There's a photograph in Keith Armstrong's newly discovered archive that stops you in your tracks. A man in a wheelchair grins defiantly, surrounded by Metropolitan Police officers. A red London bus looms behind him, its destination board reading Trafalgar Square. It's the kind of image that could have run on the front page of a national newspaper.

Actually though, it didn't; because Armstrong (1950-2017) wasn't a press photographer filing for an agency. He was a disability rights activist, shooting from his wheelchair, from inside the demonstration, for the movement itself.

Born in South Africa then raised in England, Armstrong spent the 1980s and 1990s documenting the campaign for disabled people's civil rights in Britain: the bus blockades, the protests outside Parliament, the pickets and direct actions that eventually helped bring about the Disability Discrimination Act in 1995.

He did it with an Olympus camera, film, and the kind of access no photojournalist on assignment could ever have bought – because he was one of them. Shooting at wheelchair height gave his images a ground-level intimacy that places you inside the crowd, rather than observing it from a distance.

Uncovering the archive

His archive was discovered after his death, when members of his estate contacted Shape Arts, the disability-led arts organisation. What looked like boxes of unsorted negatives turned out to be something extraordinary: more than 500 images documenting one of modern Britain's most significant and least-photographed civil rights movements.

The collection has now been digitised and made publicly available through the National Disability Movement Archive and Collection at ndmac.org. And here's the best part: it's entirely free to use for exhibitions, publications, social media and more, with a simple credit to Armstrong and NDMAC.

Why they work

What makes Armstrong's work remarkable isn't just its historical significance; it's the vantage point. Photojournalism of protest tends to work from the edges: the telephoto lens compressing a crowd, the wide-angle from a press pen, the elevated position that gives context but sacrifices proximity. Armstrong had none of those options, and the results are more powerful for it.

His images are close, chaotic and alive. Protesters hold handwritten cardboard signs reading "No more begging, we want rights now!" and "Disabled people arrested trying to catch a bus! Why?" Police officers loom large in the frame. There's wit in some of the placards, fury in others.

One image shows a woman in a wheelchair smiling serenely between two officers as a London sightseeing bus fills the background. The composition is almost classically street-photographic; the kind of accidental perfection that experienced documentary photographers spend careers chasing.

Another image, shot on New Oxford Street, in central London, shows Armstrong himself crouched low, Olympus raised, recording a police van and an officer from below eye level. It's a reminder that the disability rights movement produced its own visual culture, its own recorders, its own history, largely invisible to the mainstream photographic press at the time.

Intimate storytelling

"Keith wasn't just photographing disabled people and their allies," says David Hevey, chief executive of Shape Arts. "He was photographing from within the movement. His images place you alongside the activists. They completely change how we see this history."

That reframing is significant. As interest grows in overlooked and alternative histories of Britain, Armstrong's archive fills an important gap: a body of work that is activist and artistic simultaneously, documentary and intimate, historically vital and visually compelling.

Carbon monoxide and other greenhouse gases are invisible, but photographers are capturing the effects of a warming planet in a way that’s impossible to ignore. As several regions struggle with record-breaking heat, drought, and wildfires, photojournalists are turning their lenses to document the very visible effects of a global issue with an invisible cause.

I’m a photographer and a journalist, and as I was looking through the top news photos of this week, I couldn’t help but notice a pattern. Photojournalists are capturing the effects of a warming planet in a way that turns an invisible cause into a very tangible photograph – and it echoes the top photos from last week as wildfire smoke created eerie photographs with an apocalyptic feel.

These are the best photos from photojournalists that I’ve spotted this week.

A striking image of a melting glacier

This photograph by Sean Gallup shows two researchers walking across the sediment left by a melting glacier, the Isunnguata Sermija in Greenland. A group of researchers began a six-week campout where the scientists will document the changes in the Greenland Ice Sheet.

The photograph is an excellent example of powerful framing that tells a story. The low angle highlights the sediment with the glacier misted in the background. Including two researchers in the photo rather than just an empty but changing landscape gives the photograph a human element.

Firefighters silhouetted by a wildfire in France

This photograph by Romain Perrocheau stopped me in my tracks. I can’t see the firefighter’s faces, but I can feel the exhaustion radiating off them in their stance alone.

The photograph is a powerful example of what a minimal, tightly-framed photograph can do. The pattern of the bright orange smoke instantly conveys the subject, yet leaves space for the eye to go immediately to the firefighter’s stance in the middle of the composition.

An empty river bed

In this photograph by Nikolay Doychinov, boats and a bridge lie in the dry river bed of the Danube River between Bulgaria and Romania.

The aerial view of the river helps demonstrate the scale of the issue, as record temperatures had led to low water levels. But it’s color that creates a strong composition here. All three boats have the same blue that helps them stand out against the dull colors of the dried riverbed.

A perfectly-framed shot of rain in NYC

According to the United Nations, climate change is exacerbating water-related crises like both drought and flooding. This photograph was taken while New York and New Jersey were under a flood watch. The image is a color shot (as evidenced by the red in the clothing and the yellow sign on the rocks), but the weather and moody exposure make this image feel nearly like a black-and-white photograph.

Photographer Spencer Platt could teach a class on composition with just this image. The archway uses the frame-within-a-frame technique that immediately draws the eye to the subject. Placing the couple holding umbrellas against the gray skyline rather than a dark background helps the subject stand out. Then, there are even leading lines as the Brooklyn Bridge further draws the eye into the photo.

A striking night shot

There are three light sources in this image – manmade lights, stars, and a wildfire. The photograph by Thibaut Durand of Abaca Press depicts the historic Horloge des Hermes clock tower and the lights of the town of L'Argentière-la-Bessée, France, as a wildfire burns on the French Alps in the background.

As a photographer, I know just how difficult it is to capture astrophotography mixed with manmade lights, as artificial lights tend to wash out the stars. Not only did Durand capture both, but a wildfire as well. The sparks coming from the wildfire almost feel like additional stars.

Photographs have power, and these five photos demonstrate how a good photograph can draw attention to key global issues.

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Chilean Patagonia, an area famed for its towering granite peaks, crystalline glaciers, and vast, rugged wilderness so beautiful it almost seems like the picture-perfect South American region was crafted by an artist.

Yet two of the most highly commended images from this year’s Patagonia Photo Contest shed light on something much more personal than these iconic vistas.

Timothy Dhalleine's Another Day at the Office, crowned king of the “Culture & Travel” category, and Adolfo Molina Soto's On-Site Purchase, an honorable mention in the same category, reveal the local communities whose livelihoods continue to shape one of the world's most remote landscapes.

Above: Adolfo captured his honorable mention using a Sony A6500 paired with a Sony E 15mm f/1.4 G lens, opting for ISO 100, 1/350sec and f/6.7

An exchange on the southern channels

As two fishing boats drifted alongside each other in the glacial channels of Tierra del Fuego (Land of Fire) in Southern Chile, Adolfo was ready and waiting aboard one of them with his camera in hand. He'd already witnessed this scene on a previous trip, but, in his words, failed to capture the “essence” of the moment.

"I wanted to show not only the fishermen, but also the surroundings, the boat, the hands, the interaction, and the vastness of the landscape. More than a portrait, I was looking to tell a story,” said Adolfo.

Used the backdrop of the glacier-capped Darwin Range mountains to frame the maritime interaction rather than overwhelm it, Adolfo ensured the fishermen trading their shellfish catch for supplies remained the center of attention.

Shellfishing has been a traditional way of life in Patagonia's southern reaches for thousands of years. The original specialists were the Yámana (or Yahgan) women, who would brave the sub-Antarctic waters of the Beagle Channel foraging for mussels, limpets, and sea urchins. These days, fishermen still dive to the depths of the icy waters, albeit with modern wetsuits and breathing apparatus.

“The photograph speaks as much to the fishermen’s work as it does to a tradition of connection, trust, and exchange that still thrives in those southern channels,” said Adolfo. “They [the fishermen] represent a way of life that still exists in very isolated parts of Patagonia—a way of life we rarely have the opportunity to experience up close.”

Above: Timothy used a Nikon D750 and a 200-500mm f/5.6 lens to shoot his award-winning frame, opting for a focal length of 240mm, f/6.3, 1/4000sec and ISO 250

The most spectacular office in the world

Gazing upon the majestic landscape from Estancia Cerro Guido, one of the largest ranches in Chilean Patagonia, Timothy watched as thousands of sheep flowed across the rolling plain, directed by local cowboys, or gauchos. Dominating the scene, and dwarfing the cowboys, were the towering, iconic peaks of Torres del Paine.

“I stepped back to create a composition that emphasized both the sheer scale of the 8,000 sheep and the immensity of Patagonia,” said Timothy. In doing so, he transformed the photograph into a story as much about the people in the frame as the landscape itself. “The contrast between the tiny figures of the gauchos and the vast wilderness was exactly what I hoped to convey,” he added.

The seasonal movement of sheep across Patagonia's ranches (called "estancias") before the arrival of winter is, according to Timothy, one of the region's “most remarkable” events to photograph. Each autumn, gauchos guide thousands of sheep to lower, warmer grazing areas before the harsh weather sets in.

Sheep ranching has played a central role in shaping Patagonia’s history since the late 19th century, but this traditional way of living off the land and livestock has become more contentious in modern times.

While farmers hunt native predators like pumas, who frequently kill their sheep for food, as well as herbivore species like the guanaco (similar to a llama), who compete with livestock for the nutrient-poor steppe grasses, conservationists aim to protect these species, who bring balance to and restore ecosystems.

The people and the place

Rather than capturing single-dimensional depictions of a remote yet beautiful wilderness, the photographers delved into the layers of work, relationships, and traditions which animate the region. "We often think of Patagonia solely in terms of its landscapes, but behind them there are also communities, trades, and ways of life that deserve to be known and valued," said Adolfo.

For Timothy, there is hope that these communities and their traditions can “coexist” with nature rather than be seen as obstacles to conservation."I hope this award helps bring greater visibility to the human story that exists alongside the pristine wilderness of southern Patagonia," said Timothy. "[..]People can preserve their cultural heritage and continue making a living from traditional livelihoods while protecting the natural world around them," he said.

Instead of celebrating Patagonia simply for its dramatic landscapes, these commended photographs invite us to see it as a place also defined by the people who continue to fish its southern channels, herd sheep across its plains, and maintain traditions that have endured for generations. In doing so, they reveal a richer, more complete portrait of Patagonia—one in which spectacular scenery and human stories are inseparable.

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I can still remember the first time that, standing with a camera around my neck and aching feet, one of the members of the bridal party told me that I had done a great job. I must have looked confused. The wedding wasn’t even over yet, the photographs had yet to leave my camera – how did she know my photographs weren’t terrible?

The bridesmaid wasn’t complimenting my photographs; she was simply thanking me for something quite simple: Not being rude.

Photographs should never come before people. But perhaps no one has expressed that idea more eloquently than the iconic photojournalist who used the camera to create historical poetry: Alfred Eisenstaedt.

Perhaps you’ve never heard the name Eisenstaedt, but you’ve seen his work. The German-born photographer who went on to spend 40 years at LIFE Magazine was the photographer behind the historic V-J Day photo in Times Square of a sailor kissing a woman in a nursing uniform at the end of World War II.

“Never boss people around,” Eisenstaedt said. “It’s more important to click with people than to click the shutter.”

There are two key ways that this statement from a legendary photographer, who lived from 1898 to 1995, applies to modern photography.

The first is simply that hiding behind a camera does not permit photographers to be terrible human beings. As a wedding and portrait photographer, how I connect with the people in front of my lens has a strong correlation to how the images turn out. If my actions make that person uncomfortable, angry, or frustrated, those photographs won’t be loved, no matter how technically perfect they are.

But I think there’s another way this iconic quote can be applied to modern photography, in that good photographs don’t just “click” with the person in the photograph. Great photographs “click” with the people who view them.

I can’t count the times I’ve seen “terrible” photos go viral with poor composition or bad lighting, but what’s more important is that those photos click with people; they trigger an emotional response. Creating an emotional connection with the viewer matters more than technical perfection. In fact, people may connect more with photographs that aren’t perfect, after all, humans are imperfect creatures.

Eisenstaedt’s connection to the people he photographed is undoubtedly why the photojournalist’s work remains some of the most impactful images in history. When he stood in Times Square on V-J Day, he wasn’t just a photographer, he was also a Jewish soldier who served in World War I, but moved to America in 1935 amid increasing persecution. I bet standing behind the camera on that day in 1945, he clicked with the soldier and the nurse in the iconic photograph.

Yes, the technical side of photography is important, but never more important than “clicking” with both the people in front of the camera and the people viewing the photographs.

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A number of the photographs that I’ve come across this week look as if they were shot on the scene of a post-apocalyptic movie – but the devastating wildfires across the globe, sparking eerie, smoke-filled scenes, are not the stuff of Hollywood imagination.

Photojournalists this week have managed to capture haunting photographs following a devastating number of wildfires across the globe, from Canada to France.

Abnormally high temperatures have sparked a series of wildfires in several regions, including Canada, France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal. The fires have not only devastated communities directly impacted by the flames, but have also created widespread impact as smoke creates dangerous air quality across many regions.

Smoke is difficult to photograph – yet a number of photojournalists have captured eerie images of the fire’s devastation. I’m a photographer and a journalist, and I think these are some of the best news photos this week, from wildfire devastation to earthquake aftermath.

A haunting contrast between smoke and an iconic landmark

This photograph by Getty Images’ David Ramos is a haunting representation of some of the biggest headlines from the US this week: heat, smoke and immigration.

Ramos took this photograph from the Staten Island Ferry, capturing the Statue of Liberty – an iconic symbol of immigration – through the window, shrouded in yellow haze. A single silhouetted person surrounded by empty seats adds to the eerie feel of the image.

Ramos chose to focus on the Statue of Liberty rather than the person in silhouette, drawing more attention to the yellow, hazy skies.

An eerie image that captures both the heat and the smoke

Heat is something invisible that cannot be directly photographed, but I can feel the heat coming off this image from the Toronto Star’s Steve Russell.

The photograph, taken on July 15, captures a person swimming to escape the heat with the Toronto skyline blanketed in yellow smoke in the background. The tight framing lends the photo a lonely, eerie feel, as if the man in the water is the only person around.

Pilots fight a wildfire in Italy

The dangerous conditions mean many of the photos coming from this week’s wildfires are of the smoke rather than the flames themselves. This image by Alberto Lo Bianco, however, shows some of the reality beyond the impact on air quality.

In the photograph, a firefighting airplane drops its water load on a line of flames in a wildfire on the slope of Mount Longa near Palermo, Sicily, Italy.

A haunting photograph of the aftermath of Venezuela’s earthquakes

This haunting photograph creates a devastating portrayal of another type of natural disaster – the twin earthquakes in Venezuela. While the earthquakes happened last month, this photograph from July 16 shows the continuing devastation as volunteers and family members search the rubble.

Photographer Federico Parra exposed the photograph for the light held high over two searchers kneeling in the rubble. The light draws attention to the devastation while leaving the rubble in darkness. Officials this week said the death toll has climbed past 4,800.

A statement written in chalk

The words “This is blood” are written on the pavement at the site of a fatal Immigration and Customs Enforcement shooting of a 26-year-old man from Colombia.

Photographer Ryan Murphy captured a photo of the words written as protests in the aftermath of the Maine shooting, which occurred days after a fatal shooting in Houston, Texas. Photographs are often tools to portray what words cannot, but the chalk words create a devastating photograph.

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Contrast in photography doesn’t always mean dark shadows and bright highlights – sometimes that contrast comes from a stark difference between the subject and the background.

From a viral photo of a person of color surrounded by a group in white masks to a serene scene clouded by a ship full of plastic, some of the most striking photojournalism this week highlights the power of contrast.

When I flipped through some of the best pieces of photojournalism from Getty this week, July 03-10, I realized that the most striking images are the photographs that use the power of contrast.

I’m a photographer and journalist, and I think these are some of the best news photos this week.

A stark contrast to America’s 250th birthday

The United States’ 250th birthday brought images of iconic Americana, from lightning and fireworks over the Home of the Braves to patriotic parades. But one of the most striking images of the week has gone viral for highlighting the racial tensions in modern America.

During the 250th anniversary celebrations in Washington DC, white supremacist group the Patriot Front marched in the city. The group’s white face masks are a sobering contrast to the red-white-and-blue celebrations.

The contrast becomes an even more humbling reminder of the racism that clouds both America’s history and present when the group’s stark white face masks are photographed among people of color. This shot on the subway by Getty’s Finn Gomez shows the masked group on the subway as a Black person waits by the subway doors.

Another shot of the Patriot Front on the subway by Reuters’ Cheney Orr went viral for the contrast, depicting a Black woman sitting alone on the train, surrounded by masked men. The striking contrast between the woman’s expression and the masks around her captures the other side of the Fourth of July celebrations in a devastating but important piece of photojournalism.

A serene landscape marred by bright plastics

A trash-filled barge floating on a serene, blue and green natural landscape highlights the power of contrast in photography. The buildings in the distance seem to have the same colors and variety as the litter on the ship.

The image comes from Michael Dantas on assignment covering the recent studies that flag an alarming amount of microplastics found along the banks of the Rio Negro in northern Brazil.

An unusual view of iconic architecture

Iconic architecture is often well photographed, but this striking view of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris immediately caught my eye. Taken underneath the iconic archway, looking up, the shot captures fighter jets in a practice run, preparing for the upcoming Bastille Day parade.

The unusual perspective invites the eye through the entire image and highlights the shape of the jets flying in sequence under a bright blue sky.

Historic architecture under modern criticism

The Washington DC Reflecting pool is another landmark that’s regularly photographed, but this shot uses the reflection of the Washington Monument to highlight the protests around the pool. A visitor stretches to take a shot of the pool over the fence erected around the moment after algae bloomed after a recent renovation.

The shot was captured by Getty’s Andrew Harnik during protests outside the arrangement for David Hearn, a former Olympian, who has been accused of damaging the pool.

The contrast of modern warfare

The woman in this photograph looks perfectly normal – but it's the bright clothing and the way she's going about her day on her phone that's a stark contrast to the rescue workers in the background.

The photograph, by Kostiantyn Liberov, is part of a series on daily life in Ukraine in 2026 that shows how life is unfolding as the war between Russia and Ukraine continues. This shot was taken on July 06 after a missile strike in Kyiv.

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Sir Don McCullin has been given one of Britain's highest civilian honors in a list of new awards released to celebrate King Charles III's birthday. The celebrated photojournalist, who is now 90 years old, has been named a Companion of Honour for services to photography.

The Order of the Companions of Honour was initiated by King George V in 1917 and is one of the rarest honours in the United Kingdom, as it is only held by a maximum of 65 people at one time.

Nowadays, the honour is awarded to those who have made a "major contribution to the arts, science, medicine, or government lasting over a long period of time". Other living holders of the title include Sir David Attenborough, Sir Elton John, and Dame Anna Wintour. The actress Helen Mirren was named alongside Don McCullin as the 389th and 380th people to ever have received the title. A further vacancy in the Order was created with the recent death of the artist David Hockney.

Don McCullin was knighted back in 2017 and is best known for his harrowing images of confilct and famine around the world, which he shot for the Sunday Times Magazine in the 1960s and 1970s.

Last week, it was announced that a new book of his photographs of the Vietnam war, including many that have never been published before, will be published later this year.

Over the years, the assassination of John F. Kennedy (JFK) has raised all sorts of questions, from who fired the fatal shots to the ownership of various photos and films of the president on that infamous day in Dallas, Texas, 1963.

Now, the latest of these disputes, between The Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza (SFMDP) – the official JFK museum in Dallas, Texas – and a private photo collector has been settled in US copyright court, with the ruling in favor of SFMDP.

The image in question, simply known as the Motorcade Portrait, depicts JFK riding in the open-top Lincoln Continental alongside his wife, Jacqueline, shortly before the president was shot and killed. Lee Harvey Oswald was later accused of the assassination, firing from the building that is now the museum.

In the image, which can be viewed at the museum's website, Texas governor John Connally and his wife, Nellie, are in front of the president, with Secret Service agents William Greer (also the driver) and Roy Kellerman ahead of them.

The image was shot on Kodacolor 35mm slide film and is one of five slides, according to the museum. The image is notable because most of the car's occupants are facing the camera.

According to the claim, which was filed with the Copyright Claims Board (CCB) in September 2024 by private collector Cade Campbell, the museum had been physically displaying the photo since 2012, flouting what Cambell believed was his copyright.

Campbell maintained the image was taken by Jack Jordan at Dallas Love Field Airport, where Jordan was an employee, and where Kennedy and his wife had flown into the morning of the assassination. According to Campbell, after Jack’s death, the image passed to his son, Ron Jordan, who later sold the image to Campbell.

The court, however, sided with SFMDP, who said the image was taken by Jack Titus as the motorcade drove down a local street. The photo was the fourth in a series of five Titus took, which later passed to his wife, who subsequently donated them to the museum.

This version of events was backed up by Reverend Richard Tullius, who was among the same group of photographers as Titus the day Kennedy was killed, and who had also owned copies of the five-shot series.

Campbell had registered the image with the US Copyright Office in 2014 and even claimed that, on the day he bought it, Jordan (now deceased) signed a sworn affidavit stating that his late father had even touched the President’s hand before snapping the image, but this evidence was deemed weak.

While the ruling has ultimately decided on who owns the Motorcade Portrait, it raises questions around how Jack Jordan obtained his copy of the image, which Campbell believed to be the original all these years.

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Shutter speed plays a key role in capturing the “feel” of an image and is arguably the best tool in a photographer's kit for transmitting the energy of a scene. While controversial, the images taken during an infamous night of book burning carried out by the Nazis in Berlin shortly after Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 are perfect examples of this.

The shots were taken on May 10, 1933 during what came to be known as the Book Burning at the Opernplatz (today known as Bebelplatz).

That night, Nazi student groups, professors, and paramilitary members collectively set ablaze some 20,000 volumes of literary work by Jewish, liberal, leftist, and pacifist authors, with Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels even appearing to make a speech.

In sharp images of that day, the way in which the books are frozen flying through the air and the arms of their throwers freeze in historic detail. The hatred written on the crowd's faces is terrifyingly frozen in time.

But, take a look at how the mood changes from another photo taken on the same day when the photographer used a slow shutter speed, turning flying books into ghostly blurs and creating an eerie feel that strikes me to my core.

Whether the photographer – most likely George Pahl, a photojournalist – intentionally composed the frame with a slow shutter speed or if this was the result of the technology of the time remains unknown. However, if he’d frozen the motion, I don’t think it would have told the story of the night quite as accurately as the motion blur does.

The Book Burning at the Opernplatz marked the climax of the "Action against the Un-German Spirit," a widespread antisemitic campaign organized by the German Student Association in the spring of 1933. It systematically purged German universities and society of cultural, political, and intellectual works that didn’t align with National Socialist (Nazi) ideology.

The long exposure photo from that day in 1933 captures the tragic day in history with a ghastly atmosphere that makes the photo feel even more frightening.

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Three people sit against a stone wall somewhere in Luxembourg in 1944: a tall American soldier on the left, a small French boy on the right, and a woman in the middle wearing a steel helmet and a wide grin, a camera hanging round her neck. It looks like a holiday snap. It is, frankly, the opposite of one.

The woman is Lee Miller. The photo: Me with smallest and tallest. At the time it was taken, she was one of the only accredited female war correspondents embedded with the US Army, filing photographs and dispatches to British Vogue from the front lines of the European theater.

Within months, Miller would be among the first journalists to enter the liberated concentration camps at Buchenwald and Dachau, sending back images so extreme that her caption read simply: "I implore you to believe this is true."

A few weeks after that she was in Adolf Hitler's apartment in Munich, washing the mud of Dachau from her boots in his bathtub as a colleague photographed her.

None of that darkness, though, is visible here. What you see instead is a woman completely at ease, laughing with a giant soldier and a local kid, at home in a war zone in a way that speaks to something essential about what made Miller such an exceptional photographer.

She didn't observe from a safe distance. She was in it, among people, trusted and trusting. And the camera around her neck was as much a part of her as her helmet.

It's this image that the organizers of Lee Miller: A Woman at War have chosen as the press photograph for a new exhibition, opening in Oxfordshire this month. And it's a smart choice because, to my mind, it does more to explain her than almost any of her famous images do.

From modelling to the front line

Miller's route to Luxembourg was, to put it mildly, not conventional. She was one of New York's most sought-after models in the 1920s, a collaborator and lover of Man Ray in Paris, a pioneer of solarization and a serious Surrealist artist in her own right.

By the time war broke out she was living in Hampstead, London, with the British surrealist, Roland Penrose. She got herself accredited as a war correspondent for Condé Nast, talked her way around military restrictions on female journalists and embedded herself with the US Army rather than the British, who wouldn't have her.

Her first wartime assignment for Vogue was, as it happens, closer to this exhibition's home: she photographed nurses at what was then a US Army hospital in Oxford: Headington's Churchill Hospital.

Those images feature, among others, in Lee Miller: A Woman at War, which opens at Soldiers of Oxfordshire Museum in Woodstock this weekend, running until September 13. It follows a major show at the Tate and brings her work back to a county where part of her war story began.

The show covers the full arc of her wartime output: the women's war effort she documented for Vogue from 1942, the Normandy invasion and liberation of Paris, the concentration camps, and the surrealist visual intelligence she brought to all of it.

Her Rolleiflex cameras, US Army helmet and Hermes Baby typewriter feature as objects alongside the prints, grounding the work in the material reality of what it took to make it.

Miller was technically exacting in a way that her biography tends to overshadow. She had spent years learning to see, first as Man Ray's student and collaborator in Paris, then running her own portrait studio in New York.

That training is visible in the wartime work: the precise compositions made under pressure, the instinct for the image that would carry the weight of the moment.

None of that can be seen, of course, in the Luxembourg snapshot, which was taken by an unknown photographer. But it's significant nonetheless, as a picture of someone exactly where they wanted to be.

Lee Miller: A Woman at War is at Soldiers of Oxfordshire Museum, Woodstock until September 13 2026. Open Tues-Sat, 11:00-17:00, and on Sundays and Bank Holidays from 14:00-17:00. Last admission is 16:30 every day.

A massive project is underway in the UK to photograph women members of parliament (MPs) to celebrate the milestone of 40% female representation in British politics achieved following the 2024 general election.

To date, The 40% Project has seen more than 250 serving women MPs photographed by some 130 women photographers, with a goal to publish the images in a commemorative book later this year.

Sue Wright, Chair of the RPS Women in Photography Group, the project organizer, said: “When women reached 40% representation in Parliament, we felt very strongly that this was a moment that needed to be documented — not just politically, but photographically too.”

Women MPs from across the political spectrum have featured in the project, including well-known figures such as Suella Braverman, the former Home Secretary and now a member of Reform UK, and politicians currently making waves such as Hannah Spencer, the most recent Green Party member elected to Parliament.

“This isn’t about politics. It’s about representation. We wanted to create a visual record of a moment in history before it simply became another statistic,” Wright said.

Going “beyond traditional political portraiture,” Wright said the images reveal the personalities “behind the role,” perhaps best seen in the portrait of Liberal Democrat MP Tessa Munt — known for visiting local farmers — photographed sitting atop a mound of apples at an orchard far from the halls of Westminster.

The images also reflect the broad range of creative styles the photographers have brought to the project, often working not only creatively but quickly around MPs’ busy schedules, with some shoots lasting no more than 15–30 minutes.

While the project celebrates the public servants at the center of the portraits, it’s also an ode to the women photographers behind the cameras, who Wright says historically have also been “missing from the visual record.”

The 40% Project is underway now and is close to completing the remaining portraits. Currently, there is no date set for the publication of the project book, however, a Kickstarter campaign to support its publication, along with planned exhibitions, launches in July.

More information about The 40% Project and how to get involved is available on the Royal Photographic Society website.

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If you've had any training in a creative discipline, you've probably at least heard of the Bauhaus. Despite only being open for a few years (1919-1933), this groundbreaking German art school shaped modernist design and visual thinking and cast a long shadow over 20th-century photography. One of its students was Edith Tudor-Hart, a Jewish Austrian woman who studied there in 1928 and later settled in London, where she became one of Britain's most compelling documentary photographers. She also became a communist spy. And yet until recently, most people hadn't even heard of her.

Recently, though, that's begun to change. A German biography written by her cousin Peter Stephan Jungk, titled Die Dunkelkammern der Edith Tudor-Hart, appeared in 2015; an English translation, The Darkrooms of Edith Tudor-Hart, will shortly will be published by Haus Publishing. He also made a documentary film, Tracking Edith, which showed in UK threatres in 2017. And now a new biography by Daria Santini, A Woman Named Edith, has been published by Yale University Press. 

The story these works tell is a remarkable one. And for photographers in particular, it raises some uncomfortable questions about whose work gets remembered and why.

Tudor-Hart arrived permanently in Britain in 1933, having married English doctor Alex Tudor-Hart in Vienna and fled with him to escape prosecution for her communist activities and the rising fascism that made her position as a Jewish woman untenable.

The couple moved first to South Wales, where her husband practised as a GP in the Rhondda Valley. She photographed the coal-mining communities there, and later, based in London, documented the poverty of the city's slums and the daily lives of a working class still gripped by depression.

Her images appeared in The Listener and other publications, and she was a credible enough figure in British photography to serve on competition juries. She was, by any measure, a serious practitioner.

Political outlook

The Bauhaus gave her something specific: an eye for structure, for the arrangement of figures and light, for images that communicated with directness and force. Her social documentary work sits comfortably alongside that of her contemporaries. In some cases it surpasses them. Yet while figures like Bill Brandt, who also photographed working-class Britain in the 1930s, dominate historical accounts, Tudor-Hart barely gets a mention.

Partly that's down to circumstance. She was an émigré, a woman, a communist and perpetually short of money – partly because she refused on principle to take payment from her Soviet handlers. She was under MI5 surveillance for most of her adult life. Her marriage broke down, her son Tommy developed serious mental illness and she raised him alone with few resources. After the war she retreated from public life, opened an antique shop in Brighton and died in 1973, largely unknown.

She's also been largely ignored by photography historians because the spy story swallowed everything else. She was instrumental in recruiting the Cambridge spy ring, introducing the British intelligence agent Kim Philby to his Soviet handler after vetting him. She was linked to the Woolwich Arsenal affair, a Soviet operation to steal weapons blueprints from a London munitions factory, with camera receipts in her name found as evidence. These are irresistible stories, but also have a habit of obscuring the photographer behind the espionage.

A significant photographer

Author Santini doesn't let that happen. She makes a strong case for Tudor-Hart's significance as a photographer, tracing the Bauhaus influence through her British work and placing her within the broader tradition of socially engaged documentary practice. Of course, the spy material is here too, meticulously researched using newly available MI5 files and private photo archives, but thankfully, it doesn't crowd out the woman who made the pictures.

Ultimately, there's a particular irony in Tudor-Hart's obscurity. She spent her career arguing, through her images, that working-class lives deserved to be seen, that the camera could make the invisible visible. Then history did to her exactly what she spent a lifetime fighting against: it looked away.

For photographers, this is the story worth paying attention to. Tudor-Hart understood something the best documentary photographers still understand: that the camera is never neutral, that the choice of subject is always political, and that clarity of vision can speak louder than works. The new book is published by Yale University Press at £25.

A Woman Named Edith: Emigre, Photographer and Secret Agent, the Extraordinary Life of Edith Tudor-Hart by Daria Santini is published by Yale University Press, 384pp, £25. 

The man who shot arguably the most famous photograph taken in the aftermath of the Aberfan disaster – which later went on to win the British News Photographer of the Year award in 1966 – has told the BBC that the image still “haunts” him after all these years.

On October 21 1966, Mel Parry, an 18-year-old apprentice photographer with local outlet the Merthyr Express, was passing through the South Wales village of Aberfan on a bus when he was alerted to the disaster that had just unfolded.

A slag heap from a coal mine had come loose, sliding down the hillside and engulfing part of Pantglas Junior School and a number of houses in the village below.

In total, 144 people were killed – 116 of them children, mostly aged 7-10, and 28 adults – by what the media described as a “tsunami of sludge”.

Parry headed to the disaster site and began photographing when he captured PC Victor Jones carrying eight-year-old Susan Maybank to safety. In the image, Maybank can be seen limp in the police constable's arms while her aunt looks at the child in grief amid a background of crowds conducting the rescue effort.

Speaking to the BBC about his award-winning image, Parry said: “It’s a tragedy and unfortunately I ended up gaining from it,” adding, “I wish I’d never taken it.”

In the days following the disaster, as the rescue effort continued, Parry – who had family in Aberfan – discovered that two of his cousins were among the victims. The disaster and loss of family members weighed heavily on Parry and, in the early 1970s, he gave up his career as a press photographer.

However, Parry wasn’t the only professional photographer to document what happened at Aberfan. Renowned Welsh photojournalist and Magnum Photos member, David Hurn, also had boots on the ground, as did American photojournalist IC Rapoport.

The latter headed to the South Wales mining town just days after the tragedy on assignment with Life magazine, later publishing the frames he captured in his book Aberfan: The Days After.

With the 60th anniversary of the Aberfan Disaster fast approaching, Museum Wales (Amgueddfa Cymru) plans to commemorate it on October 01 with a series of exhibitions at several of its museums.

Ceri Thompson, curator of coal mining collections at Museum Wales, told me that David Hurn's images will be on show, as will Mel Parry's award-winning shot.

More details about the commemorative exhibitions and their locations will be available on the Museum Wales website.

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This photographer took the iconic Oppenheimer portrait using his exclusive Manhattan Project access.

Every year, on the third Saturday of May, the US celebrates Armed Forces Day – a tribute to all personnel currently serving across all branches of the nation’s military.

From those in the reserves to those stationed on active duty in regions of the world away from home, the day is dedicated to everyone who wears a US military uniform in some capacity.

While today is not specifically dedicated to soldiers of conflicts past, images captured of US service personnel who risked their lives in wars gone by still embody the struggles and sacrifices that the nation’s current military personnel face and make.

This first image is particularly poignant as it depicts African American soldiers who risked their lives in the trenches of World War I, despite widespread racism back home and within the US military.

We see soldiers of the 369th Infantry Regiment, famously known as the “Harlem Hellfighters”, returning to New York City aboard the SS Pocahontas in February 1919 following the end of the war.

The men depicted are decorated heroes of the regiment, proudly displaying the Croix de Guerre – a high military honor awarded by the French government for bravery in combat.

These men served under French command because, at the time, the US Army was racially segregated and many white soldiers refused to fight alongside Black troops.

Although valued less than their white comrades by high command, the Harlem Hellfighters became one of the bravest and most respected units of the war, earning a fierce reputation among German forces.

As for the photographer who captured the image, we may never know – their identity was never documented and has since been lost to history.

In this second image, we see the iconic flag-raising at the Battle of Iwo Jima, when six Marines hoisted the US flag atop Mount Suribachi.

Although the moment took place on the fifth day of the battle (which continued for another 31 days), the photo came to symbolize American victory and unity among its fighting men.

By the end of the battle, three of the men who raised the flag had been killed, while the surviving members – two of whom were initially misidentified – later toured the US on a bond drive to support the war effort.

The photographer, Joe Rosenthal, was working for the Associated Press when he captured what has become perhaps the most iconic image of US military personnel ever taken.

After the war, Rosenthal went on to win the Pulitzer Prize for the shot – which appeared on newspaper front pages across the country within weeks of being taken.

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Many of the most iconic war photographs were taken on the best Leica cameras and the best Nikon cameras. And did you know that San Francisco named a street after Joe Rosenthal?

Canon has announced the rollout of its new Authenticity Imaging System, a C2PA-compliant solution designed to help news organizations verify the provenance and history of images from the moment they are captured.

Launching in May 2026 across Europe, the Middle East and Africa, the system has been developed for use with supported Canon cameras, initially the EOS R1 and EOS R5 Mark II.

With the growing impact of generative AI and the increasing risk of manipulated or fake images entering the public domain, Canon’s latest move places image authenticity firmly at the center of modern photojournalism.

At its core, the Authenticity Imaging System embeds provenance information into an image at the point of capture. This creates a verifiable record that can follow the file through the full editorial workflow, from intake and editing to distribution and publication.

For newsrooms working under constant pressure to publish quickly while maintaining trust, this could become an increasingly important part of protecting the integrity of visual journalism.

The system is based on the C2PA standard, developed by the Coalition for Content Provenance and Authenticity, and is designed to manage image provenance records, issue certificates, apply trusted timestamps and verify content history.

In practical terms, it enables news organizations to demonstrate where an image came from, how it has been handled and whether its history remains intact.

Canon joined both C2PA and the Content Authenticity Initiative in 2023, and has since been working on provenance management technology based on international standards.

Its latest system uses manifest information generated by C2PA-compatible cameras, then applies public certificates and trusted timestamps to help preserve a reliable record over time.

Ahead of the official launch, Reuters worked with Canon on technical testing using the R1 and R5 Mark II with the Image Authenticity feature enabled.

According to Canon, the testing showed that authenticated provenance data could be generated reliably, offering an early indication of how the system may be used within professional news environments.

While the initial focus is on newsgathering, Canon says it is also exploring wider applications in areas where authenticity is critical, including government, healthcare and research.

As image trust becomes an increasingly important issue across multiple sectors, systems like this may become just as essential as the cameras themselves.

For photographers, editors and publishers, this is not simply another technical feature. It is a response to one of the biggest challenges facing visual media today.

In a world where images can be created, altered and distributed in seconds, Canon’s Authenticity Imaging System is a clear attempt to protect the credibility of real photographs and the professionals who make them.

Dylan Thomas (1914–1953) was a celebrity of his time, not only because of his unique writing style, characterized by intense, musical lyrics, but also because of the enigmatic multitude of personas he embodied.

Seen as a charming yet reckless, selfish, and insecure genius, Thomas exuded energy in public, often fueled by alcohol, but was considered shy and vulnerable in private. Over his short but intense career, many portraits depicted the Welsh Bard, capturing his complex nature, and today, on Dylan Thomas Day, we examine a selection of these.

The date of this first image has been lost to time, but we see a young Thomas, most likely captured in his early 20s during the mid-1930s. Unlike most men, who would've dressed formally, mostly in suits during this period, Thomas rocks a flamboyant style, wearing a patterned cardigan and necktie, hinting at the charisma he would later become known for.

Here we see a more stern-looking Thomas alongside his wife, Caitlin Thomas (née Macnamara), in the bar of Brown's Hotel, Laugharne, South Wales, around 1938. The couple had a tumultuous but enduring relationship that lasted until the writer’s death in 1953, famously marked by intense drinking and literary gatherings.

In this photograph, Thomas acts during a one-night performance of "Desire Caught By the Tail." The photograph was originally published in 1950, covering Pablo Picasso's play. Thomas never feared being in the limelight, the following year appearing as an extra in the 1951 film Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, which starred Ava Gardner and James Mason. This brief appearance is believed to be the only known moving image of the Welsh poet.

Arguably the most famous portrait of Dylan Thomas, this shot was taken in New York while Thomas was directing the first performance of "Under Milk Wood" at the 92nd St. YM-YWHA Poetry Center. Prominent American photographer Rollie McKenna (1918–2003), known for her portraits of writers and artists, snapped it, later recalling that just an hour before, Thomas was extremely unwell but mustered the strength to direct for three hours — his fierce energy captured in his pose.

Thomas drank himself to death in 1953 at the age of 39. Over a short-lived career, he burned like a wildfire, and we’re left with his iconic writings but also portraits that show the man whom critics labelled as a “dazzling obscure poet who can be enjoyed without understanding.”

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Some photographers snap picturesque landscapes or evocative portraits; others capture some of the most defining moments in human history. James Edward “Ed” Westcott (1922-2019) was one of the latter.

As one of only three official government photographers assigned to the top-secret Manhattan Project, Westcott photographed not only the development of the atomic bomb – the weapon that would ultimately end World War II – but also the bomb’s principal creator, J Robert Oppenheimer.

Westcott grew up in Nashville, Tennessee, and began taking photos at the age of 12, when he received his first camera. In 1941, aged 19, he joined the US Army Corps of Engineers as a photographer before being assigned to the Manhattan Project site at Oak Ridge the following year.

Dubbed the “Secret City”, Oak Ridge was constructed for the Manhattan Project and became the location of the Clinton Engineer Works: the site responsible for enriching uranium-235 at the K-25 and Y-12 plants, and producing plutonium at the X-10 plant.

As the only person officially authorized to take photos at these top-secret sites, Westcott created a historic archive of over 15,000 images documenting the city’s construction, operations and daily civilian life. So secret was his work that armed guards stood at the entrance to his darkroom.

While Westcott snapped images of the vital work that went into creating the first atomic bomb, it is perhaps the candid portrait he took of Manhattan Project colleague Julius Robert Oppenheimer that became his most famous.

Oppenheimer (1904-1967) was the principal scientist and scientific director of the Manhattan Project’s Los Alamos Laboratory (codenamed Project Y) from 1943-1945. Often referred to as the “father of the atomic bomb”, he was responsible for overseeing the research and design of the first nuclear weapon.

At the end of the war, Westcott took another of his iconic shots. On August 14 1945, then-President Harry S Truman announced victory over Japan (V-J Day) just days after the second atomic bomb was dropped on Japan, over the city of Nagasaki.

As Oak Ridge residents packed Jackson Square to celebrate the announcement, many of them held up newspapers featuring the headline “War ends". Westcott immortalized the profound moment with his camera, with the photo later becoming known for the monumental newspaper headline visible.

Shortly after the US dropped the first atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima (06 August 1945), the government allowed a selection of Westcott’s Secret City photos to be published to share the story of the Manhattan Project with the American people.

However, it wasn't until the years following 1945 that a significant amount of his work became publicly available – and subsequently recognized as the official visual documentation of the role that Oak Ridge played in the development of the atomic bomb.

After the war, Westcott continued his career as the official government photographer in Oak Ridge, covering the transition of the Secret City from wartime production to post-war atomic research.

He worked for the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) and its successor agencies (ERDA and the Department of Energy) until his retirement in 1977.

Wescott died in 2019 but this month, following years of fundraising led by the Oak Ridge Heritage and Preservation Association (of which Wescott’s son-in-law, Don Hunnicutt, is vice president), a statue of the late photographer was unveiled.

The statue was erected outside the Oak Ridge History Museum, which displays a series of Westcott’s photographs of the city and its atomic history. You can watch the unveiling of the statue below.

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It's the nightmare every photojournalist knows. You're at the scene of a major news event, something violent and fast and chaotic, but when it's over you're not sure you captured it. Jack Thornell knew that feeling better than most. 

On a Mississippi highway in June 1966, the Associated Press photographer heard the blast of a shotgun and scrambled out of his car, clutching his camera. But when the dust settled, his felt not relief, but dread. He feared his rival had a picture of the gunman and he didn't. He thought he was going to be sacked.

He wasn't. He won the 1967 Pulitzer Prize for photography. Last week on April 23, he died in Metairie, Louisiana, aged 86, following complications from kidney disease. Photojournalism has lost one of its most significant witnesses.

The picture he didn't know he had

Here's some context to that Pulitzer-winning shot. Its subject, James Meredith, had already made history in 1962 by becoming the first Black student to enrol at the University of Mississippi, doing so under federal protection amid riots that killed two people. In June 1966 he launched what he called a March Against Fear: a solo walk through Mississippi to encourage black people to register to vote. It was, by any measure, an act of enormous bravery.

Thornell, then 26 and a relatively recent hire at the AP's New Orleans bureau, was assigned to cover the march. He and a rival photographer were sitting in a car by the roadside on US Highway 51 near Hernando when Aubrey James Norvell stepped out of the undergrowth and opened fire with a shotgun.

In the chaos, Thornell photographed Meredith on the ground at the highway's edge. Arms outstretched, hands flat on the tarmac, his head turns to look directly at his attacker, who's visible at the left of the frame, half-hidden in the ditch. It's not clear whether Meredith is still falling or pushing himself up. That ambiguity is part of what makes the image so powerful. It catches a man in the suspended, terrible moment between being shot and understanding that he's been shot. A second photograph shows Meredith grimacing as he drags himself to the road's edge.

Thornell didn't know he had any of this, though, until he developed the film. In fact, was convinced his rival had the gunman and he had nothing. Instead, Thornell had captured one of the defining images of the civil rights era.

A time of struggle

Thornell spent 40 years at the AP, from 1964 to 2004, and the civil rights struggle ran through his career like a thread. On his first day at the New Orleans bureau, he covered the integration of a Mississippi Gulf Coast school. He also captured the burned-out station wagon belonging to three civil rights workers murdered by the Ku Klux Klan in Neshoba County in 1964; the Selma-to-Montgomery march; and Martin Luther King Jr. attending demonstrations in Memphis, the week before his assassination. 

Later, Thornell photographed King's family at the open casket, an image he obtained by clambering over church pews after arriving late; an act of professional desperation he was instantly ashamed of. "I was shaken when I left there," he said later. "I had my eyes on the floor because I knew everyone was looking at me for my despicable behavior. But I didn't leave without the picture."

That line tells you who Jack Thornell was as a photographer. He was frightened, often. He was sometimes reckless. He was frequently uncomfortable with what the job demanded. But there was one fear that overrode everything else. "The greatest fear for me," he said, "was coming back without the photograph."

An accidental career

Much like Raghu Rai, who also passed this month, Thornell stumbled into photography by accident. The US Army, through a clerical mix-up at Fort Monmouth, sent him to photography school instead of radio repair training. He didn't know an aperture from a back focus when he arrived. He left with a trade that would define his life.

His son Jay said that only in later years did Thornell begin to appreciate what he'd documented. The stress of the civil rights beat, the deadlines, the physical danger, had made it hard to step back and see the weight of what he was witnessing. By the end, he was signing prints for admirers and telling the stories behind his most famous images to his granddaughter. 

The nightmare of the Mississippi highway, it turned out, had produced something that would outlast almost everything else from that day: the image of a man on the ground, looking his would-be killer in the eye. Not bad for a picture he was sure he'd never got.

There's a certain kind of photographer who never really retires: they just keep shooting, until they can't any more. Raghu Rai, who died yesterday aged 83, was that kind of photographer, as I noted in my obituary. And when his family laid him out at Lodhi Cremation Ground in Delhi on Sunday, April 26, they made sure everyone knew it.

Resting on his chest was a Nikon Z8, fitted with a Z 24-200mm zoom, its lens pointing skyward one last time. Beside it sat a small yellow box of expired Kodak ColorPlus 200 film, with a Best Before date of May 2017. Together, these three objects were as eloquent as any photograph Rai ever made.

The camera that tells a story

The Nikon Z8 is a telling choice. It’s not a relic or a prop, but a current professional tool: a high-end mirrorless body built for speed, durability and flexibility in the field. It can shoot up to 20 frames per second in RAW (and faster in JPEG or reduced-resolution modes), with advanced autofocus and video capabilities that reflect how far camera technology has evolved since the film era in which Rai began.

It’s certainly a long way from the manual cameras of his early career. The celebrated Magnum photographer moved to digital in the early 2000s, and the Z8 represents the modern endpoint of that transition: a camera that combines high performance with a relatively compact form factor compared to flagship DSLRs. Not lightweight in absolute terms, but streamlined enough to support a more mobile way of working.

The Nikkor Z 24-200mm f/4-6.3 VR mounted on the front reinforces that idea. It’s a versatile all-in-one zoom, covering focal lengths from wide-angle to telephoto without the need to change lenses. While not Nikon’s fastest or most specialised optic, it’s well suited to photographers who prioritise flexibility and discretion over outright speed—allowing them to respond quickly to unfolding situations without drawing attention by swapping gear.

Together, the camera and lens suggest a practical, responsive approach to photography: one that values readiness and range over excess equipment, and that reflects the realities of working in unpredictable, fast-moving environments.

The film that tells another

The Kodak ColorPlus 200 is a different kind of object entirely. It’s an entry-level colour negative film, long known for its affordability and wide availability, particularly in markets like India where it became a staple for everyday photography. With a sensitivity of ISO 200, it’s best suited to good daylight or well-lit conditions, producing relatively fine grain and a warm, slightly saturated colour palette.

For years, it was one of the most commonly used films for casual and family photography, the kind people picked up from high-street shops, kiosks and travel outlets. Even as digital took over, stocks like ColorPlus didn’t disappear entirely, and in recent years film has seen a modest resurgence among younger photographers.

The roll placed beside Rai was expired, which adds another layer of meaning but isn’t quite as clear-cut technically as it might seem. Expired film can lose sensitivity and shift in color balance over time, especially if not stored in controlled conditions, but it often remains usable. Some even seek out expired stock for the distinctive effects it can produce.

In that sense, the film doesn’t simply represent an obsolete medium. It points to an earlier way of working—one shaped by limited exposures, delayed feedback and a different relationship to risk—while also acknowledging that these materials continue to have a life, however altered, beyond their intended span.

Habits worth keeping

The image of those objects, camera and film, resting together on white cloth among marigolds and roses, is already circulating widely, and it deserves to. It captures something true about how Rai worked and thought.

He wasn't nostalgic for the past. He embraced digital without ceremony and never romanticised the darkroom. But he knew that habits formed in the age of film – patience, economy, refusal to fire endlessly – were worth keeping. He said as much last year, advising young photographers not to chase Instagram followers by shooting endlessly, but to attach meaning to every frame.

A camera for the future, a roll of film for everything that came before. It's not a bad way to be remembered.

A memorial for Raghu Rai will be held on May 2 at the Chinmaya Mission Centre on Lodhi Road, New Delhi, at 6pm.

It started with a donkey.

In 1962, Raghu Rai was a civil engineer on a break, visiting his brother, photographer S Paul. He borrowed a camera, pointed it at a donkey staring straight back at him, and discovered two things in quick succession: that he couldn't get close enough without the animal bolting, and that he was perfectly willing to spend three hours in pursuit of a single frame.

When the donkey finally stood still, Rai got the shot. His brother sent it to The Times in London, which published it and paid enough to cover a month's living expenses. "I thought, 'This is not a bad idea, man!'" Rai later recalled. He never went back to engineering.

That story tells you almost everything about Raghu Rai. The patience. The stubbornness. The instinct to get closer. The refusal to settle.

Century-defining work

Henri Cartier-Bresson, the architect of modern photojournalism and co-founder of Magnum Photos, saw an exhibition of Rai's work in Paris in 1971 and was sufficiently impressed to nominate him for membership six years later. To be championed personally by Cartier-Bresson was as close to a Papal blessing as photojournalism offered. Rai became the first Indian photographer to join.

He spent the next five decades earning the compliment. His assignments took him to the Bangladesh Liberation War, Operation Blue Star and the Bhopal disaster, as well as into the inner circles of Indira Gandhi, Mother Teresa and the Dalai Lama. He produced more than 18 books on India and served three times on the jury of the World Press Photo.

One of his shots became one of the defining images of the 20th century. In 1984, a Union Carbide pesticide plant in the central Indian city of Bhopal leaked toxic gas overnight, killing an estimated 22,000 people and injuring hundreds of thousands more. Rai's photograph from the aftermath shows a dead child's face half-buried in the earth, eyes closed, as if sleeping. It reduces an almost incomprehensible industrial atrocity to a single, unbearable human detail; it's the image most people picture when they hear the word Bhopal.

A life in recognition

The honors accumulated steadily. India awarded him the Padma Shri in 1971 for his coverage of the Bangladesh Liberation War, one of the country's highest civilian distinctions. In 1992, he was named photographer of the year in the United States, for a National Geographic essay on wildlife management in India. The French government made him an Officier des Arts et des Lettres in 2009, and in 2019 he received the Académie des Beaux Arts photography award. He also served twice on the jury of UNESCO's International Photo Contest and spent a decade as director of photography at India Today, where his picture essays became the talking point of each issue.

His work appeared in Time, Life, GEO, The New York Times, the Sunday Times, Newsweek and the New Yorker. Exhibitions of his images travelled to London, Paris, New York, Tokyo, Prague and Sydney. A retrospective at the National Gallery of Modern Art in New Delhi in 1997 cemented his standing at home.

There was also, tucked into the middle of this towering career, a rather good anecdote: in the spring of 1968, Rai visited the Maharishi's ashram in Rishikesh at exactly the moment the Beatles arrived. He was there as a staff photographer for The Statesman; they were there looking for enlightenment. It's the kind of assignment that reminds you just how much history one photographer can stumble into.

The invisible man

What made Rai exceptional wasn't just his eye: it was his method. In later years he described shooting with a single camera and zoom lens, no camera bag, no conspicuous gear, no stylish clothes. "I merge with them," he said of the people he photographed. "No one is saying, 'Here comes a photographer!'"

For anyone who's ever struggled to get candid, unguarded images, there's a lesson here: kit matters far less than the presence you project. Rai understood that a bag full of lenses can be a barrier, a signal, a way of announcing yourself before you've raised the viewfinder. He stripped all that away and walked invisible through some of the most charged moments of the 20th century.

Photography in the Western tradition has tended to treat India as subject matter: exotic, colourful, other. Rai treated it as home. He was born there, knew its complexity intimately and spent his career deepening that knowledge rather than simplifying it for outside consumption. That's a rarer and harder thing to do than most critics acknowledge.

Raghu Rai died on Sunday, April 26, 2026, in Delhi, aged 83, after a two-year battle with cancer. Photography has lost one of its most important figures.

A British fine art photographer and adventurer has etched his name into the history of photographic expeditions by setting a new record for completing the Cape to Cape journey, a 20,000km overland route from Norway to South Africa while capturing it all on camera.

Johns Balsdon led a team of 6 adventurers from Nordkapp, Norway – the most northerly point in Europe to Cape Agulhas, South Africa, the most southerly point in Africa in 28 days and 8 hours, shaving 5 hours off the previous record of 28 days and 13 hours set by a Canadian duo 42 years earlier.

The team crossed 25 borders and braved a range of challenging terrains, from snow-covered forests in Finland to the deserts of Namibia and Western Sahara, with temperatures in the extremes ranging from -28°C to +48°C across the 4-week journey.

In setting the new record, Balsdon’s crew also became the first to complete the Cape to Cape route via West Africa, to finish it with two vehicles driving as a convoy and the first to do so towing a trailer.

Breaking the previous record was one thing, but Balsdon and his team did so while also capturing footage of the entire journey on camera, which will be developed into a feature film about the expedition later this year – also a world first.

Balsdon is the man behind Always Look Twice, a fine-art photographic brand with a view of capturing the natural world via a slow, intentional approach. He says the coming feature film, touted for release in the Autumn, will embody this philosophy while highlighting the vast range of landscapes the crew encountered.

“This was the hardest thing I have ever done, and at times I genuinely questioned whether it was worth it. But the journey concentrated the human experience in almost every sense — visually, emotionally and creatively,” commented Balsdon in a press release.

He added: “Being taken so far beyond my comfort zone for such an extended period taught me an enormous amount about myself, and brought a new clarity to how and when I want to document the countries we passed through.”

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National Geographic was my photography bible long before I ever knew what kind of photographer I would become. As a young boy, I would pore over its pages with a kind of quiet awe, completely absorbed by the way it seemed to treat photography not just as illustration, but as something sacred. Every issue felt important.

Every image had a purpose. It was a publication that oozed class, dedication, and above all else, an unwavering belief that photography mattered. To me, that was everything.

My subscription came through my grandmother, who was a photojournalist herself and understood exactly what those pages could do to a young, impressionable eye. She told me that National Geographic would help me learn how to really see a photograph in front of me, and she was absolutely right.

It taught me that a great image was never just about what was in the frame, but how it made you feel, what it revealed, and what it asked you to stay with for a little longer. Looking back now, that advice was one of the greatest gifts I was ever given.

The truth is, National Geographic helped shape my earliest dreams of becoming a professional photographer. It planted the idea that photography could be more than a hobby or a passing interest. It could be a way of documenting the world, of telling stories, of preserving lives, places, and moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed.

Without that early boost, I genuinely do not know whether photography would have entered my life in the same way. Then again, who am I kidding? With a grandmother who was a photojournalist, a mother who was a journalist, and a father who worked as a newspaper printer, I am surprised I was not handed a camera before I could walk.

Like so many things in life, though, time moved on, and the dream evolved. That National Geographic subscription came to an end, and with it, that particular chapter of youthful ambition faded into the background.

My focus shifted, my career took shape, and photography became less about dreaming and more about doing. Sports photography became my bread and butter for many, many years as a professional, and I threw myself into it fully. It was fast, demanding, exciting, and it gave me a career I am deeply proud of.

But even while I was making my living in sport, I think those early National Geographic years never really left me. They were always there in the background, quietly influencing the way I thought about images and their relationship to story. Because what National Geographic taught me was not just how to admire a great photograph, but how a sequence of pictures could build a narrative, deepen emotion, and create a fuller understanding of a subject. In many ways, it was my first education in visual storytelling.

Now, after moving on from professional sports photography and finding myself writing about photography while making the odd picture or two in the documentary and street genre, life has taken on a funny kind of symmetry.

More than 20 years after that first subscription, I have subscribed to National Geographic once again. Opening that first issue after all this time was a strangely emotional experience. It was as though all those old dreams came flooding back at once, reminding me of the excitement, wonder, and ambition that publication first sparked in me.

The remarkable thing is that it still feels utterly unmatched. Yes, there are superb photo books out there, and they absolutely have their place. But for me, there is still nothing quite like sitting down with National Geographic and losing yourself in its glorious photography, paired with excellent stories from cover to cover.

It remains one of the few places where image and written word still seem to exist in perfect harmony, each elevating the other. In an age of endless scrolling and disposable content, that feels more valuable than ever.

Will this mean I chase that old dream again and try to document something worthy of National Geographic? Who knows. I will leave that to the universe to decide. But what I do know is this: my photographic eye is being trained once more by the very publication that first gave it direction.

Perhaps that is enough for now. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it is the beginning of something else - a few more personal photography projects, stories I have always wanted to tell, and a return to the kind of seeing that made me fall in love with photography in the first place.

An army may appear as a single, unified force, moving in sync and defined by discipline. But behind every identical tunic is an individual, each with their own story, motivations and identity.

Two years ago, Norwegian photographer Glenn Røkeberg set out to tell these stories in what would become an immersive, long-term project documenting the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment (HCMR) – the oldest regiment in the British Army, responsible for the personal protection of the Royal Family.

“I guess you could say that one of the main ambitions was to honor the individual in a great regiment,” Glenn explains. “It’s always about celebrating the individual, and I think everyone deserves that.”

Beyond the uniforms

The Mounted Regiment is one of the most recognizable units in the British Army, defined by ceremonial precision and centuries-old tradition. But Glenn was less interested in spectacle than in what lies beneath it.

“Once I started to meet the people, not on parade but going about their daily duties, I started to see them as the individuals that are the building stones of the regiment.”

By stepping away from formal displays and embedding himself in everyday routines, he was able to capture something rarely seen: the human side of a regiment often perceived as a single entity.

“I didn’t really give people much direction. I just wanted them to feel comfortable… then I took the pictures,” said Glenn.

The cameras and their role

Working primarily with a Nikon Z8, he was able to capture the fast-moving, unpredictable nature of cavalry life, including horses in motion, training exercises and ceremonial rides. Alongside this, he used a Hasselblad 500-series film camera, reserved for more controlled, contemplative portraits.

The Hasselblad, a camera he has owned since 1987, carries personal as well as aesthetic weight. Shooting film slowed the process down and encouraged a more deliberate engagement with his subjects, mirroring the project’s deeper aim of connection.

“I would never shoot people in a way that would not be to their advantage… I’m always trying to make people look good,” Glenn said.

Why black and white

The decision to present the work predominantly in black and white is central to the book’s impact. Rather than emphasizing the regiment’s iconic scarlet uniforms, often reproduced in tourist imagery, Glenn stripped away color to focus attention on the people beneath them.

Among those Glenn encountered was Captain Elizabeth Helen Godwin, to whom the book is dedicated. Captain Godwin passed away in 2025, and her sense of duty left a lasting impression. “She wanted to give back to her country… I deeply respect the values,” said Glenn.

The Mounted Regiment reframed

Glenn’s book challenges how we see military institutions. What appears, at first glance, as uniformity and tradition is revealed to be something more complex, a multitude of individuals, each contributing to something much bigger than themselves.

“You don’t really see the individual, you see just a force,” Glenn reflects.

Through a combination of intimate access, thoughtful photographic choices, and a commitment to humanizing his subjects, Glenn has reframed the HCMR as a collection of people rather than a symbolic military force.

Trusted Guardians: Inside the Mounted Regiment, a black-and-white photographic study of the HCMR, is available to buy at bookstores in London, England, and online through Amazon.

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There's an unsettling irony at the heart of the biggest photography auction story of the year. The prints now estimated to fetch between $100,000 and $150,000 at Phillips in New York show men covered in mud, carrying sacks on their backs in a vast open pit mine in Brazil, earning almost nothing. These photographs document misery, back-breaking labour and forgotten lives. Yet now they are among the most coveted objects in the art market.

Welcome to the world of Sebastião Salgado, who spent more than four decades making images the world needed to see, and who passed away in May last year. His estate, and the collectors who believed in him, are now watching his work command prices that reflect just how singular his vision was.

Phillips is presenting Sebastião Salgado: A Life's Voyage, the largest single offering of his work ever presented at auction. 30 signed photographs, spanning four decades, are being offered across an online sale (until April 10) and a live auction in New York (April 11).

Why this sale is different

The phrase "lifetime print" is thrown around a lot in collecting, but it matters here more than usual. Every lot in this sale is a print made during Salgado's lifetime and signed by the man himself. Now that he is gone, no more will follow. That reality is already being felt in the market, where demand for his work has reportedly intensified sharply since his death.

The two centerpiece portfolios tell you everything about Salgado's range and ambition. Gold Mine, a portfolio of 20 prints, documents Serra Pelada in Brazil, where in the mid-1980s up to 50,000 men worked a single open pit with little more than their bodies and basic tools. The images look like something from antiquity, or from a nightmare, and yet they are photos taken in living memory. 

Elsewhere Kuwait: A Desert on Fire, making its auction debut, documents the efforts of international firefighters battling the blazing oil wells set alight during the Gulf War. The estimate on the Kuwait portfolio alone is $60,000-$80,000.

Economist turned photographer

It's worth remembering that Salgado did not pick up a camera until his late twenties. He trained and worked as an economist, and only began photographing seriously after relocating to Paris in the early 1970s.

That background matters: his photographs are never merely beautiful, though they often are. They carry an analytical intelligence, a sense of systems and structures and the forces that grind people down. He understood what he was looking at, and it shows.

That combination, of documentary rigour, extraordinary compositional instinct and a genuine humanitarian impulse, is precisely what elevated his work beyond photojournalism and into the permanent collection of global visual culture. His images in this sale span subjects as varied as the mountains of Ecuador and the oil fields of Kuwait, the Antarctic ice and the railways of Bombay. Yet all are instantly, unmistakably Salgado.

What photographers can learn

The obvious lesson is that commitment compounds. Salgado did not make a career from a single iconic image. He made it from decades of patient, costly, sometimes dangerous immersion in the stories he believed the world should confront. The portfolios in this sale were not produced by a photographer chasing trends.

A second lesson is about the prints themselves. In an era when most photography is consumed on a screen and forgotten within seconds, the physical, signed, archival print remains the object that holds value, both cultural and financial. For photographers still deciding whether darkroom craft and editioned printing are worth the effort, the answer here is fairly unambiguous.

Salgado co-founded Instituto Terra with his wife Lélia Wanick Salgado, planting millions of native trees to restore degraded land in Brazil's Atlantic Forest. He restored a landscape as well as documenting one. That instinct, to repair as well as to witness, may be his most remarkable legacy. The auction prices are simply the market confirming what many photographers already knew.

Sebastião Salgado: A Life's Voyage runs as an online auction at phillips.com from 2-10 April, with the live auction in New York on 11 April 11. Viewing is open until April 10 at 432 Park Avenue, New York.

It’s one thing to capture pictures of rapidly-moving animals using a mirrorless camera with blazing-fast burst mode, it’s a whole other ball game doing it with a cumbersome glass plate camera that, on average, could take three frames per minute.

Well, that’s exactly what official British Army photographer, John Warwick Brooke, did during WWI.

Stationed on the Western Front, when not attending the more horrendous affairs of the conflict, behind the lines, Brooke photographed cavalrymen galloping their horses at speeds you would imagine to be way too fast for cameras of the day.

The exact camera Brooke used to photograph his four-legged subjects was never recorded, but it was almost certainly either a Goerz Ango Anschutz (C. 1911) or ICA Minimum Palmos (C.1909), models used by other official British Army WW1 photographers.

These cameras were both medium format and captured images by exposing a 9 x 12cm glass plate coated with a gelatin emulsion to light entering through the lens. They featured a fixed f/3.5 and f/4.5 lens respectively and a maximum shutter speed of 1/1200.

When you consider the technical limitations of these cameras – especially the less-than-stellar 1/1200 maximum shutter speed – and the speed at which the horses would’ve been charging at, you’ve got to don your hat to Brooke’s skill.

Taking a closer look at his images, I can’t see any distortion either. Although I can’t be sure that the images haven’t been digitally restored in any way.

John Warwick Brooke’s vast portfolio of images depicting horses during WW1 is proof that what matters more than high-end specs is the person behind the camera.

Of course, having the latest tech in your camera makes a difference, but if Brooke could frame galloping horses with a glass plate rig, then there's hope for the rest of us.

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During the war, Brooke also shot what I think is probably the most tense series of images ever, snapped just before a group of soldiers went over the top into No Man’s Land.

Here's a good thing to remember the next time your autofocus hunts in low light, or your memory card fills up at the wrong moment. The photographers who pointed a camera at armed conflict 160 years ago had to coat a glass plate with volatile chemicals, load it into a hefty wooden camera not far off the size of a small trunk, expose it for several seconds, then develop it in a darkroom wagon before the emulsion dried. Usually within ten minutes.

This is the context worth holding in mind as the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC announces the acquisition of 35 photographs documenting America's Civil War: a collection it describes as marking "a seminal moment in the history of photography".

This wasn't the first use of photography to capture a war: British photographer Roger Fenton had taken images of Crimea in 1855, including a famous shot of cannonballs which is the subject of historical controversy (there are claims he arranged them, rather than shooting as he found). However, that trip was a relatively brief, single-photographer expedition, whereas the American Civil War took things to another level: years of systematic documentation by multiple photographers working across the entire theater of the conflict.

Who made them, and how

The collection includes work by three photographers whose names deserve to be as well known as Henri Cartier-Bresson or Ansel Adams.

Alexander Gardner, a Scottish-born photographer who had worked under Mathew Brady, produced one of the collection's centrepiece images: a wide-angle view of Abraham Lincoln's second inauguration in March 1865, taken on the steps of the Capitol just weeks before Lincoln's assassination. It's an image of real historical weight, captured with kit that would challenge most photographers today, even under studio conditions.

George N. Barnard, meanwhile, accompanied General Sherman's army through the South, capturing the destruction left in its wake with a precision that is almost architectural. And Andrew Joseph Russell – employed directly by the Union Army as an official photographer – made images of railway construction, shattered bridges and supply lines that read now as both technical record and unintentional art.

A sobering lesson

When you look at these shots, remember: none of them had a light meter. None had a zoom lens. Depth of field was seriously constrained. Yet the images in this collection demonstrate a compositional instinct that holds up completely against modern standards.

The placement of a cannon in a trench with a tented camp stretching into the distance. The formal dignity of a group portrait of Union officers, swords in hand. The structural geometry of a collapsed bridge being repaired by workers who stand along its edge like a frieze.

It's astonishing, really. This was an era in which photography stopped being a portrait studio novelty and became a way mass audiences could understand events they had not witnessed themselves. And it's sobering to realise that function has not changed, even if the technology behind it has.

Why this acquisition matters

We're used to hearing about museums acquiring paintings, sculptures. But when they acquire photographs – and particularly when they frame them as primary historical objects rather than illustrations of other events – it genuinely matters for the medium's standing.

The National Gallery already holds significant photographic collections, but this acquisition, made through a combination of gifts and private donations, substantially deepens its holdings of early US photography. It arrives alongside more than 140 other photographs spanning the 20th century, including work by Ilse Bing, Florence Henri and Sebastião Salgado, suggesting that the institution is making a serious, sustained commitment to photography as fine art rather than documentation. Long may this continue.

Personally, the mark of a good photo is how it makes me feel, and one of the most emotionally stirring images I’ve ever seen was taken by John Warwick Brooke during the Battle of the Somme in 1916.

Brooke was an official photographer with the British Army on the Western Front during WW1, and the image in question depicts the tense moment before a unit of his compatriots leaves the relative safety of their trench to raid the German front line at Thiepval.

The men pictured were from the Scottish 26th Infantry Brigade, and the way the scene is composed portrays the angst they were surely feeling. And unlike many WWI images, which were staged for propaganda, this scene is real.

The most gripping aspect is the immersive angle from which Brooke took the photo. I almost feel as though I'm crouched in the trench with the Scotsmen waiting for the signal to climb out into No Man's Land.

Adding to the strong sense of tension is the lack of color and context. History tells us that this photo was taken during WWI, but all we see is a group of tightly packed men in a claustrophobic space, seemingly waiting for something.

And while from the image alone we can’t be sure of what that something is, the mens’ huddled postures donned by protective metal helmets, and the entanglement of barbed wire just about visible at the end of their trench, hint at something sinister.

This image is a part of a small series Brooke snapped during the moments before the trench raid, with the following shots even showing these men going over the top. Unfortunately, the fates of the subjects have never been uncovered, which only tightens the knot I feel in my stomach when looking at it.

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Sometimes, I come across a photograph that puts all the emotions that I’m having trouble putting into words into pixels. That’s what happened when I came across an image from the No Kings protests held across the US on March 28. The photo? It depicts a protester dressed as the Statue of Liberty being arrested at a protest in Los Angeles.

The photo comes from the lens of Etienne Laurent, a photojournalist based in Los Angeles. In the image, a protester dressed as the Statue of Liberty in chains is being restrained with zip ties by police officers. More than 70 protesters were arrested in LA that day at a rally that organizers say brought more than 8 million protestors across the country.

There’s nothing technically unusual about the photo. The photographer framed the subject in the center, using a narrower aperture to blur the protestors in the background.

The reason the photograph is going viral is the symbolism that the photographer managed to capture in one frame. One Redditor called it “when political cartoons become reality.” Others described the image as “poetic,” while others described the image as a “generational shot.”

But what strikes me about this image in particular – among several images that the protestor appeared in – is not only the irony of someone dressed as the nation’s symbol for freedom being arrested. It’s that she’s smiling. The protestor, who later said that she’s been arrested four times at protests, was also photographed smiling while being led away in an image by Jill Connelly of the Associated Press.

The image is unsettling, but “unsettled” is one of many words that I could use to describe what I’m feeling as an American right now. Many of the changes over the past months feel opposite of my definition of what it means to be an American, and then I come across an image that is full of opposites. The symbol for freedom, being arrested. Someone being arrested, while smiling.

But I’m not just an American, I’m a photographer too. The photograph isn’t just a fantastic example of excellent photojournalism – it serves as a reminder that powerful photographs don’t need fancy camera tricks. Powerful photographs need a message – and the one in this photograph is clear.

Reports from the LA Times indicated that some journalists were “forcibly removed” – it’s unclear what Laurent went through to capture that photograph, but I think it’s one of the most powerful images from the No Kings protest that I’ve seen.

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We live in a world where video consumption trumps all other forms of media. From short-form social media footage and attention-grabbing YouTube clips to the Netflix flavor of the month, it’s video, video, video. As a photographer that can feel a little disheartening, especially if your worth as a creative lives and dies by your Instagram, which has long transitioned from a photo-first to a video-first model.

I won’t deny that the photograph’s relevance has diminished. But much like the written word, it’s far from obsolete. That’s because the photograph has something that video could never have, and rather ironically, it’s the very thing that has made video so much more popular: A still image is a still image – it doesn't move.

A moving image, then, stimulates the brain more, producing a more satisfying hit of dopamine. Pair that with rapid-fire short-form content and you’ve got an addictive loop that’ll have you ignoring the pins and needles and back pain while you ‘doomscroll’ on the toilet for 40 minutes. Has anyone ever done that while pouring through Bresson’s The Decisive Moment? Unlikely…

So how could moving imagery ever be at a disadvantage? Well, it moves, it’s fleeting. The creator has little control over the point at which the viewer engages or disengages with the work (they could miss the crux altogether). And while the viewer may be able to watch the video multiple times, pause it or rewind, it’s much harder to pour over the crux, the climax, the decisive moment.

A still image on the other hand affords both creator and viewer much more control. The former is precisely delivering the decisive moment to the viewer, short of walking away, they cannot avoid it. And the viewer is able to engage with the content more deeply. This has the potential to increase impact, remove ambiguity and encourage deeper analysis.

And the proof is in the pudding. When you think about defining moments in human history such as the moon landing or 9/11, as well as cultural icons like Marilyn Monroe and Bob Marley, you tend to think of photographs. Photography has become synonymous with pivotal moments and despite the rise and rise of video, I’d argue that imagery is still largely (not entirely) preferred today.

I recently watched Disney+ documentary Love+War, which is a film about Pulitzer Prize-winning conflict photographer, Lynsey Addario. When I think about the Ukraine war, I find it difficult to separate the many snippets of video that have been played over and over on the news and social media. But Lynsey’s harrowing photograph of four dead Ukrainian civilians, which was published on the front page of The New York Times, is etched in my mind.

The same can be said for the attempted assassination attempt on Donald Trump in Pennsylvania. Video footage was repeated on the news, ad nauseam, but interestingly, it’s the photograph by Evan Vucci of a bloodied Trump, fist aloft, surrounded by Secret Service agents and framed against the Star-Spangled Banner that has endured. Why? Because that was the decisive moment and Vucci's camera immortalized it in a way that the video footage simply cannot. You cannot help but remember it.

And that’s the power of a great photograph. It reaches out, grabs the viewer by the lapel and shakes them. There’s no waiting for the impact, the impact is instantaneous and it lasts as long as the viewer lets it. A video can provide more context, it can take the viewer on a longer, arguably more intricate, journey, but the photograph is the knockout blow.

I’m not suggesting that photography is superior to video, but I am making it clear that photography is in no way inferior. We need both forms of media. But in this ever-changing AI-infused world where people have become more cynical of imagery than ever, professional photographers must be protected at all costs. The photograph, the still image, the single frame is arguably more important now than it ever has been before.

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During my years as a photojournalist, I’ve taken a number of photos with unlucky timing – eyes squinting, sour expressions, tongues hanging out – the same expressions that you’ll sometimes get when you pause even Netflix at the exact wrong moment. A person’s face can’t be frozen in a flattering expression 100 percent of the time, making some odd expressions inevitable.

That’s exactly why a recent headline caught my eye. According to reports in the Washington Post, the US Pentagon excluded photographers from two press briefings this month, reportedly for “unflattering” photos of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.

A Defense Department spokesperson denied those claims, saying photographers were restricted for space reasons and that the press was welcome to use the official photographs from the meeting that the Pentagon shares after each briefing. Video cameras were still allowed into those briefings.

But, the allegedly unflattering photos are just another example of rising tensions between the current administration and the media. A number of journalists left their desks at the Pentagon last fall over being required to sign a new agreement – the New York Times has filed a lawsuit calling the agreement a violation of the First Amendment right to press freedom. Last year, the Associated Press – including photographers – was banned from White House events over not using the term "Gulf of America."

I’m not a political journalist, having shifted from local news reporting to tech reporting more than a decade ago. But as a photographer, I know how common those unflattering, ill-timed photos are. Typically, the photographer (or perhaps an editor) goes through the photos of the event and selects the best options.

But “best” of course, is subjective. In photojournalism, “best” doesn’t mean the most flattering images, but the images that convey the tone and emotions of the event. Look no further than the Napalm Girl photograph or the World Press Photo Contest to understand that the most impactful images in journalism are rarely smiling faces.

A photojournalist’s job is to capture what happened. But just as written journalists choose which words to use, photojournalists choose how to compose the shot and when to press the shutter – and sometimes the shutter is pressed on an expression that wouldn’t be featured in a flattering portrait, but may speak volumes about the emotions during the event.

Unlike perhaps, say, a glamour portrait photographer, a photojournalist’s job isn’t to make the subject of the photos look good. A photojournalist’s job is to capture a representation of what happened. I’m not sure what photographs were allegedly “unflattering,” but the furrowed brow and solemn expressions that I’ve seen from the event feel far more appropriate for a briefing on the war in Iran than, say, a smiling portrait.

The “unflattering photo” fiasco reminds me of the response to photographer Christopher Anderson’s close-up portraits of the Trump cabinet published in Vanity Fair in December. The collection of photos included extreme closeups with no attempts to hide pores and makeup smears, which the internet described as everything from “diabolical” to “done dirty.”

A photograph’s job isn’t to be pretty. A photograph’s job is to communicate without words, and when the topic isn’t pretty, why should the photographs themselves be?

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I recently sat down to watch the National Geographic documentary Love + War on Disney+, a powerful film that follows the life and work of renowned conflict photojournalist and Pulitzer Prize–winner Lynsey Addario.

What I expected was an interesting documentary about a photographer working on the front lines of global conflict. What I didn’t expect was how deeply it would affect me.

The film made me cry, it made me angry, and perhaps most surprisingly of all, it made me believe in photography all over again.

You can view the official trailer below:

Above: watch the official trailer for the film

Addario’s work has taken her to some of the most dangerous and devastating places on Earth. Through the documentary, we see glimpses of Afghanistan, Ukraine, Iraq, and other war-torn regions where civilians live under the constant threat of violence. Yet what struck me most was not just the danger she faces, but the responsibility she carries. Her camera is not simply documenting events - it is bearing witness. It is recording the reality of human suffering, resilience, and survival in places many of us will never see.

Watching Love + War is not easy. The images and stories it reveals are raw, confronting, and often heartbreaking. As viewers, we are forced to confront the human cost of conflict: families torn apart, cities reduced to rubble, and lives permanently altered by forces far beyond their control. At times, it made me angry - angry at the senseless destruction, angry at the suffering inflicted on innocent people, and angry at how easily the rest of the world can look away.

But the documentary also reminded me why photography matters so profoundly. In an age where artificial intelligence can generate images in seconds and manipulate reality with frightening ease, there is something deeply authentic about real documentary photography. A war photograph is not just an image - it is evidence. It is proof that something happened, that someone suffered, that a moment in history existed beyond propaganda or political narrative.

Conflict photography carries a terrifying weight because of this truth. The camera becomes a witness to humanity at its most brutal and most fragile. Photographers like Addario walk into environments most of us would run from, not because they seek danger, but because the world needs to see what is happening. Without those images, war becomes distant and abstract. With them, it becomes impossible to ignore.

That is what makes Addario’s role so vital. Through her photographs, the realities of war reach audiences across the globe. Her work cuts through the noise and forces people to confront stories that might otherwise remain hidden. The documentary shows that conflict photojournalists are not simply observers - they are messengers, carrying the truth of these events back to the rest of the world.

By the time the credits rolled on Love + War, I felt emotionally drained. The film had shaken me, challenged me, and reminded me why photography remains one of the most powerful forms of storytelling we have.

It made me cry. It made me angry. But most importantly, it made me believe photography matters - because in a world increasingly filled with artificial images, the courage to document reality still matters more than ever!

Sub to Disney+

Disney+ is also home to a remarkable collection of photography and exploration documentaries, particularly through National Geographic, offering viewers a chance to experience powerful visual storytelling from some of the world’s most talented photographers, filmmakers, and adventurers.

The life of a war photographer is fraught with danger. Much like combatants, they too experience the devastation, needing to be near the action to tell the stories.

While I certainly believe photographic stories from conflict zones play an important role in educating the wider world on the ghastly nature of war, especially its futility, I struggle to see how they are worth dying for.

Brent Renaud (1971-2022) would probably have disagreed. Over a career spanning more than two decades, the renowned US photojournalist and documentary filmmaker covered many danger zones, including the Iraq War in 2006 and the immediate aftermath of the Haiti earthquake in 2010.

Above: see the official trailer for Armed only with a camera

Renaud took a boots-on-the-ground approach, embedding himself in military units and local communities, seeking out the true stories before the facts became twisted. This relentless pursuit to humanize crises led him to Ukraine to document the refugee exodus which ensued in the early days of the Russian invasion in 2022. Tragically, he was killed there.

Now, a HBO documentary produced by Renaud’s brother and longtime collaborator, Craig Renaud, chronicling the late filmmaker’s life has been nominated for an Oscar at the upcoming 98th Academy Awards, which will be announced in Hollywood on March 15.

Armed Only With A Camera: The Life And Death Of Brent Renaud, was released late last year and, in graphic detail, covers how Renaud met his end near the city of Irpin, close to Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv.

Unlike combat cameramen who operate in the thick of the fire, Renaud’s focus was typically on the noncombatants caught up in the fray. Yet, when he died, he was headed towards the fighting in an unmarked civilian vehicle and, in the final moments of his life, unexpectedly found himself on the front line, when he was caught in a deadly ambush.

However, Renaud would’ve known he was putting himself in serious peril. After all, he wanted footage of the Ukrainians fleeing the Russian advance, and the fighting in the area had been going on for some three weeks by then.

Of course, any journalist volunteering to put themself in this kind of situation wants to get the most gripping footage, but I don’t think his documentary would’ve lost any journalistic rigor had he’d stayed behind the lines and waited for the refugees to reach him.

Moreover, Ukrainian soldiers holding the Russians at bay could’ve helped provide the most graphic details when they rotated out of the firing line. And in an age of wearable action cams, some of them may have even filmed it themselves.

I have the utmost admiration for war photographers and documentary filmmakers like Renaud, daring and caring enough to put themselves in harm's way to give a voice to those affected by conflict and hold its instigators to account.

But as a fellow journalist, if anything, his death is a reminder that there are no stories more important than your life. It also reaffirms my belief that stories are infinitely more powerful if you are around to share what didn’t make it into the published version.

We’ll never know if Renaud questioned his decision to come to Ukraine in the final moments of his life. I doubt it as, if you watch the documentary, you’ll discover just how hectic they were.

I’d like to think his years of experience enabled him to maintain some level of composure and not become completely overwhelmed by fear. However, with his vehicle being riddled by automatic weapons, it’s difficult to imagine.

Brent Renaud now figures among the list of legendary conflict photojournalists who sadly lost their lives on the job, standing among giants such as Robert Capa (1913-1954) and Dickey Chapelle (1919-1965).

He leaves behind a monumental legacy, not only as a documentary journalist but as a human being who preached compassion and lived with such devout purpose.

In achieving this, though, Renaud paid the ultimate price – a price I think no war photographer or filmmaker should ever be willing to pay, regardless of how important the story may be.

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For photographers navigating the challenging world of long-form documentary work, a new award has emerged with both serious clout and a meaningful purpose. British photographer Laura Pannack has won the inaugural Tom Stoddart Award for Excellence, securing £5,000 ($6,700) toward completing her project and a book deal with GOST Books.

The award, organized alongside the long-established Ian Parry Photojournalism Grant, attracted 184 submissions from 47 countries in its first year; impressive numbers suggesting that photographic community has long been waiting for this kind of support.

Pannack's winning project, The Journey Home from School, documents the perilous daily commute of children in Cape Town's Cape Flats. But what sets this work apart isn't just strong documentary photography; it's the collaborative, multimedia approach that judges praised for its "depth of collaboration" and "subtle and layered" storytelling.

During a residency at A4 Arts Foundation, Pannack ran poetry and lo-fi photography workshops with NGOs, youth clubs and schools across Cape Town's suburbs. In partnership with organizations including Project Hope, Where Rainbows Meet, and the New World Foundation, she worked in areas including Manenberg, Lavender Hill, Vrygrond, Athlone, Heideveld, Bridgetown, Langa and Mitchells Plain. 

The resulting project combines analogue photography with poetry, drawing, painting and collage created by the young people themselves; a creative dialogue that judges felt offered genuine insight into adolescent life, in a place where safety is never guaranteed. In short, this was documentary photography as creative partnership, rather than pure observation.

Passion for psychology

It's typically captivating work from Pannack, a highly regarded British social documentary and portrait photographer based in London who's known for her intimate, research-led, and long-form projects, often focusing on youth. 

Her distinct photographic style blends a passion for psychology with creativity, always striving to build a deep, genuine connection with her subjects. This dedication to time, trust and understanding as key elements means many of her projects develop over several years, allowing for a shared experience that results in highly empathetic and truthful portrayals.

More broadly, her work is driven by self-initiated projects that explore themes of love, vulnerability and the transition into adulthood. She often uses analogue film, valuing the organic, unpredictable nature and the depth it lends to the texture and light of her images, and her photography has been exhibited worldwide, including at London's National Portrait Gallery and Somerset House.

What the award offers

The new award, meanwhile, offers something increasingly rare: meaningful support for long-form documentary work at a time when traditional editorial commissions have largely evaporated. The £5,000 grant and guaranteed book publication provide both practical support and professional validation.

Its founding honours Tom Stoddart, the British photojournalist who died in 2021 after a five-decade career covering some of the late 20th century's defining moments including the fall of the Berlin Wall, the siege of Sarajevo and the 2003 Iraq invasion. His archive stands as a visual testament to modern history, and this award reflects his lifelong commitment to supporting photojournalism.

Executive director Harriet Logan, herself a 1992 Ian Parry Grant winner, says Tom Stoddart "would be immensely happy" about Pannack's win. For photographers who remember Stoddart's uncompromising work (he famously said photojournalists should "bear witness") this award continues that legacy in practical terms.

Stuart Smith of GOST adds: "‘We were very impressed with Laura’s submission due to the depth of collaboration she had with her subjects. This, coupled with her unique eye, makes for a subtle and layered project and publication." 

As part of the award, Pannack will work with GOST Books in the coming months to edit and sequence the photographs, artworks and text, with the opportunity to travel to Italy to see the book go on press next  year. 

When documentary photographers arrive to cover a conflict, they usually have somewhere to go home to afterwards. But Alena Grom has been photographing the aftermath of Russian occupation in Bucha and Irpin because these destroyed Ukrainian cities are her home.

Her series Stolen Spring, which won her the title of TIFA Photographer of the Year 2025 along with double gold in the People/Portrait and Portfolio/Fine Art categories, documents women who have endured the violence and misery of occupation. But these aren't the standard images of war photography.

Grom stages her subjects amid the ruins with a formal precision that transforms documentary into something more complex; portraits that sit somewhere between evidence and art.

Historic influences

This distinctive approach comes from an unexpected source: Polish photographer Michael Nash's images of Warsaw's ruins during the Second World War. Grom found resonance in how Nash captured destruction not as spectacle but as a backdrop for a spirit of human persistence.

Grom's 21st-century women, in turn, stand in front of bombed-out buildings, surrounded by rubble and twisted metal, dressed in ways that assert a sense of normality against surroundings that deny it. The spring of the title refers to the season that passed unnoticed during occupation; time stolen along with homes, loved ones and portions of lives that can never be recovered.

What makes this all particularly pointed is Grom's own displacement. Born in Donetsk, she was forced to leave in April 2014 when conflict erupted in Eastern Ukraine.

She settled in Bucha near Kyiv in 2017. When Russia launched its full-scale invasion in 2022, she became a refugee for the second time. After Bucha was retaken from the Russians, she returned to find her neighborhood transformed into the kind of wasteland she'd already fled once before.

This double displacement informs every frame. Grom's lens captures internally displaced persons from Donbass and Crimea who are experiencing their second tragic spring; people who, like her, have watched their lives destroyed twice.

Importantly, her portraits acknowledge this layered trauma without wallowing in it. Her subjects meet the camera with expressions that resist easy categorization: not quite defiant, not quite defeated. Having visited Ukraine myself since the full-scale invasion, I'd say this feels highly representative of the population at large.

It's also important that, by staging these portraits rather than catching spontaneous moments, Grom is giving her subjects agency. They're not victims caught unaware by a roving lens, but participants in creating an image that will represent their experience.

The careful compositions – often centered, symmetrical, with the subject placed deliberately within the destruction – contributes to a careful balance between tragedy and hope.

Art or documentary?

For some, Grom's methodology might seem too controlled, too constructed to qualify as documentary. But I'd argue this is actually a fair reflection of her subjects' new reality. Because in truth, everything about life after occupation is staged.

The attempt to maintain routine in rubble-strewn neighborhoods; the performance of normalcy amid ongoing trauma; the constant internal battles between what was and what is...

Overall, Stolen Spring achieves something documentary photography often struggles with: the representation of ongoing trauma without reducing subjects to their suffering. That's not an easy trick to pull off, but it helps that Grom is not an outsider documenting someone else's tragedy. She's photographing her neighbors, people whose displacement mirrors her own.

In a press release, TIFA's program director Hannah Lillethun notes that this year's winning images "show the power of photography to tell stories that transcend boundaries".

But to my eyes, Stolen Spring does something more specific than that. These pictures portray what happens when the photographer cannot transcend boundaries…. because she's trapped within them.

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Few photographs have shaped public consciousness quite like The Terror of War – better known globally as Napalm Girl. It is an image that has transcended journalism, becoming a visual shorthand for the human cost of conflict.

And on November 28, Netflix releases "The Stringer: The Man Who Took The Photo", directed by Bao Nguyen, and produced by Fiona Turner. This is the same documentary that first screened at Sundance in January 2025, with additional edits to reflect the response to the revelation about the photograph's authorship.

This two-year-long investigation is a chance for us to delve deeper into one of photojournalism's most contested and emotionally charged stories, as renowned conflict photographer Gary Knight and a small team of journalists embark on a quest to trace the real identity of the elusive stringer.

The photograph at the center of a debate was captured on June 8, 1972. It shows nine-year-old Phan Thị Kim Phúc, fleeing a misdropped South Vietnamese napalm strike, her skin burned, her expression etched forever into our collective memory. The picture won the Pulitzer Prize and World Press Photo of the Year in 1973, and its authorship remained virtually unquestioned.

After half a century, this all changed. Headlines resurfacing around the camera used to photograph the scene – long believed to be a Leica M2, and later, challenged to possibly be a Pentax – but more explosively, around the authorship itself.

This release is an updated version of Bao Nguyen's documentary "The Stringer" – a film that originally set off shockwaves by challenging the authorship of the photograph. It presented evidence suggesting that the image may not have been taken by Pulitzer Prize-winning AP photographer Huỳnh Công "Nick" Út, but instead by Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, a Vietnamese stringer working for AP in 1972. As a response to "The Stringer," AP and the World Press Photo conducted investigations; you can read the full story here.

Netflix's "The Stringer: The Man Who Took the Photo" highlights a landscape rattled by doubt, contradiction, and emotion. What makes this even more intriguing is that its narrative includes a testimony of a former Saigon photo editor, a man who says he has been plagued with a secret related to the image for 52 years.

The Netflix documentary gives us a chance to weigh new testimony against decades of established history, and perhaps to reflect more deeply on the often overlooked contributions of local journalists whose work is frequently buried beneath geopolitical narratives.

Regardless of where you stand on the authorship question – or whether you believe it will ever be fully settled – Napalm Girl remains one of the most influential photographs ever taken.

And on November 28, I'll be glued to the screen. Because "The Stringer: The Man Who Took the Photo" promises to add more layers of understanding to this extraordinary photograph's journey – and this is perhaps the closest we'll ever come to understanding the moment behind the moment that changed everything.

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There’s something about great filmmaking that speaks to photographers in a way nothing else does. When I’m not out shooting, I’m usually glued to a screen - drifting between Disney+, Netflix, Paramount+, and, admittedly, falling down more YouTube rabbit holes than I care to admit.

If it’s a documentary about photographers, a behind-the-scenes look at cinematography, or a beautifully crafted film from a director I admire, I’m there. Video is an extension of the same creative obsession: light, story, emotion, craft. And this Black Friday, it’s suddenly become far more affordable to feed that obsession.

Paramount+ is leading the charge with one of the best streaming deals of the season, offering 50% off both monthly and annual plans when you sign up before December 1st. Standard drops to $29.99 for the first year (regularly $59.99), while Premium is priced at $59.99 for the first year (regularly $119.99).

For a platform packed with high-quality filmmaking, sharp originals, and blockbuster hits, it’s a hard offer to ignore. I’ll be honest - its photography documentary section is small, but the documentaries it does have are beautifully shot, and the cinematic quality of its major films and series keeps me coming back. Tulsa King, starring Sylvester Stallone, has become my new guilty pleasure; the direction, pacing, and cinematography are far better than anyone expects from a mob drama on streaming.

But if there’s one platform that truly understands the power of visual storytelling for photographers, it’s Disney+. I’ve just finished watching National Geographic’s Photographer, and it’s nothing short of outstanding. The docuseries follows a selection of photographers as they travel the world, capturing extraordinary moments across conservation, conflict, culture, and the quiet, unseen corners of humanity.

It’s raw, emotional, and beautifully crafted - the kind of filmmaking that reminds you why images matter, and why photographers put themselves on the line time and time again. For anyone who loves documentary craft, it’s essential viewing.

Disney+ is also joining the Black Friday madness with a sizeable 44% saving on its annual plan. And it’s worth remembering that Disney now owns Hulu and National Geographic, not to mention its unbeatable library of Disney classics, Marvel, Star Wars, and Pixar - perfect for the kids when you’re not wrapped up in your next documentary binge.

In the US, new and eligible returning subscribers can also grab the Disney+ and Hulu Bundle (with ads) for just $4.99 per month for 12 months, saving more than $95 across the year.

For creatives, photographers, and filmmakers, Black Friday isn’t just about gear. Sometimes it’s about inspiration - and right now, inspiration is cheaper than ever. If you’re anything like me and love spending hours studying the craft of image-making from every angle, this is the perfect moment to subscribe, binge, learn, and indulge.

Veteran photojournalist Jonathan Alpeyrie has spent over two decades documenting conflict zones around the world, from Syria and Ukraine to Gaza and the international drug trade. He has been wounded twice, kidnapped, and tortured, and continues to put himself on the frontlines to, as he puts it, "embed myself in historical moments to bring the truth back to the general public."

In a new video feature on the Daily Mail YouTube channel, Alpeyrie offers a rare glimpse into the camera gear and personal essentials he relies on in the field, a setup that has been refined over 20 years of frontline experience.

He describes himself as a minimalist by nature. "Camera, flak jacket, phone, bag, computer," he says. "I’ve been carrying the same thing for the past 20 years." Simplicity is crucial when every ounce of weight counts and when mobility can mean the difference between getting the shot and getting caught in danger.

Above: Daily Mail YouTube video of Jonathan Alpeyrie

Originally a Nikon shooter, Alpeyrie switched to Canon around seven years ago, citing a preference for the format and handling. His main camera is the Canon EOS R, paired with a Canon EF 50mm f/1.2L lens (adapted to the RF mount), a lens he calls his workhorse and the only lens he uses.

"It captures lighting like no other, especially in dark circumstances, which I love," he says. Alpeyrie never uses flash, instead relying entirely on the available light. The same lens has captured everything from combat to portraits and nature. The 50mm remains his go-to for its familiarity and the discipline it demands.

"The most important thing you have to know is distance," he explains. "If you’re in a close quarter, it gets a little tight. But that’s crucial – knowing your distance between yourself and your subject."

That precision extends to the way he shoots. "I always put my eye directly on the viewfinder," he says. "I shoot in manual because I don’t want to be lazy as a photographer. You need to know your camera inside and out, measure the light, anticipate the shot, and make it second nature."

For Alpeyrie, craft comes before convenience. "You can shoot in automatic, but it’s not the same result. The camera decides for you. To me, it makes you a better photographer when you do it all yourself."

His minimalist philosophy also shapes his editing process. "A major editor once scolded me for showing up with 250 images," he recalls. "He told me, ‘You’re wasting my time. Come back with 20 photos.’ He was right. Now I always send 20 or fewer, the ones that tell the story."

Alpeyrie has faced near-death experiences in the line of duty, from artillery fire in Ukraine that left him with brain damage and partial deafness, to being held hostage and tortured for months in Syria. Yet he continues to return to conflict zones, driven by the belief that witnessing is an essential act.

"Your point is to survive and to do the work you have to do, and bring it home," he says. "To me, the main purpose of the photojournalist is to show how that great human experience shapes us every day."

From his Canon EOS R and 50mm f/1.2 lens to a lightweight flak jacket, every piece of gear Alpeyrie carries has been tested in the most dangerous places on earth. But as his story makes clear, the most essential tools aren’t found in a camera bag but rather they’re the instincts, resilience, and moral clarity that come with decades of facing war through a lens.

"The camera is replaceable," he says. "Not the photos."

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Nikon has confirmed that it will revoke all C2PA certificates issued to date after a major vulnerability in its authenticity feature was uncovered.

The flaw, first detected by long-time Nikon Rumors contributor Horshack, showed that images could be fraudulently signed by Nikon’s new C2PA-enabled cameras, raising serious questions about digital provenance and image verification.

Nikon has now paused the service while it works on a fix, with further updates promised through the Nikon Imaging Cloud.

The vulnerability was demonstrated using a Nikon Z6 III, which had been enabled with C2PA certification. Horshack revealed that a so-called “imposter” Z6 III could produce a .NEF RAW file, later processed by the C2PA-enabled model, resulting in a signed JPEG. In one striking proof of concept, an AI-generated image of a pug flying a jet was encoded and signed, despite having no photographic provenance. This finding undermined Nikon’s new authenticity service, which was intended to provide photographers and institutions with secure proof of image origin.

To expose the weakness, Horshack created a NEF data encoder capable of converting standard digital files, such as TIFFs, into Nikon’s proprietary NEF format. These could then be embedded into a skeleton NEF from another camera and tricked into producing a signed output through the multi-exposure feature.

While initially used to demonstrate the flaw, Horshack has said he plans to release the encoder as open-source software, noting it has potential applications beyond this proof-of-concept, including custom composition grids and digital image effects.

In a targeted email to users, Nikon admitted the technical issue was discovered on September 4 in firmware version 2.00 for the Nikon Z6 III. The company apologized to early adopters, confirming that all certificates issued between the launch and suspension are now invalid.

Nikon made clear that the authenticity credentials attached to these images can no longer be used as proof of provenance, stressing its commitment to preventing recurrence and restoring trust in its systems.

The revocation of C2PA certificates marks a setback for Nikon, which had positioned the feature as a key step in fighting misinformation and AI-generated imagery. The company has promised to announce the resumption of service on the Nikon Imaging Cloud once the vulnerability is fixed and the framework is secure.

Until then, photographers relying on C2PA verification will need to wait for Nikon to deliver a more robust and trustworthy solution.

What are C2PA Content Credentials, and how could they save photography?

,Magnum photographer and celebrated photojournalist Chris Steele-Perkins has died aged 78. His beautifully-crafted documentary images of people and of war zones will live on in as a lasting memory of his long career.

Chris was born in Myanmar (then Burma) in 1947 and was brought to live in Somerset in the west of England when he was two years old. His father was English and his mother Burmese. He was, he said, the only person of Asian appearance living in Burnham-on-Sea in the 1950s. “I belonged most of the time, but I knew I was different,” he says in The New Londoners. “The repeated question, nine out of ten times well-meaning, was ‘Where are you from?’”

He started taking photographs as a hobby while he was a psychology student at Newcastle University, but his passion for the medium didn’t really ignite until he began shooting for his student newspaper. The subjects he covered ranged from sports to live appearances by rock band The Who. “I enjoyed the challenge, because you had a real deadline and had to produce something that was reproducible on a page,” he says. 

He was inspired by the photojournalism of Don McCullin, Leonard Freed and others he saw published in British newspapers such as The Sunday Times and The Observer. Attracted by the way they gave their own take on a particular situation or event, Chris decided he wanted to follow in their footsteps. “I was looking at this stuff and thinking, ‘Wow, this is good. That’s what I’d like to do,’” he recalls.

After leaving university, Chris began coming up with photo-story ideas, often based on newspaper reports, and selling them directly to publications. “In the 1970s, it was possible to earn a living by seeing enough magazines and having ideas,” he says. “You came up with a good story and somebody paid you to do it. In this day and age it’s hard to believe we had this golden period, but that’s what it was like.” 

The series that brought Chris to wide appreciation was The Teds. In the late ’70s, the Teddy Boy subculture was undergoing a revival and Chris was assigned to document this group for New Society magazine with journalist Richard Smith. Both realised there was much more mileage in the project and continued working on the subject over a three-year period. Their work was published as a book in 1979 and is now regarded as a classic of its kind.

 “One of the keys to photography, I think, is spending time with your subject,” he said in 2019. “A big problem with a lot of young photographers’ documentary work is that they just haven’t put enough time into it. There’s no substitute for time. In the case of the Teds, photographing them was also a lot of fun. They had lots of energy and when I’d come back from a night in the pub with them I’d think I’d had a good night.”

By the late ’70s, Chris had an extensive body of work which included his photos of inner city poverty in the UK, undertaken as part of the EXIT Photography Group from 1974 to ’79. Now he wanted to broaden his work and focus on Northern Ireland, but he knew he’d need the backing of an agency to do that. Around the same time, Chris got to know the Magnum photographer Josef Koudelka, who saw and liked Chris’s work and recommended he apply to join the elite agency. He did and was accepted.

It was a turning-point in Chris’s career. “Joining Magnum enabled me to go abroad and travel the world. I felt really lucky. The world’s magazines and newspapers were accessible to me and Magnum was very much set up to work with them.”

It was also inspiring to be part of a group that included major photographers such as Henri Cartier-Bresson and Bruce Davidson. “It was exciting because I knew these people’s work from a distance. Now I was actually sitting down and having a drink with them, talking about what they were doing and why they were doing it. There was also a lot of competition among members, and everyone was measuring themselves against their peers. So it probably made me raise my game.” 

For a period, Chris was known primarily as a war photographer covering the troubles in Northern Ireland, El Salvador’s civil war in the early 1980s, Lebanon (the civil war and Israeli invasion), and the war in Afghanistan. But a close call with a rocket grenade made him rethink his career: " Iwas running from the Taliban at the time I heard it coming towards me, and saw it hit the ground very close by. But it didn’t go off and I just kept running," he said in 2010.  ",It was very shortly after that I decided to give up war photography. I had two small kids and wanted to play football with them, using both my legs. I’m not sure if I’d be talking to you now if I’d carried on. It made me rethink what the hell I was doing.

Being part of Magnum also gave Chris financial security. “For 10 years or more, I really wouldn’t worry about where the money was coming from. Literally I could hear about a news story from abroad on the radio and think, ‘I’ll be there tomorrow’ and not worry about the money. I’d know Magnum would sell the story. Then one day it didn’t happen, almost overnight, and the golden age started to disappear.”

Chris reckoned, the decline began as early as 1989. “Magazines and newspapers started doing less interesting stories and giving them less space,” he remembers. “They became more obvious puppets to the consumer society and the editors were quite open about it. It became much more about making money for publishers. They didn’t want people reading about death and destruction over their muesli.”

Since then, Chris has continued working on a mixture of assignments and personal projects, ranging from covering the famine in Somalia in 1992 to a photographic series on centenarians living in the UK, titled Fading Light. His last book of new work,, The New Londoners, was published in 2019 which aimed to show the diversity of the capital through his series of family portraits.

Along the way he has won a number of major awards, including the World Press Photo Oskar Barnack Prize in 1988 and the Robert Capa Gold Medal in 1989 for “best published photographic reporting from abroad requiring exceptional courage and enterprise.”

Chris Steele-Perkins passed away peacefully in his sleep, on September 8, 2025, in Japan where he had lived with his second wife, Miyako Yamada.

In 2025, World Press Photo marks a milestone few organizations can claim: seven decades of shaping how we see the world. To celebrate its 70th anniversary, the organization is opening a major exhibition, What Have We Done? Unpacking Seven Decades of World Press Photo, curated by the acclaimed artist and photographer Cristina de Middel.

The show is more than a retrospective. It is a critical exploration of the patterns, assumptions, and storytelling traditions that have governed press photography, inviting audiences to confront the images that have long shaped our understanding of global events.

The world premiere takes place on September 19, 2025, at the Niemeyerfabriek in Groningen, one of the Netherlands’ leading platforms for lens-based media. The exhibition runs until October 19, before traveling internationally to other locations yet to be announced.

The past seventy years of World Press Photo images are mirrors reflecting society’s biases, assumptions, and visual habits. From harrowing conflict coverage to intimate human moments, the archive has long given photographers a platform to illuminate stories that might otherwise go unseen. Yet exploring it also means confronting uncomfortable truths: which voices were underrepresented, which images reinforced stereotypes, and which decisions, however unintentional, shaped public perception in ways the press may never have anticipated.

De Middel’s exhibition asks viewers to do more than admire iconic photographs; it challenges them to rethink how they read images, to recognize recurring visual patterns, and to question why certain stories and perspectives dominate global attention, and why some do not.

Among these patterns, certain motifs recur across decades. Images of weeping women paired with men in action quietly reinforce gendered ideas of vulnerability and strength, while war photography frequently humanizes some soldiers while reducing others to symbols of aggression. At the same time, aesthetic compositions of debris and destruction risk romanticizing chaos and masking the human cost of conflict.

The show features over 100 photographs spanning seven decades, including iconic work by Horst Faas, Don McCullin, David Chancellor, Eddie Adams, and Steve McCurry, alongside contemporary voices such as Johanna Maria Fritz and Sara Naomi Lewkowicz.

These images provide a rare opportunity to witness the evolution of visual language while reflecting on the ethical, cultural, and aesthetic choices that underpin photojournalism. Cristina de Middel describes the exhibition as an invitation to see with a sharper and more critical eye, emphasizing that if history repeats itself, the way we narrate it must evolve.

Joumana El Zein Khoury, Executive Director of World Press Photo, underscores that examining recurring visual patterns opens space for reflection and dialogue, acknowledging both the archive’s strengths and its limitations.

At seventy, World Press Photo is asking us to examine the power of photography to shape understanding and to confront what we may have overlooked. This exhibition challenges viewers to ask difficult questions: what do we choose to see, what have we been shown, and what have we done with it? Through its images, What Have We Done? is both a celebration of photography’s impact and a call to approach visual storytelling with sharper eyes and deeper awareness.

Find out more about What Have We Done? on the official World Press Photo website.

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Few names in modern photojournalism carry the weight of Lynsey Addario’s. Known for her fearless coverage of conflict zones, Addario has spent over two decades documenting the human cost of war, from Afghanistan to Iraq, from Darfur to Libya.

Now, her extraordinary life and work are at the centre of a new National Geographic documentary directed by Oscar-winning filmmakers Jimmy Chin and Chai Vasarhelyi.

Officially selected for the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), the film turns the lens on Addario as she documents the war in Ukraine while reflecting on her remarkable career. The brief synopsis on the TIFF website reads: "Oscar winners Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin turn the camera on Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer Lynsey Addario as she documents the war in Ukraine and looks back on her career."

Above: A video clip from the documentary Love+War

A newly released clip offers a tense glimpse into the story. Caught under attack in Ukraine, Addario and her team take cover inside a house as shell fire echoes outside. When the danger subsides, she emerges to find locals continuing with their daily routines; a child pedalling casually through the streets, seemingly unfazed by the bombardment. It’s a chilling reminder of how communities living under constant threat adapt, and how violence can tragically become normalised.

For Addario, in addition to the immediate danger in the field, every assignment carries immense personal stakes. Her work demands leaving her family behind, sometimes for weeks or months at a time, to witness and record history as it unfolds in its most harrowing form. It’s a balance between duty and sacrifice that has defined her career.

If there’s anyone who can capture the razor’s edge between life and death with sensitivity and cinematic power, it’s Chin and Vasarhelyi, the creative duo behind Free Solo and The Rescue. With no release date announced yet, this promises to be one of the most anticipated photography-related documentaries of the year.

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Even if you're not a fan of 1990s rock, you've probably heard about the Oasis reunion. Bringing Noel and Liam Gallagher back together for the first time in 16 years, their tour stretches across 41 dates and is expected to raise a billion in revenue. But here's something you might not have heard about it.

Following the opening dates in Cardiff, the band's management told photo agencies they will only own the rights to concert images for one year. After that? The band swoops in and claims ownership of pictures they didn't take, with equipment they didn't buy, by photographers they didn't hire.

Unsurprisingly, Getty Images, Reuters and the AP have boycotted the remaining dates. But to my mind, this isn't just a one-off. It's part of a creeping assault on photographers' rights that's making our visual culture poorer by the day.

Privacy or paranoia?

Take new legislation in Monaco, banning anyone from photographing hotel and casino guests. On paper, it sounds reasonable to protect people's privacy in exclusive venues. But think about it. 

In practice, what Monaco is doing is creating photography-free zones where news simply cannot be documented. When powerful people can retreat to spaces where cameras are legally prohibited, accountability disappears with them. The message is: if you've got enough money, you can buy your way out of being captured on camera, even in semi-public spaces. 

Meanwhile, back in Britain, we've got an even more bizarre case unfolding on the A44 in Worcestershire. Ben Webster and Jake Pickering are roadside photographers who position themselves at Fish Hill, a scenic beauty spot, to capture "action shots" of motorcycles and sports cars. 

They've been doing this for 20 years, selling the images online to riders who want professional photos of themselves on their machines. It's perfectly legal, they're insured, and they stand well back from the road.

But West Mercia Police have now slapped them with community protection warnings, banning them from the area for 12 months. The reasoning? Their presence allegedly encourages motorcyclists to race, overtake dangerously, and pull wheelies. I mean, really?

To my mind, this is bureaucratic overreach dressed up as public safety. By this logic, we should ban pretty youngsters from the pavements, lest they encourage speeding bikers to show off in front of them. 

A war on photography?

The examples are endless. We've already reported on the auditors who are going to get drones banned for everyone and how the creeping epidemic of camera paranoia is turning tourist attractions into no-go zones for photographers.

More recently, at the Bristol Harbour Festival in July, security guards were busily turning away anyone with a camera larger than a phone. Never mind that this was public space where photography is perfectly legal—if you looked too professional, you were persona non grata.

On their own, these are isolated, often ridiculous-sounding stories. But together, they're starting to feel like a global war on photography. And these restrictions don't just affect professional photographers—they're creating a culture where anyone with a decent camera is viewed with suspicion. 

The irony is delicious: in an age when surveillance cameras monitor our every move, when facial recognition systems track us through cities, and when tech companies harvest our data with impunity, it's the humble news photographer who's being treated as the threat to privacy and safety.

Let's remember, photography built the visual language of the modern world. If we let it be strangled by lawyers and security guards, don't be surprised when that world becomes much harder to see clearly.

Documentary photographer David Hurn celebrates his 91st birthday today – a milestone that marks not only the longevity of a remarkable life, but the enduring relevance of his lens on the world.

Born on July 21st, 1934, Hurn has spent more than six decades capturing humanity in its rawest and most revealing forms.

From conflict zones to the quiet corners of British life, his images have become defining pieces of visual history, never seeking drama but instead settling into the truth of the moment.

Hurn’s style is unmistakably honest, rooted in observation rather than orchestration. He is never one to impose himself on a scene. Instead, he allows life to unfold in front of him, capturing moments that resonate long after the shutter clicks.

Whether photographing the Hungarian Revolution in 1956, swinging London in the 1960s, or rural Wales in more recent years, his approach has always been quiet and deliberate – a masterclass in restraint and clarity.

A founding member of Magnum Photos’ London office, Hurn helped shape the very idea of what modern documentary photography could be. Yet, unlike some of his contemporaries who sought fame through spectacle, Hurn found profundity in the everyday.

His work is often characterized by a sense of gentle humor, warmth, and an understanding of people rather than judgment of them. He has always championed the idea that good photography isn’t about gear or tricks, but about empathy, timing, and trust.

His long-running project photographing Wales, where he settled permanently in the 1970s, reveals a deep love for community, heritage, and the slow rhythms of rural life. Through his lens, coal miners, market traders, schoolchildren, and shepherds have all become part of an ongoing tapestry that speaks volumes about a nation and its identity.

Beyond his own photography, Hurn has given generously to the next generation – donating thousands of prints to the nation, mentoring young photographers, and tirelessly promoting visual literacy.

At 91, David Hurn remains not just a living legend, but a quiet force in British photography. His archive is a treasure trove of humanity – unfiltered, intelligent, and always dignified.

In a world increasingly saturated with images designed to provoke, shock, or sell, Hurn’s photographs continue to stand apart: they don’t shout, they speak.

There’s a strange, quiet ache that comes with growing older. It creeps in softly, first in the absence of a familiar laugh at a family gathering, then in the gap on the end of a group photo where someone used to stand.

Over the years, I’ve watched people I love slowly fade away. Some were taken too soon, while others passed away by the natural order of life. And through it all, I’ve come to realise that photography, for me, has never been about perfection or portfolios. It’s about presence. It's about holding on.

I carry a camera almost everywhere now. Not because I’m chasing a shot, but because I know too well that life doesn’t warn you when it’s about to change.

One day, your dad’s leaning back in a garden chair, telling an old story, and the next, that voice becomes memory. I’ve learned that the small, unplanned frames – the candid laugh, the tilt of a head, the light falling just right on a moment you didn’t expect – can become your most precious possessions. They’re not just photographs; they’re echoes.

There’s something humbling about documenting your own life. About making a record, not of events, but of people. It’s not glamorous or curated. It’s not meant for likes or followers. It’s about the truth of time passing, of relationships evolving, of capturing the essence of a person before the world changes again. When someone you love is no longer around, and you don’t have a photo of them in that fleeting, forgotten moment, that’s a hollow space nothing can fill.

So now, at every family gathering, at every Sunday roast or quiet coffee, I make sure the camera comes out. Not in a way that intrudes or interrupts, but simply so that something remains.

A glance, a smile, a hug. I photograph my child with their grandparents because I know, one day, those images will tell stories they’re too young to understand now. And, one day, when I become part of the older generation, I hope they’ll look back and see the love we shared frozen in silver and light.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow – that we will all, eventually, lose the people we can’t imagine life without. But photographs offer something more than memory.

They offer proof. Proof that we lived, that we laughed, that we loved. They let us hold onto moments that time tries to take. And when grief dulls the details, the images remain sharp.

Photography, at its heart, isn’t about cameras or technique. It’s about people. It’s about making peace with the fact that every frame might be a goodbye – and taking the shot anyway.

When I first had the idea of writing this article, I was going to introduce the topic – what you need to know when photographing protests and demonstrations – by mentioning a scene from the 2024 movie, “Civil War,” which includes two photographers as main characters (played by actors Kirsten Dunst and Cailee Spaeny).

At the beginning of the movie, both photographers are documenting a protest, which quickly turns into a brawl between police and protesters. During the fight, Dunst’s character witnesses a police officer strike Spaeny’s character in the face with a billy club. Dunst’s character quickly goes over to lead Spaeny’s character away from the altercation to safety.

However, as I write these words, it seems a scene from a frightening fictional movie has turned into terrifying reality, at least in the U.S. I’m referring to what’s currently taking place in Los Angeles, which has been dealing with several days of unrest and political demonstrations, a response to Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids that have been taking place across the city. It’s a dangerous place for anyone, including photographers.

Rubber bullets

But what photographers and content creators should understand is that they’re not merely being hit with billy clubs. In fact, there have already been reports of more than one incident of photographers being shot by rubber bullets as they attempted to cover the protests. The first occurrence, according to multiple sources, including The Guardian, took place this past Sunday, June 8. It’s when British news photographer Nick Stern, who is based in LA, was shot in the leg and wounded as he was covering the conflict between LA police and anti-ICE protesters. The wound was serious enough that Stern needed to undergo emergency surgery. According to The Guardian, “Stern believes he was probably hit by a non-lethal round that deputies were using along with flash-bang stun grenades for crowd control.”

But another incident also took place this past Sunday to another British news photographer: According to the New York Post, Toby Canham, a British news photographer working on assignment for The Post, was shot in the head with a rubber bullet as he was capturing video of both police and protesters at the 101 Freeway from an elevated location. But what’s both remarkable and horrifying is that Canham actually captured footage of the moment on video when a California police officer fired off the rubber bullet, which injured the photographer.

According to The Post, the photographer captures footage of a California Highway Patrol (CHP) officer who, “suddenly turned his weapon toward him and fired from about 100 yards away.” The Post also reported that the photographer, who was British Army soldier and is currently based out of LA, “spent Monday at the hospital for whiplash and neck pain. He was left with a giant bruise on his forehead.”

Such protests, which began in LA, have spread throughout the country and are taking place in cities like New York, Chicago, Dallas, Atlanta, among others, and appear to be the largest protests taking place since the George Floyd protests in May, 2020.

What’s clear from both the June 8 shooting incidents and the protest scene from “Civil War” is that, at the very least, they should serve as reminders to photojournalists and photographers that such demonstrations can be very dangerous.

All photographers need to understand that they can be targets, a notion supported by a recent story in The Business Journal, which reported that, “More than two dozen journalists have been injured or roughed up while covering protests against immigration raids in Los Angeles, leading press freedom groups to question whether law enforcement has been deliberately targeting reporters on the story.”

Follow these rules

So, if you decide to capture photos and footage from the front lines, even when you’re clearly marked as press, there’s always a possibility you could be injured or even killed. But if you do decide to capture photos of protests and demonstrations, we’ve compiled the following resources that you should consult before you go:

1. Be Safe: For starters, be sure to mark and identify yourself as a member of the press. Of course, this doesn’t ensure your safety, but it might help. Also, consider wearing protective gear, like a vest or helmet. For more on safety and other issues, consult Photoshelter’s “WATCH: Safety for Photojournalists Attending Protests” webpage, which includes a recorded webinar and lots of links to other resources on how photographers can protect themselves against police attacks while photographing protests.

2. Know Your Rights: The American Civil Liberties Union, a U.S. non-profit, non-partisan organization that attempts to defend and preserve individual rights and liberties guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution, has a great resource for photographers titled, “If Stopped for Photographing in Public.” It begins by stating, “Taking photographs and video of things that are plainly visible in public spaces is a constitutional right—and that includes transportation facilities, the outside of federal buildings, and police and other government officials carrying out their duties.” It includes other important information that all photographers should take note of.

3. Photography Don'ts: Wired.com also has an excellent resource, titled, “How to Take Photos at Protests Safely—and Responsibly,” which includes a number of practical things you shouldn’t do at demonstrations and protests, including “Don’t suddenly stop to take a photo,” and “Do not get in anyone’s face.” The article includes other valuable insights, as well.

4. Learn from other photographers and past projects: You can learn a lot from checking out how other photographers have covered past protests and demonstrations. For instance, Digital Camera World published photographer Alistair Campbell’s account of how he covered a protest in the United Kingdom: “Photographing the frontline: Covering a Black Lives Matter protest.”

Protest portfolios you should study

To learn more about how U.S. photographers captured images in the U.S. during the George Floyd protests, I interviewed several photographers, photo editors, and educators on projects that caught their attention in 2020. One was street photographer Steven John Irby, who captured a number of incredible images during the George Floyd protests and posted the images on his Instagram feed, including this incredible image.

Another person I talked to about the George Floyd protests was Los Angeles-based visual journalist Tara Pixley, who suggested photographers look at the following stories:

From The New Yorker Magazine: Photo Booth—Scenes from a Weekend of Mass Protest in New York City

From Time Magazine: After the Death of George Floyd-Voices Behind the Most Powerful Protest Photos

From Time Magazine: 'We Just Want to Live.' Photographers Share What They Experienced While Covering Protests Across America

When I asked Pixley in 2020 why she selected these online galleries, she replied, “I selected these photo galleries because I think they show a wide breadth of approaches to photographing that feel to me to have been done (mostly) with care and consideration for those depicted. They’re showing a lot of angles on this fight for social justice beyond capturing just the easy action of police violence/conflict with protestors, looting/fires/tear gas or signs. The most interesting and powerful photos are often the most complex. Simple imagery can be wonderful to get a clear and impactful statement across but the complexity of this situation calls for complex and thoughtful compositions.”

She continues, “I am a firm believer in the power of photography to inform the public and inspire change. I also recognize that images can be used to oppress, incriminate and dehumanize certain populations. In this historical moment, when we have the capacity to amplify the truths behind police brutality; recognize the lived experiences of Black and brown people under state surveillance and police violence; and document one of the largest civil rights movements in human history, we must wield that power with care and thoughtful consideration.”

President of Magnum Photos says AI is killing photojournalism

Kirsten Dunst's new Civil War movie is a love letter to photojournalism

We live in interesting times. Technology is accelerating the development of civilization at an exponential pace. More and more of us have access to some of the most advanced imaging tools ever made – which is why we, as photographers, have a huge role to play as the societies we live in evolve.

Evolution isn’t always pretty; in its most naked expression, it is the act of destroying things that are no longer suitable for the environment in which they find themselves. Ones that make it have the chance to shape the world that greets them on the other side.

The most impactful and iconic photographers have one key thing in common: they challenge the world to evolve by seeing it at critical moments in time. Epoch moments move governments and populations into action.

Take the classic photo of The Migrant Mother (above), captured in 1936 by Dorothea Lange. The image showed a destitute mother with three children clinging to her, their clothes tattered and ragged. That image symbolized the Great Depression and is emblazoned in the collective memory of US culture.

ABOVE: Richard Drew on photographing the "Falling Man"

Think about some of the images that have been seared into your mind over the years – they tell the story of the world in the times you’ve lived through.

For me, I have Richard Drew’s The Falling Man in mind. The image of a man, thought to be sound engineer Jonathan Briley, who worked at the World Trade Center during the 9/11 attacks, diving to his inevitable end, is as tragic as it is intriguing.

Also, Turkish photographer Nilüfer Demir’s heartbreaking 2015 image of Syrian toddler Alan Kurdi, who had drowned and washed ashore after the boat his family was in capsized on its way to the Greek island of Kos.

The times we’re living through now are also filled with moments that may prove pivotal in the trajectory of civilization – take the image of a bloodied President Donald Trump with his fist raised after surviving an assassination attempt. That image, captured by US photojournalist Evan Vucci, reverberated around the world.

If you are driven enough to step out into the world and capture it, you are doing more than just ‘taking pictures’. You’re giving the world a way to see itself, which is something that we need now, as we have throughout other critical junctures in the past.

What we capture matters. Pick up your camera and do what is necessary.

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Follow in the footsteps of the great press photographers and photojournalists with the best professional cameras, or document the everyday world around you with the best cameras for street photography.

The photographer who captured the iconic image of Donald Trump immediately after a failed assassination attempt at a rally in Pennsylvania is fighting a White House ban, according to The Independent.

Evan Vucci (@evanvucci) is the Associated Press’ chief photographer in Washington DC but, along with AP colleagues, is currently unable to attend various White House press events, including those on Air Force One and in the Oval Office.

In February, the White House banned AP News journalists from attending key press events in response to the news outlet's continuing reference to the Gulf of Mexico, following an Executive Order to rename it the Gulf of America.

CNN reported that the AP photographer testified on March 28 as part of the news outlet’s legal challenge, quoting Vucci as stating: “It’s hurting us big time (...) We’re basically dead in the water on major news stories.”

One such example was the heated meeting between President Trump and Vice President JD Vance, and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy in the Oval Office on February 28.

According to CNN, AP News had to use imagery captured by a "foreign-based" correspondent, covering Zelenskyy, instead of the more experienced Vucci.

Vucci, who photographed Donald Trump during his first term as president, is a photographer and videographer whose coverage of a protest following the murder of George Floyd earned him a Pulitzer prize.

But he is perhaps best known for capturing the iconic image of the failed assassination attempt, just days before the 47th President of the United States, Donald Trump, became the official Republican presidential nominee.

The image of a bloodied Trump, fist aloft, surrounded by Secret Service agents, against a backdrop of the Star-Spangled Banner instantly became one of the most recognizable photographs in the world, and has since won the White House News Photographers Association Political Photo of the Year.

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Interested in political photography? Here's my critique of Melania Trump's official White House photo. Also, check out the story behind this article: I photographed a controversial politician – and he was impressed by my camera! Finally, Nikon Z9 takes Donald Trump's official portrait.

Over the past few years, many articles have written about how new technologies – mainly artificial intelligence – are altering photographs so that it’s increasingly difficult to determine how much of an image is unedited and how much has been manipulated.

For example, in March 2024, a pair of articles – one from The Independent and another from CNN – refer to the image manipulation “scandal” around a family photograph of Kate Middleton, Princess of Wales, with her three children.

In The Independent story, the writer discussed how the incident had “led to profound questions over how true photographs really are.” The writer of the CNN story noted that the controversy over the Kate Middleton photo raises a thorny question: “In an age when digital editing tools are more widespread and easier than ever to use, what even is a photo anymore?”

But new technologies, like AI, aren’t just changing the content of photographs, or how we edit and manipulate those images. What both intrigues and frightens me is the unexpected ways that new technologies will alter how we take photographs. Where and how will new technologies change the process in such a way that we may actually be blind to exactly how it’s changing photography?

The following story is just such a case study in how all photographers, even seasoned professionals, might be blind to some of these technological changes.

In the fall of 2006, I attended a fascinating talk during the 2006 PhotoPlus Expo in New York, which included a trio of internationally renowned photographers: photojournalist Dirck Halstead, nature photographer Frans Lanting, and street, portrait, and landscape photographer Joel Meyerowitz.

They all gave inspiring speeches, but it was Halstead’s that really stands out in my memory. During his speech, he told the story of how his award-winning photo of former President Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky, the White House intern with whom Clinton had had an affair, appeared on the cover of Time magazine.

During the 1996 presidential campaign, Halstead attended a fundraiser a few days before the election. And in the same way he had done at most other political events that year, he shot hundreds of photos throughout the night. Like most of his fellow photojournalists, he never really looked at many of his shots that night, since most included unmemorable or unimportant subjects.

However, unlike many of those same photojournalists attending the fundraiser that night, Halstead was still shooting with 35mm film on a conventional analog film camera. In other words, he had yet to make the jump into shooting digital.

He then forgot about the photos he shot that night.

But then, several months later, one of the biggest scandals of the Nineties broke: President Clinton had indeed been having an affair with Lewinsky. Halstead said that when he found out about the news, he asked one of his assistants to search thousands of “discarded film slides,” including shots from the night of the fundraiser, that were still in his archives.

Her search turned out to be very rewarding for Halstead. She found the remarkable image of Clinton at the fundraiser embracing Lewinsky. And Halstead had shot the photo while the affair was still a secret to anyone in the media or the world.

However, it wasn’t just the dedication of his assistant searching through his archive that proved important to finding the image. It was also the fact that he hadn’t switched over to shooting digital yet.

According to Halstead, shooting film is what enabled his assistant to find the shot. He also added that the reason the other photographers didn’t have the shot was that almost all the other photojournalists that night were shooting with DSLRs and almost certainly deleted near-identical shots from their memory cards right after the event, since Lewinsky was just an unknown intern at the time the image was taken.

Now, I’m not advocating that everyone turn back time and go back to shooting film. But in this age of rapidly changing technologies, Halstead’s story has become a cautionary tale, of sorts, and brought to mind several open-ended questions to consider:

• Does technology always improve your photography?

• How will new technology affect your process of shooting, your workflow, or other aspects of taking your photos?

• Are there ways you can research or investigate how a new technology or format will affect your work?

• How can you tell if it’s worth the investment to change to a new format or use a new technology?

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If you do want to go back to fim, take a look at the best film cameras – along with the best 35mm film to load them with. Alternatively, if you just want to look the part, take a look at the best retro cameras like the OM System OM-3 (review), which pack modern tech in classic-looking camera bodies!

Nan Goldin has never just been a photographer; she’s a storyteller, an activist, and a force for justice. The documentary about her, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, directed by Laura Poitras, is an unmissable masterpiece for anyone who cares about photography, art, or the power of images to change the world.

The film, released in 2022, weaves Nan Goldin’s deeply personal and professional history with her relentless fight against the Sackler family, whose fortune – built on the opioid crisis – once funded some of the world’s most prestigious museums. Through intimate archive material and her own spoken account, Goldin narrates pivotal life events: the tragic loss of her sister, the underground LGBTQ+ scene of the '70s and '80s, the raw nature of her work, and how she turned pain into protest.

It’s a portrait of an artist who never separates life from art, showing that photography can be more than a means of expression but a powerful weapon against injustice.

ABOVE: Watch the trailer for the Nan Goldin documentary

A key element of Goldin’s practice is her use of slideshows, a medium not often employed yet pioneered by her to craft immersive and deeply personal narratives. Her iconic slideshow, The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, is an early example of how sequencing images with music can create a deeper emotional and cinematic experience – an approach that carries over into the documentary itself.

What struck me most is how Nan Goldin uses photography to document the world around her, no matter how raw. Her images, often incredibly intimate, remind us that photography isn’t about perfection, it’s about observing truth. This film reinforces the idea that a photographer’s role is to see, to feel and, in some cases, to fight. For any photographer, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed is a masterclass in commitment, not just to craft, but to life itself.

Whether you’re a documentary photographer, a street shooter, or just someone who loves visual storytelling, this film will leave you inspired. You can watch All the Beauty and the Bloodshed on HBO Max in the US, BBC iPlayer in the UK, and on various streaming platforms worldwide. Don’t miss it!

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Check out more photography movies in our articles: 29 best movies about real photographers and I plan to stream these 3 movies about photography over the holidays, and you should too.

When I scrolled through the latest additions to Prime this weekend looking for something to distract me from the world, I was attracted to the grand war-movie art of Civil War. Helicopters buzzing over the Statue of Liberty in a scenario that, frankly, doesn't seem entirely beyond imagination these days.

I honestly really wanted to see that possible near future on film in the style of a great war movie, or perhaps something more action-before-common-sense. The tagline "An adrenaline-fueled thrill ride through a near-future fractured America balanced on the razor's edge" seemed to promise the kind of straightforward entertainment I had in mind so, for once, I just hit play rather than falling asleep still scrolling through the possibilities.

I've not been keeping up with movies of late, and other than the title, tagline, and the art I had precisely zero idea what the movie was actually going to see. The last film I'd tried to watch on streaming was Lee, starring Kate Winslet, which, if I'm honest, I felt a kind of duty to watch as a photography journalist. I started a bit late and when the film reached a natural lull, well, I just gave up for a bit (I have since come back and finished before writing this – I just have to be honest and admit I didn't manage it in one sitting – judge me as you will).

Now Lee is fine, but it wasn't as good a movie as I hoped. It felt, to me, a bit worthy and dutiful, and it certainly didn't do enough to make me keep going when I was tired. Partly, I think the subject is inevitably hard going – Lee Miller's life is real and she is known a photo in Hitler's bathroom and

It's subtle, but a real clue for me about the movie came from the fact the book it credits as inspiration early in the titles includes the publisher. It might as well have had a 'Buy Now' button! Perhaps this is how Sky do business, but it feels cheap and aggressively commercial.

Civil War, directed by Alex Garland and starring Kirtin Dunst as a war photographer called Lee (deliberately referencing Lee Miller) is, in that sense, very open with its flaws. And for me, by not trying to wrap itself up in po-faced self-importance, it makes the movie easier to just watch.

Now I also know from a rudimentary scan of the movie press that most of the world doesn’t agree with this assessment. No one is especially nice about Lee, but Civil War seems to infuriate photographers too by failing to capture what war photography is about.

Well, sure, I get that argument, though I’ve not actually been a war correspondent of any kind myself, and I imagine a civil war in your home country may feel different to anyone. I think, though, that as a piece of entertainment Civil War is better because it is able to distance itself from events like the holocaust - an inevitable part of the Lee Miller story, but not something that will be enjoyable to watch even if it is pitch perfect (which, in my view, it isn’t).

Was it over the top to call Dunst’s character ‘Lee’? I don’t think so. Some people need prompting to explore more and if this movie does it, why not?