Photo by @fran.gennari. Morning light. Bushwick, Brooklyn.
Author Archive for burn magazine
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Photo by @fran.gennariSunset games. Chilling at home after a long day, watching my neighbors play football in the street.#brooklyn #nyc #photodiary
Photo by @fran.gennariColorful Harlem.#nyc #harlem #photodiary
Photo by @fran.gennari.To breed and train pigeons is no joke in Brooklyn. You can see them every day dancing hypnotically in the sky, perfectly coordinated.This activity is a big reliever from the stresses of daily life and the distractions of the street, matter fact a real life-saver for many people. The pigeon fliers are usually working-class blacks or latinos and were introduced to it by Italians, Irish and other fliers of European descent, in neighborhoods like Bushwick, Canarsie and Ozone Park that were undergoing gradual racial shifts. I truly hope that the rampant gentrification that black and hispanic communities like Bedford-Stuyvesant, Bushwick and Williamsburg are facing – now more than ever – won’t led this fascinating hobby to disappear.#brooklyn #nyc #photodiary #pigeons #gentrification
The creative process is a mystery. The sharpest insight I’ve ever read about it was written by Keith Richards, the Rolling Stones guitarist and songwriter. In his autobiography, Life, Richards revealed his fascination with the motivation behind artistic creation. He wrote: “What is it that makes you want to write songs? In a way you want to stretch yourself into other people’s hearts … It becomes almost an obsession to touch other people.” That’s as good an explanation as I can provide of my intentions as a photographer. I am motivated by an urge to communicate on the most fundamental level – a more profound kind of communication than is possible (for me, at least) with words. It’s about trying to do the impossible – draw other people into my own head and have them see the world as I envision it. Photography is an imperfect attempt to share my private experience. The 20 images in this essay are the result of travel in western Canada and the United States over a period of six years. They are my attempt to convey a vision of “the West” – a deliberately nostalgic and anachronistic vision of a region shaped by cowboys, cattle ranches, farms, empty spaces and small towns. Though the photographs are of the present time, my intentions were rooted in the past; rooted in a world that no longer exists, even if visible signs of it remain.
Mark Schacter was born in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada – a small, remote city on the western shore of Lake Superior. The surrounding landscape is rugged, empty, undulating rocky terrain covered by boreal forest and dotted with small towns perched on the edge of wilderness. His home city is filled with reminders – towering derelict grain elevators, an abandoned iron ore dock, shuttered paper mills – of a recent industrial past built on a natural resource economy that has nearly disappeared. Schacter’s family moved away from Thunder Bay when he was 16, but his photographic tendencies continue to be shaped by the environment of his childhood. He drawns to scenes of emptiness: landscapes and cityscapes where human presence seems like an afterthought. Sometimes Schacter thinks of himself as a kind of archaeologist, recording with his camera signs that “people have been here” – have struggled to made a living, build something, leave a mark of their presence.
Eye contact in a chaotic place like Manhattan is very often all you can get from the people around you so don’t take it for guaranteed, ever. This morning I was in the city on my way to get some extra batteries for my camera when I spotted them, far up there across the street, looking out the traffic underneath with binoculars. I waved at them as I took the picture and they immediately waved back at me. Gotta love NY.Photo by @fran.gennari#nyc #manhattan #photodiary
Hi! This is Francesca Gennari @fran.gennari . After an healthy summer break we’re back with @burndiary, a daily look to the lives of our Burn family’s photographers. Diego asked me to start off September so I will be taking over Burn Diary from New York City, where I just moved a few weeks ago. After working behind the scene for months I am really happy and excited for this opportunity, many thanks to @davidalanharvey and @diegorlando .#brooklyn #nyc #photodiary
May 5, 2015: Rays stream from sun onto ocean to strike hunters from all angles, cooking them out of their clothing layer by layer until finally they stand bare chested at the water’s edge. I remember a beach in Mexico – but this is Arctic Alaska, where Iñupiat hunters have ventured onto Chukchi Sea ice to seek the gift of aġvik – the bowhead whale. Since Time Immemorial, aġvik has given Iñupiat not only nutrition, but the foundation of a resourceful, resilient, culture and enabled them to thrive in one of the harshest environments on earth.
Multiple threats have followed the British explorers who sailed into their home in the early 19th century, followed by the Yankee whaling industry, which decimated the bowhead. Imported diseases decimated the Iñupiat.
Both survived and slowly began to replenish their populations. By 1977, the Iñupiat had adapted to incredible change. Money to buy imported goods, high-priced food included, had become vital. Yet bowhead remained central to diet and culture. Each spring, Iñupiat ventured onto Chukchi Sea ice and paddled their bearded seal-skin covered umiaks into the lead to meet bowheads migrating to summer waters in the Canadian Beaufort.
Come the open water season of late summer and early fall, hunters again met aġvik as bowheads migrated back through the Beaufort and Chukchi to their winter home in the Bering Sea. Through intimate observation, Iñupiat knew bowheads numbered many thousands, were increasing and so were shocked when the International Whaling Commission suddenly placed a moratorium on their hunt. IWC claimed the Western Arctic bowhead population numbered as few as 600.
Iñupiat joined other Alaska Inuit, organized the Alaska Eskimo Whaling Commission and took their fight to an IWC convention in the UK. Greenpeace protesters waved “Save the Whales!” signs at them. AEWC secured a pitifully inadequate quota of 18 strikes to land 12 whales for ten Alaska whaling villages spread along a coastline longer than California’s. With financial support from the Utah-sized North Slope Borough, founded by Iñupiat in 1972 to tax oil company property and thus recapture a sliver of the Prudhoe Bay wealth Congress had just taken from them, AEWC launched what with support from the US and Canadian governments became the most intense, ongoing, scientific, peer-reviewed whale census ever conducted. Additional federal studies proved the deep Iñupiat nutritional and cultural need to hunt bowhead.
The most recent tally shows a best-estimate of 16,892 bowhead, growing by 3.7 percent a year. Alaska whaling villages currently hunt under a block quota of 306 landed bowhead, parceled out over six years. Future quotas will be based on future census numbers. Even Greenpeace now favors the Iñupiat right to hunt bowhead. Ailments of the modern world not withstanding, the hunt is strong.
Now the big threat is climate change, happening faster in the Arctic than anywhere else. The spring hunt in the Chukchi becomes ever dangerous as ice thins. The Beaufort late summer/early fall hunt also grows more dangerous. Huge reaches of open water allow violent storms to whip up waves that threaten hunters and shorelines alike. Polar bears have always been present to hunt and be hunted by Iñupiat, but hunted seals from plentiful icebergs and seldom bothered fall hunters.
Now, there are fall seasons when no icebergs can be seen. Polar bears need solid platforms to rest and den upon. They need to eat. They come to Cross and Barter Islands, where Iñupiat from the villages of Nuiqsut and Kaktovik hunt. Many bears now turn to the Iñupiat and the bowhead they land in their own quest to survive. Whalers must be continually wary, lest they fall to a nanuq.
From 1985 through 1995, I repeatedly returned to six whaling villages spread along the Arctic Slope from Point Hope in the west to Kaktovik near Canada to make my magazine, Uiñiq, funded by the North Slope Borough. This resulted in my book, Gift of the Whale (Sasquatch, 1999).I spent the next dozen years plus covering Native people and issues elsewhere across Alaska, but returned to the Slope enough to see the dramatic impacts climate change was bringing to the Iñupiat and their hunting way of life. I saw what looked to be pending offshore oil development – both opposed and supported within the Iñupiat community. For now, oil exploration has stopped in the Chukchi, although smaller scale, near-shore development continues in the Beaufort.
In May, 2008, I launched what I intended to be a comprehensive update but one month later fell, shattered my shoulder and got a new one. A variety of ailments and surgeries followed, but now I am at it again. Should health, life and funds permit, I hope to complete my update by the summer I turn 70 – four years from now.
Then I plan to go sit on a beach in Rio.
I will stay here, in Alaska – most of the time.
When he was five, Bill Hess looked up into the ethereal shimmer of a rare display of northern lights in the Oregon night and felt a mysterious call to the north. The call persisted as his Mormon family migrated about in the land and mythology of the American West. Reality punctured myth during the two years he served on a mission to the Lakota and the five he spent as a one-man-band newspaperman and freelancer on his wife Margie’s White Mountain Apache Reservation. On July 14, 1981, his 31st birthday, he finally followed the call home to Alaska. No job awaited, no house for his family and he knew no one, yet his soul was soothed. He has dedicated his career since to learning about his home from those who know it best – the First Peoples of Alaska. He extends his thanks to them for allowing him to walk, eat and sleep upon their lands, waters and ice, for all they have so generously shared with and taught him.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, my untroubled life, formerly defined by nonchalance and filled with love, was overwhelmed by fear, anger and despair. After this assault, I didn’t know if I could ever recover my former peace. My earlier sense of harmony and wellbeing seemed beyond reach.
Even after the immediate and serious threat to my family was resolved, my wounds were fresh and deep.
These photographs reflect an escape—my effort to open my heart again to trust and joy.
Coney Island provided a ready escape from the frenzied streets of Brooklyn. The force and power of the ocean helped me, and other visitors, to distance ourselves from the burdens of our daily lives. Coney Island provided a space for us to let down our guard.
I wanted my soul to connect with other souls, so I could once again celebrate the beauty of the day and let myself become whole once again.
Harald is a Dutch photographer who lives and travels between Cyprus and Russia. Once fulfilled in his business life, at the age of 42, he decided to focus entirely on his passion for photography that he cherished from early childhood. Previous life gave him an insightful privilege of experiencing the daily life of ordinary people in more than 35 countries around the world where he travelled to and lived in. The variety and peculiarities of cultures, backgrounds, environments and similarity of emotions in all of them is what he always wanted to share through photography. “I look at my surroundings with sincerity of a child who doesn’t wish to break into someone’s intimate moment but rather be embraced by it. It’s like capturing frames of a life long movie, the frames that beat along with my heart. Every picture of mine has a piece of my soul in it. That’s why I do it, it’s my way of absorbing this world with all its beauty and flaws and give back a part of myself.”
Aji Susanto Anom
River of Hades
[ EPF 2016 FINALIST ]
River of Hades is an mythological approach to document reality and construct a fictional historical record of real life experience. Inspired and captivated by the magic of the river mythologies from my city and another riverside that i had chance to encounters, from that experience I try to create fictional narratives based on the myth of the river of Hades.
In Greek mythology, the Underworld, may be the land of the dead, but it has living botanical items, like meadows with asphodel flowers, and geographical features. Among the most famous are the river of the Underworld that connect the Earth and the Underworld. That river is called River of Hades (Hades is the Ruler of the Underworld).
The surreal wilderness of the night in the riverside has always fascinated me. The riverside I walked through during the day, completely transformed after sundown. There was a dark side in it: the ghost-like creatures that I imagined wandering around in the deepest shadows. Because of my fear, I could never bring myself to approach these mysterious beings directly. They partook in unknown activities and so they shall remain.
Regardless, photography has given me the energy to enjoy the discomfort and experience of this nocturnal wild side. While confronting the darkness outside, I also redeemed the darkness within.
Aji Susanto Anom (b.1989) is a photographer based in Solo, Indonesia. He is now still studying in Indonesian Art Institutes of Yogyakarta (ISI Yogyakarta). His work is basically explores all his personal question about the darkness of his deeper life. He has published three photobooks independently called ‘Nothing Personal’, ‘Poison’ and ‘Recollecting Dreams’. In 2015, he was selected as one of the participant of ‘Angkor Photography Workshop’ under the mentor: Antoine D’Agata and Sohrab Hura. His works can be discovered through his featured publication on BURN Magazine, Lens Culture, The Invisible Photographer Asia, Top Photography Films, Monovisions, Dodho Magazines, Sidewalkers.Asia and more.