice of a simple technique will enable her to concentrate on the image itself.
“I promised myself that I would spend the winter researching techniques to improve the longevity of anthoype prints,” Malin says. “It is an ongoing work.”
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LEFT
First Light, cyanolumen composite image
Laurinda Bellew, contributor to AlternativePhotography.com
An accessible option
To date, Malin has spent tens of thousands of hours running AlternativePhotography.com. “My passion is to enable people, make them do things, get off the couch and be creative and get their hands dirty. My driver is sharing knowledge. I like to see other people develop and learn and the feedback I get from doing this is amazing.”
The quality of alternative photography has steadily increased, Malin observes. One used to have to be more determined to make alternative prints, sourcing both information and supplies. Today, increasingly available information has moved alternative printing from a journey of technical exploration to a much more accessible alternative to the digital world. Premade kits and pre-coated papers also help artists get started.
In 2006, Malin published Art and Artists , edition 1, featuring the work of 115 artists and photographers using alternative photography in their practice. In April 2025 — 25 years after the start of AlternativePhotography.com — the follow-up book will be released, with the number of featured artists and photographers having increased to 130. If you are looking for inspiration, this book will be worth looking out for. It will be available from the website's book section
Interestingly, at least eight of the original contributors from the original book are featured in the new edition. Those of you who are familiar with alternative photography will recognise names like Christina Z Anderson, Dianna Bloomfield, and Nancy Breslin.
Online Talk: An Introduction to Alternative Photographic Processes
19th March, 7pm GMT.
Malin Fabbri will deliver a presentation on the techniques and creative possibilities of alternative photographic processes, followed by a Q&A.
This event is free to attend for all RPS Women in Photography members, from beginners to seasoned professionals. Whether you’re looking to explore new techniques or deepen your artistic practice, this talk promises to be both informative and inspiring.
For more information and to sign up, visit the events page
Malin Fabbri
Aleena experienced seizures as a newborn and faced developmental delays. In just five months of rehabilitation, she made significant progress including the ability to stand. Her fashion-loving spirit shines through in the joy she finds when dressing up with friends. Both her parents and grandparents were exposed to the toxic gas.
Aleena
Children of Bhopal
Young lives impacted by tragedy and forged by the hope for a brighter future – the story of those living in the aftermath of one of the world’s worst industrial disasters.
by Savraj Kaur
I write this piece late on a cold night, having just finished sewing an elastic string between two tiny gloves – a late prevention measure against the many pairs lost during winter. Tomorrow’s snacks are packed, and I wonder if they’ll be enough to sustain my two boys – or if I can sneak one for myself. My memory card rests nearby, holding moments of family life alongside hundreds of shots for my photobook, 40 Children of Bhopal
My roles as both a mother and casual photojournalist often collide, illuminating each other. A few hours earlier, I had settled at my desk with determination to write, only to hear my children’s laughter morph into pleas for attention. My laptop closed with a soft thud as I joined them, their faces
lighting up in my presence. In our warm, safe home my thoughts drifted to the children in my book –young lives shaped by tragedy, their stories as deserving of attention as my sons’ calls to me.
As I continue to tend to my children’s daily needs, I’m staggered by the stark contrast with families in the city of Bhopal, India, where every home knows of silent danger. Their story began on December 3rd, 1984 when a gas leak from an American-owned pesticide factory claimed more than 20,000 lives. Decades later, toxic waste remains abandoned, leaking and contaminating part of the city’s water and soil. For thousands of local families, everyday acts like drinking water, bathing or cooking meals mean poisonous exposure.
Born at home and diagnosed with perinatal stroke and cerebral palsy, Anibaya enjoys simple pleasures like eating biryani and playing in nearby parks. She shares a special bond with her father and older sister. Her maternal grandmother was affected by the gas leak.
My journey into motherhood and 40 Children of Bhopal grew side by side. In the four years since the photobook’s inception, I adopted my husband’s first son, moved house, gave birth to my second, and worked unpaid during many late nights and weekends to capture stories of children still living with the disaster’s legacy.
Being a mother also influenced how I approached a book featuring children. I was determined to celebrate their individuality and avoid stark imagery that evoked pity, focusing instead on capturing them in their naturally happy places – whether it was playing sports, dancing or being cradled by a carer. I also wanted
to create a series of photos and stories they could enjoy being featured in. The photobook’s playful design, which I published in 2024, also reflects this vision.
Children like Aleena – who dreams of opening her own beauty salon – and Usama show the spirit I aimed to capture in these portraits and stories. Mahi, whom I photographed and interviewed with her mother, later passed away – her death a stark reminder of the ongoing human cost of the disaster and how young lives are being taken. These moments brought me back to reality again and again, reinforcing why these stories needed to be told with both tenderness and truth.
Usama
Born with twisted feet, Usama began treatment at 10 months old, receiving specialised casts. Through consistent rehabilitation, he progressed to standing and attempting to walk, though he continues to need regular therapy. His father survived the gas leak.
Born with an intellectual disability, Arhaan transformed from being unable to walk, read or write to mastering all three skills through rehabilitation support. He now excels in sports including football, volleyball and cricket. Both his parents were exposed to the 1984 gas leak when they were children.
Arhaan
Abban, who exhibits global developmental delay, must receive multiple therapies through rehabilitation efforts. He shares a special bond with his father, enjoying bike rides and playing with toy cars. His paternal grandparents were exposed to the gas leak.
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Abban
Born with cerebral palsy, Aalisha was unable to speak, eat, sit or talk at age nine. Through therapy and special education, she made remarkable progress, even learning to ride a bicycle independently. Today, she attends mainstream school and dreams of becoming a doctor. Her maternal grandfather suffered eye damage from the gas exposure.
My first encounter with the Bhopal disaster's documentation took place during my Master’s degree and left me questioning how we tell such stories. Perplexed, I sought out every piece of writing I could find, including many by the renowned Booker Prize nominee Indra Sinha, known for his powerful chronicling of the tragedy. Today I am humbled that he has written a recommendation for my book.
In 2014, soon after finishing my degree, I landed in Bhopal to work alongside journalists reporting on the 30th anniversary of the gas disaster. It was then that I witnessed the harsh reality and first visited the children’s centre where
I would return many times, years later, as a mother and photojournalist, to meet the subjects for 40 Children of Bhopal
Each visit to the centre, more than 8,000 kilometres from my own home, left me exhausted but emotionally driven. On earlier trips, I was still breastfeeding, navigating sleepless nights and long days to balance my baby’s needs with the demands of this work. Curious children greeted me with warmth, and the mothers of Bhopal welcomed me into their homes. We were united not only by the desire to share their stories for Bhopal, a mission for a clean-up and greater justice, but by a shared hope for brighter futures for our children.
Aalisha
Diagnosed with autism at age three, Shubhana has since made significant progress through speech therapy and tutoring. She now communicates in full sentences and enjoys Bollywood films and her pet goats. Her father survived the devastating gas disaster in Bhopal.
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Shubhana
Born with hidden health complications, Mahi experienced her first seizure at just 18 months. She made progress through various therapies, which helped relieve her symptoms. Sadly, Mahi passed away from complications related to her disabilities. Her paternal grandparents were affected by the Bhopal gas tragedy.
40 Children of Bhopal was completed to coincide with the 40th anniversary of the disaster, but my commitment extends far beyond that timeline or its pages. Drawing on my years in the nonprofit sector, I knew that funding would be as crucial as telling the story itself. So I took an unconventional path for a first-time author – crowdfunding the photobook while pledging to match all funds raised. This ensures that every copy sold directly supports the children’s therapy, play and care at the centre. Each reader becomes not only a witness or learner of the disaster, but an active participant to ensure
the welfare of those affected by it.
Tonight, as I pick up a stray sock and a forgotten toy, I think of the small acts that sustain us. The glove I stitched earlier is just one thread in the immense fabric of care – much like this photobook. As I ship orders across the UK, US and India – including 40 copies a generous donor funded for each of the children – I feel a deep sense of purpose. Each copy carries these important stories forward, weaving a wider web of understanding and support. Through these connections, we move closer to a world that values and protects every child.
Mahi
About Savraj Kaur
A consistent advocate for human rights, Savraj (pronounced “suhv-raaj”) is a nonprofit leader turned writer and photojournalist. With a Master’s in Disasters, Adaptation and Development from King’s College London, she blends academic perspective with global insight. Her work has ranged from supporting disabled children in East Africa to humanitarian aid efforts in the Middle East, and supporting migrant workers in Southern India.
In 2014 she was part of the Bhopal gas disaster’s 30th anniversary campaign, working with international journalists documenting ongoing generational impacts. This collaboration evolved into a photobook focusing on children living with disabilities from water contamination. During the Covid-19 pandemic she led efforts to support local communities and was awarded a medal in the 2022 UK Queen’s New Year Honours List for her efforts. In 2025 she was named Patron of the Bhopal Medical Appeal following her years of dedication to the cause.
Savraj lives in London with her husband and two sons.
Working with her family’s uneven archive, the photographer confronts and reconstructs difficult stories and finally finds a sense of “home”.
by Chloe Sastry
I have always felt a conflict between the historical items in the family archive now in my stewardship and my own subjective recollections. From my father’s side: dusty boxes of revered photographs, ephemera and objects I felt obliged to store away – Hermès scarves, engraved silver, inherited jewellery and collectable china – all an extension of my paternal family’s self-esteem. From my mother’s side, just four photographs remain, their erasure in plain sight.
This carefully curated collection only told half the story. It put me in mind of the wider postmemory work of academic Marianne Hirsch, who describes how domestic photography is “the family’s primary instrument of self-knowledge and representation.”
Over time I’ve been able to reframe this obsession with signalling social hierarchy through the indexical recording of heirlooms. The true value of an archive lies somewhere beyond its material worth. Perhaps the obsessive collecting, recording and passing down of objects was my father’s family’s way of connecting, of saying: “I love you and I trust you with this thing that is part of me.”
Despite their differences, both sides of my family were just trying to show me love in their own ways. I wanted to find a way to honour that, while also acknowledging the parts of my history that were missing or forgotten. And so Past, Imperfect, my collaboration with the family archive, was born.
I am always interested in what people are not photographing and how I might tangibly represent the absence I feel. I responded to the dominant archive by exposing the material traces of people and time on these treasured objects — inserting the suggestion of my anger and frustration — while simultaneously making visible the forgotten part of my family archive. I hope to create a legacy of images connoting value to the material realities of my maternal grandparents’ home. By sourcing and photographing the more undistinguished missing objects, fabrics, and foods, I welcome viewers before taking them deeper, beyond the assumed insignificance of acquiring “things”. I removed these objects from
their traditional domestic settings and staged them in new ways, hoping to reanimate them and uncover the personal and social narratives they hold. This controlled “reconstructing” of my memories has limitations but is no more a deception than the selective compositions and recording of my identity by the original family archivist. I see the irony in my using inherently fallible photography to contest the archive.
Rephotography allows me to show every remembered detail from my maternal grandparents’ home, a forbidden, cosy haven of games and comfort food. Responding to the original photographs, yet cutting out sections, mirrors the removal that happened and allows me to preserve anonymity.
“My family never got a look-in, you know”
“It’s all I live for, you coming to visit me”
Flawed communication
Within the project, I introduce sections with my childhood memories of blunt, restrained phrases uttered by both sides of the family — all flawed attempts at expressing the same concern. I prefer to keep who said what ambiguous, to convey the emotional charge of the dissonant communications of love from each side that continues to haunt me. I pair each caption with a small, tea-toned cyanotype fragment from each home, slowly formed, sealing it into its vaguely remembered world. It was a challenge to blend the diverse image types and still retain a coherent whole. That said, the inherently fractured nature of the family and of memories themselves perhaps mirrors the naturally disjointed construction of amateur albums. Moving between warm light and formal dark backgrounds reflects my original, naïve push and pull between the warmth of “good” and the detached formality of the “bad”.
A new heirloom
Past, Imperfect has become an intimate, handstitched album — a tactile object in itself — which I in turn can pass down. Sharing the work to date has shown me people are interested in talking about the family archive and has had the unexpected effect of evoking nostalgia, creating a space for some to share their own difficult family stories. I am now exploring relevant networks for a wider, more socially engaged practice. This is a complex area, and I am therefore joining Dr Neil Gibson’s certificated Therapeutic Photography course in September 2025 to more rigorously explore the potential to integrate photography for selfexpression into my professional mental health and social sector work.
The project will evolve as I continue to explore my archive. Creating this counterhistory allows me to untangle the ties of others and find my sense of “home” inside myself. I am acknowledging my loss
“The true value of an archive lies somewhere beyond its material worth.”
and recognising the role of significant objects in understanding my longed-for sense of identity and belonging to both sides of a family divided by class but united by a common desire for meaningful, loving relationships. My erstwhile urge to discard material heirlooms is shifting now that I appreciate their role beyond their physical form. An absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of an absence. I cannot change an imperfect past, but I hope to create a new, more fluid legacy for my children.
“Gosh, there wasn’t anything really worth passing down”
About Chloe Sastry
Chloe Sastry is a photographer based in London, UK. She has recently gained an MA in Photography from Falmouth University. Through her previous career in the social sector, focusing on mental health and horticulture therapy, she developed her lifelong interest in the universal human experience and what motivates us all. Sastry is particularly interested in how photography allows us to express our most difficult feelings and, in turn, relate more authentically to others. Her current projects explore self-expression within the themes of family origin, loss and memorialisation. www.chloesastry.com ▪ www.instagram.com/chloesastry
by Emma Godfrey Pigott
THE BIG PICTURE
The concluding image in my series The Last Snowball, this photogram shows a snowball exploding onto photosensitive paper in the darkroom. Throughout this body of work, I take the joyful image of a snowball and expand it to consider the effects of climate change on a Swiss Alpine environment. I combine experimental image processes to consider the realities and challenges that climate change poses to the way we think. I turn to the nonhuman — to the photographic, to fir-needle developer, to webcams — and listen to what it has to say about my photographs and our relationship to the landscape, especially as the winters become warmer.
It is increasingly clear that we need to listen to the land, as the author James Bridle suggests, to find new ways of being that break with the binaries of current thinking. Dualistic thinking has allowed us to perceive the nonhuman — both material and natural entities — as resources solely for our growth and pleasure. We use the mountains as a playground with little thought for the environmental impact.
I engage with the natural world at a time of transition, documenting the cycles of the mountain and creating a collaborative aesthetic with my subjects. My resulting dialogue with the world is rooted in a deep love and respect for the landscape where I live. I aim to dispel the hierarchies between the human and the nonhuman, allowing all their voices to be heard.
See the full project: portfolio.emmagodfrey.com/the-last-snowball Instagram: www.instagram.com/emmagodfreypigott
Photogram 5 from The Last Snowball (2024)
Path to Distinction
Karen Brickley ARPS
Interview
by Frankie MacEachen
The Surrey, UK-based photographer shares her experience of applying for — and receiving — the Licentiate and Associate distinctions with her outdoor and abstract work.
Tell us about yourself and how you got started in photography.
I am a retired accountant, married with three grown-up children. My degree subject was biophysics so I have an analytical, scientific background. As a teenager, I got interested in photography using my Dad’s camera for photos of family and friends. My husband and I bought an OM2 film camera and developer when I was in my twenties and had fun developing our photos. I bought my first DSLR before going on holiday to Norway but had no idea how to use it.
In 2017, I found an online course called “A Year With My Camera,” run by Emma Davies, which taught photography from the bottom up and had a camera club with a supportive, noncompetitive community. It was a breath of fresh air to do something creative. I’ve also attended many
courses and workshops and have taught myself using online resources.
Who were your earliest influences and how have they shaped your work?
Initially, I wasn’t aware of many photographers; I was more interested in art. I like the illustrative style of Edward Bawden and Eric Ravilious, but also the movement you find in a Turner painting. Loving the sea, I was attracted to photographers like Rachael Talibart and Margaret Soraya. The first photobook I ever bought was Shaped by the Sea by Theo Bosboom which focused on small details and abstracts. All three photographers influence how I photograph. Sandra Bartocha and Werner Bollmann’s book Lys opened my eyes to a different kind of landscape photography, one that resonated with me.
Dahlia
You describe yourself as an “outdoor and abstract photographer”. Do you start with a concept or do you respond to situations presented to you?
When I go out with my camera, I'm very aware of my surroundings. A lot of the time I just see what interests me and take it from there. If I’m working on a project then I go out with much more purpose. Generally, though, I'm quite spontaneous.
You have been awarded both the Licentiate (2019) and Associate (2023) distinctions. What inspired you to apply for the Licentiate?
I’d heard of the RPS but wasn't a member before I applied for the distinctions. I knew of the FRPS and Hon FRPS letters but was unaware there were several levels of distinction. In the camera club,
we work on a big project each year and one of the suggestions was to go for an LRPS. I wasn’t specifically looking for validation but thought it would be a good way to peg my progress having started afresh in 2017, and I liked the idea of compiling a cohesive panel of 10 images.
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Pineapple Rottingdean Windmill
Tell us about the LRPS process and your journey to Licentiate status.
I checked the RPS website for guidelines and researched both successful and unsuccessful panels and blogs written about the process. I attended an advisory day as a spectator to understand what the assessors were looking for, such as not having any blown highlights, cropping considerations, etc. I went through my archive to try to put some panels together and signed up to show a panel at an advisory day. You learn a lot about what the assessors are looking for by observing and listening to the feedback given to all those participating. Only a couple of images from that session made the final panel. I hadn't done any printing before and learned about this for the LRPS. I chose to have the images printed externally.
I need to work to a deadline, so I booked an assessment after the advisory day. Before that, I submitted a set of 10 photographs and five spares for online advice. There was no dialogue, just a written critique. The feedback was pretty dreadful, and I was somewhat crestfallen. Once I got over that I went through each of the images, noting down their technical details so I could identify which criteria were being met and those I was missing.
I sent my images to Bristol and went down for the assessment day. I was first up and had no real expectation of success. However, the assessors
were positive and complimentary about my panel. It was very nice to hear my name read out, which meant that I had attained the distinction.
How did you choose your 10 images and what did you need to consider in putting your Licentiate submission together?
I started going through my archives and initially picked images on the basis of colour as I was looking for cohesion. I chose blues, greens and golds. I took some shots while on holiday in South Africa — the two “big cat” images made it onto the panel. After the online feedback, I went through an analysis process which helped me identify what I needed in terms of further images. A visit to Brighton gave me the Windmill, Bandstand and Pier images. I didn't decide on the final shot — of the houses by the canal in Amsterdam — until the day before I had to send everything to be printed.
In arranging the panel I thought about pairs of images, for instance top and bottom row, along with the four corners. I tried to get a couple of triangles going around the middle and a strong image for the centre. It helps to arrange images to look in towards the middle and create echoes among colours and shapes. I had the images all printed the same size and on the same paper and mounts to aid cohesion.
How challenging was the Licentiate process?
The challenge was understanding what was needed and how the work would be assessed. I also had to learn about printing images. By the end of the process, I felt it was a bit prescriptive and wanted to do something different. In fact, I didn't use my camera properly for a couple of months afterwards. When I did I wanted to do something for me, rather than to tick boxes. The whole Licentiate process took me about 10 months.
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Brighton Bandstand
Path to Distinction
What was different about preparing a submission for the Associate distinction?
I knew I wanted to go for the Associate as soon as I achieved the Licentiate. For the ARPS you have to choose a photographic genre; I chose Visual Art. The panel size increases to 15 images and the other difference from the LRPS is the requirement for a written statement of intent (SOI). This explains what you want to achieve with the panel and why you made the images you are showing. The assessors constantly refer back to the SOI, so the images must demonstrate your stated vision.
Coming up with an idea took a while because I wanted a project to come to me and then consider if it would work for the Associate. I knew I wanted the panel to be about the sea. I hadn’t anticipated it would be about sea rust but it was the colours and textures on the sea wall at Seaford that caught my eye whilst on the beach there. The challenge was keeping everything cohesive but not repetitive. The panel images must work together, but not be so similar that they all look the same. This time I did all the printing myself and I really enjoyed having complete control of the final outcome.
It took two years from having the idea to being awarded, at my second attempt, with an amended panel. I thoroughly enjoyed putting the panel together and finding all the different colours, textures and patterns. I have subsequently shown some of those images in an exhibition in London.
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Did you receive ongoing support and advice either online or one-to-one?
The RPS London Region runs a group to talk about distinctions. When preparing for the Associate qualification, I put forward my ideas to the group and received a positive response. I had two oneto-one sessions — one to discuss my SOI with a few images and a second to review my draft panel. The panel was considered ready for submission, although I was unsure about a few of the images.
I wasn’t successful at my first attempt, but was deemed close to the required standard so was offered a resubmission. The panel failed on the images I had questioned at the second one-toone. I wished I’d gone with my gut instinct.
I replaced five images for the resubmission and had a further useful one-to-one on the amended panel, which was successful.
For both distinctions, I had support from family and friends and the camera club. There are a lot of people willing to offer advice but I would probably just start with two or three people whose opinions you value.
What advice would you give to photographers thinking of applying for a distinction?
Go for it if you're thinking about it. The Licentiate made me feel as though I was a competent photographer, and the Associate let me explore my own creative vision. Doing both has enhanced my photography and will lead to new projects.
You must be prepared to take criticism. The assessors are blunt, but think of that critique positively and it will help you. Do read the guidelines and criteria carefully, and book a one-to-one session for detailed advice. It can feel daunting but if the qualification is to have meaning, standards must be maintained.
I have learned a lot about myself and my photography. I thoroughly enjoyed the process for both distinctions and would recommend it.
Learn more about distinctions on the RPS website
ARPS Panel
About Karen Brickley ARPS
Karen Brickley is an amateur photographer living in Surrey. Seeking an antidote to the analytical skills of her day job in accountancy, she re-ignited her interest in photography by signing up for an online course in 2017 and was immediately hooked.
Karen relishes the mental peace that comes from being outside with her camera. Happiest near water and especially the sea, she seeks out images where others may not. Naturally drawn to order and pattern, she also likes to experiment with creative techniques.
The winner of the Urban Life category of LPOTY 2021, Karen has participated in exhibitions across the UK. She enjoys developing ideas into projects, often bringing these together in a book. Her current work explores how listening to music whilst photographing influences the look and feel of the final image. www.karenbrickleyphotography.com ▪ www.instagram.com/karenbrickleyphotography
FOCUS
Tia Lloyd
Through a blend of documentary and abstract photography, a deeply personal exploration of an ovarian cyst diagnosis has transformed into a collaborative project that amplifies the voices of those grappling with reproductive health issues.
By Christina Osborne
Tia writes: “Within the early stages of my current practice, I began by taking a painterly approach, creating photographs which could be seen as renaissance in style. In this stage of the project, I explored symbolism and semiotics to represent my broken fertility, the smashed pomegranate metaphoric of my fragmented seed.”
“To Have and to Hold was created at the most uncertain time throughout my experience, a moment between my diagnosis and meeting with a specialist who would determine how to approach the anomaly taking over my pelvis. I distorted my body using lens-based manipulation not only to preserve my dignity but also to symbolise the lack of clarity at that time. The cyst is visible in my left hand as I pass over my fertility to the hands of a gynecologist.”
I first met Tia Lloyd when she joined a monthly RPS Women in Photography Show and Tell workshop. Tia showed images from Fragility , a personal project exploring her ovarian cyst diagnosis. The blend of documentary photography and photographic abstraction to describe a deeply personal experience has resulted in a stunning collection of work.
Tia teaches BTEC Photography to 16-yearold students on the outskirts of Birmingham. She laughs when she tells me that she never dreamt that she would end up teaching for a living. She describes her childhood education as difficult until studying at Dudley College and this was what made her want to give back to today’s youth. “Somedays, it does not feel like I am at work,” explains Tia.
Tia is also a student in the MFA course at Falmouth
University. Her earlier works often investigated counterculture. Those images are as stark as her subjects’ tattoos. Behind each portrait, the confidence of the photographer is clear to see. Tia describes this work as having a “rough and gritty vibe”.
In 2024, Tia was diagnosed with a significant ovarian cyst, possibly the result of using birth control medication. She had never thought about having children until she was told it was likely that she would need to have her ovaries removed. “I cannot explain how this feels,” says Tia. “Jesus, some people have to live with this their whole lives. Why does no one talk about it? Why can we not discuss issues around reproductive problems? We hide behind the British stiff upper lip but the reality is that the issue goes beyond physical problems — the mental health aspect is just as important.”
“Experimenting further with abstract approaches, my images often comprise realistic props, including a to-scale female pelvis, where we see the brutal scale of the ‘Evil Demon Within.’ In this piece, I discuss my influence from the iconic Barbara Kruger when exploring the power of text and images.”
“Bloom 3/3 was one of the images which concluded the Fragility series. This image was produced only days post-surgery, holding a calm yet positive essence. It was created in response to the relief I experienced when I was informed that both ovaries were luckily preserved following three hours of complex surgery. The image is symbolic of a rebirth, a fresh bloom and a positive outlook towards my preserved fertility.”
‘Not
alone’
Tia’s decision to make work about her own experiences was a gradual process rather than a eureka moment. Her cyst had grown to 15cm and, not surprisingly, this affected her fit in clothing. The disfigurement of her body instigated a series of distorted self-portraits while she captured her emotional state with a more abstract approach. “Time passing became apparent to me. I would often find myself observing reflections and shadows while I became consumed with thoughts.”
Taking an abstract, painterly approach, Tia
consciously wanted to make work that showed her condition without the risk of accidentally creating images that could be interpreted as having an erotic layer. The feedback from fellow students in her MFA tutorials helped her ensure that she had achieved a balanced approach, she says.
A desire to protect her modesty together with using the MFA to explore photography supported her move away from a strictly documentary approach and towards an exploration of abstraction. Included in this work are examples of medical
“My first subject within This is Us, Olivia shared her experience with a range of female health conditions. She outlined the impact not only on her physical health and her quality of life, but also the ongoing effect on her mental health and relationships.”
equipment. Tia laughs as she explains that she had no idea just how small a pelvis is. But using these accurate props allowed her to highlight the internal battle she is fighting.
On her blog, Tia wrote: “I want to offer an opportunity for the viewer to find solace in their own lived experiences, feeling comforted that they are not alone in their suffering.”
This work culminated in a handmade concertina book. It beautifully describes Tia’s experience by combining images she has shot with found images and poetry.
Once Tia had started exploring the effects of her diagnosis, she became interested in the bigger issue of reproductive problems across society. It is no secret that the NHS is at breaking point. BBC research published in 2024 found that around 630,000 people at the very least are waiting to be seen for problems that range from fibroids and
endometriosis to incontinence and menopause care.
Tia used social media to reach out to people with similar problems, and received an overwhelming response. She discovered an untapped desire for people with similar conditions to be acknowledged and represented. Of course, her own experience has made conversation on this subject easier.
“This is when I realised how crucial it was to undertake this body of work. To give a voice to those who are suffering within a society which is often blind to the impact of living with a reproductive health condition.”
“Katie’s story will stay with me forever. After recently undergoing a hysterectomy, she felt that she had severed the connection between herself and her children. A place her babies called home for the first vital nine months of their lives.”
continued overleaf
Collaboration and connection
I was curious as to why Tia reverted to a more traditional environmental portrait/documentary approach for this body of work. “It is a question of balance. I am concentrating on capturing the body language and emotions of the people who have agreed to participate,” she explains. “I needed to create more relatable photography, recording visual narratives to represent my collaborators’ stories accurately. I began to share authorship with my subjects passing over ownership of interpretation.”
Tia writes: “Through collaboration, I apply the notion of phototherapy. Introducing the medium of photography as a coping mechanism and a safe space to connect with others who relate. A sanctuary away from the gaze of those who fail to empathise with the debilitation that comes with the curse of being born with a female reproductive system.”
The effects of reproductive health issues are as much about mental health as they are about the physical condition. As an example, Tia cites the story of one sitter. The side effect of having her womb removed was that she felt that she had lost contact with an important part of her children’s lives.
This is Us is a collaborative project. In addition to making images, Tia has been collecting statements from her sitters.
The work to date has been made into a zine. It has been designed to replicate the feel of a medical file, and this approach has cleverly linked an impersonal object with the fragility of the sitters’ experiences.
I asked Tia where she would like to go with This is Us. “I would love to capture the story of 100 people with reproductive disorders,” she explains. “In addition to collating personal stories, I would like to show the scale of the problem through this work.”
“The Fragility concertina book supported the narrative of my personal journey from start to finish, including my frustration with hormonal contraceptives. Creating the series became a coping mechanism; through photography, I found solace and comfort through the fear and uncertainty. The book featured handwritten statements communicating my emotions and frustrations on days when the cyst was debilitating.”
continued overleaf
“This zine’s design was inspired by the iconic NHS file, collating environmental portraits of my subjects, along with close-ups of their visual scars. The zine combines my images with those created by my subjects. This collaborative approach gives a personal and in-depth insight into what it’s really like to live with a debilitating reproductive health condition.”
About Tia Lloyd
A Falmouth MA photography student, and photography educator, Tia could be described as a documentary photographer and an explorer of alternative photographic processes. Her most recent work This is Us explores collaborative practice, working closely with others to create a photo zine to raise awareness of reproductive health conditions such as PCOS and endometriosis.
Tia has also recently captured her personal experience with a significant ovarian cyst in her series Fragility — the catalyst for her new approach towards photography. tlloyd89.wixsite.com/fragilityp ▪ www.instagram.com/t1a_lloyd_
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