The young woman doesn't smile. She looks straight down the lens, freckles scattered across her face, hair falling in loose waves. There's no glamour, no performance. But still, that steady gaze makes an impact.

This is one of more than 100 photographs that the New York-based photographer Sherrie Nickol took in the late 1970s, when she was a student in Cincinnati, Ohio. Shot on film in natural light, they've remained largely unseen for almost half a century. Now they're gathered together in a new book from Hirmer, Chrysalis.

There are many portraits here of young women. Friends and peers, captured in bedrooms, hallways, on staircases and in pools of window light. They sit together with pictures of the American South where Nickol grew up, from Osceola in Arkansas to the Mississippi Delta and New Orleans.

What strikes you most is how unguarded the subjects are. The women weren't posing for a fashion shoot or a press photographer. They were simply reading, thinking, looking out of windows, or looking directly into the camera.

In one shot, a woman sits on a bench by a window, a cigarette at her lips and a pair of binoculars held up in one hand. She glances sideways, half amused, half daring the viewer to work out what's going on.

In another picture, a young woman lies sits on a sofa, staring over the top of a newspaper with wide eyes. A headline reads "What's In A Name? Fame". It feels eminently suitable for a collection of photos of women whose identities have not yet firmly settled.

Nickol shot all of this on film, using only natural light, and she makes the most of it. In one portrait, a woman sits in front of an old ribbed radiator. The stripes of her shirt echo the columns of the radiator behind her, while soft light from one side models her face. It's a simple but effective composition that leans into geometry to great effect.

The title, Chrysalis, says it all. In the words of the publisher, it speaks to "a protected space of becoming, of identity not yet fixed, of transition held gently in suspension". These are pictures of young women on the cusp of something, made by a young woman who was herself still finding her way too.

A parallel strand, meanwhile, takes us on a journey around the 1970s south. In one of the New Orleans pictures, two women ride a streetcar, sitting on wooden benches beneath its tall windows.

A younger woman in a knitted hat gazes out at the trees, while an older woman in a beret and tweed coat holds a tissue to her mouth and looks the other way. They’re inches apart but entirely in their own worlds.

These Southern scenes broaden the book’s scope to family, community and place, from Arkansas farm roads to small-town street scenes in Mississippi.

Chrysalis by Sherrie Nickol is published by Hirmer and will be available in the US from January 2027, following its November release in the UK and EU. It's a 156-page hardback with 112 duotone illustrations, bound in linen with two large tip-ins.

Not a fan of the square or vertical images we've got used to in the smartphone age? Prefer the idea of wide, sweeping panoramas... the wider the better? Me too. And that's why there's a special place in my heart for Kodak’s Colorama: a huge, backlit panorama installed on the east balcony of New York City’s Grand Central Terminal from 1950 to 1990.

At 60 feet wide and 18 feet tall, this photographic display showed an idealised slice of American life to passing commuters. Now 287 of them have been brought together in a two-volume publication from Gestalten, titled KODAK COLORAMA Archive.

The formula was simple: take everyday scenes, cast them in a glow of perfection, and reproduce them at enormous scale. A family packs the car for a summer at the beach. Kids hurtle down a snow-covered hill on a sled. Water skiers race towards the lens in a spray of foam. Newlyweds emerge from an ivy-covered church, beaming.

As the publisher explains, Kodak and its advertising agency, J. Walter Thompson, these idealised visions of safe, suburban, consumer-centred life had a very clear purpose. At a time when post-war employment markets and growing mobility were pulling families apart, these images were selling something more profound than just photographic film. They were selling the notion of memory-making and social belonging.

Thumb through the book, and a pattern emerges. In picture after picture, somebody is taking a photograph. A man crouches in autumn leaves to snap his girlfriend. A young couple kneel in a riot of tulips and hyacinths, peering at a compact. At the wedding, a guest photographs a bridesmaid.

The message is unambiguous: the best moments are the ones you capture on Kodak. Or as the youth of the 2020s might say: "Pics or it didn't happen".

The Coloramas weren't just about ideas of domestic bliss, though: they also tracked real events in a changing world. The collection includes work by Ansel Adams and some of NASA’s first images from the surface of the Moon. Colorama No. 319, photographed by Norman C. Kerr and displayed in 1969, was the first to feature a black couple.

By the 1980s, you get pictures like True Promise – Class of 2001, featuring a line of grinning children dressed as future artists, athletes, musicians and graduates.

Making a sharp, vividly coloured photograph that could be viewed at 18 metres wide in the 1950s was, of course, no small task. First, Kodak used specialised, oversized Deardorff large-format cameras to shoot the scenes. Next, the giant transparencies were processed in vertical strips inside a repurposed swimming pool, then joined using custom clear welds developed specifically for the task. The finished images were lit from behind by about a mile of cold-cathode tubes.

Sounds expensive? You betcha. Kodak paid hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in rent for the space alone, and up to $30,000 per image before production costs were even counted. Which was an awful lot of money in those days.

Today we worry about algorithms, addiction and social media fakery. The Coloramas might be seen as an ancestor of this dynamic: a glowing, larger-than-life version of a reality that never quite existed, glowing with saturated colour. And that may make revisiting them in 2026 a strange and unsettling experience. But that doesn’t stop them, at the same time, being a real joy to look at.

KODAK COLORAMA Archive is published by Gestalten as a two-volume hardback set in a slipcase, priced $150 / £125. It’s available now in the UK and Europe, and in the US from November 17.

It’s ironic when you think about it. Cities have never been more crowded with people. Yet for those who live in them, it's common to feel lonely and isolated.

London photographer Mark Fearnley has spent years exploring that tension through his lens. And now his work is presented a new book published by teNeues, titled The Art of Solitude.

The pictures here all follow a similar approach. A single, anonymous figure is framed against a huge architectural space: a sweep of concrete, a soaring atrium, a gleaming staircase. The people are tiny. The buildings are huge. The impact is profound.

The way I've described it here might sound depressing. But as you can see from the photographs on this page, the effect is actually pretty positive and uplifiting.

In the words of the press materials, this work “celebrates human resilience—transforming everyday spaces into poetic narratives that invite us to step out of shared isolation and rediscover connection and hope".

Sense of scale

Like so many photographers, Fearnley started out as painter, with his working including large-scale murals. Then around 10 years ago, he swapped his brush for a camera, and quickly saw the parallels between the two art forms in terms of composition, focus and use of light.

That painterly background is evident throughout in the book. These photographs are carefully constructed compositions, in which every line, curve and shadow has been placed with intent.

Take the picture at the top of this page, of a cyclist gliding beneath what looks like a forest of angled concrete ribs. This imposing structure is mirrored in the water below, so that the rider seems to be passing through the centre of a giant eye. It’s a masterclass in symmetry, and in timing.

The same dynamic applies equally well indoors. In the photograph below, a man in a suit stands in a white gallery, gazing up at a vast lattice of metal rods hanging above him like a storm cloud. The latter fills around two-thirds of the frame, so you feel its weight pressing down.

Scale is at the heart of Fearnley work. In one picture, the curves of a futuristic building rise like a frozen wave beneath a dramatic sky. The tiny hooded worker at its base, hose in hand, is easy to miss; but without him, this would be a striking architectural shot. With him, it becomes a meditation on the relationship between people and place.

Elsewhere, there’s real joy. In one shot, pigeons burst into flight in front of a gridded wall, while a lone figure walks towards it. The birds break up the rigid geometry and bring what might have felt like an austere scene to wonderful life.

With a foreword by filmmaker and photographer Sean Tucker, the timing of this book feels spot on. Urban loneliness has become a concern in cities around the world, and architecture is often part of the problem. These pictures don’t lecture us about any of that. Instead, they make us feel it.

The Art of Solitude: Street Photography by Mark Fearnley is published by teNeues, priced $90 / £60. It’s a 208-page hardback, out now internationally and published in the US on November 24.

The photo above shows a scene from a movie which was made an entire century ago. And while it's just a single frame, you can see exactly why it's still entrancing audiences today.

A wild-haired and heavily bearded man is signing a document with a quill. Beside him, a hooded figure has the countenance of a rogue landlord waiting for you to initial the small print. And in a sense, he is: this is the moment a scholar signs away his soul to the devil.

The image comes from Faust, a 1926 silent movie directed by German director FW Murnau. To mark its centenary this year, MUBI Editions has just published The Faust Bible: The Making of FW Murnau’s Masterpiece, a book built around an archive of photographs that was once assumed to be lost forever.

These pictures offer a rare glimpse into how filmmakers created nightmares long before most of us were born, with nothing in the way of digital tech, but a whole lot of ladders, smoke, fur, papier-mâché and ingenuity taking its place.

Lost and found

This is a book that's literally 100 years in the making. Once the original film had wrapped, crew members Robert Herlth, Carl Hoffmann and Walter Röhrig assembled a visual diary of around 400 photos and illustrations that documented its creation. They presented it to Murnau as a souvenir before he left Germany for Hollywood.

The album then vanished for decades and was thought to have been destroyed in the Second World War. It eventually resurfaced and was purchased by la Cinémathèque française in Paris in 2017. After a painstakingly restoration, it's now being published for general consumption for the first time.

These images are eerie and endearing in equal measure. In one, a skeletal rider with flowing white hair sits atop an equally grotesque steed, flanked by a grim-faced man in armour. It would look terrifying, were it not for the presence of stepladders and technicians in work coats assembling the scene.

In another, two men balance on a plank laid between a ladder and a trestle, above the peak of a model mountain, as fake clouds float around them. The artifice is obvious, but you can see how effective and visceral it would have looked in the final film.

Another captures actor Emil Jannings as Mephisto, caught mid-lunge in satin robes, rapier in hand, his make-up drawn into a widow’s peak. Beside him, F.W. Murnau directs the action in a white coat and hat. Theatrical menace on one side, workaday practicality on the other.

One of the most fascinating images shows the filming itself. The director sits beside a hulking wooden camera on a tripod, megaphone in hand, while a colleague bends to peer through the viewfinder. It’s light years away from today’s mirrorless rigs, yet at a basic level, the job of framing a shot and shouting instructions hasn’t changed much at all.

The Faust Bible: The Making of FW Murnau’s Masterpiece is published by MUBI Editions, priced $100 / £75, and available from mubieditions.com and bookshops worldwide. Faust (1926) is now streaming on MUBI, with live-scored screenings at the Filmmuseum München on October 25 and the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles on November 1.

Street photographers are taught to simplify. Find a clearly identified subject, moment or scene amidst the chaos of city life. Focus in on it, and minimise the visual clutter. Wait for the decisive moment, then pull the trigger. Alex Webb, though, does the opposite.

His images are dense and layered. There's no obvious focal point, which prompts you to keep looking at every nook and cranny. Take the photograph above, for example. There's no obvious theme.

There's a smiling woman in a brown hat… or is she grimacing? Meanwhile, a man in a flat cap, stares into the middle distance, enveloped by the reflection of a huge black-and-white face from an advertising poster. And that's just on the left-hand side of the picture. On the right, a mural explodes with color: a man in a red coat crosses the street and another strides out of the frame.

Overall, some of these people are behind the glass, some in front of it, some reflected in it. It's visual chaos. It's also what cities actually look like.

This is the cover image for Alex Webb’s new book Walking Blues, published by Aperture. Over more than a decade, Webb travelled to some 40 cities across the US, from Erie to El Paso and Atlanta to Oakland, and shot what the press materials call: “moments of connection between communities”.

Busy scenes

Webb has been one of the great names in street photography for decades. Born in San Francisco in 1952, he became a full member of Magnum in 1979 and has since published more than 20 books, including The Suffering of Light (2011) and La Calle: Photographs from Mexico (2016). He's known for his use of saturated color and love of busy frames, packed with several things happening at once.

Take this shot from 2010. In a park in Erie, Pennsylvania, a rainbow arcs through the spray of a sprinkler, dividing the frame neatly into two. On one side, one child stands with arms raised; on the other, a second lies flat on the ground. In the background, a man sits on a bench and watches. Nothing dramatic is happening, yet everything is. It's a shot that evokes joy, stillness and the sense of an older generation looking on at the youth.

These types of picture might look spontaneous, but in practice they demand huge patience. In street photography, it's rare for all the elements to line up like this. To capture such a moment, you have to walk, wait and fail an awful lot.

Why Walking Blues? According to Aperture, Webb was inspired by the “lift and pull” of blues music, and his pictures “express the improvisation of chance encounters”. And it's a metaphor that makes sense to me.

The blues works through repetition and variation: a familiar structure, played again and again, with something new each time. Similarly, in Walking Blues, elements repeat from city to city (a corner, a wall, a slab of shadow, people passing by) but the creativity lies in the improvisation.

Why it's important

This feels like a timely release. Right now, street photography is under pressure as never before, challenged by everything from privacy concerns to legal restrictions to a flood of AI imagery that makes us doubt every image we see.

Walking Blues is a powerful reminder of what we’d lose if this kind of work disappeared. Webb isn't mocking or exploiting his subjects. He's talking pictures of ordinary people living alongside each other. Nobody staged them, and no algorithm could have imagined them.

Alex Webb: Walking Blues is published by Aperture. A related installation of prints will be on view at Aperture, 380 Columbus Avenue, New York, from November 18 to January 10.

Think Britain in the 1930s and, if you've been watching a lot of History Channel documentaries, you'll probably picture things like hunger marches, unemployment lines and the gathering shadow of war in Europe.

All of which, of course, was very important. But as a new photo book highlights, there was a lot more to the decade than that.

Historian Steven Brindle and writer Maureen Hill have brought together hundreds of photographs, most of which have never been published, in a huge hardback titled Britain in the 1930s.

Many have been sourced from the archive of Associated Newspapers, publisher of the Daily Mail, with others coming from Getty Images' Hulton and Keystone collections. They're arranged by county, from Cornwall to Orkney, across 616 glorious pages.

Brindle frames the book around English Journey of 1934 by the celebrated 20th-century novelist, playwright and broadcaster, JB Priestley.

The latter identified three Englands: the old country of cathedrals and villages, the industrial England built by the Victorians and a new, American-influenced world of arterial roads, cinemas and dance halls.

What's striking is how untouched the countryside was by the modern world of the 1930s. "It is remarkable how little impact the 20th century seems to have had; there is hardly a single building from after 1900 to be seen, and very few from after 1800," Brindle writes in the introduction.

In terms of photography, meanwhile, it's a real treasure trove. Many were taken by newspaper photographers whose names have been lost, yet time and again the compositions are superb. Here are some of my favorites.

Liverpool's 'dust-bins'

In 1930, Liverpool Police equipped its point-duty officers with these protection boxes, which shielded them from wind and mud. The idea came from a motorist's letter to the local paper, and the force promptly christened them "the dust-bins".

The constable's white sleeves made his signals visible to drivers, and the photograph frames him perfectly against the street behind.

Boxing Day at the Ritz

A cashier smiles from behind the pay desk at Manchester's Ritz Dancing Hall on Boxing Day 1938. The signs behind her advertise half price for children and a sixpence (6d) refreshment voucher with evening admission.

Dance halls were exactly the kind of place JB Priestley had in mind when he described his "new England".

A crossing for the schoolchildren

Schoolchildren who have to cross a dangerous road in Oxford are escorted by a man holding a Safety-First sign, an early forerunner of the lollipop man. According to the book, this was a new innovation for 1932.

The motion blur in the image is a clear reminder of the slow shutter speeds photographers had to work with at the time.

Sweet success at Bournville

Two women carry towers of finished boxes out of the Cadbury's chocolate factory at Bournville in Warwickshire, where the Quaker brothers George and William Cadbury had built a model village for their workers.

By the 1930s, this was the largest processor of cocoa in the British Empire, employing around 10,000 people.

Sheep come to Winsford

Flocks of Exmoor sheep arrive in the Somerset village of Winsford for the Exmoor Horn Sheep Breeders Society Show and Sale in 1937.

A man on horseback drives them past a row of parked cars, highlighting how this was still a world in which horses and motorcars shared the road.

The Queen Mary at Clydebank

Crowds gather on the riverbank to admire the new liner, Queen Mary, at Clydebank, where it had been built. The vessel set off on its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York in May 1936.

The giant crane on the left and the smoking tug give a vivid sense of the industrial muscle still at work on Clydeside.

Geese on the move

Geese are driven down the street in the village of Carlton, near Helmsley in Yorkshire, by a man with a stick and a boy in wellies.

This was the 20th century but, with the church tower behind them and not a car in sight, this could easily be the 19th.

The Harrow tuck shop

Boys in straw boaters crowd the Harrow School tuck shop at the beginning of term in 1933, with stacks of Toblerone chocolate on the counter.

While Etonians still wore top hats, Harrovians stuck to their boaters. One boy stares straight down the lens, mid-mouthful.

High above the hops

Men on stilts examine hop vines in Kent in 1937, checking whether they're ready for harvest. Each year, thousands of Londoners flocked to the Kent hop gardens for a working holiday. The second man is framed perfectly between the legs of the first, and the rows of vines draw the eye to the vanishing point.

Britain in the 1930s by Steven Brindle and Maureen Hill is published in hardback by Atlantic Publishing on November 05 2026, priced £50 (approximately $66 / AU$95).

Ever noticed how the Covids lockdowns – the most profound and historically significant moment most of us will ever live through – are something we just don't like to talk about?

For some of us, it's because we don't want to dwell on the loneliness, boredom, emptiness and depression that period brought us. For others, who had a better time of it, maybe it's just guilt for enjoying the paid time off, or embarrassment for doing nothing constructive or self-improving with that time.

Every now and again, though, a creative project pops up that reminds us that, just a few years ago, the world turned upside-down, and we were there. And here's an example that comes at things from a highly original angle.

Crowds, published by Kehrer Verlag, is a new book by German photographer Wolfgang Zurborn, as part of its 2026 list. Across its 272 pages, there are 131 color images of, well, exactly what you expect. And it only exists because, during Covid, those pictures were impossible to take. In Germany, at least, crowds had literally ceased to exist.

Many of us in that time found ourselves trying to substitute what we were missing in artificial ways. I, for one, love travel. So I suddenly found myself bingeing TV travel shows I'd never been interested in before. Zurborn did something a little similar.

He'd spent the 1980s and 1990s photographing people in public spaces, at festivals, protests, religious processions, fairgrounds and tourist sites across Germany and France. During Covid, he went back into his own archive and started scanning hundreds of colour negatives.

Making connections

What's fascinating is that, from this new perspective, he found connections between these pictures he hadn't seen at the time. Recurring choreography. Echoes between a 1986 anti-nuclear protest at Wackersdorf and a 1991 street festival in Cologne. Patterns of desire and fear that only reveal themselves once you're looking at all the work, all in one go.

Looking at these pictures sparks unusual feelings in me, too. There's something a little strange about viewing photo after photo where there is no obvious subject, no clear focal point. Instead, there are bodies, gestures, half-stories, scattered across a frame. All shot in a saturated, 20th century palette that gives a theatrical charge to even the most mundane of scenes.

A 1988 shot at the Loreley festival crams brings together a dozen half-dressed festivalgoers, all mid-gesture, none of them quite the obvious subject. A 1989 image from Cologne's Spiel 55 fair juxtaposes a family with a pram against a bold stripe of architectural color. A woman in a striped jumpsuit unpacks shopping in front of a bomb-damaged Cologne building.

This is not portrait photography with a clearly identified subject. These are scenes with a hundred things all going on, all in tension. Working in the tradition of color street photography, Zurborn embraces the clutter and chaos, rather than trying to impose a hierarchy on it.

For anyone whose own photos are gathering dust, Zurborn's book is an inspiration. He didn't wait for the world to open back up to make something new. He found it by looking at material that already existed.

Crowds isn't specifically about lockdown, but it wouldn't exist without it. That's the strange gift some of us got from those empty months. Not a new way of shooting, but a new way of seeing what we'd already shot.

Crowds by Wolfgang Zurborn, with an interview by curator Alasdair Foster, is published by Kehrer Verlag in English and German, priced at $65 / £50.

Many photographers aim to create photographs that evoke a smile, but for Don McCullin, the British photojournalist who has spent decades covering war and global conflicts, his goal is a little different: he wants to create photographs that make people lose sleep at night.

McCullin, who has spent more than 50 years photographing wars and global conflicts, will release what he says is his final photo book in October, the same month as his 91st birthday. Ahead of the launch of the book titled Vietnam, McCullin spoke to CBS News for a mini-documentary on his iconic career as a war photographer.

Looking over McCullin's photographs may make viewers feel uncomfortable, but that’s by design.

“I always print my pictures dark,” he said. “I want my picture to hurt you. I don’t want you having any free rides. I’m there to upset you, and I’m there to make you feel uncomfortable the way I feel when I go to bed at night. Otherwise, there’s no point in me going there in the first place.”

McCullin may have retired from war photography at age 75, but the photographer says he still relives those battles every night. The February 1968 Battle of Haế in the Vietnam War is both the subject of the photographer’s final book and the memories that he relives every night.

“To this day, I live that battle every night I go upstairs in this house to go to sleep. Every night. It never leaves me,” he said.

McCullin says that he was told by a superior officer that the battle was to be a 24-hour mission. 11 days later, he was still there with the Delta Company US Marine unit that suffered a 40 percent casualty rate in the battle that stretched to 26 days.

It was amid the Battle of Haế that McCullin took what many consider to be his most iconic photograph: A photo of a shell-shocked soldier, staring vacantly into the distance. The photograph became an iconic representation of the war that sparked formal recognition for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

But McCullin says he actually hates that photograph. “Frankly, I hate this picture because people think it’s the only picture that I’ve ever taken,” he said. “It’s just that you have to be careful when you make these pictures. If you turn them into an iconic picture and they are bearable to look at, you haven’t done your job properly because it means that people will accept instead of turning away.”

McCullin may have spent a career taking photographs designed to make people feel uncomfortable, but he was also known for putting his cameras down when necessary. In the mini-documentary, he recounted photographing a man being held up by two soldiers in Vietnam. But when all three of them fell to the ground, he put the injured Marine on his back and carried him to safety.

McCullin says he has covered nearly every major global conflict during his decades-long career, including being wounded by a mortar in Cambodia – where he continued to take photos from the back of a truck.

“As long as people run armament factories and create weapons of war,” he said, “you’re photographing one war thinking there’s another war waiting in the background, as there is in this world we live in today.”

Don McCullin’s Vietnam will be released in October, retailing for $95 / £80 / CA$148. The hardcover photo book is available to pre-order from Amazon, with signed editions available directly from the publisher, GOST Books.

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A good photobook will take you on a journey. A photobook that takes you on a journey that feels cinematic, that shows you reality from a different perspective, that makes you feel something subtly profound… well, that's a great photobook.

And in my view, Elsebound: Photographs from the Quiet Hours, the first monograph from Nicolas Rachline, fits right into that category.

Due to be published by Rizzoli New York on September 22, Elsebound evokes a real film noir feel. Empty pavements, half-lit doorways and dim figures are caught mid-thought beneath deep shadows and pale, glowing light; none of them quite explaining themselves. It's the kind of book that makes you think, rather than telling you what to think.

There's a famous quote about music commonly attributed to jazz legend Miles Davis: "It's not the notes you play; it's the notes you don't play." It feels like a similar thing with Rachline's photography. It's less about where he points his camera than where he doesn't.

Two people dressed as clowns stand talking outside a shuttered shop in fading light. A well-dressed man in a bowler hat walks alone towards a lit-up Café de Flore. A woman in a red coat climbs a stone staircase towards a bridge, caught between two pools of shadow.

These are all compelling scenes. And yet you have no real idea what's transpiring here. You have no clue what happened before, or what will happen next. And that's, really, the essence of Elsebound: a sense of mystery that provokes you to either fill in the gaps itself, or be happy to keep wondering.

Eclectic background

Born in France and now based in Belgium, Rachline came to photography late, after spending decades in advertising, publishing and music video production, including work on videos for the singer Yves Simon and the cinematic legend Isabelle Adjani's one big music video, Pull Marine, directed by Luc Besson.

He shifted his focus to photography a little over ten years ago, and his eclectic creative background forms the bedrock of his work today. With influences from photographers such as Brassai, Philip-Lorca diCorcia, and Saul Leiter, as well as painters including Edward Hopper and Paul Delvaux, these images feel less like standard photography than stills from an imaginary film nobody's seen.

Here, the architecture often does as much work as any human subject. A stone sea wall in Elba, a silhouette walking a rooftop ridge at sunset, a Manhattan skyline reduced to a smudge of towers under bruised cloud. When people do appear, they're often small, distant or turned away.

It all might sound depressing, but the foreword, written jointly by the journalist Graydon Carter and deputy editor Nathan King, argues the pictures carry hope as well as melancholy. And I'd suggest it's that tension between unease and warmth that carries the book. These are lonely-looking images that rarely feel sad: a neat trick if you can pull it off.

For anyone shooting on the street after dark, the big takeaway here is the power of restraint. Rachline isn't chasing "decisive moments"; he's building a mood across 224 pages and letting his picture stay ambiguous rather than resolved. It's a nice reminder that not every street shot needs a clear subject doing something legible. Sometimes, the exact opposite can be just as powerful.

Elsebound is published by Rizzoli New York on September 22, priced US$65 / CAN$85 / £50.

You and I have probably both had a variation on the same nightmare. Your lifetime's body of work, all gone in an instant. The specifics don't really matter (negatives going up in flames, a dead hard drive, cloud storage that vanishes into the ether). The pain, the sense of loss is unbearable. Thank goodness these are only dreams, right?

Well, for Jewish photographer Philippe Halsman (1906-1979) it was a reality. When German forces invaded France in 1940, he was living in Paris and didn't want to wait around.

Halsman wasn't a stranger to adversity. Born in Riga, in the part of the Russian Empire which later became Latvia, at 22, he'd been wrongfully accused of killing his father when hiking in Tyrol, Austria (a place rife with antisemitism) and spent two years in prison.

So when the Nazis arrived in France, he fled Paris with only his camera and 12 prints, leaving behind an entire body of work.

He went on to become one of the best-known portrait photographers of the 20th century. Working in New York, he is best known for his portraits of celebrities jumping - captured in mid-air.

Famous names who agreed to leap for Halsman included Salvador Dali, Marilyn Monroe, Groucho Marx and The Duke and Duchess of Windsor. But the images he made before the war were presumed lost.

Actually, they weren't – and a crate of his glass-plate negatives was returned after the war. But they sat there ignored until Halsman died in 1979. It wasn't until 2006 that his grandson, Oliver Halsman Rosenberg, rediscovered them.

Publisher Thames & Hudson has brought the best of this work together in Philippe Halsman: The French Crate, a new book that offers a rare opportunity: a look at the work of a major photographer in their formative years. And there was plenty for the publisher to dig its teeth into.

Solving the mystery

Halsman dropped out of engineering school in 1931 to pursue photography full time – and set out to investigate what he called “the mystery of another human being" under the influence of the writer Dostoevsky.

The rediscovered images are mostly portrait sittings. But even within the studio-standard poses, his eye for asymmetry and unguarded expression is sharp.

One portrait catches a sitter mid-grimace, eyes not quite matched, mouth pulled into something between a smile and a wince. It's a world away from the flattering symmetry that most 1930s studio photographers were selling to their clients.

Halsman was also ahead of his time in experimenting with double exposure. Several images layer a sitter's face beneath sheer fabric or veiling, eyes glowing where the exposures overlap.

Career of two halves

Fundamentally, the gap between these images and Halsman's later career is stark – and that's not hugely surprising.

After Albert Einstein helped him relocate to New York in 1940, Halsman went on to photograph Marilyn Monroe and Einstein himself, form a working relationship with Salvador Dalí and shoot 101 Life magazine covers, a record that remains unbeaten.

None of that success is visible yet in these crate images, but what you can see is the groundwork being laid. A young photographer testing ideas, exploring psychology and playing with technique, years before the world started watching.

Philippe Halsman: The French Crate will be published by Thames & Hudson on October 01 for $50 / £35; pre-orders are available. Hardcover, 8.5 x 10.875", 160 pages.

I must admit, I've spent the past 20 years very much not missing photographic film. The fiddliness, the inconvenience, the added cost: I was in love with none of these things. Even before they were released onto the market, the idea of digital cameras made sense to me. They still do.

But every now and again, you realise how much we've lost in the rush for convenience. And here's a new book that brings that rushing back.

The concept behind it is both simple and genius. With over 700 images from National Geographic's archives, it's essentially working history of American photojournalism, one state at a time.

Launched to mark the nation's 250th anniversary, it opens with with B. Anthony Stewart's 1957 cover shot of the Mayflower II sailing into New York Harbor under an airship.

It then moves across the states and decades in a sometimes bewildering array of images, captured using a range of techniques, from the autochromes and black-and-white plates of the 1920s and 1930s through the photographic film era and eventually the digital age.

A grand sweep

Surfers hauling boards up Mākaha Beach in 1961. A Union Carbide worker eating lunch in 1971. A New Orleans brass band performs two years after Hurricane Katrina. It all adds up to astonishing sweep of history, culture and geography that can become quite intoxicating.

One moment you're looking at a black-and-white 1953 shot of a woman skiing the Rockies in a sleeveless blouse and cat-eye sunglasses, the next you settle on a speedboat threading a snaking route through Reflection Canyon. Same country, same magazine; different time, different way of seeing.

Clifton Adams's 1932 shot of Philadelphians filing through an archway at City Hall has a single hanging lightbulb doing most of the compositional work. Because that's what Adams had: one frame, one chance, no chimping the back of the camera to check your exposure.

Compare that with Michael Melford's 2006 Utah canyon shot, made possible only by digital's forgiving latitude and by the damming of the Colorado River. The technology and the landscape had both changed beyond all recognition.

To my tastes, though, the Kodachrome years – roughly the 1940s through the 1970s – are where the book really resonates. J. Baylor Roberts's 1950 shot of a rodeo cowboy signaling "Time!" moments after a calf-roping win has the saturated, slightly hard-edged color that only that stock could deliver. I'm not saying I'm about to go out and score a vintage camera right now. But I'm certainly very tempted.

At almost 800 pages, packed with pictures, this extensive volume is in no way a casual read. But as a reference to how light, film stock and editorial decisions have evolved across a century of one magazine, it's absolutely delightful.

National Geographic: The United States of America is published by TASCHEN, $150 / £125. Hardcover, 10.6 x 14.7 in., 13.52 lb, 792 pages.

If you don't know much about photography, you might expect that taking pictures of flowers would be the easiest of all jobs.

The thing is already beautiful, right? It doesn't move or hide like wildlife. It doesn't need coaxing, like people. You don't need to wait hours for the elements to perfectly cohere, as with landscape or astrophotography. So where's the challenge?

If that's you, and you think of floral photography as a safe and boring option, then this book wants you to think again. Published by Shutter Hub Editions this October, Flora is a photobook that gathers 100 images from photographers across the UK.

Each was asked to interpret plant life in whatever way they wanted. The results vary enormously, from traditional cyanotypes to ethereal Polaroid experiments, and are light-years apart from the standard bouquet or rose bush compositions you might be expecting.

The original brief read: "We’d love to see compelling, thoughtful, and visually striking photography that explores the diversity, resilience, subtleties, and poetry of growing things – from mosses and ferns to wild forests, blossoms, vines, roots, and every form of vegetation in between.

"Show us images that reveal the nuance of growth, the patterns of nature’s processes, and the quiet power of plant life in all environments."

Well, the photographic community has definitely delivered on all of that.

Some have drawn on 19th-century printing techniques. John Brewer's cyanotype of an acer leaf turns a familiar autumn shape into a deep Prussian-blue silhouette, while Michael Croghan's Bog Revival uses the same process to render bog plants as ghostly pale forms against near-black.

Elsewhere, Paeony Lewis works with lumen prints, a technique that exposes photo paper directly to sunlight, producing warm, painterly tones that look more like watercolors than standard photographs.

Equally experimental, Maria Mademyr's lumen print of rowan leaves glows amber and gold in a composition that feels very "abstract art", while Kieran McPeake works with Polaroid SX-70 film to produce a soft, dreamlike distortion. Then there's Steve Pill, who provides the book's cover image: roses abandoned on a London street, wilting.

This willingness to be playful, to experiment, to find a different take on familiar subjects, is at the heart of this book's appeal.

Whether you're looking at weeds pushing through sidewalks, wildflower meadows in flat, atmospheric light, or studio shots that treat leaves and stems more like specimens than decoration, there are endless ways it seems to reinterpret the floral world.

In that light, you don't necessarily need to be interested in flowers to enjoy this book: anyone looking to stop their practice from getting stale and get some new visual ideas will find it packed with fresh inspiration.

Flora is available to preorder now ahead of its publication on October 26, with copies sold through Shutterhub and stockists including the Photographers' Gallery in London and Open Eye Gallery in Liverpool.

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Flick through fashion archives from the Eighties and Nineties and you'll find rank after rank of models holding a pose: chin down, hip cocked, gaze fixed somewhere just past the lens.

The pictures of self-taught British photographer Neil Kirk (1946-2022), gathered for the first time in Neil Kirk in Vogue: The Supermodel Years, do something different almost every time.

A man and woman sprint across a city street in matching leaps, both feet off the ground. Seven models in beige tailoring stride out in lockstep like a fashion-world flash mob. Three women in cream knitwear collapse into each other laughing, arms flung wide.

Kirk, a regular contributor to Vogue's US, British, Italian and German editions through the golden years of the supermodel, built a career on catching people between poses rather than in them.

That's what makes this book worth a look for photographers well beyond the fashion world. Published by ACC Art Books with a foreword by Bryan Ferry and contributions from Helena Christensen, Claudia Schiffer, Sam McKnight and others, on paper it's a straightforward retrospective.

In practice it's closer to a masterclass in directing genuine movement rather than staging the appearance of it – shot on film, with none of the safety net that a digital burst mode gives photographers today.

Kirk's subject list, meanwhile, reads like a Who's Who of the era, Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, Jerry Hall, Yasmeen Ghauri, Carla Bruni, alongside actors like Ewan McGregor and Kate Winslet on their way to becoming household names.

But it's the choreography around them, not just who's in front of the camera, that gives the work its charge.

Directing chaos on a 35mm budget

Capturing genuine motion on film, rather than static poses, is a harder technical proposition than it looks. There's no chimping the back of a camera to check that you nailed the leap, no burst of 20 frames per second to fish the sharpest one out afterwards.

There's a picture in the book of a couple caught mid-stride, with both sets of feet airborne and expressions still composed rather than strained. That depends on nailing focus, exposure and timing simultaneously, on a subject who has to run the same route repeatedly until it works. No mean feet.

Sadly, this is a discipline that modern photographers can lose sight of, when a camera's autofocus and frame rate do a lot of the heavy lifting. Knowing precisely when a movement peaks, and trusting your own timing rather than your camera's, is a skill all of itself.

Having fun, not pretending to

Another clear theme here is Kirk's handling of groups. The seven-strong walking shot and the laughing trio shown above both do something pretty incredible, really: they transform a directed, repeated fashion set-up read into spontaneous, unguarded moment.

That's largely down to instruction rather than luck; coaxing real reactions out of models who know exactly what they're being asked to perform.

For anyone shooting groups, whether it's a wedding party or a corporate team photo, there's a lesson in Kirk's ability to give people something to actually do together, rather than somewhere to simply stand.

Neil Kirk in Vogue: The Supermodel Years is published by ACC Art Books. Hardback, 240 pages, 157 colour and 21 black-and-white images, ISBN 9781788843485.

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Every photographer who's ever put work in front of the public knows the feeling: you press the shutter, the picture goes out into the world and, from that point on, you have almost no control over what people decide it means.

Greg Brennan's new book, The Big Shot, published by ACC Art Books, is built around that exact dynamic.

Across three decades on the front line of British press photography, Brennan has photographed Jack Nicholson, Kate Moss, Lady Gaga, Mike Tyson, Cristiano Ronaldo and Barack Obama, among many others.

The book pairs over 100 of those images with his own account, co-written with his son Dylan, of what was actually happening when the shutter clicked.

The gap between those two things – what the photograph seems to show and what was actually going on – turns out to be the real subject of the book.

Its cover image is the clearest example: supermodel Kate Moss, slumped on a staircase in a fur coat, cigarette packet in hand, an image that circulated for years as evidence of a wild night out and became part of her tabloid mythology.

According to Brennan, the picture was taken early in the evening while Moss simply waited for a car to collect her for a birthday party. He'd gone home by seven o'clock. The photograph never changed. The story wrapped around it did, repeatedly, for two decades.

The camera doesn't lie, but nor does it explain

That's a story many photographers will recognize, whether you're shooting red carpets or family birthdays. A single frame, stripped of context, is an invitation for the viewer to guess at a narrative – and the guess is very often wrong, or at least incomplete.

This is where captioning becomes as important as composition. Brennan's images work because they're backed up, decades later, by the specifics: the time of night, who was actually in the car, what was said.

Strip that context away and you're left with exactly what happened to the Kate Moss photograph: a picture doing the work of a story it was never actually telling.

For anyone documenting events, whether professionally or for their own archive, it's a strong argument for writing down the facts while they're still fresh, rather than trusting the image to speak for itself. Photographs can be very good at capturing a moment, but often quite bad at explaining it.

Being prepared

Another lesson threaded through The Big Shot is less about a single frame and more about the accumulated grind behind the whole career.

Brennan's archive spans ringside boxing shots, like his close, sweat-and-tape portrait of Mike Tyson before a fight, right through to royal weddings and film premieres – and none of it reads as luck.

It reads as decades of simply being in position, camera ready, night after night, for the handful of moments that ended up mattering.

That's a less romantic version of press photography than the "right place, right time" cliché suggests, but it's probably the more honest one. And it's why a book built on Brennan's own recollections, rather than just the pictures, is worth reading – for the process as much as the results.

The Big Shot: Photographs by Greg Brennan is published by ACC Art Books. Hardback, 224 pages, 69 colour and 76 black-and-white images, ISBN 9781788843539.

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Somewhere in the churn of camera forums and social feeds, there's an unspoken belief that a landscape photographer's worth is measured in air miles. New country, new light, new content – the algorithm rewards novelty, and novelty rewards the photographer who's always somewhere else.

So it's worth noting that Robert Canis has just published Elmley: First Light to Last, a 208-page coffee-table book built entirely from one nature reserve, 40 miles southeast of London, that he's been returning to for more than 30 years.

Elmley National Nature Reserve sits on the Isle of Sheppey, Kent; a stretch of grazing marsh, ditches and big skies that isn't obviously glamorous. There's no mountain range, no coastline drama, no volcanic backdrop. What there is, according to Canis, is light: shifting, seasonal, endlessly reworked light that he's chased across the same fields for a generation.

The book distils that obsession into 139 photographs, woven with poetry and his own reflections, tracing a single day's arc through all four seasons. It comes with a foreword from Stephen Dalton, one of the pioneers of high-speed nature photography, and an afterword from Elmley's founder, Philip Merricks MBE.

The unglamorous discipline of staying put

For those of us weaned on bucket lists and destination photography, there's something almost contrary about a book built from one location. Canis didn't need a new continent to find new pictures; he needed to keep showing up to the same gate, the same fenceline, the same stretch of water, until the marsh gave something up that it hadn't offered before.

The images here bear that out. Fog rolling off flooded fields at dawn. A moorhen silhouetted on ice. A redshank landing mid-call in dew-soaked grass. None of this happens on a first visit. It happens on the 200th, or possibly the 2000th.

Depth of knowledge of a single place, its tides, its resident birds, its microclimates, produces images that a passing visitor simply can't get. It's the difference between photographing a location and understanding one.

The other lesson here is what it takes to actually get a book like this into print in 2026. Canis hasn't just made pictures; he's become a publisher, marketer and events organiser in the process, working with editor Keith Wilson and designer Eddie Ephraums on a single, unrepeatable print run produced in Verona, Italy.

There are three editions, from a £60 standard copy to a £225 deluxe version with hand-numbered slipcases and fine art prints, plus a launch at Elmley itself and a talk at the Avenue Theatre in Sittingbourne, Kent. Five per cent of profits go back to the reserve's conservation work.

It's a reminder that finishing the photography is often the easy part; turning 30 years of transparencies and files into a finished, funded, distributed object is its own long apprenticeship, one increasingly familiar to independent photographers who no longer wait for a publisher to come knocking.

Pre-orders for Elmley: First Light to Last close at 7pm on Friday 7 August, after which the print run is fixed for good. Whether or not it tempts you, it's a useful prompt to ask what your own overlooked local patch might yield, if you give it three decades rather just than three weekends.

Ask most photographers today what you need for unguarded, intimate documentary work and they'll say something small, quiet and fast. A rangefinder, a compact, anything you can raise and lower before a subject has time to arrange their face.

To say that Chris Killip went in a different direction would be something of an understatement. He mainly used a large-format field camera on a tripod, the sort of set-up that takes a minute or more to compose, focus and load before you can even think about pressing the shutter.

By any conventional logic, this is entirely the wrong tool for catching a family unguarded on a doorstep, or children mid-scramble over a wall. And yet North, the new Thames & Hudson edition of Killip's work in north-east England and Ireland between 1975 and 1986, is packed with exactly these kind of moments.

The book, edited by Mark Holborn, brings together 224 images from the period, nearly half of them previously unpublished. We get to see shipbreaking yards, the Skinningrove fishing community, and the "seacoal" campers who scraped a living gathering coal washed up on the Northumberland shore.

This is a heavyweight object in both the literal and metaphorical senses of the word. But it's also an unexpected manual in a slower, less obvious kind of documentary practice.

The trick, if it can be called that, wasn't speed at all: it was time. Killip spent extended periods actually living within the communities he photographed, most famously more than a year at the Lynemouth seacoal camp.

By the time the camera came out, his subjects had stopped performing for it long before, which meant a slow, deliberate large-format process didn't spook anyone; it simply became part of the routine of a man who was already there, day after day.

The stillness required by the camera stopped being a barrier to intimacy and became, almost accidentally, a form of respect: nobody gets photographed by someone they don't trust holding a field camera on a tripod for a full minute.

There was a technical upside to this approach too, and it's visible the moment you look closely at the prints. Large-format negatives resolve an extraordinary amount of fine detail and tonal range, which is exactly why the demolition scene at Wallsend, cranes looming over half-collapsed terrace houses, holds up at a size and clarity that a 35mm frame from the same era simply couldn't match.

Killip wasn't choosing the format for nostalgia or a particular grain; he was choosing it because it could carry the weight of what he was documenting, printed large, for decades.

The lesson for photographers today

For those of a certain age with a nostalgic outlook, it's tempting to focus on the subject matter here: deindustrializing Britain, the Miners' Strike. But I think a wider and more durable lesson, for anyone shooting portraits or documentary work today, is about the relationship between equipment and access.

A slow camera doesn't have to mean a stiff or staged picture; it just changes what kind of trust you need to build before you can use it. Killip built that trust first, for months at a time, and only then did he bring out the tripod.

Chris Killip: North, edited by Mark Holborn, is published by Thames & Hudson on September 3 in the UK, priced £75, and in the US on October 6 for $95.

Alan Schaller has spent the best part of two decades training viewers to see cities differently: as arrangements of light, shadow and geometry rather than streets and buildings.

His first monograph, Metropolis, applied that eye to architecture. His second, Street Safari, turns it towards something warmer and more unpredictable: the animals that share our streets, harbors and skylines.

This says a lot about where Schaller's photography has been heading. Anyone who's followed his work on Leica cameras over the years will know the hallmarks: hard contrast, graphic framing, a willingness to wait for the decisive moment rather than force it.

Street Safari keeps these instincts intact but points them at subjects with their own agency and, frequently, their own sense of comic timing.

It's the inaugural release from Irys Publishing – the new imprint Schaller has launched alongside Irys, his photography-first app. It's a direct-to-reader model built around fairer economics for the photographer, a departure from the traditional publisher route that most photobooks still travel.

Shot on instinct

What's striking about what's inside is the range.

A hyena is captured at dusk in Berlin, mid-shake, water flung into a burst of highlights against the dark.

A fur seal turns up on a Cape Town harbor wall, backlit and glistening.

A Jaipur elephant, in contrast, is quieter and more tender; its trunk curled around its human handler's raised arm.

Add to that a crow lifting off against the glass flank of the Burj Khalifa skyscraper in Dubai, along with similarly enigmatic stops in London, Tel Aviv, New York and Berlin, and the pattern becomes clear.

Every image is built on the same principle: find the geometry first, then wait for the animal to complete it.

The biggest lesson

That patience is the real lesson here. Schaller isn't working with long lenses and hides; he's working the way he always has, on foot, in real time, letting backlighting and negative space do as much storytelling as the subject itself.

A goose breaking the surface of black water, a heron dropping its legs mid-flight, two swans on opposite banks of light and dark: these are compositions built on restraint, not proximity.

Schaller has called Street Safari a joy to shoot, and hopes it passes on his appreciation for the animals living alongside us.

That sentiment sits well with the book itself, which never tips into whimsy despite its subject matter. The humor is there, but it's earned through composition rather than cuteness.

For photographers, Street Safari is worth studying as much for its production as its content. It's a first-edition hardback, printed in Italy to the standard that Schaller's work demands, and available only directly from Irys Publishing rather than through general retail.

That's as deliberate a statement as anything inside its covers: a photographer taking control of how his work reaches his audience.

Street Safari by Alan Schaller is out now, priced $102 / £75 / AU$146, available exclusively via Irys Publishing

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If you know one name in the history of London night photography, it's probably Bill Brandt, whose A Night in London (1938) is a fixture on any decent photobook shelf.

What's had almost very little airtime in comparison is the man who beat him to it by 14 years: a jobbing postcard photographer from Hastings, East Sussex, called Fred Judge, who solved the era's toughest technical problem with a piece of DIY kit – and, it turns out, a well-placed lamp post.

In 1924, Judge self-published Camera Pictures of London at Night, one of the earliest sustained photographic studies of a city after dark, at a point when photography was still largely a daylight medium. It sold in small numbers, drifted out of print and vanished from the conversation.

Foxed Editions, a new imprint dedicated to overlooked photobooks, is reissuing it this month as a facsimile, with a new introduction by Isaac Blease, archivist at the Martin Parr Foundation.

Blease's foreword digs out exactly how Judge pulled this off, and it's the sort of detail that'll make any photographer wince and grin at the same time.

The camera he built himself

To his contemporaries, Judge wasn't an artist. He ran Judges Ltd, one of Britain's biggest postcard publishing firms; a business built on cheerful, reliable, entirely daylit views of seaside towns.

But he was also a fellow of the Royal Photographic Society, and in a 1929 lecture to its Pictorial Group, he traced his interest in night work back to Paul Martin's London by Gaslight, shown at the RPS in 1896.

Getting a usable exposure after dark in the 1920s meant fighting slow glass plates with whatever aperture you could find.

Judge's answer was to fashion a camera setup around a cinema lens capable of opening to f/1.9 – startlingly fast for the period – then shoot mostly without a tripod, bracing the rig against a lamp post or other fixed object for steadiness while exposing 60 x 45mm plates.

It's a proper bit of period lash-up ingenuity; closer to a street photographer's improvisation than a studio operator's careful set-up.

Judge himself wasn't precious about the results. He called the camera "a very feeble instrument" for capturing what he was after.

That undersells it, though: leaning on lamp posts and pushing a lens to its limit gave the pictures their soft bleed of gaslight and blurred, drifting figures. It's an aesthetic built from constraint rather than in spite of it.

Why it's still relevant

Every photographer who's ever pushed a sensor to a ridiculous ISO to grab a handheld shot after dark is, whether they know it or not, working in a tradition that Judge helped open up; just with a lamp post instead of in-body image stabilization.

There's a nice bookend to the story, too: in 2024, exactly a century after the book's release, Martin Parr bought a copy for his foundation's library, at the same time he was experimenting with what modern mirrorless cameras and camera phone sensors could do in low light.

A hundred years apart, two photographers were chasing the same problem with wildly different tools.

The facsimile keeps the scale and sequencing of the original photogravures rather than smoothing them into something more modern.

Given how rarely surviving copies turn up outside institutional collections, this is likely the most accessible route that most photographers will ever get to seeing how Judge actually made these pictures work.

Camera Pictures of London at Night by Fred Judge is published by Foxed Editions in July 2026, priced £24 (approximately $32 / AU$46) on pre-order with an RRP of £28 ($37 / AU$53).

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Ask a room full of photographers to define photography and you'll get a room full of arguments.

Indeed, as This is Photography: The First 200 Years recounts, in 2010 the artist Mishka Henner compiled 3,000 different sentences attempting to pin down what the medium actually is, pulled from critics, philosophers and photographers who'd each convinced themselves they'd cracked it.

In 2024, someone did it again with 3,500 sentences. Neither project settled anything.

Recounting this conundrum is a fitting way to open this new book from Thames & Hudson, timed to land in October to coincide with the 200th birthday of Nicéphore Niépce's first-ever permanent photograph.

Editor Nathalie Herschdorfer clearly knows better than to attempt a tidy definition of photography herself. Instead the book shows you, year by year, what photography has actually done since a Frenchman pointed a camera obscura at his courtyard and waited eight hours for something to happen.

The big anniversary

That anniversary is going to be inescapable this year, and rightly so. France has already announced a year-long bicentenary programme running from this September through to September 2027.

As we reported back in January, the centerpiece exhibition will open at the Grand Palais in Paris this autumn, and Herschdorfer's book arrives as a companion of sorts. It's just that this is a single-volume history you can actually hold, rather than an itinerary of exhibitions you'd need a year to visit.

For me, the structure is the best and most interesting thing about this book. Rather than grouping work by genre or geography, it runs strictly chronologically, from 1826 through to 2026, pairing key photographs and objects with short contextual entries.

Longer thematic essays are woven in-between, contributed by writers including David Campany, William A Ewing and Darius Himes, covering everything from the birth of photojournalism to the rise of the photobook as its own art form.

And that timeline approach does something that a genre-based book can't: it enables you to watch photography argue with itself in real time.

Eadweard Muybridge's motion studies sit in the same continuum as Rosalind Franklin's DNA imaging; Man Ray's darkroom experiments and Cindy Sherman's constructed selves become part of one long, unbroken conversation rather than separate exhibits in separate rooms.

With 1.9 trillion photographs now taken every year, according to the publisher's figures, that continuity is worth being reminded of. That Niépce's single, eight-hour exposure and this morning's Instagram selfie are, basically, the same act.

Why the timing matters

This shouldn't, in a sense, be so surprising. After all, Herschdorfer directs Photo Elysée in Lausanne and curates for the Foundation for the Exhibition of Photography, so she's spent a career watching institutions wrestle with exactly the question this book sidesteps:

What actually belongs in the photographic canon, and who gets to decide?

Her answer here, running Zanele Muholi and Barbara Kruger alongside Nadar and Edward Steichen, is refreshingly unbothered by hierarchy. Everything gets its year, its context, its place in the line.

For anyone covering, teaching or simply obsessing over photography, this may well become the reference you reach for when a client, student or editor asks, "Where did this actually come from?" And with Paris about to spend a year celebrating the answer, its timing couldn't be better.

This is Photography: The First 200 Years, edited by Nathalie Herschdorfer, is published by Thames & Hudson in the US on October 06 2026, priced $55, and in the UK for £40 on August 27.

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Some photobooks age like milk. Cape Light by Joel Meyerowitz has aged like the Cape Cod light it depicts. Patient, unhurried and somehow better with time.

Now Aperture has announced a fresh hardcover edition of this 1978 classic, remastering the same 40 images that rewired what color photography was allowed to be.

Its success surprised some because, at the time, its subject matter didn't seem like the stuff of a landmark book: a local grocery store at dusk, an approaching storm over an empty beach, the view through a bedroom window.

Meyerowitz spent his summers on Cape Cod photographing motels, parked wagons, telephone boxes and washing lines with the same reverence other photographers reserved for cathedrals. In doing so, he made a case that color could carry as much weight as black-and-white ever had.

It's easy to forget, looking at these gentle sun-bleached frames now, how radical they once seemed.

When Cape Light first landed, color photography was still fighting for a seat at the table that monochrome had occupied for decades. The art world treated it purely as a commercial medium, fit for adverts and family snaps maybe, but galleries? Never.

Meyerowitz, alongside contemporaries like William Eggleston, helped dismantle that snobbery, and Cape Light was one of the arguments that won the case.

Its influence still shows up everywhere today, from Instagram's love of dusk light to the entire genre of quiet American road photography that followed in its wake.

Now 87 and based in London, Meyerowitz has published 58 books across a career that's picked up two Guggenheim fellowships and the Deutscher Fotobuchpreis along the way, so he's hardly short of attention.

But Cape Light remains the one people reach for first; the book that first made a convincing case for stillness, at a time when photography was chasing decisive moments.

Making color respectable

By the way, this new version is no mere facsimile. Aperture has remastered the original images for the reissue, keeping Carl Zahn's original design, and the hardcover runs to 112 pages with 40 four-color plates.

Alongside the book, Meyerowitz has selected three images from his private archive for limited-edition 5x7-inch prints, available directly through Aperture until July 21 at $130 (around £96 / AU$187) each, or bundled with the book for $360 (£267 / AU$515).

That might seem a tidy bit of commerce dressed up as generosity, but let's be fair: reissues like this help fund the sort of publishing program that keeps books like this in print.

The key lesson

Whether you're shooting on the Cape or your own local seafront, the real value here isn't nostalgia, it's technique.

Meyerowitz worked with an 8x10 view camera for much of this series, which forces a kind of discipline that's helpful regardless of what's in your bag: slow down, wait for the light to do the work, and resist the urge to fill the frame with incident.

Half the pictures in Cape Light contain almost nothing happening, and that's exactly why they hold up.

There's a lesson, too, in subject matter. Meyerowitz didn't need drama. A parked station wagon outside a shingled cottage, or a phone box glowing at dusk, was enough when the light was doing its job.

Five decades on, that's still the hardest trick in photography to pull off convincingly. And perhaps that's the reason this book keeps getting reissued, to fresh acclaim from successive generations.

Joel Meyerowitz: Cape Light (50th Anniversary Edition) is published by Aperture on July 28 2026 for $60 / £45 (Australian pricing to be confirmed).

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There's a particular kind of shot that's a gift, in theory at least, to photographers. The lone building, boarded up and improbable, standing on its own with nothing else around it. Dramatic irony and geometric symmetry in equal measure.

Ben Marcin's been shooting this kind of scene for the best part of two decades. And his debut photobook, The Holdouts, published by GOST on 1 August, is a great example of what elevates a good idea to a good body of work.

The premise is simple. Marcin, a photographer based in Baltimore, Maryland, has spent almost 40 years photographing the places people live, and for the last 20 or so he's trained that attention on his own city and its hinterland.

The Holdouts brings together three projects he originally shot as separate bodies of work: solo row houses in Baltimore that survived demolition around them, abandoned farmhouses on Maryland's Eastern Shore, and homeless encampments that rarely last more than a year. It's only recently, he says, that he worked out the thread connecting them.

That thread is spelled out by the title. A holdout is a real estate term for an owner who refuses to sell to a developer, forcing a project to be built around their property or eminent domain to be invoked against them.

Actually, Marcin concedes, almost none of his subjects are holdouts in that strict sense; no shopping center or highway ever displaced the people who once lived in these houses. But the looser meaning – the act of resisting or refusing to accept what's on offer – fits these pictures rather well.

Buildings as portraiture

What's most interesting to me isn't the premise so much as the discipline of it. Marcin isn't chasing novelty; he's applying the same visual treatment to building after building, for years. Always a single structure shot dead-on and centred, and letting small variations in light, decay and context do the storytelling.

It's the kind of repetition that separates a typology (a series of photographs that all use the same formal approach) from a collection of snapshots.

Editing masterclasss

It also means the book rewards close looking rather than a quick flick-through. A shuttered row house in Baltimore, an abandoned farmhouse in Worcester County, and a tarpaulin shelter strung with an American flag and a Ravens banner... These are all, formally, the same kind of picture: a solitary structure, centred, facing the camera, with nothing to distract from it. But look closer, and the differences in detail are utterly compelling.

The editing story behind this project is also a fascinating one. Marcin shot these three strands independently – without any plan to unify them – across roughly 15 years and locations spanning Baltimore, Philadelphia, Camden and the Eastern Shore counties of Maryland, Delaware and Virginia. It was only in hindsight, with the help of his publisher, that a coherent book emerged from what had been three separate filing cabinets of work.

That's worth knowing, if you're the sort of photographer who feels obliged to know your project's thesis before you've finished shooting it. Because the lesson of The Holdouts is that sometimes, the unifying idea only becomes visible once there's enough material to see a pattern. And a long-term project doesn't need a name on day one to earn its place in a book further on down the line.

The Holdouts is published by GOST Books on August 1 2026, hardback, 144pp, $65/£50/€55.

Most of us came to the iconic portrait photographer Annie Leibovitz's work through a magazine cover, a gallery wall, or a scroll through Instagram. Few of us came to it through a picture book aimed at four to seven year-olds. But that's exactly what's landing on shelves this August. 

Little People, BIG DREAMS: Annie Leibovitz, written by Maria Isabel Sánchez Vegara and illustrated by Clare Owen, is the latest instalment in a series of books that's already sold over 15 million copies in more than 40 languages. 

The mission of the series is to distill the lives of notable inspirational figures, scientists, artists, activists, into a 32-page hardback that mixes simple biography with bold, stylized illustration. Past subjects have included the artist Frida Kahlo, the TV presenter David Attenborough, the singer David Bowie and the scientist Marie Curie. 

In this light, the inclusion of Annie Leibovitz says something about how thoroughly her work has crossed from photography's specialist world into mainstream cultural literacy. Nowadays she's no longer just held up as a benchmark within the profession, but spoken of by the wider public, in the same breath as painters and pop stars.

Leibovitz is also a great choice because, quite frankly, her career story is so interesting. And reducing it to its essentials for a young audience turns out to be a useful exercise for adults too.

The book strips the story back to its clearest through-line: an artist who started somewhere else entirely, and built a signature style through sheer persistence and curiosity.

Published by Quarto, the book opens with a detail that's easy to forget amid the decades of iconic covers: Leibovitz originally studied painting, not photography. It was only after that grounding in visual art that she found her way to a camera, and the switch shaped everything that followed. 

Her painter's eye for composition and colour is visible in even her most spontaneous-looking portraits, a reminder that technical mastery of a camera is only ever half the job. The other half is a formed visual sensibility, and that can come from anywhere.

By her twenties she was chief photographer at Rolling Stone, a role that put her at the centre of music and celebrity culture during one of its most image-hungry periods. It's the kind of early break that photographers still measure their own progress against; not because the opportunity is likely to repeat itself, but because of what she did with it: building a body of work bold enough to become inseparable from the culture it documented.

There's an obvious audience for this book: parents and grandparents who love photography and want to hand their kids something more substantial than a screen. But it's worth a look for the adults in the house too. 

Because while a children's picture book won't teach anyone how to light a portrait, it's still a neat, honest reminder of why so many of us picked up a camera in the first place.

Little People, BIG DREAMS: Annie Leibovitz is published by Frances Lincoln Children's Books on August 20, priced $15.99 / £10.99.

Point a camera at a landscape lit only by the moon and, by every normal rule of photography, you should get black. That's why Darren Almond's Fullmoon series still stops people in their tracks more than 25 years after he made the first frame.

Yosemite valley, Patagonian glaciers, Japanese temple gardens and Bermuda's pink sand beaches all appear lit as if by an overcast midday sun. They were, however, shot in moonlit darkness.

Taschen publishes an expanded edition of the book this month, bringing together more than 370 images from Almond's travels since 1998, alongside an introduction by former Tate Modern chief curator Sheena Wagstaff and an essay by the writer Brian Dillon.

It's a lavish, era-spanning book that would be a great gift for any lover of fine art photography. But for anyone who shoots long exposure or night photography, there's a useful technical story in here as well. One that's about patience, planning and an understanding of how a camera sensor behaves.

The science bit

Human night vision runs on rod cells, which pick up brightness but almost no color, which is why moonlit scenes look to us in flat, bluish monochrome.

A camera doesn't have that limitation. Given a long enough exposure – be it Almond's typical quarter of an hour or more – the sensor (or in his case, film) simply keeps collecting photons until the scene builds up full color and tonal range. The same, in fact, as it would in daylight; just gathered more slowly.

The moon is, let's remember, just reflected sunlight. So there's nothing stopping a long exposure from reading it as such.

The skill is entirely in the planning. Almond works to a calculated window around the full moon, checks forecasts obsessively for cloud cover, and accepts that a single unplanned car headlight or drifting cloud can ruin a 15-minute exposure with no way to reshoot that exact configuration of moonlight, tide and season.

It's the photographic equivalent of a single take with no retakes possible. And artistically, what elevates the project past a clever exposure technique is the choice of locations.

Almond has spent decades revisiting sites already loaded with history: the Alpine viewpoints that JMW Turner sketched in 1802, the Provençal mountain Cézanne painted repeatedly, the Antarctic terrain Robert Falcon Scott crossed, the volcanic islands of Cape Verde that Charles Darwin surveyed from the Beagle.

Capturing these places by moonlight, rather than the golden hour that every other landscape photographer chases, gives a wholly different look to subjects that have been shot a million times in daylight.

Lesson for photographers

The key takeaway for photographers is a simple but powerful one: a full moon is a usable light source, not just a subject. Yes, it's weaker than sunlight by a factor of around 400,000. But exposure is just time, and time is free if you're prepared to stand in a field at 02:00 waiting for cloud cover to clear.

Given the choice between chasing a sunset with 50 other photographers or having an entire moonlit landscape to yourself, Almond's quarter-century project offers a potentially enticing alternative.

Darren Almond, Fullmoon is published by Taschen, priced $125 / £100. Hardcover, 30 x 30 cm, 3.73kg, 564 pages. This expanded edition includes over 370 images.

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Before digital tools revolutionized visual arts, creators harnessed hands-on techniques, working with chemicals and physical layers to concoct graphic designs and process images. Trevor Key was a foremost British creator in this space and his innovative techniques transformed the darkroom into a graphic design studio.

Now, The Sigma Foundation, a philanthropic initiative set up by the Japanese lens manufacturer to promote photography, is set to release an eponymous book on the late photographer, delving into his creative process and his work.

Trevor Key is the first book to document the artist's work, covering two decades of his career (1972–1995). At the core of the book is the collaboration between Key and Peter Saville, the influential British art director and graphic designer.

This creative partnership spanned the 1970s and 80s, with the duo's work blending bold typography with pioneering analog photography techniques, notably bringing to life the visual identities of artists like New Order, Mike Oldfield, Phil Collins, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and Peter Gabriel.

The Dichromat Technique, where they selectively re-colored black-and-white negatives using layered filters and varying exposures to produce striking images, came to define their approach.

This technique was further innovated later in the partnership to infuse color, producing album covers and wider works reminiscent of Andy Warhol's silkscreens, which the pair achieved by taking hundreds of exposures to refine the exact color intensities.

Trevor Key will be presented by Peter Saville at Arles, France during the Les Rencontres d'Arles photography festival, tomorrow, July 07, and is set for a 1,500-edition release in August.

The 244-page monograph also includes an essay from photography curator and writer Charlotte Webb, as well as commentary from Saville. Prices for the book are yet to be confirmed – keep an eye on the Sigma Foundation webpage for updates.

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American photographers more or less invented color as a serious art form. William Eggleston's Memphis, Joel Meyerowitz's Cape Cod, Stephen Shore's road trips across a candy-colored 1970s USA.

Scottish photographer Niall McDiarmid is working in that same tradition, just on the other side of the Atlantic, and his new book, Colour, published by RRB Photobooks, makes the case that the hunt for great color hasn't got any easier since Eggleston's day. If anything, in his view, it's become harder.

Over 15 years of shooting mostly in London, McDiarmid has watched the palette of everyday British life fade toward taupe, gray and beige. In opposition to that trend, he's built an entire book around tracking down the places where it hasn't.

The result is pictures that feel almost defiant. A woman in a headscarf and an orange-hemmed coat walks past a Ferrari-red shopfront in Mayfair. A man in a burnt-orange sweater strides past a row of boiled-sweet shopfronts in Folkestone. A pair of red tights disappear up a museum staircase.

None of this is subtle, and that's the point. Like the color pioneers before him, McDiarmid isn't after a tasteful accent in an otherwise neutral frame. He wants the whole picture saturated, corner to corner; the way a lot of photographers are actively taught to avoid.

That makes Colour worth a proper look for anyone who's absorbed the modern orthodoxy that restraint equals sophistication. McDiarmid's argument, in his own words in the book's introduction, is blunt: "Color is dynamism and strength and passion. Color is life."

It's a rebuke to 15 years of minimalist interiors, taupe render and monochrome cars that, from his perspective, have drained the visual life and energy from British streets.

Technical lessons

The technical lesson here is a useful one. McDiarmid works almost exclusively in the flat, overcast light of an archetypal British day, the kind of light most photographers spend their lives trying to avoid or "fix" in post.

But flat light has an underrated advantage: it kills harsh shadows and enables color to read as pure, unbroken tone rather than being chopped up by contrast.

A red shopfront under hard midday sun gets carved into bright highlights and murky shade; the same wall under gray cloud stays one solid, confident block of red. It's the same reason product photographers use diffused light boxes rather than direct sun, applied out on the street.

The other habit photographers can learn from is his pairing of subject and setting. Time and again in Colour, a person's clothing echoes or collides with the color of the wall, door or shopfront behind them: an orange sweater against a yellow-and-red terrace, a yellow umbrella against a red Post Office sign.

That's not luck repeated over 15 years. It's a discipline of watching a location and waiting for the right person to walk through it. The classic Cartier-Bresson method, retooled for chromatics rather than geometry.

More broadly, there's also something a little "documentary" going on beneath the visual fireworks. McDiarmid isn't just chasing pretty walls; he's cataloging the shrinking number of places where color still gets to exist unapologetically, from Jerk Shack signage in Tooting to a resolutely green-tiled café in Wimbledon.

Read that way, Colour might be seen more as social record than pure aesthetics; a survey of a Britain that's steadily repainting itself beige. And for street and documentary photographers, there's a broader lesson there. Keep half an eye on what's disappearing around you – not just what looks good through the viewfinder.

Colour by Niall McDiarmid is published by RRB Photobooks, priced £28 (approximately $48/£35) with a £95 special hardcover edition including a signed 10x8-inch print.

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Moretón is the Spanish word for 'bruise' and the title of Darren Vargas’ first publication, which centers around the Lee Espinoza Coachella Valley Boxing Club.

The first-generation Mexican-American photographer was inspired to embark on the project following the death of his grandfather, Esmael. Boxing club owner Lee Espinoza, who is affectionately known in the area as the “godfather of boxing,” reminded Vargas of his grandfather.

Rather than focus on the combat sport itself, the photographer’s work is said to build a narrative around the process of finding a sense of place, self and forgiveness. And indeed, a portion from the sale of each book will go back to the boxing club – which is free to the public.

Vargas grew up in a non-traditional Mexican immigrant home. His parents divorced before he was born and he moved from city to city as a child. But Indio and Coachella Valley were constants of sorts.

During the summer, grandparents Esmael and Jessie would take Vargas to the desert region where they were born and where relatives still lived. "This place does not just hold meaning for me; it holds legacy," says Vargas.

"One of the immigrants is building something for themselves, for their community, and their families. To me, Coachella Valley is a representation of what it is to make it from nothing and still build everything around you.

"This project is not only a personal reflection on what legacy means and how that translates to my own experience with my grandfather but is a documentative view on what it is to be an immigrant and build something.

"It is a response to struggle and hardship but finding ways to still give back. Lee has sacrificed to make something for the youth in Coachella valley. For a place that struggles with drugs, violence, exile and the heat. A haven is a special place."

The Espinoza Coachella Valley Boxing Club was founded in the Eighties so Espinoza’s son could take up the sport. It would eventually relocate next to Coachella City Hall, where generations of boxers would seek Lee’s guidance in spite of the confined space and lack of financial support.

Moretón by Darren Vargas is published by Rocket Science Studios and will officially launch on July 25 priced $60 (approximately £45 / AU$87). The 98-page book is softback with a casebound linen-texture cover, sized at 8x10in. It will be promoted at the NY Art Book Fair in September and Paris Photo in November.

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Want to shoot the sweet science yourself? Take a look at the best cameras for sports photography and the best lenses for sports photography. If you're looking for more photography literature, Don McCullin returns to the horrors of Vietnam in "last ever" photobook. The day a 25-year-old photographer convinced Marilyn Monroe to go nude in a swimming pool: Lawrence Schiller's remarkable memoir of a movie icon. And for a focus on tutorials, here are the best books on photography.

Photographer Benita VanWinkle stumbled upon a lifelong photography project almost by accident. When her professor asked the class to practice long exposure photography, she went to the darkest place she could think of: the movie theater. What happened next sparked a 44+ year journey to photograph classic movie theaters before the vintage theaters were replaced by modern multiplexes.

Benita VanWinkle (@brvanwinkle), who is now a professor herself, has photographed more than 1,200+ movie theaters, a journey that has taken her to all 50 states, plus Washington DC. The photographer's journey spanning four decades and the transition from film to digital will soon be featured in a photo book, America’s Hometown Movie Theaters: Please Remain Standing.

VanWinkle first photographed her hometown theater for a college class. The historic building, the Carib in Clearwater, Florida, had a Caribbean-themed marquee outside and Egyptian-themed murals on the inside. The theater ended up shutting its doors less than two years after VanWinkle first took a handful of long exposure photos inside.

“These were theaters that were different,” VanWinkle said. “They were unique. They were individual. They were downtown. They were something that looked kind of magical when you're a small child, and you're walking past with your mom or your dad, and you're walking around in a small community, and you think, I want to go there. That's cool. And a lot of those started to disappear.”

While VanWinkle stumbled upon the project that mixes documentary photography with architectural photography nearly by accident, she quickly realized that she wasn’t just photographing old buildings.

“Theaters are the only place where it doesn't matter what your religion, your politics, or your culture is, you can come together and be entertained together and laugh, cry, and empathize with each other,” she said.

The project has brought VanWinkle through the doors of a myriad of different historic theaters. One was once part of the Underground Railroad. Once she interviewed a man whose mother, an usher at the time, wasn’t allowed to work when Gone with the Wind came out in 1939 because the language was ”too salty for a woman.”

The most challenging part of documenting these longstanding movie theaters is the same reason that drew WanWinkle to one in the first place: darkness. When presented with a dark interior, VanWinkle draws on her first-ever assignment inside a theater and uses a long exposure, firing a single flash multiple times during the exposure to light the full interior.

While VanWinkle started her project with film cameras, like her used Nikon F that had previously spent time in Vietnam, she currently uses a mirrorless OM System OM-1, often paired with an 18mm prime lens. The choice is in large part because of the camera’s lightweight size, which makes it easier to handle.

VanWinkle is no stranger to using smaller-format cameras, however. While studying for her degree, her professor told her that she had to use 4x5 film for her project, that 35mm would be too small for architecture. She brought him a photo taken with a 4x5 and one taken on a 35mm, and when he chose the 35mm as the best shot, she continued her project on 35mm film, she recalled with a laugh.

VanWinkle’s travel to movie theaters was often a side quest during trips for her positions at High Point University, often leaving her with only ten minutes to photograph the theatre itself. Other times, she’s spent an hour or more inside movie theatres, taking photos, interviewing the community and, only occasionally, catching a film.

Researching what theaters to visit is often the most time-consuming part of the process, she says, and even then, sometimes she’s driven up to what was supposed to be an old movie theater only to find an empty green lawn.

Earlier this year, VanWinkle printed some images from her very first shoot inside the hometown theater that she hadn’t printed before, and, more than 40 years later, realized in the background was a sign announcing the theatre’s closure.

VanWinkle’s photographs now span more than 1,200 different movie theaters across the US. (She’s also photographed theatres in Canada, France, and Switzerland, but those images are not part of the upcoming book). In many cases, her images have preserved historic theatres that were later torn down or repurposed, though in many others, the iconic one-room theatres continue to endure even in the era of multiplex cinemas.

“If someone had said to me 44 years ago that I would get this book done and spend this long doing it, I wouldn’t have believed them,” VanWinkle said. “In graduate school, everyone laughed at it. This was a time when students were photographing gun control, abortion rights, the use of hormones in food; they were photographing heart-wrenching stories, and they were all good stories. Most people didn’t take it really seriously…but the story that I ended up telling is about how theaters bring communities together and how important they are. Every person that I’ve talked to has a story about a theatre.”

VanWinkle’s book, America’s Hometown Movie Theaters: Please Remain Standing, shares her 40+ year journey and iconic movie theaters across every state. The book is set to be released in September, with pre-orders available now.

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In May 1962, Lawrence Schiller was 25 and on assignment for Paris Match when Marilyn Monroe, wearing only a flesh-coloured two-piece that amounted to a bra and panties, climbed into a pool on the set of her last film, Something's Got to Give, and proceeded to remove it.

Schiller had two motorized Nikon SLR cameras around his neck. One sporting a 180mm lens and loaded with Tri-X black and white film; the other a 105mm and high-speed Ektachrome color slide film. He shot 16 rolls of black and white and three rolls of color in a session that lasted two hours.

Within weeks, those images had appeared on the cover of Life and the front pages of publications across the world. They earned Schiller and his shooting partner Billy Woodfield the biggest payday any photographer had received to that date.

Marilyn & Me, re-released by TASCHEN to mark what would have been Monroe's 100th birthday, is the memoir Schiller wrote about his time photographing her across 1960 and 1962. It's a remarkable book, and not only for the photographs. It's also one of the most lucid and unsentimental accounts of how magazine photography actually worked in its golden age.

Granular honesty

What makes Schiller's account so valuable for photographers is his granular honesty about the mechanics of the job. He describes adjusting his cameras constantly throughout the pool sequence, checking exposure, checking shutter speed, moving to keep the key lights producing the right highlights. He explains exactly what film stocks he used and why.

He recounts his decision to show Monroe the proof sheets on enlarged 16x20 prints rather than standard contact sheets, because she had poor eyesight and sometimes crossed out images simply because she couldn't see them clearly.

He describes how Monroe herself understood light better than most photographers he'd worked with: on their first encounter in 1960, during the filming of Let's Make Love, she spotted that he wasn't closing his left eye as he shot and asked why. He told her he was blind in it. She'd noticed something about his technique no subject had mentioned before.

Subject as collaborator

One of the persistent revelations of the book is how actively Monroe participated in the making of her own photographs. She had final approval on all images, and she exercised it with a precise understanding of what worked and what didn't.

She told Schiller she wasn't interested in the best angle for her face in isolation; she wanted to know how the whole picture looked. On the pool sequence, she approved all but one of his black-and-white images, rejecting a shot where the muscles in her legs were too prominent. Of the color frames, she reviewed them by holding strips up to a streetlamp, cutting the ones she didn't want with pinking shears, and approved 38 out of roughly 108.

She also understood the commercial logic of exclusivity better than some of the agents and editors Schiller was dealing with. When he told her his plan to control the worldwide release of the pictures, she backed him up, insisting that no magazine could run them before Life. When he suggested that having Elizabeth Taylor in the same issue would diminish the impact, she made it a condition of approval.

What the images reveal

The pool sequence that Schiller describes is the heart of the book, but the images that linger are the quieter ones. Monroe in her dressing room, relaxed and unguarded; Monroe with her acting coach Paula Strasberg, who sits just inside the frame in her habitual black cape; Monroe in the golden fur cap she wore for her final scenes, looking, as Schiller writes, as if she were breathing in a little more air.

That last image became the cover of Life's memorial issue after Monroe died on August 5, 1962, three months after Schiller last saw her. He didn't know it would be the last time.

The final photograph Schiller took of Monroe alive was on the morning of August 4, the day before her death. She was in the front garden of her Brentwood home, on her knees, doing something with the flowers, her hair uncombed, no makeup, wearing light-colored slacks.

He'd driven over to return some prints and to hear from her directly whether the Playboy deal she'd apparently declined was really off. She wasn't very friendly, he says. She seemed impatient. He handed her an envelope and left. The next morning, Billy Woodfield called him before 7am.

Lawrence Schiller. Marilyn & Me is published by TASCHEN, costing $80 / £60.

Maria has Down syndrome, autism and six fingers. She uses them to flash the heavy metal sign at the camera on a beach, sunglasses on, entirely unbothered. That image, taken by documentary photographer Carol Allen-Storey, conveys something vital about Defying the Myth, the book she's spent more than a decade making. It's not a record of suffering. It's a record of people living, in all the complicated, joyful, exhausting fullness that entails.

Allen-Storey is an award-winning photographer who has spent her career documenting complex humanitarian and social issues. Appointed a UNICEF ambassador for photography in 2009, her previous projects include work on rape as a weapon of war and healing after genocide. She is not a photographer who tackles easy subjects, or takes easy pictures.  

What distinguishes Defying the Myth from her earlier work, though, is the depth of the relationship she built with her subjects, and the way that relationship shaped the photography itself. 

Allen-Storey was on assignment for Save the Children when she photographed Shoulana, a single mother raising a son, Mekhye, living with severe disabilities. What she found shocked her. A year after the assignment ended, she went back. 

Shoulana introduced her to other families, the project grew, and over time it became something harder to categorise than a photographic project: a community, a collaboration, in some respects a family. The book, which will be published by GOST this July, is the result.

Intimate distance

The technical approach is documentary in the classic sense: black and white, available light, shot close. Allen-Storey works at the intimate distance that trust allows, and you can feel it in the images. 

There's a photograph of Shoulana dancing in her kitchen, arms raised, one leg lifted mid-step, the whole frame filled with unselfconscious movement. There's Kallan, Nicola's son, wearing a dinosaur mask at the Natural History Museum, reflected in a glass case beside a dinosaur skeleton, the composition so exact it looks designed. There's the beach image that leads this piece: Maria in white-framed sunglasses, hand raised, utterly at ease with the camera and the world.

These aren't pictures taken of people. They're pictures taken with people, and the distinction matters. 

Allen-Storey's long relationship with these families shows in the quality of access she has: the bathing routines, the hospital appointments, the epilepsy medication plans pinned to the fridge, the bedroom doors. The moments of absolute exhaustion and the moments of absolute joy. She photographs both with the same directness.

The book also contains drawings, collages, poems and written testimonies by the mothers and children themselves, which changes the dynamic considerably. This isn't a photographer's view of other people's lives; it's a collaboration in which the subjects have their own voice and their own visual language.

Technical lessons

For photographers, the technical lessons here are worth considering. Allen-Storey works consistently in black and white, which strips the images of the distraction that colour can introduce in complex domestic environments and puts the focus squarely on light, form and relationship.

Her framing is tight without being claustrophobic, and she handles low light with confidence, letting grain work for rather than against her. The hospital sequences in particular show what a long-term relationship with subjects makes possible: she's in the room, close, without the images ever feeling intrusive.

All of the proceeds that Allen-Storey receives from the sale of the book go directly to the three families. It's a small detail, but it says something about the kind of photographer she is, and the kind of project this has been.

Defying the Myth by Carol Allen-Storey is published by GOST Books, ISBN 978-1-80598-028-5, 104 pages. It's currently available for pre-order for $50/£40.

Throughout the latter half of the 20th century, British photojournalist Sir Don McCullin documented practically every major conflict around the world, first for the Observer and later the Sunday Times.

But of all these, perhaps the most devastating was the Vietnam War, where he witnessed untold death and destruction.

Now, as the famed war photographer approaches his 91st birthday, he’s created what he’s described as his “last ever book,” revisiting the conflict where several of his iconic images were shot and revealing many previously unseen photos taken during it.

In Vietnam, McCullin takes us on a frightful journey through his stints in the war-torn country over three distinct periods: 1965-1967, 1968 and 1972.

Featuring some 100 black-and-white images and over 20 color frames, of which almost half have never made it into the public eye until now, we see the “devastation, shame, violence, bloodshed and extreme trauma” of the conflict.

Images selected from around 30 rolls of film McCullin used up on each trip to the war paint a visceral picture of what it was like, including some of his better-known images of US marines to “piles of human and mechanical detritus”.

Having recently read McCullin's autobiography, Unreasonable Behaviour, I’m particularly interested in seeing more of the images he created during the Battle of Huế in 1968.

McCullin spent 12 days on the ground with the 5th Marine Regiment here and, in his autobiography, recalls harrowing experiences of coming under shellfire while out in "no man's land" ahead of the advancing US soldiers.

During the ferocious battle, McCullin snapped arguably his most iconic photo, of a shell-shocked US Marine, which I imagine has overshadowed many other gripping frames captured during the ordeal.

Don McCullin's new book Vietnam will be published in October by Gost Books, priced £80 / $95 (AU$152), but preorders are open now.

Three special print editions are also available, all signed by McCullin, for £2,500 ($3,350 / AU$4,760). One is printed by McCullin himself in his darkroom, with two more printed by celebrated photographic printer Brian Dowling.

Finally, a Portfolio Edition (which looks to collate all three signed prints) is available for £6,250 ($8,390 / AU$11,900).

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Street photography has never been more popular. With over 134 million #streetphotography posts on Instagram and an explosion of dedicated collectives and online communities, the genre has become the gateway drug of choice for a new generation of photographers.

Yet the wealth of tutorials, gear guides and technique-focused advice available online often misses the point. A lot of street photography content tells you how to shoot. Very little asks you why, or what you're actually trying to say.

That's the gap The Art of Street Photography, a new book from London-based photographer Joshua K. Jackson and Yorkshire-based Sean Tucker, sets out to fill. Published by Ilex Press on 11 June, the £30 (approx. $40) hardback brings together striking imagery, practical advice and genuine philosophical depth.

Between them, Jackson and Tucker have built a combined social following of around 600,000, and Tucker has cultivated a substantial YouTube audience through his thoughtful, long-form approach to photography education. And their collaboration makes sense, because both are interested in street photography not as reportage, but as art.

Hunters, fishers and the art of slowing down

The book's main argument is a direct challenge to the genre's documentary DNA. Traditional street photography traces its lineage through Henri Cartier-Bresson's decisive moment, the journalistic instinct to capture life as it happens.

Jackson and Tucker aren't dismissing that tradition, but they are broadening it. They want photographers to think of public space as a canvas and the camera as a tool for personal expression. The result, they argue, is work that carries personal meaning rather than simply recording the world.

One of the book's most practical and memorable ideas is the distinction between "hunters" and "fishers". Jackson describes himself as a hunter: always moving, staying fluid, reacting to whatever presents itself. Tucker is more of a fisher, finding a promising location, reading the light and the composition, then waiting for the right subject to walk into the frame.

Neither approach is superior; understanding which suits your temperament is part of finding your own visual voice. This isn't just theory. It's the kind of insight that changes how you actually spend your time on the street. And it's the sort of thinking that separates a useful photography book from a genuinely good one.

The book is also notable for what it doesn't dwell on. The book places far more emphasis on seeing and intent than on equipment. Tucker repeatedly stresses intuition and responsiveness over technical obsessiveness. Jackson started doing street photography partly as an antidote to more technical commercial work, and that spirit carries through every chapter.

For photographers who've spent years accumulating gear in search of better results, this is a useful corrective. The images in the book, ranging from Jackson's richly coloured London scenes to Tucker's high-contrast monochrome studies, are proof that the work comes from the eye, not the sensor.

Jackson and Tucker also engage seriously with the ethics of photographing people in public. In an era when anyone is aware their image could go viral, the book addresses questions of consent, intent and respect, not as legal disclaimers but as genuine artistic considerations.

Their own practice, staying unintrusive and avoiding images that might embarrass or exploit their subjects, reflects a mature, considered approach to a question the wider street photography community often sidesteps.

There's a refreshing directness here, too. The book doesn't pretend these questions have easy answers. It asks each photographer to find their own ethical lines, and to take that process as seriously as any creative decision.

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Few photographers are as synonymous with the music scene of the Sixties and Seventies as Gered Mankowitz. The London-born photographer is perhaps best known for capturing rock icons The Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix, but these incredible works only scratch the surface of a 65-year career.

In celebration of a truly legendary body of work that began in 1960, Mankowitz has teamed up with ACC Art Books to publish Gered Mankowitz: Photographs.

This unrivalled collection of his work was released on May 12, the eve of his 80th birthday, and is billed as "his most comprehensive book yet".

Mankowitz got his big break when a photoshoot with Marianne Faithfull resulted in a gig as The Rolling Stones’ official photographer.

His career blossomed from there, where his subjects included a who’s who of celebrity royalty from Paul McCartney to Kate Bush and Elizabeth Taylor to Richard Burton.

The photographs span over six decades of Mankowitz’s career, but the hardback tome doesn’t just contain his greatest hits; it also includes classic, rare and never-before-seen imagery. And while he is best known for his work with celebrity subjects, his award-winning commercial photography is on display, too.

It also includes a foreword by Annie Lennox, recollections from some very famous subjects and collaborators such as former Slade frontman Noddy Holder, Dave Stewart of Eurythmics, and Suzie Quatro, as well as personal insights from Mankowitz himself.

The 336-page coffee table book measures 325 x 285mm, and features 233 color and 145 black-and-white illustrations. It has an RRP of $85 in the US and £65 in the UK. and , and is available now.

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Few cultural icons ever reach the heady heights of Marilyn Monroe. The illustrious actor transcended her roles in blockbuster movies such as Some Like It Hot and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes to become one of the most recognizable faces of the 20th century.

Some 63 years after her tragic death, the model turned superstar remains firmly rooted in the public consciousness.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of Marilyn Monroe’s birth and, in celebration, ACC Art Books has published Marilyn Monroe 100: The Official Centenary Book, the only official publication celebrating and commemorating this momentous milestone. Here's what you'll find inside this 348-page tome…

The oversized, hardback book is published in association with the Marilyn Monroe Estate and delivers a specially curated selection of photographs.

From the genesis of her career as model, Norma Jeane, through to her movie career as Marilyn Monroe, where she was photographed by some of the world’s most famous photographers such as Eve Arnold, Richard Avedon and Henri Cartier-Bresson, including that photograph of the white dress by Sam Shaw from The Seven Year Itch.

Readers are then taken right up until the final months of Marilyn's life, when she sat for Bert Stern during the famous ‘Last Sitting’ sessions and Allan Grant’s Life magazine photoshoot at the star’s Brentwood residence, which were originally published just days before her untimely death in August 1962.

The incredible photographs are also accompanied by quotes from Marilyn herself, along with informative copy providing further insight into her life.

This premium book is 330 x 270mm, 348 pages, and contains 116 color and 158 black-and-white illustrations / photographs. It retails for £75 / $95 at Amazon.

The release is timely, coinciding with major photography exhibitions in both Los Angeles’ Academy Awards Museum and London’s National Portrait Gallery.

‘Marilyn Monroe: Hollywood Icon’ runs from May 31, 2026, to February 28, 2027, and ‘Marilyn Monroe: A Portrait’ runs from June 04 to September 06, respectively.

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Admiring the work of other photographers is a fantastic way to broaden your photography horizons and inspire your own work. Take a look at the best photo books, and for some great personal recommendations, check out Vivian Maier: Street Photographer and Marvin E. Newman. Photographs 1949–1983.

While everyone knows about the South American Amazon, which covers a staggering 40% of the continent and crosses the borders of nine nations, few people know the term “American Amazon.”

While the latter is a colloquialism, it refers to the rich biodiversity found in the southeastern parts of the US, which photographer Mac Stone explores in his upcoming book, American Amazon: Ancient Forests and Living Waters of the Wild Southeastern US.

With this latest project, Stone furthers his explorations of ecological havens in this region of the country, including the Mississippi Delta, while also returning to the Florida Everglades, which he documented in his previous book, Everglades: America's Wetland.

The upcoming book not only highlights the beauty of these areas, teeming with photogenic flora and fauna, but also the need to protect them, as they are increasingly threatened by human encroachment, anthropogenic climate change, and invasive species.

More than 50% of the original Florida Everglades — a vast 1.5-million-acre subtropical wetland at the southern tip of the US has been drained for urban and agricultural development.

And the Mississippi Delta, a floodplain home to hundreds of species of birds and fish, continues to suffer the damaging impacts of petrochemical complexes built within its reaches.

Stone grew up exploring the springs, swamps, and hammocks of North Central Florida. Through his recognized photography and epxlorirtons with publications including National Geographic, he aims to tell the complex stories of wetlands and wilderness, along with the wildlife and people who rely upon them.

His new book, American Amazon: Ancient Forests and Living Waters of the Wild Southeastern US, is available for pre-order now from retailers. The book will be published on June 29 in the UK and August 25 in the US.

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The most iconic Batman serial of all time, The Killing Joke, is getting an oversized prestige edition themed like a film camera (with removable lens and leather case) for an eye-watering €15,000 – approximately $17,500 / £13,000 / AU$24,400.

While other caped crusader comics are arguably better (check out The Dark Knight Returns and Year One), what makes The Killing Joke the most iconic Batman graphic novel ever is its cover – featuring a rictus-grinning Joker pointing a camera at the viewer.

Drawn by Brian Bolland, it's one of the greatest comic book covers the medium has ever seen – and it reflects the Joker's twisted use of photography to psychologically torture Commissioner Gordon, in what serves as the villain's most widely accepted origin story.

ABOVE: Watch the ridiculously beautiful book "trailer"

The 1988 comic, written by similarly iconic Alan Moore (Watchmen, V for Vendetta), has inspired everything from action figures to an animated movie – and now the essential Batman story is being presented in the most prestigious of prestige editions, styled after the Joker's fictitious Witz film camera.

Described by publisher Argent Comics as "the world’s first giclée-printed comic book," only 52 volumes will ever exist – 47 for sale to the public, with 5 archive copies for Argent and DC.

"Each side of every page is giclée-printed individually, then fused by hand using a patent-pending technique to form the book block. The volume is bound into precision-milled aluminium boards, lined by hand with goatskin leather, a faithful recreation of the Witz camera from the story’s iconic cover.

"The case is bound by hand in cinnamon calf leather, lined with purple and green suede, and fitted with a tropic strap. Equal parts protection and display piece. Where tradition falls short, we engineer forward. Where technology lacks soul, we return to the hand."

Photographers will drool over the detachable anodized aluminum lens, held in place by magnets and swivelable (so people like me can pretend to focus it), and every page being printed on bespoke Hahnemühle Photo Rag Metallic paper, made exclusively for the publisher.

I've justified some extravagant (read: ridiculous) camera-related purchases in my time, but $17,400 for a comic is a bit rich even for my blood. I might have been able to talk myself into $1,740, but there are too many decimals here for me – no matter how excited this makes me.

I'd also love to hear what Alan Moore has to say about this, as the famously curmudgeonly once told Deadline: "It wasn’t meant to be a medium for middle-aged hobbyists. It was meant to be a medium for people who haven’t got much money."

Still, if you're the sort of person who just wants to watch the world burn, though, Argent Comics "invite serious collectors to arrange a private viewing by appointment. You are also welcome to collect your edition personally from our atelier in Zagreb."

Find out more about Batman: The Killing Joke – Avant Garde Edition at the official website.

The story of how John Baer came to be a photographer is one of the most intriguing origin stories in the discipline. In 1945, serving with the 644th Tank Destroyer Battalion, he acquired a Leica from a captured German soldier. Then he pointed it at his war-weary comrades and started making pictures.

That's it. No formal study or training, no darkroom apprenticeship, no photographic theory. Just a man, a commandeered camera and an instinct that turned out to be quite extraordinary.

John Baer: The Extraordinary Ordinary: A Memoir in Photographs, 1945-1954 (John Baer Archive, September 2026) collects the work he made over the following decade: in postwar France and Germany, then in Spain then New York City, crackling with postwar energy.

And looking at the pictures, it's hard to believe that nobody has seen them before.

The light control, the compositional instinct, the timing: this is the work of someone who understood the medium at an intuitive level. Even though Baer was, by trade, a journalist and later a public relations man, photography was apparently just something he did.

There's dramatic irony in the fact that the camera was a Leica; the same lightweight, precise instrument that Cartier-Bresson and Robert Frank carried through the postwar years.

John was shooting Europe and New York at the exact moment when street photography was defining itself as an art form, working with the same tools, in some of the same cities. He just never told anyone.

When Baer died in 1994, his son Andrew discovered a trio of bins containing more than 4,000 negatives, silver gelatin prints and contact sheets. They sat largely untouched for another 27 years.

Finally, in 2021, Andrew and his wife, Megan Moynihan, began to scan the negatives. What emerged was a complete, coherent body of work: two distinct chapters separated by the Atlantic, united by a unique sensibility.

In Europe, Baer shot Communist Party posters calling for US withdrawal, with an octopus in the Stars and Stripes strangling the map of France. He captured boys playing with toy guns in Franco's Spain; German cities mid-reconstruction; a Munich junction so clogged with cyclists it looks like a scene from another civilization.

The war was over, but its residue was everywhere.

His New York work, meanwhile, is more playful, more formally ambitious. A shadow study shot from above, of a lone pedestrian dwarfed by the elongated geometry of his own silhouette, is the kind of picture that photographers still try to make from high vantage points.

A rain-soaked Lexington Avenue, with a lone umbrella-carrier reflected in the flooded street below, is equally arresting. A double-exposure image titled Louise Twice, in which his wife appears as a ghost against a busy New York street scene, shows a level of technical curiosity that goes well beyond point-and-shoot.

What's striking about the full body of work is its consistency. There are no duds in this selection, no learning-curve pictures, no obvious failures of timing. Either Baer edited his negatives with exceptional ruthlessness before boxing them away, or the instinct was there from the start.

The book has been produced by Paper Cinema Editions under creative director Yolanda Cuomo, whose credits include Magnum America and work with Aperture, with an essay by Alexa Dilworth. At 248 pages and 10 x 12 inches, it's a serious study of a body of work that has waited decades for serious treatment.

John Baer: The Extraordinary Ordinary: A Memoir in Photographs, 1945–1954 will be published by John Baer Archive on September 15 priced $65 (approximately £49 / AU$90). Visit the John Baer Archive website for more details.

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You've seen it a thousand times. Eleven ironworkers, sat side by side on a steel girder, eating their lunch 840 feet above Manhattan, the city spread out like a carpet below them. Lunch on a Beam (also known as Lunch Atop a Skyscraper) is one of the most reproduced photographs in history. It hangs in college dorms and union halls, corner pubs and corner offices. It's been parodied, recreated and imitated endlessly. And yet, for nearly a century, no one could say with certainty who took it.

That's the central mystery at the heart of Lunch on a Beam: The Making of an American Photograph (Brandeis University Press, £27), a new book by Christine Roussel, the longtime archivist at New York’s Rockefeller Center. Roussel spent more than seven years, dozens of interviews and a fair amount of luck piecing together the full story behind the image. What she found is fascinating not just as social history, but as a detective story for anyone who cares about photography.

The cameras that made it possible

Here's the first surprise. The photo wasn't a spontaneous snapshot of workers on a lunch break. It was a staged publicity shoot, orchestrated by Merle Crowell, the director of public relations for Rockefeller Center, to promote the nearly complete RCA Building. Crowell dispatched a "platoon of photographers" to climb the skeletal steel structure and document the ironworkers at work. He even provided lunchboxes for the shoot. The workers, for their part, played along (probably, Roussel suggests, because they were getting paid).

To appreciate just how remarkable the photographs are, you need to think about the equipment involved. The standard press camera of the era was the Graflex Speed Graphic 4x5, a hefty beast that used 4-by-5-inch glass plates or celluloid film. There were no zoom lenses, no autofocus, no image stabilisation. Getting sharp images in bright sunlight at altitude required setting up the shot carefully, managing the plate holders and not losing your nerve (or your footing) on a six-inch beam nearly a thousand feet above the street.

The photographers who did this weren't just skilled: they were fearless. Three have been identified from that day: Charles Ebbets, Thomas Kelley and William "Lefty" Leftwich. We know they were there because photographs from the shoot include extraordinary pictures of the photographers themselves, perched and balancing on the ironwork with their cameras.

Daredevils with press cards

Ebbets had a habit of photographing himself at every location he worked, using a self-timer. He'd set the camera, then step into the frame. His daughter confirmed to Roussel that surviving files and contemporary accounts back this up. An invoice on his letterhead, billing Rockefeller Center directly in the autumn of 1932, and a glowing letter of recommendation from Crowell, suggest Ebbets was the most deeply embedded of the three.

Leftwich, meanwhile, ran his own photo agency, Newspictures Inc., operated out of an office on West 48th Street — directly across from the construction site. His portrait from that day shows him standing nonchalantly on top of a narrow beam in a dark suit, fedora and two-tone wingtips, camera raised. His son told Roussel he "had no fear of heights" and was frequently accompanied by Rockettes.

Kelley, just 18 at the time, is pictured straddling a beam while adjusting his camera, the Empire State Building looming behind him. He later moved to Hollywood and became famous for his 1949 nude portraits of Marilyn Monroe, published in the first issue of Playboy. Crucially, he never claimed credit for Lunch on a Beam: "My father never mentioned it," his son told Roussel.

The mystery that remains

After all her research, Roussel concludes that either Ebbets or Leftwich most likely took the famous image, but she can't rule out either one. The original work orders have never been found. The agencies they worked through rarely gave individual credits. And the photograph itself, for all its clarity and stillness, gives nothing away.

It's a fittingly unresolved ending to a story rooted in paradox. A photograph celebrated for its apparent spontaneity that was actually staged. An image honoring ordinary working men that was also a monument to the ambitions of America's richest family. And a picture recognised by virtually everyone on the planet whose maker remains, after 90 years, unknown.

Lunch on a Beam: The Making of an American Photograph by Christine Roussel is published by Brandeis University Press, distributed by University of Chicago Press. Cloth, $35.00/£27, 222 pages.

We tend to overlook the fact that society only functions because of countless small actions—especially those carried out in civic roles. Photographer William Meyers’ new book, Civics, brings those moments into focus, documenting everyday acts of engagement that “sustain the democratic fabric of the nation.”

Across 25 years, Meyers photographed New York’s offices, streets, public spaces, and neighborhoods in stark black and white. The result is a portrait of the city as a living system, revealing the often invisible machinery that keeps it running.

Civics is structured into seven thematic chapters, tracing a spectrum of civic life: formal political processes, public service, volunteer work, protests, charitable acts, and neighborhood interactions. Together, they highlight the “everyday labor” behind a functioning society.

“Civics is a visual primer about not only the practice of citizenship but the art of being an American,” said art critic Brian T. Allen in a press release.

More than a survey of Meyers’ work, the book also functions as social commentary on the United States and its summer release coincides with the 250th anniversary of the nation’s founding. Journalist Nicole Gelinas contributes an afterward that places the images within the broader context of urban policy and civic life.

Born in 1938 in Providence, Rhode Island, William Meyers worked in public service and business before turning to photography in the 1990s. His work has since been exhibited widely across the United States and Europe, in both solo and group exhibitions.

Civics will be released in hardcover this July, priced at $50 USD / £37 / AU$70. Meyers’ have yet to confirm vendors, but further details will be available on his website.

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From societal upheaval to sporting moments of glory, there are many types of events and subjects that can make iconic, stirring images. But perhaps the most powerful, emotionally evocative photos are those created a little closer to home—of our family and friends, and the funny, wild, scary, sad, and happy times we share with them.

In her new monograph, Holy Cow!, US-based photographer Melonie Bennett captures this “emotional rollercoaster,” depicting the “rituals, traditions, dramas, laughter, and drunken exploits” of life as a member of a Maine dairy farming family.

Taken over a period of 20 years, from 1990–2011, the nostalgic black-and-white frames reveal scenes of the “absurd and unexpected,” such as a dog wearing cowboy boots, boys playing cards in bras, heading home at 2 a.m. after a moose hunt, and college kids streaking through farmland.

“This collection of photographs presents the world I know—the complicated, mad world that includes my father, mother, brother, sister, friends, dogs, babies, extended family, and the stuff of life,” Bennett said in a press release.

Melonie Bennett (b. 1969) lives and works in Maine. She graduated from Maine College of Art with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in photography before beginning her career as an assistant to photographer Judy Glickman Lauder in 1991. Since then, her work has been included in more than 60 exhibitions across the US and internationally.

Her latest project, Holy Cow!, is an ode to all families, highlighting how each and every one is unconventional in its own way. You can preorder a hardback copy from the publisher, GOST Books, for $55 (£40 / €50), with publication scheduled for May.

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There's a photograph in Peter Beard's The End of the Game that stops you cold. A zebra, mid-collapse, stripes brilliant against dark earth. A lion's paws are already on it. The animal has run, quite literally, to the end. Beard's caption is those very words: A zebra that ran to the end, 1960. No sentiment. No distance. Just the fact of it, witnessed and recorded.

That's what made Beard (1938-2020) different, and why this book – first published in 1965 and now reissued by Taschen in a 2026 edition – still matters. He wasn't shooting wildlife in the conventional sense, and would have bristled at the description. Beard saw himself as an artist and a diarist, not a wildlife photographer; a label he found reductive and, perhaps, a little sentimental.

He wasn't after the golden-hour silhouette or the tender maternal moment. He was documenting a system in catastrophic failure: the overpopulation and mass starvation of elephants, and the wider ecological collapse affecting rhinos and hippos, across Kenya's Tsavo lowlands and Uganda's national parks. And he did it with the unflinching eye of someone who understood that the camera's job, first and foremost, is to tell the truth.

What he saw that others didn't

Beard arrived in East Africa in the late 1950s, a Yale-educated American with a restless, voracious intelligence. He'd read Karen Blixen, the Dutch author of 1937's Out of Africa. He'd studied the accounts of Victorian explorers. But nothing prepared him for what he found on the ground.

Vast herds of elephants stripping landscapes to bare dirt, dying in their thousands. Game departments, overwhelmed and underfunded. Colonial administration giving way to independence. with no coherent conservation policy to replace it.

Beard went on to spend two decades researching and photographing the crisis. The images in this book – elephant embryo, roping rhinos, a spitting cobra coiled and mortally wounded, the skull of a Grant's gazelle ascending from the grass like a totem – are not the Africa of the tourist brochure. They are evidence. The images are annotated in Beard's hand, layered with text clipped from expedition journals and naturalist reports, packed into pages that feel more like a legal indictment than a coffee-table book.

Photographer as archivist

For working photographers today, there's something instructive in what Beard was doing. At a time when wildlife photography largely meant celebration, he chose accumulation. He was less interested in the single defining frame than in the weight of many: the pattern that emerges from repeated witness. The dead elephants of Tsavo, image after image, build into something that no single photo could achieve.

He was also, by the way, deeply sceptical of the idea that photography alone could change anything. The book is dense with quotations from Theodore Roosevelt, Ernest Hemingway and J.A. Hunter, alongside the cooler analysis of scientists like Dr. Richard M. Laws. Beard wanted context, not just imagery. He understood that a powerful photograph without a story is just a beautiful object.

This 2026 reissue comes with new material, an interview with anti-ivory trade campaigner Dr. Esmond Bradley Martin, and essays by Paul Theroux and Dr. Laws. These additions give the book fresh forensic weight at a moment when biodiversity loss and human-wildlife conflict are accelerating globally.

It's sobering to think that Beard spent half a century trying to make people understand what was happening, yet the argument he was making in 1965 has only become more urgent. The end of the game he described is still in progress.

If you're a photographer wondering what the medium is actually for, this book is one of the best answers you'll find. Not comfort. Not beauty, exactly. But truth, kept and organised and handed on.

Published by TASCHEN, the 2026 reissue of The End of the Game by Peter Beard will be released in the UK on April 29 priced at £80, and In the USA in June priced $100.

Most photographers dream of the single defining image. The frame that stops people scrolling, gets screenshotted a million times before breakfast, and becomes cultural shorthand for an entire moment. Simon Emmett got that. And then he was handed a tour bus pass, and told to keep going.

The image of Liam and Noel Gallagher standing together for the first time in 16 years dropped on 27 August 2024, the same day Oasis announced their Live '25 reunion tour. It went absolutely everywhere.

For Emmett, a portrait and beauty photographer whose work appears regularly in Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone and Esquire, it could have been a career-defining image by itself. But it turned out to be page one of something even bigger.

The results have now been gathered together in Oasis Live '25 Opus, a photographic chronicle of the tour produced in collaboration with the band. And make no mistake: this is not edited portfolio of the 50 best shots. The deluxe editions contain an astonishing 1,000 unseen images.

This is proper documentation: the kind of sustained, obsessive visual record that requires a very different mindset to the single-session portrait shoot.

What access looks like

Emmett had what every music photographer wants but rarely gets: genuine behind-the-scenes access throughout the entire global tour. Not a photo pit with a three-song limit, or a carefully staged backstage moment; the whole thing. The waiting, the pre-show nerves, the post-show release, the crew, the fans, the venues from Dublin to Seoul.

The photographs in this book deliver on that promise. There's a backstage shot of Noel and Liam, for instance, that feels genuinely unguarded: the kind of image that only happens when the subject has forgotten the camera is there. There's a long-exposure study of a drummer reduced to light trails and motion blur; the kind of technically adventurous work that only emerges when you feels secure enough in your access to experiment, rather than just document.

There's a wide stage shot from Seoul, the band silhouetted against a sea of phone-lit faces. And there's a close crowd shot of fans mid-song, mouths open, completely lost in it; captured from right inside the crowd rather than from a safe distance above it.

There is a tendency, when looking at work like this, to attribute its quality entirely to the circumstances. With this level of access, you'd expect the pictures to be good, right?

But access and great images are not the same thing. Think about it: tours have always had official photographers; yet most official tour books are forgettable. I've been collecting them since 1984, so believe me, I know.

To my mind, what Emmet has done here that's different is to get out of the way of the truth, rather than construct one. That instinct – to observe rather than direct, wait rather than prompt – is harder than it sounds. Especially when you are standing in front of one of the most famous bands on the planet.

This book, though, stands as proof that Emmet has pulled it off. In a way that every photographer, Oasis fan or not, can learn from.

Oasis Live '25 Opus is available in four editions, including the retail Live Forever Edition (336pp hardback, from May 2026). Three collector's editions (Wonderwall, Glory and Supernova) each feature 1,000 photographs spread across 648 pages.

Most of us came to know American photographer and activist Nan Goldin's work through The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, the raw, unflinching 1986 record of her downtown New York circle: the addiction, the violence, the beauty, the loss. Less well known, though, is what made her. Sisters, Saints and Sibyls began not in a Manhattan loft but in a Maryland suburb in 1965, with a teenage girl lying down in front of a train.

That girl was Barbara Holly Goldin, Nan's older sister. Born in 1946, Barbara was a precocious, spirited child who, by her early teens, was being institutionalized, pathologized and controlled by a system (medical, familial, social) that had no language for a girl who simply refused to comply.

She died on 12 April 1965, at 18, by suicide on a railway line near Silver Spring, Maryland. The death certificate reads "from depression". She was on a day pass from a mental hospital.

A few years later, Nan Goldin picked up a camera. "I started to shoot dope, and shoot pictures," she writes in the book. "That saved my life." In eight words, she locates photography not as a career choice or an artistic ambition, but as a lifeline; the thing that pulled her back from the edge her sister had fallen over. Without Barbara, there is arguably no Ballad. Without Barbara, there may be have been no "Nan Goldin, photographer" at all.

Sisters, Saints and Sibyls, first published in 2004 and now republished by Thames & Hudson to coincide with Goldin's retrospective at the Grand Palais in Paris, makes that connection explicit for the first time in book form.

The camera sees what institutions don't

What makes this book extraordinary is its structure. Goldin weaves together three very different kinds of image-making: her father's amateur family snapshots from the 1940s and 50s, her own documentary photographs taken decades later, and the institutional documents (hospital records, psychiatric assessments, a register of orphans) that chart Barbara's official story.

Placed side by side, these sources expose a profound truth about photography's power. The clinical records dehumanise: Barbara is described as having "left her legs unshaven", being "loud and coarse in speech", and as someone who "threatened to become a prostitute". The photographs – of a grinning girl on a tricycle, a teenager watching the sea – tell a different story.

This is the argument at the core of Goldin's practice, and it is one worth sitting with: who controls the image controls the narrative. Barbara's life was documented exhaustively by the institutions that held her, but those documents existed to justify containment, not to understand a person. The photographs resist that. They insist on her humanity.

Goldin began photographing her own circle in the early 1970s, partly because she feared forgetting; feared that without pictures, the people she loved would simply dissolve. That impulse is everywhere in this book. It's why she returned in 2004 to photograph the train tracks, the hospital buildings, the flooded graveyard; places that might otherwise hold no image at all.

For photographers working today, particularly those drawn to documentary or personal work, the lesson is this: the camera is not neutral. Every choice about what to photograph, who to photograph, and how to present those images is an ethical act. Goldin understood that before she had words for it.

In an era when photography is simultaneously more democratised and more disposable than ever, this book is a useful corrective. It is slow, heavy with grief, and deeply serious about what images can and cannot do. It will not teach you anything about exposure or composition. It will remind you why you picked up a camera in the first place.

Sisters, Saints and Sibyls by Nan Goldin is published by Thames & Hudson. Hardback, £30.

Scarlet Page, veteran rock photographer and the daughter of iconic Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page, has just published Exposed, a book on 1990s indie-rock legends Placebo, featuring never-before-seen shots of the band.

Spanning three albums, from 1996's eponymous debut Placebo through 1998's Without You I'm Nothing to 2000's Black Market Music, Page chronicles in detail the ups and downs of the group's often-unglamorous life on the road, complete with soundchecks, hangovers and comedowns.

I was at an intimate launch event and signing at Gibson Guitars last night, where Page spoke in conversation with ex-colleague and venerated music journalist Paul Brannigan about compiling the black-and-white book with the help of the band – especially guitarist Stefan Olsdal, who had a 'great memory' and could identify when and where the shots were taken with the help of his Rolodex.

Page discussed photographic techniques she'd tried in the pre-digital age: "Cross-processing was very much in, where you'd use a transparency film and process it as though it were a color negative, or vice-versa, and that would have different aesthetic effects on the film. That was something I did quite a lot of, as did everyone else, because we weren't doing Photoshop – we were just playing around with things.

"Then Rankin started using ring flash, so everyone started using ring flash. Every time you shot a band with a ring flash, they were like, 'I can just see donuts'. It was quite brutal, almost damaging their retinas."

As for why the book is all in black and white, Page explained, "Some of the images in the book were actually shot in color, but they were really grainy and very underexposed. I wanted the project to be very uniform. So there were a few color [shots] which we made into black and white so it would all sit very nicely together."

She revealed that her wonderful photos had led to commissions from even bigger acts: "I had the call up from David Bowie's management asking if I would shoot some photos of him rehearsing for his 50th birthday tour. This was in 1997 or so, because he'd seen the Placebo images and had loved all the imagery. That was quite terrifying, but incredible."

And she disclosed during the event's Q&A that the artist she most regretted not working with was Prince: "I got a call from Purple PR, saying 'are you free on this date?' That was amazing, but I just never got that second call."

The book will not be published traditionally, but – as a joint venture between the band and the photographer – through the band's site, Placeboworld.

In the meantime, other events like this continue as part of Gibson Garage Fest at the London flagship store on Eastcastle Street, where I was last night, until the end of February. They can be found on @gibsonguitaruk (Instagram) for more information.

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Also, what is the best camera for music videos?

The media frenzy surrounding Brooklyn Beckham has prompted a slew of articles and social media comments picking apart the Beckhams’ firstborn and his various career paths. But you know what? I’ve always thought it was a great shame that Brooklyn didn’t keep up with his photography. Then, again, maybe he has privately, and if that’s the case, all the power to him!

If you can cast your mind back to the very different world that was 2017, Penguin Books released Brooklyn’s photo book debut: What I see, alongside accompanying exhibitions in London and Los Angeles. But what should have been a then-career-highlight evoked the ire of many a social-media loudmouth and critic.

And while I can at least understand the nepotism angle, I hated the very personal ridicule of Brooklyn’s photos. After all, the world was lambasting the work of a teenager. For starters, I know what my photography looked like at 16, and it was utter s***. When I look through the pages of What I See, I’m not expecting it to be Genesis, but it is the formative work of a very young and enthusiastic photographer.

Let’s face it. Very few people take photography seriously nowadays, because everyone’s got a camera phone that’ll do the business with little to no effort. Of course, the layperson ridiculed the now infamous elephant photo, which Brooklyn dubbed “so hard to photograph”, because a smartphone's computational photography makes shooting backlit subjects a cinch. If you’re a photographer using a manual camera, you’ll know that – in actual fact – photographing an elephant backlit against Kenya’s harsh midday sun really would be a bit of a challenge.

A lot of Brooklyn’s photos were shot on film, too. So, to all the digital-only photographers who have forgotten what it’s like to shoot on film (or perhaps never shot film), it’s a different ballgame. Perfectly focused and exposed images are much harder to come by, especially if you’re not a seasoned analog enthusiast or pro.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that the images in What I see are all incredible works of art. But I deny anyone who doesn’t see some potential. A small passage from the Daily Mail caught my attention: “Brooklyn told the Daily Telegraph magazine that he struggled to get the collection of photographs past his parents. ‘It was hard to get them approved,’ he said.”

It would be a shame if Brooklyn lost some of his creative autonomy when compiling images for his book. After all, what a subject deems suitable for publication and what a photographer deems suitable are often two very different things. Many subjects would approve an image based on their perceived appearance and not the quality of the overall photograph. How could they not? And while I’m loath to point the finger at anyone specifically, it’s worth noting that Brooklyn’s famous family is no stranger to the celebrity/fashion side of photography. Still, it appears that Brooklyn’s interests err on the side of documentary photography – two very different worlds.

Part of being a good, confident photographer is often about capturing the images that convey what you’re trying to express, not capturing the images that you think your subject(s) want to see. But this comes with experience. In that same article, Brooklyn revealed: “If my mom sees me taking a picture, she kind of poses and stuff, and I don't really like that.” Now, photograph almost anybody in the world, and they’ll pose if they see your camera, but the fact that Brooklyn, a teenager, could identify the merit of a candid photograph certainly shows good instincts.

I also think that in 2026 What I See seems a lot more relevant than it did in 2017. There’s even an argument that Brooklyn’s photo compilation was a little ahead of its time, given the lo-fi photography boom in recent years, with a renewed interest in film and the rise and rise of Fujifilm’s retro cameras and Film Simulations. Indeed, if it were released tomorrow, I think the reception would be a little kinder.

But there’s a more sinister element to What I See that likely wouldn’t escape critique in 2026: the subject of nepotism. There’s little doubt that the family name aided the book’s release, specifically under the banner of Penguin Books and the aforementioned exhibitions in London and LA. And it’s here where I question the rationale of placing so much pressure on the shoulders of such a young and inexperienced photographer. Instead of being allowed to refine his photography skills in relative quiet, Brooklyn found himself stretching his photography wings in front of the entire world. That's a huge amount of pressure.

What I See wasn’t the first time that Brooklyn’s photography was placed under the limelight. The year prior, he was invited to capture a Burberry fashion shoot, which caused arguably even more of an uproar and is admittedly difficult to defend. But again, Brooklyn was only 17; how could he be expected to foresee the backlash?

Let me put this into footballing terms. You don’t shove your 16-year-old wonderkid onto a pitch against Real Madrid, in a Champions League qualifier, when you’re down to ten men. You loan them out to a lower-league team to gain vital first-team experience in a more favorable environment so you don't crush their confidence.

Ultimately, the one person who I don’t think was responsible for What I See's reception was Brooklyn. And if you ask me, I think it’s a shame the industry lost a celebrity who could have really championed photography and directed more youngsters towards this great hobby, industry, and profession. Then again, if you’ve picked up a camera – even once – with the intention of creating art, you can always consider yourself a photographer in my book. I hope we see more of Brooklyn's photos in the future.

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I always hated the backlash to Brooklyn Beckham’s photography book anyway, but if you're looking for more photography books, check out this Vivian Maier: Street Photographer review and this Joel Meyerowitz: How I Make Photographs review.

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Take a look at the best books on photography, along with the best books on street photography and the best books on portrait photography.

Vivian Maier: Street Photographer, edited by John Maloof with a foreword by Geoff Dyer, stands as one of the most essential monographs of the past two decades; not only because of the photographs themselves, but because of the extraordinary story behind them.

Vivian Maier spent most of her life working as a nanny, photographing the streets of Chicago and New York with no intention of showing her work, publishing a book, or pursuing a photography career. She photographed out of pure instinct, driven by a private, almost compulsive need to observe and document the world around her.

Her archive, tens of thousands of negatives, prints, and undeveloped rolls, which was only discovered after her death, reveals a body of street photography that immediately entered conversation with the greats of the twentieth century. This monograph remains one of the most compelling entry points into that archive.

What it offers, above all, is a sense of intimacy: street scenes, portraits, and self-portraits that feel deeply attentive, grounded in observation, and full of human presence. The book’s design reflects this sensibility beautifully. Each square Rolleiflex frame sits within a generous white border that lets the image breathe, as if giving Maier’s deceptively quiet photographs the space they need to speak. Then, in the book’s closing section, the border turns black, a tonal shift that frames her self-portraits with greater emotional weight, grounding the work in the melancholy of Maier’s story.

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Price and availability

Vivian Maier: Street Photographer is available in hardback from all major retailers, priced around $40 / £40; however, it is often on sale for much lower.

Review

What strikes you most, moving through these photographs, is how fully formed Maier’s visual instinct was. She wasn’t shaped by an art school or a photographic movement; her education came from the daily act of observation. That makes the sophistication of her images even more compelling. There’s an alertness to her frames. A feeling that she recognised the street as a place where the ordinary can pivot into the extraordinary at any second.

Her talent for closeness is a defining quality throughout. The Rolleiflex let her work from the chest rather than the eye, and that position created a gently disarming angle. People don’t flinch from her; they meet her. Children look at her with open curiosity, while adults regard her with a kind of guarded interest. These small exchanges give the work its emotional tension. It’s not confrontation or performance.

Visually, she had a natural feel for structure. Shadows, reflections, diagonals, frames within frames, and repeated patterns: she folds these elements into the frame with a light touch, turning simple scenes into something sharper and more layered. A reflection in a window becomes a second, ghostlike city. A long shadow becomes a self-portrait. A momentary gesture becomes the hinge on which the whole composition turns. She wasn’t trying to expose a grand theme; rather, she was attuned to daily life, and she trusted the street to provide.

What gives the work its lasting power is her way of seeing people. She didn’t sentimentalise, but noticed. A tired face, a worn coat, a look of private worry, she found dignity in these fleeting signals. There’s empathy in the images, but it isn’t announced. It’s simply there, built into the timing and the attention she brought to each moment.

Looked at together, the photographs suggest someone deeply present yet slightly apart from the world she was recording. That distance, part personality, part circumstance, becomes an essential part of the work. It allowed her to move through the city with both intimacy and detachment, seeing it as a place full of odd alignments, quick emotions, and unguarded truths. It’s a perspective that gives her pictures a freshness that hasn’t faded, even now.

Geoff Dyer’s foreword frames the book with literary elegance, setting the reader up to consider not just the images, but the act of looking itself. His reflections on Maier’s perceptive intelligence and the subtle poetry in her everyday observations encourage a slow, deliberate engagement with the work. Dyer captures the tension between her private life and public vision, highlighting the extraordinary quality of a photographer who created with instinct, curiosity, and an unshakable sense of empathy.

Final thoughts

Vivian Maier: Street Photographer is a remarkable and deeply inspiring monograph. It offers more than a collection of images; it is an immersive study in observation, empathy, and the quiet artistry of everyday life and street photography. The combination of John Maloof’s careful curation, Geoff Dyer’s insightful foreword, and Maier’s extraordinary vision transforms the book into both a historical document and a masterclass in seeing.

Her photographs feel alive, intimate, and timeless, revealing a photographer who trusted her instincts and found meaning in the overlooked details of the street. For anyone drawn to the art of looking, the poetry of human interaction, or the craft of street photography, this book is essential.

Alternatives

There are few photographers whose advice I trust as instinctively as Joel Meyerowitz. His work, from the early color-drenched New York streets to the serene Tuscany landscapes, has always been rooted in clarity of seeing. How I Make Photographs continues that legacy. Published as part of Laurence King’s Masters of Photography series, it is a compact but remarkably generous guide, distilling decades of working knowledge into concise lessons on how to look, how to move, and how to remain open to the world in front of your lens.

Where many ‘how-to’ books lean heavily on technical instruction, this one teaches photography as a way of being, a vital part of books on street photography. Meyerowitz writes with the warmth of someone who has spent a lifetime paying attention, and his reflections seamlessly integrate practice, philosophy, and lived experience into something much more valuable than a checklist of tips. It reads, in many ways, like a conversation with one of the greats.

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Price and availability

Joel Meyerowitz: How I Make Photographs by Joel Meyerowitz is available in hardback from all major retailers, priced around $21.99 / £14.99; however, it is often on sale for much lower.

Review

What stands out immediately is Meyerowitz’s ability to turn experience into actionable insight without ever diluting its complexity. His opening chapters on ‘Be Inspired’ and ‘Embrace the everyday’ set the tone. Photography, for him, begins long before the shutter is pressed. He emphasises receptiveness, rhythm, and the simple act of noticing. As someone who spends a great deal of time shooting in the streets, I found these early pages surprisingly energising and wholly inspiring. They re-aligned me with the fundamentals and the why of shooting on the street.

The book is structured into short, focused chapters, each a principle Meyerowitz has carried through his career. Composition, color, gesture, pacing, and the emotional charge of a scene are all addressed with the directness of someone who genuinely wants you to improve. His language is clear and unpretentious, and the advice is rooted in real practice rather than abstraction. He is not instructing you to chase perfect moments; he is teaching you how to become more receptive to them.

The strongest parts of the book, for me, are the chapters on light and the choice of color or black and white. Meyerowitz’s relationship with color – he was one of the earliest advocates for colour as a serious artistic medium in the 1960s – is foundational to modern street photography. Here, he explains how he learned to follow the color, how light informs atmosphere, and how slowing down allows color and gesture to reveal themselves. These sections feel particularly valuable for anyone who leans heavily on black and white; they remind you of how strategically expressive colour can be when treated as a compositional force rather than an afterthought.

His guidance on timing and responsiveness is equally insightful. Meyerowitz has always been a photographer of movement, the fluid energy of a street in motion. He articulates how to anticipate rather than react, how to stay loose, how to work around a subject rather than pounce on it. These are techniques that are hard to teach, yet he manages to make them feel legible and learnable.

The production of the book enhances all this. The layout is uncluttered, images are used meaningfully, and every principle is paired with an example from his archive. It’s a format that avoids overwhelm while offering plenty of material to revisit. As with all the Laurence King titles, the sequencing is tight and considered; each chapter builds logically on the last without ever lecturing. It is the perfect book for dipping in and out of.

What I appreciate most is the humility in the writing. Meyerowitz never positions himself as a master instructing novices from a pedestal. Instead, he returns repeatedly to curiosity. The same curiosity that pushed him onto 1960s Fifth Avenue with a camera and no roadmap. For a book dedicated to teaching, it retains a sense of discovery.

Final thoughts

How I Make Photographs succeeds because it refuses to split photography into technique and philosophy; it sees them as inseparable. It’s a book I find myself wanting to keep in my bag because it’s a reminder of what matters when we’re out making pictures. Whether you’re new to street photography or experienced and looking to refresh your instincts, Meyerowitz’s voice is a steady guide. It is generous, insightful, and rooted in a lifetime of seeing well.

Most practical guides teach mechanics. This one teaches perception. That distinction is what makes the book so enduring.

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Opening Record 2 feels less like picking up a photobook – although it is, without doubt, one of the best photography books on street photography – and more like stepping inside Daido Moriyama’s ongoing dialogue with the world. This volume brings together the images and texts from issues 31–50 of Record – Moriyama’s long-running personal journal publication – and serves as the sequel to Record, the first collected volume gathering issues 1–30, published by Thames & Hudson in 2017. Seen together, these chapters form a vivid continuum, revealing how the act of daily looking became not only Moriyama’s method but his philosophy of shooting the streets of Japan.

To understand the book’s impact, it is worth remembering who Moriyama is and what he represents. A central figure in post-war Japanese photography, he rose to prominence in the late 1960s and became one of the defining forces behind the Provoke movement. His signature language of are, bure, boke (grainy, blurry, out-of-focus) fractured traditional photographic expectations and prioritised sensation over clarity. It was a radical, almost confrontational way of seeing, and it permanently shifted the vocabulary of street photography.

Collected here, the images from Record’s second run retain that spirit of immediacy. They feel urgent, instinctive, alive to the fleeting currents of city life in Moriyama’s homeland of Japan. Record 2 is not just a book of great street shots; it is a sustained immersion in Moriyama’s way of experiencing the world. A reminder that street photography can be as much about presence, movement, and feeling as it is about precision.

Publisher information

Price and availability

Record 2 by Daido Moriyama, Mark Holborn is available in hardback from all major retailers, priced around $75 / £60; however, it is often on sale for much lower.

Review

What immediately strikes me about Record 2 is its sheer intensity. Moriyama’s photographs aren’t organised around themes or linear narratives; they’re driven by rhythm. The rhythm of wandering, noticing, and shooting before thought has a chance to interfere. Each image either has the immediacy of something intercepted in motion or a small, intricate detail that would otherwise go unnoticed, yet is integral to the place.

The hallmarks of his visual language are present in full force. The high contrast. The fractured compositions. The blur that swallows detail and replaces it with atmosphere. These are not technical imperfections but creative choices, and in Moriyama’s hands, philosophical ones. His now-famous are, bure, boke (grainy, blurry, out-of-focus) style is less an aesthetic than a position on what photography can be. The world, as he presents it, is unstable, emotional, and flickering, and so the photograph should be too.

Despite the grain's rawness, blown highlights, and often indistinct forms, these images retain a surprising emotional clarity. Moriyama photographs the street not as a stage for isolated ‘decisive moments’, but as passing impressions. A blurred figure becomes a gesture, or a long shadow marks the passing of time. The impact comes not from what is literally shown, but from the way the scene is felt in that instant.

This is precisely where his influence on street photography becomes unmistakable. Long before the contemporary embrace of imperfection, Moriyama challenged the idea that technical clarity equates to artistic truth. He opened the door for photographers who prioritise instinct, atmosphere, and presence over conventional notions of sharpness or composition. Record 2 is charged with that energy on every page; a reminder that the street is defined by movement and mood, not precision.

One of the most compelling aspects of this volume is how diaristic it feels. Record has always been Moriyama’s personal journal, a space where he responds intuitively to whatever pulls at his attention, and that sensibility comes through clearly here. The accompanying texts, spread throughout the book, add a further dimension: candid, reflective entries that illuminate how he thinks, what compels him, and why he continues to photograph with the same curiosity. For anyone interested in street photography, these fragments offer rare insight into one of the medium’s most influential living practitioners.

The production of the book matches the urgency of the images. The printing is rich and dense, pushing the contrast to a point where the photographs feel dynamic on the page. Full-bleed layouts heighten this immersion, giving the sense that each spread has been pulled directly from the street. There is no polish or smoothing of edges; the roughness is the point, a discipline unto itself. A hardback book presented in a slipcase, this is a beautiful object that I personally have been returning to time and time again.

A credit to Mark Holborn’s fantastic editing, taken as a whole, Record No. 2 reaffirms what makes Moriyama such a singular voice in photography. His pictures are not just seen; they are felt. And that is why, decades after he first picked up a camera, they continue to resonate with such force, more so now than ever.

Final thoughts

Record 2 is more than a continuation of Moriyama’s long-running journal; it’s a reminder of his profound influence on the evolution of street photography. Raw, restless, and emotionally charged, it demonstrates a way of seeing that resists categorisation. Moriyama trusts instinct over intention, sensation over clarity, and the result is a body of work that still feels ahead of its time.

For anyone interested in the history of street photography, the legacy of Provoke, or the expressive possibilities of the medium, this volume feels essential. It reinforces the value of photographing without hesitation, of letting the world pull you in and responding before the moment disappears.

Alternatives

Marvin E. Newman: Photographs 1949–1983 is a classic Taschen monograph in every sense. A large-format, exquisitely printed deep dive into a photographer whose work has shaped the visual language of American colour photography.

Newman is often mentioned in passing during conversations about the early pioneers of color photography, but far less frequently celebrated. Yet his street photography, made in the same years and city as icons like Saul Leiter and Ernst Haas, stands firmly on its own.

His New York is neon-soaked and architectural, full of graphic edges, bold hues, color blocking, and an almost cinematic sense of timing. This book brings that world together for the first time on such an ambitious scale, presenting Newman not as a footnote in the history of color street photography, but as one of its essential, and too often overlooked, authors.

Publisher information

Price and availability

Marvin E. Newman: Photographs 1949–1983 is available in hardback from all major retailers, priced around $80 / £60; however, it is often on sale for much lower.

Review

My first reaction to this book was simple: why haven’t I heard his name before? Marvin E. Newman was photographing at the same time as Saul Leiter and Ernst Haas, two of the most celebrated pioneers of early color photography, and yet his name rarely appears in the same breath. Opening this substantial Taschen coffee table book, it becomes immediately clear that this absence is not due to the work itself. Newman's photographs are electric. They carry the visual daring of a medium still in its infancy, where color was not a given, but an experiment, a risk, a new frontier.

The cover image alone feels like a thesis statement. In typical Taschen fashion, it’s an arresting choice; saturated neon, signage turned almost painterly, and an atmosphere that feels like Leiter turned up to eleven. The photograph pulls you in with its mix of bold color and graphic composition, announcing a photographer whose visual language was entirely his own. That single image sets the tone for the 250 pages that follow: vibrant, modern, effortlessly sleek, and surprisingly contemporary.

One of the standout features of this monograph is the opening essay, Trade Secrets, authored by Lyle Rexer. It offers an insightful look at Newman’s philosophy and working methods, highlighting how he never accepted the conventional division between “artist” and “working photographer”, the former dedicated solely to self-expression, the latter bound to client assignments. Newman himself is quoted, “My photographs will live on after me. Everything I wanted to put in a photograph is here.”

The essay frames the book beautifully, positioning Newman not just as a master of his craft but as an artist whose commercial and personal work were inextricably linked, each informing and strengthening the other. This perspective adds a layer of understanding that enriches the visual experience, making the monograph not only a pleasure to look at but also a compelling study of a photographer’s approach to life and work.

As I moved through the book, I found myself increasingly drawn not just to the images but to Newman’s fluency across genres and subjects. His street work overflows with color and compositional precision, but his sports and documentary photographs are equally commanding. Very few photographers navigate multiple visual territories with this level of assurance. In Newman’s hands, color becomes a unifying force; a structural tool as much as an aesthetic one. Whether he is photographing a baseball pitch or a bustling New York street corner, the chromatic decisions are deliberate and often brilliant.

Taschen’s curation and sequencing elevate this further. The book moves with a clear narrative rhythm, presenting Newman’s life’s work without forcing it into neat academic categories, rather locations and subjects. Instead, the photographs breathe. Themes emerge organically. You sense a photographer following his curiosity, rather than a career designed around a single style. For someone like me, a photographer who works predominantly in black and white, it was a powerful reminder that ‘style’ is something that emerges from the individual, not the other way around.

The production quality is, of course, outstanding. The printing is sharp and richly toned, with colour that feels both accurate and generous. The large format encourages slow looking – you’re not glancing at images, you’re entering them. Details reveal themselves: the glint on a chrome fender, the geometry of signage, the contradictions and harmonies of mid-century America. It is a genuinely immersive object, the kind of book whose physical weight reinforces its sense of importance.

Historically, Marvin E. Newman: Photographs 1949–1983 feels long overdue. Color photography wasn’t taken seriously as fine art during Newman’s early career. Museums and galleries clung fiercely to black-and-white modernism, and anyone working in color was fighting an uphill battle. Add to this the fact that Newman was shooting similar subjects to Saul Leiter, in the same city and era, and it becomes clearer how he might have been overshadowed. Yet looking at this book today, none of that diminishes the work. If anything, it heightens its impact. He emerges as an overlooked pioneer, someone pushing colour forward before the world was ready to recognise it.

By the end of the book, I felt genuinely inspired. Newman’s photographs made me reconsider my own practice, especially the potential of colour as a compositional tool. They also serve as a lesson for any artist that working across modes and disciplines is not a dilution of vision, but a deepening of it.

Final thoughts

Marvin E. Newman: Photographs 1949–1983 feels like a long-overdue restoration of a name that should have never drifted into the margins. It is rare for a monograph to feel both revelatory and inevitable, but this one achieves exactly that. The edit is thoughtful, the sequencing generous, and the production unmistakably Taschen: heavy, tactile, and full of reverence for the images it holds. But most importantly, it repositions Newman where he belongs – as a pioneering colour photographer whose work helped define the visual vocabulary of modern street photography.

Alternatives

Find Your Frame: A Street Photography Masterclass by Craig Whitehead is the essential guide for anyone looking to sharpen their eye on the street.

Street photography has become one of the most widely practised genres of the social-media era. Its appeal is easy to understand as it is one of the few genres where you can step outside with a camera and start taking pictures immediately. However, while photographing the street is simple, doing it well is another matter altogether.

Photographers have been documenting public life since the earliest days of the medium, long before ‘street photography’ became a defined category, and the best work has always come from a deeper sense of looking and an awareness of what you’re responding to, and why.

That awareness is often missing today. The sheer accessibility of the genre has led to a flood of images made quickly and without much intention. For me, a strong street photograph isn’t just a scene encountered at random; it’s the result of learning how to see, anticipate, and bring meaning to moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed.

I’ve always approached ‘how-to’ photography books with caution, because too many present their advice as the only correct way to work. The books I return to most are the ones that give you tools to develop your own way of seeing. Find Your Frame belongs firmly in that category.

Whitehead, alternatively known as @sixstreetunder, may have risen to prominence in the age of Instagram, but his approach is grounded in the longer tradition of street photography. He writes with clarity, experience, and a genuine desire to help photographers understand not just how to shoot, but how to look. For me, Find Your Frame encourages moving beyond chance encounters and creating work with intention; a practical, insightful companion for anyone wanting to strengthen their street photography practice.

Publisher information

Price and availability

Find Your Frame: A Street Photography Masterclass by Craig Whitehead is available in paperback from all major retailers, priced around $20 / £15; however is often on sale for much lower.

Review

Find Your Frame is structured around chapters that balance theory with practical, technical guidance, and it’s in this blend that the book shines. A few chapters stood out to me in particular.

The opening chapter, Street Your Way, immediately sets the tone. Whitehead encourages readers to define their own approach to street photography, to look beyond the obvious and make the genre their own. It’s a reminder that there isn’t a single ‘correct’ way to work on the street, and that creativity comes from making the practice your own.

In Get Out There, the message is simple but powerful: just go. You can plan, choose locations, and study techniques, but nothing replaces actually being on the street. So much happens when you’re present and ready to respond, and if you’re not there, you’ll miss it. For me, this chapter was a reaffirmation of a truth every street photographer knows but sometimes forgets – presence is everything.

Whitehead also offers a thoughtful approach to social media, showing how it can be a tool for sharing work without becoming a source of validation. It’s a timely reminder in an era where likes and follower counts often overshadow the work itself.

A particularly effective technical insight is his discussion of frames within frames. Whitehead explains how to “make order out of chaos by boxing your subject in.” In the busy streets, full of crowds, cars, and movement, isolating a subject through doors, windows, or other structures draws the viewer’s eye and clarifies the story in the image. It’s a simple compositional tool, but one that can dramatically improve the way a street scene reads, and Whitehead’s examples make it easy to understand and apply.

Even as an experienced photographer, I found plenty of practical tips and encouragement throughout. The writing is clear and broken into manageable sections, so it never feels overwhelming, particularly for new shooters. What makes the book even stronger is that Whitehead practices what he preaches. His own images consistently illustrate the lessons he sets out, giving readers examples that feel both inspiring and achievable.

Since reading it, I’ve been taking these ideas with me on every street shoot. Even small reminders, such as looking for frames within frames or following the light, have changed the way I approach my own work.

Final thoughts

For me, Find Your Frame succeeds because it does more than teach techniques. It fosters a way of seeing. Whitehead’s guidance is practical, his writing clear, and his images consistently illustrate the lessons he presents. Whether you’re just beginning or have years of street photography experience, the book offers both encouragement and practical insight. It also encourages readers to explore different sections at will. It is not a linear read, but rather a collection of lessons.

It reminded me to slow down, to look more carefully, and to approach the street with intention rather than chance. In short, it’s a book that doesn’t just tell you how to photograph but shows you why it matters, and how to make work that lasts.

Alternatives