Ali Beşikçi - Phantasm

My memory is not particularly good.

A couple of years ago I received some rolls of film in the mail that I had left at my photo lab some time ago. Everything was as I expected, except for one roll of medium format film. I had absolutely no memory of taking one of the photos on that roll while the rest was totally familiar. The more I looked at the photo, the more I got lost. I couldn’t understand where or when it was taken. It didn’t look like anything I’d shot before. The image is out of focus and blurred in only one corner where a man seems to be walking towards the camera and a woman follows him. Their clothes recall the ’50s, and their faces are unclear. The place looks like the entrance of a mansion and reminded me of a post-funeral scene, or maybe a wedding. Even though I continued looking at the image for months, I couldn’t figure out where it came from.

I was at war with my memory. Photography had turned against me. My efforts at capturing the situation had turned inside out, leaving me with confusion and ambiguity. A moment of clearness gave way to skepticism. Once again, I started reflecting on why I photograph and on the scenes and subjects that I get immersed in.

I often find myself attracted to the in-between situations in the landscape of isolation and detachment in society. There is something that fascinates me about how we handle those moments of daily purgatory. I don’t usually photograph people but when I do, I find myself in some ways looking for their “ghosts”. This time, they seem to have found me.

Kyler Zeleny - Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle

Kyler Zeleny is a Canadian photographer and researcher based in Edmonton, Alberta. His most recent photobook, “Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle” (The Velvet Cell, 2020), takes place over four years and travels across 15,000 km of North America’s prairie lands. As rural communities are being forced to grapple with uncertain futures clouded by mass urbanisation, the moments that Zeleny photographs offer a portrait of what he calls “a beast upon itself”; an understudied region where there is a unique meeting of landscape, industry, and most importantly, people who are a resilient breed created by generational lessons in fortitude and fortuned circumstance. 

It’s late August when we first talk with Kyler about his project. He’s been travelling in between Alberta and British Columbia, and now, in the quiet of his parent’s farm, he sits on a stool in their garage, typing his thoughts on his laptop. Kyler tells us, “It’s a cool day on the prairies, overcast and cold, the mosquitos have gone but the wasps are still out in full force. I’m imagining an early Winter.”

Continue below for the full interview!

- Alexa Fahlman

You’ve published quite a few photo books, despite the increased digitization of culture, what is it about print that makes the process feel worthwhile?

The more we move to a digital world the more important physical objects become. I am keen on sharing my work through books and so I conceptualize my long-term projects early on as book projects, they could be shown in gallery spaces but for me, their primary resting place is in a book that can live on people’s shelves wherever they are. 

The photobook is the medium that, more than others, allows us to express our ideas clearly, of course, we are bound by certain parameters within it, cost, size, etc. but we can decide sequence and intention. It also allows for a number of creative outputs than sending images into the ether of the web or placing them on location-based gallery walls for a short period of time. Because of this I think a lot of photographers are now embracing the medium of the photobook which is good and bad, good for the practice of photography bad for selling books as competition is tough.

Let's talk about your latest publication "Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle", what was the initial inspiration for your project?

My first book—Out West (2014)—was about documenting towns smaller than 1,000 inhabitants in Western Canada (British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba). Out West focused only on the towns themselves and their aging structures and not the people or landscapes that make these communities what they are. So Crown Ditch & The Prairie Castle became the second chapter of a prairie trilogy where I looked at rural communities of 10,000 or less and only on the prairies. This project was really about trying to have a better understanding about who are the people calling the prairies home, what do they think, want and do. I’m not working on the third and final chapter that looks at my small-town comprehensively and uses community archives, found objects and my own photography to make an alternative history of a familiar place.

You mentioned that the Prairies is a particularly understudied region of North America, especially the Canadian Prairies – for those of the readers who are unfamiliar with this region, can you give a brief run-down of the area? If you could describe the Prairies in three words, what would they be?

We could go with ‘Big Sky Country’ or ‘Wide Open Space’

The trope of big sky as a psychological and spiritual boundary is a common feature when describing the prairie landscape. The prairies are home to the largest skies and the longest horizons. It is these two very simple elements that make the prairies what they are, a giant sky pressing down on an expanding and flat horizon. To some it will feel like an unfinished landscape and to others it will feel like beauty in the simplest terms.

With that being said, what was it about the Prairies that made you think "this is something I need to photograph"?

It's a vast region and yet there are very few photographers that are documenting it. My journey with photographing on the prairies began almost ten years ago and was a way for me to understand my home region. It has evolved from that to be about documenting a region that receives very little visual coverage. This is a problem for the prairies but is also a Canadian problem in general. It is an identity issue. We know what the American West is and the American South, but we have a hard time discussing what makes the Canadian prairies unique and different from other regions of North America.

For centuries, the Prairies were the domain of Indigenous peoples, did you feel that historical presence while travelling through the region?

That’s a tough but good question. Thomas King talks about the concept of the Dead Indian. For King, the Dead Indian is rarely actually dead but exists as a stereotypical Indigenous individual who conforms to well-worn Western stereotypes (war bonnets, beaded shits, etc.). The colonial-settler culture that exists on the prairies often thinks about indigenous individuals this way (as opposed to Living or Legal Indians that King also discusses) so their presence is sometimes felt or acknowledged but often in very coded and limited ways. 

I think in a number of ways; rural folk share a closer relationship to the land than you would find in urban spaces. That is of course a generalization but exposure to open land and land-based industries suggest a stronger working understanding and an affinity to the land. I’m not sure if prairie dweller is overly cognizant of this and whether this is directly influenced by indigenous knowledge or culture.

Have Indigenous cultures of the Prairies been preserved at all? 

This is a question better suited for Indigenous experts, I have read a fair amount on the subject (one of my areas of teaching is Critical Canadian Studies), but I would still say I’m a far way from knowing the answer to that and other questions. There are some very knowledgeable Elders in indigenous communities that would hold this knowledge. 

I can, however, speak about this from a photographic perspective. Historically, Indigenous populations have been photographed largely in stereotypical ways, often very false ways as discussed at length in The Imaginary Indian by Daniel Francis. There have been a few contemporary photographers who have photographed indigenous communities and individuals but no accounts of Indigenous photographers working on long-term projects that document their own communities on the Canadian Prairies. I myself have stayed away from photographing communities I feel I do not have the right or authority to capture and although I’ve included photos of Indigenous individuals in the book I’ve been highly aware of how and when they are being represented.

Did you have a favourite moment throughout your shooting for the project?

Not sure any one moment sticks out, it’s been a lot of work and every day being able to produce images on the region has felt like a privilege. Sadly, this is a region where very little happens and the status quo often dominates the culture of the region. There are a number of moments that definitely stick out, like the time a small-town business owner invited me in for beers and then let us stay at his house and cooked breakfast in the morning, or the countless occasions these folk shared their ideas and thoughts on how they live and the place they call home. 

How has this experience shaped you both personally, and professionally as a photographer?

It has helped solidify my interest in recording the region. It has also helped me understand my home region and it has sustained me artistically by gifting me a topic I care very deeply about.

And to finish off, what are 5 things you think everyone should do if they visit the Prairies?

Love this question! 

1. Visit a small town with a large and whimsical monument

2. Witness a prairie sunset

3. Chat up a local in a small-town bar

4. Go to Torrington to see the Gopher Diorama Museum (entry is only $2)

5. Drive to the West edge of the prairies, where the mountains meet the plains and flip-off the mountains

Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle

Kyler Zeleny’s website

Kyler on IG

Carl van der Linde - Bagliore Solare

We’re bringing back photographer Carl van der Linde once again to feature his latest series Bagliore Solare. Shot in 2019 during a European summer, his photographs transport viewers to a world of pre-pandemic conditions–closeness, heat, and salt crystallized on the hairs of our skin. Van der Linde’s images were captured on 120mm and 35mm film during his extensive travels through the Mediterranean, covering Italy, Croatia and Montenegro. The title of his series translates from Italian to “Solar Flare”, a fitting title that epitomizes the extreme heat that so many can agree is synonymous with a true European summer. Carl’s photograph can be seen exclusively on the cover of SUITCASE Magazine’s Vol.31: The Freedom Issue.

Continue below for a written excerpt from Van der Linde’s travels, and his full series!

- Alexa Fahlman

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"We were sitting on a regional train and just passed Santa Margherita Ligure. It was the summer of 2019 and we'd set out to explore the Mediterranean after a couple of weeks working and studying in bustling Milan. She was annoyed with me like on most of the train trips, staring out the window, gazing at the moving Italian landscape. I'd never before seen the Mediterranean, but have nonetheless chased blistering heat and crystal waters across the world. The train screeched to a halt at a small train station on the Italian Rivera. An older man was nodding off on the bench by the lavatory. Painted on the wall above him, written in cursive, I read "Stazione Zoagli". We were greeted by spiralling stone stairs that descended into the coastal town, around the corner from Rapallo. We dashed into different ally ways trying to find a restaurant, bar, cafe or any place we could put our bags down and have a drink. The towering Roman arch bridge cast a cooling shadow - a momentary relief from the sweltering sun. The overloaded backpacks were crushing and contributed to the tension between us. I had recently cut my hair into a bob with a fringe, which was a tremendous mistake seeing that the sweat almost permanently licked it to my forehead. Finally sitting down we had a cigarette, a coffee and a few glasses of prosecco - followed by a few more glasses of prosecco and Aperol spritz. She had a green and red scarf in her hair - she wore Italy well. Still not talking, she gazed out over the piazza while I was staring down the panting poodle at the neighbouring table. We settled the tab and with a bubbly buzz, we hoisted our bags onto our backs - hers first as I had to be the crane to get it over her shoulders. It's a miracle that my camera wasn't damaged during the trip as it proved bulk and clunky and was mostly flailing around in the tote strapped to my backpack. We set off once again down the road in search of a spot for us to get into the water.After a few more arguments, increasingly amplified by Italian inspired hand gestures, we saw Zoagli beach. It was strange that it wasn't a mirage. Sunseekers were flattened onto the rocks - their brown leather hides laid to dry on the pebbly Mediterranean landscape. We shed our bags and clothes. Like synchronised divers, we entered the ocean, finally feeling the healing Italian water. The salt crystallized on our hair and skin. Steam rose from the rocks where our wet feet touched. The hissing cicadas complimented the lapping of the water against the side of the pier. Out the water, we melted onto sun-hot stone, face first. I opened one eye, meeting hers. A solar flare emitted. Drawn curtains couldn't keep the sunlight out any longer."

Carl van der Linde’s website

The Suitcase Magazine Vol. 31: The Freedom Issue

Carl’s instagram

Blanca Munt - Modern Cavalry

Modern Cavalry photographs the cliché of one of the most visited beaches in Menorca: Playa de Caballería. Winking at the name given to the beach, the photographer plays with the meaning of the word cavalry, understood as a constituent weapon of an army made up of different bodies that roam the known land. For the photographer, the alienating bodies on the beach are part of a contemporary cavalry.

The artist immerses herself in the blinding light of summer, combining the bright and vivid colours of the Mediterranean with a distant and formal vision to search for the essence of the place and photograph its most current identity. With fine irony, this series of images hold up a mirror of modern society and reveal something about the people who pass through this place; their behaviour on the beach says something about the culture and traditions that a country supports. As Martin Parr says: "The beach is that rare public space where all the absurdities and strange national behaviours can be found."

Sandra Mickiewicz - Proud of the Origin

Sandra Mickiewicz is a Polish documentary photographer who lives and works in North London. In 2007, her family immigrated to the United Kingdom. Inspired by people and their stories, Sandra works within various communities, portraying the ordinary and conventional moments of their otherwise unique lifestyles. In Proud of the Origin she captures the members of the Travellers minority living in the United Kingdom, underlining the essential fact that Travellers and Roma people are not their living stereotypes–but are people. In the United Kingdom, and across Europe, Travellers and Roma’s—what English speakers often call “Gypsies”–have been casually stigmatized, persecuted, and perceived by many as petty criminals and thieves for as long as they have been idealized as a romantic nomads.

Yet, while the lifestyles of Traveller and Roma people are indeed manifested in nomadism, each group is guided by their own distinct languages, cultural traditions, beliefs and customs that have been passed on through generations. Breaking these contemptuous stereotypes became the impassioned force of Sandra’s on-going series, “My aim is to capture the resolute, spirited nature of the people I have met and the pride they rightly feel towards their ancestry.” Through her work, Sandra hopes that she can contribute to changing the dominant point of view and thinking about Traveller communities. Most importantly, she adds, “I want the audience to realize that the subjects I photograph are valuable members of British society.”

- Alexa Fahlman

David Avazzadeh - Friday Feature

This Friday we highlight the work of David Avazzadeh. His submission grabbed our attention with its understated humour and visual playfulness which is needed more than ever before in the challenging times we’re currently facing.

Lorenzo Zerbini - Motherly Details

Born out of his reaction to the forced lockdown caused by Covid-19, Lorenzo Zerbini’s Motherly Details contemplates the shared familial space as a radically changed, and alienated new locus. The series specifically focuses on objects of maternal intimacy; a pair of pantyhose, loose hair on the bathroom counter, and a disorganized sewing kit. His photographs are unmistakably voyeuristic, as Lorenzo seeks to create a visual portrait of his mother made entirely from moments of habit, personal objects and corners of her home. In a broader sense, Lorenzo reflects on “how much our personal affections speak to our person without the need of our physical presence–our objects, and their daily uses are all part of a relational system that forms our person, our image and the impressions that will outlive us.”

- Alexa Fahlman

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Alessandro Ruggieri - Street Life

"Street life" is a collection of street photography pics shot in London in different times I lived there between 2011 and 2019. The pics weren't initially taken with the intention of doing "street photography" or a series. They are more snap-shot taken while I was on my way to go and do something else. Taken in the street or in the buses. It’s a mix of analogue and digital pictures taken with compact cameras and some taken with very low-fi first phone cameras.

Kelcey Mucker - A Step Frozen in Time

A selection of images from “A Step Frozen in Time”, by Cincinnati-based photographer Kelcey Mucker. Kelcey, a current journalism student at the University of Cincinnati, uses photography as a way to familiarize himself and his viewers with the world and experiences around him.

“A Step Frozen in Time” focuses on the protests in Cincinnati, Ohio during the summer of 2020. The summer’s smog this year has been thick–saturated with death, injustice and global agony. As we enter into September, many of us are questioning how to make sense of it all, and if it’s even possible to do so when time feels so relentless. In “A Step Frozen in Time”, Kelcey pieces together the moments that seem too difficult to grasp–a global pandemic, the nation-wide protests, and amidst it all, the human desire to survive.

- Alexa Fahlman

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For centuries, black Americans have had to fight for their basic recognition as a human– the want and the need to live every day without having the fear of being crucified for being black. After the death of George Floyd in May of 2020, peaceful and non-peaceful protests began around the world. What made this death different? Was it the boredom of the COVID-19 pandemic? Was it the pressure building from Donald Trump’s presidency? Was it the hundreds of years' unfair treatment of black people? Or was it the thousands of deaths caused by police brutality? These protests are fighting for the same rights as everyone else. The same issues have been fought for many years, but now there are more people; more people with different ethnicities fighting for equal rights. As a gay black photojournalist, it is difficult to stay neutral for a country that has been choosing a side since the beginning.

When I approach taking a photo, I sometimes don't think, or I do the complete opposite. I apply my skills learned in my photojournalism courses and techniques from photographers I look up to. I like to capture "moments." The way I think of a photograph is that I believe that every single photo is telling a story. I could have submitted this series of photos without a caption and a story would have been told thoroughly. These photos could have only been portraits, but with the current climate in the U.S., the story would have been just as strong. Every photo is taken with so much thought or none at all.

Anna Sturgeon - Rosier

These pieces are from my project ‘Rosier’. The idea of ‘the real’ in philosophy, specifically Cartesian dualism, the mind and body experience of life, how we try and differentiate between the two, was the main point of departure for ‘Rosier’. The project speaks about our experience of, and relationship with, nature in the 21st Century, specifically how we can, in postmodern society, lack a physical experience of the natural world. This was amplified even more so during lockdown, as we were only allowed limited time outside and the rest was spent experiencing life (and nature) through our screens.

No Label Art Collective

Inspired by their mutual desire to collaborate together, create freely, and elevate BIPOC artists around the world, Dre Gutierrez Reyes, Duncan Alexander Gray, Ricardo Rodriguez, Caleb Asfaw, and Christian Maradiaga formed No Label Art Collective.

While NLA is still in its early stages of development, the team is already working a series of projects that will be up for display both online, and locally in Victoria, B.C. Later this year, they plan on releasing a publication dedicated to supporting and providing them with a voice, and a platform, to speak their mind and display their work. NLA will be seeking content throughout the year, but if you'd like to pitch an idea, a feature, or would like to display your work, you can contact them via Instagram or through their Contact form.

For their first ever interview as a collective, Alexa Fahlman talks with No Label Art Collective about keeping sane during a pandemic, the creative happenings on their island, and why what they’re doing matters so much. Continue below for the full interview!

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So Christian, this is the second time we've interviewed you on Broad, but your first in association with No Label Art Collective, how does it feel to be a founding member of the collective?

Chris: I’m very happy to chat with you again, always love what Broad’s got displayed on their IG, and the website. Honestly, it feels quite surreal being a part of a collective? It’s literally been a dream of mine for a few years now, since I first moved to the island, so it’s nice seeing this finally come to fruition. Everyone in the group has shared this dream for years now, so when we finally connected and said “man, we should do joint shows or start a collective”, it all just clicked and made sense. 

Who makes up No Label Art Collective? Let's introduce the team with a few questions:

     - Name?

     - Artists? Photographer? Designer? What do you do for work?

     - And what do you like to do for fun?

     - Favourite food? 

     - The most impactful film you've watched?

     - One thing that has kept you sane during the pandemic?

Christian Maradiaga
My name is Christian Maradiaga, and I’m a photographer/graphic designer. For fun, I typically either have a coffee and see what’s on the Criterion Channel, or visit my local record store to see what they’ve got cooking in the jazz/ambient selections. Patiently waiting for YMO reissues, but that’s a story for another day. As for food, honestly, I could eat a bowl of fresh strawberries and pineapple everyday, all day. Throw on Ebo Taylor’s self-titled album, and that’s heaven for me. For films, or the most impactful film I’ve watched, has got to be something from Godard’s filmography. After watching Contempt (Le Mépris) for the first time, I sat there and asked myself how films like this were made, along with Breathless. Godard really enjoyed creating films with organic and realistic subject matter, but the way he approached his ideas was refreshing to me and is by far the biggest source of inspiration for me. Maybe throw in Downtown 81, too. 

Finally, the one thing that’s kept me sane has been, without a doubt, working on shoots with a smaller circle of friends that eventually turned NLA. Also, shout out to the Criterion Channel again, and NTS Radio.

Ricardo Rodriguez

-Artist, model, photographer and I work as an animator and technical artist for a game development studio

-I enjoy skating and playing video games. Having drinks at the beach with friends, etc.

-Nothing beats a nice rib-eye cooked medium rare

-The only non-nerd answer in can give is Do The Right Thing by Spike Lee. I don’t think the costume and set design of a movie has ever affected me the way Do The Right Thing has. I love the colours and silhouettes but mostly the cohesion that every individual outfit has and how perfectly they fit into the setting of 1980’s Brooklyn. My nerd answer is Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Greatest movie ever made.

-What kept me sane during the pandemic was staying busy. Pretending my small apartment was much larger than it was. My dining room became the office, living room floor the gym and my bedroom my home. This way I could pretend I wasn’t trapped in here for 3 months.

Dre
My name is Dre Gutierrez Reyes, I am a tattoo artist and illustrator. I work as a barista at Habit part time and work on my art the rest of the time. I really enjoy creating and I spend most of my time drawing for fun and also on projects for clients. My favourite food is tamales, and I’m so excited that I’ve found a great place to get them again at the Mexican House of Spices on Douglas. The most impactful film I’ve watched recently was American Honey, it was released in 2016 but the cinematography soundtrack and overall rawness is the film has really stuck with me and I watch it every 3-4 months. During the pandemic I started a portrait project, I think I drew about 30 portraits for people. I have a hard time doing nothing and having a project really helped keep me grounded. As well as going on long walks and exploring parts of Victoria I’d never seen before and watching Netflix documentaries.

Caleb Asfaw

-Model, Stylist, but a DJ and full time Computer Science student

-Learning more about music, fashion and video game history, hanging out with my dog Mojo, window shopping on Japanese markets

-Probably a traditional Ethiopian dish... but I'm going to have to go with fries as an all timer.

-Chameleon Street: A late 80's independent film by Wendell B. Harris that was the first black winner of the Sundance Grand Jury for Drama... A profound art flick that satirically follows the life of African-American con man William Douglas Street Jr. while being a case study around race, class, and social identity. A mesh of Spike Lee-isms, Catch Me If You Can and Sorry to Bother You, well worth a watch if you can track down a DVD copy.

-The adaption of in-person events to virtual media, thankful to be able to attend so many gallery exhibits and concerts from the comfort of my own bed, as well as just rolling over and opening my laptop to attend school.

Duncan Alexander Gray

-Photographer & artist

-long walks, shooting hoops, reading magazines, are art galleries open again?

-Pierogi Pizza.

-Might have to be Taxi Driver, the cinematography & art direction has always been a huge inspiration for my work and is one of the reasons why I wanted to shoot film. The soundtrack is so calming and plays on repeat in my head when I’m out shooting

-My Madagascar Palm, Big Woo; even though I spend an hour a day stressing and researching the best ways to keep him alive and blooming. My girlfriend keeps me sane too I guess.

How have your creative journeys led you to where you are today?

Duncan: I’ve always been into design, and originally wanted to go to a fashion school, but lost motivation sometime after high school. I just jumped into photography with no actual knowledge of it whatsoever and have been enjoying it ever since.

Caleb: I grew up with a background of music education, playing classical instruments but with a disdain for common mediums of the arts as they're traditionally taught in school, if even taught whatsoever. As I graduated high school, I changed up and grew fond of them by finding differing styles and genres that appealed to me, progressively discovering more within their architecture. Coming from a math and coding background, I never found myself to be much of a creative but grew to love the history and stories of the arts, as well as an appreciation for curation/conservation as an important pillar of its own.

Ric: I’ve always enjoyed making things and coming up with ideas. As a kid I would attempt making my own video games, taught myself Photoshop and had a general fascination with digital arts but since I’ve never been any good at drawing/painting I didn’t consider myself an “artist”. Since then my definition of what makes an artist has changed a lot. At the end of the day I just love creating and trying out new ideas.

Dre: Growing up I was always doodling on any paper I could find. I am a big time daydreamer and visual thinker and drawing became a way for me to sort through the imagery that was in my head. Between reading Archie comic books and being surrounded by catholic iconography I became really obsessed with color pallets and symbolism. I went to Langara college for art and the course structure really challenged me to work on my technical drawing skills. I ended up being fascinated with the elements and principles of design and started exploring how to incorporate them into my body of work. For the past 2 years I have been tattooing it’s been a really amazing learning curve in a whole new medium. I really like to combine my love for Chicano style tattoos with elements of American traditional. Creating art has been so healing and it has given me a way to express myself everyday

Chris, I know you grew up just outside of Vancouver, but are now based in Victoria- how has the environment you've grown up in shaped your art? The same question goes for everyone too.

Chris: It’s been quite the change, both negatively and positively. If I had stayed in Vancouver, I don’t think I would’ve gone through so much growth? Everyday looked the same, everyday felt the same, I had little to no friends, and as an artist, my vision was growing stale. Once I moved here, I wanted to really grow and look inwards to see what really inspires me and what’s my primary objective. I took up film photography more heavily, started shifting away from everyday shots to more cohesive bodies of work, and started to find peace with myself. 

Caleb: My environment left me somewhat isolated within a pre-dominantly non-black society, even more so within the schools I attended, yet it's what led me to spending my high school nights on the internet learning about facets I hadn't known of before; Pop Art, New Wave music, Japanese fashion and the like. They allowed for personal expression to flourish and me to meet and engage with some of the wonderful creatives and avid enthusiasts that I call some of my best friends today. Although these shaped me into a more confident and self-accepting individual, they also brought a personal appreciation for both the local scenes as well as the traditional culture and expression of my Ethiopian background.

What has been the biggest adjustment moving to the island? For those who have always been based in Victoria, what are three things about the city that most people overlook?

Chris: Biggest adjustment at first was being thrown into this community when everyone had already established their social circles, or creative circles? It also felt like there was an asterisk above my head because I’m not a white individual in a smaller city, so everyone would look at me more carefully. Also, everyone loves brunch here? And now I love brunch? Lord.

Duncan: Three things people overlook: 

-The ethnic restaurants, nobody does Caribbean food better than people from the Caribbean. Period.

-Artists of color, there’s a lot of talent here that doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.

-Chinatown, it’s a gem of the city that gets overlooked greatly

Ric: I’ve lived in Victoria since I was 8 years old and I don’t know if I have three things that people overlook but I do have one big one. Vic, as I already said, is a very white but also very left-wing liberal city. Which is great because people are very progressive but the large downside is that it creates a toxic narrative that there’s no room for it to improve when it comes to race relations. The amount of times I’ve heard something along the lines of “that would never happen here, it’s Victoria” is astonishing and when something does happen then people are very quick to ignore it because they don’t want to face the fact that racism can exist even here. It is very easy for people here to pat themselves on the back for being open-minded but when a BIPOC person tries to speak about an experience they’ve had or something they’ve witnessed they are met with a lot of hostility because it makes the non-BIPOC people face the fact that their liberal paradise isn’t as perfect as they previously thought

Dre: the biggest adjustment for me is learning to prioritize my art and seeing it as a legitimate career path. Prior to living in Victoria art was a side hustle and kind of a second thought. But when I moved here I met so many creative people who have become really close friends and they inspire me to work harder on my art practice.

Were you all part of the same photography/art community before creating the collective? And did you create this collective as a result of feeling isolated from that community?

Chris: I feel like we were running in familiar crowds, plenty of mutual friends, etc. I’ve personally wanted to work alongside creatives and establish a collective since I first got here, so all of this is a blessing really. We’ve all had our successes here and there, but often overlooked for white artists/groups. There isn’t very much representation within the arts industry here, or in general really, so we’re wanting to band together and create bodies of work for the public to see. Seek those opportunities, present a piece and say “hey, this is what you could’ve gotten years ago if you gave BIPOC artists a chance.” We’re working together to create, inspire both ourselves but also those around us, and begin paving a way for other BIPOC artists here in Victoria, and hopefully outside of the island too.

How did No Label Art Collective start? What was the inspiration behind it?

Ric: For the next question I think it’s simple enough to say we did a couple shoots as a friend group just for fun, we all noticed the difference of working with other BIPOC folks in comparison to previous experiences of working with artists here and thought why not give this a shot!

Chris: I agree! I feel like we've all created solid work, and we work together efficiently, so what would happen if we just merged the two and see what we could come up with? Plus the support we provide for one another, and giving the green light for other BIPOC artists to create and push their creative agenda/aspirations. The support's out for their work and goals are out there, and we're putting that on display

What does an inclusive, creative space look like to No Label Art Collective? 

Duncan: No exclusivity with who we work with.

Dre: We want to create a platform where we can elevate other artists regardless of how they identify, who they love, this is a place for anyone who respects themselves, their surroundings and other people.

What's something you want to see more of in creative communities? 

Dre: I would like to see more opportunities for black artists that aren’t just political or to increase diversity in someone’s feed.

Chris: Honestly, I’m wanting creative teams to finally diversify their staff, and include BIPOC artists. Not just models that they can display on their feed, or on their website, for the sake of promoting this “progressive” image of theirs when it’s not truly genuine. Yes, it’s beautiful seeing representation in the modelling industry, but some brands use this as a temporary method of promoting their practice and snag brownie points for being “diverse” yet they’ll return back to their problematic practices once the tension (ie. civil unrest, social injustices, etc) simmers down. Oh, and pay Black creatives. 

Any advice to artists who haven't found a sense of belonging in their communities? 

Ric: Don’t settle would be my advice. Finding a group of people you work well with isn’t easy, and it’s worth more to build yourself as an artist than prioritizing finding those to work with.

Dre: Also reach out to artists that inspire you. IG has made it so accessible to communicate with other people. I have so many friends online who I’ve been inspired by and I finally just bit the bullet and started talking to them. Community can be created anywhere.

Duncan: Don’t be afraid to reach out, don’t put too much pressure on yourself if you’re not at a level you expect yourself to be on.

In what ways are all of your tastes/perspectives different? In what ways are they the same?

Ric: I think we all come from different cultural backgrounds, different inspirations, use different mediums.

Chris: Honestly, I don't think a creative team can really grow if we all agreed on the same ideas, same things? It's nice that we've all got this extensive, multi-faceted history with art (ie. sketch, painting, photography, etc).

Who on instagram is inspiring you these days? 

Chris: My peers, @lichennyc, @leoneski, @mrbianco, @herberthofmann and @yuthanan_, and Italian Cinema tbh. Currently working on a few ideas for shoots, and maybe a short film, after watching Michelangelo Antonioni’s trilogy (L’Avventure, La Notte and L’Eclisse).

Dre: @coloralamexicana, @mythsooka, @pinche_kid, @nina.lepapillon, @estevanoriol, @inkthediaspora.

Duncan: @organiclab.zip. I don’t think theres a day in the last 3 months I’ve missed a story dump from them. 

To finish off, what can we expect to see from the collective in the future?

Duncan: Short films, art exhibitions, zines, interviews with likeminded artists, and collaborations.

Chris: We are working on a publication right now, under the NLA team, and we’ll be having artist spotlights, work from artists that we support. A short film is in the works, still fine-tuning those little details, but expect more and more work soon.

Phillipa Klaiber - Vorest

“I grew up on the border of the Forest. In this landscape, I am both a Forester and an outsider. Through Vorest, I endeavour to better understand this land and our place within it.” On the English side of the Welsh border is the Forest of Dean. It is described by photographer Phillipa Klaiber as an ancient place– a forest of plantation and ancient woodland, of farmland, heathland, quarries and mines. Locally it is known as the Forest and its inhabitants, Foresters. 

Among the Foresters exists a collective desire to maintain the ecological balance of their land. Historically, the Forest of Dean has a rich culture of land use. Its woodlands are mysterious in their allure, and the ancient land-based rites that continue to be upheld are particularly unusual. Most fascinating to Phillipa is the rite for Foresters born within the historic boundary to train for a year and a day (or more) to become a Free Miner and open their own mine of coal or iron ore. Traditions such as these form the foundation of the Foresters’ culture and collective memory. The title of Phillipa’s work, Vorest, comes from the Forest dialect, a broad West Country accent with rapid speech. An amalgamation of Celtic, Anglo-Saxon and old English, the Forest dialect has been shaped by the insular lives of mining communities. Many of the words and phrases are details or action of the land, as well as real working class life:

Vorest - forest
Hain - enclosure of land
Moot - to root as pigs do
Vern - trainee miner
Scowle - areas of ancient, shallow, open cast iron ore mines 

Embedded within Vorest, are archive photographs taken from the local museum’s collection. As much as Philippa focuses on capturing the Forest’s environmental present, she pays homage to the narratives long past, researching deep into archives to show the enduring folk and rural traditions that remain ever-present in the Forester’s memories. For Phillipa, the landscape is tactile and material; a place in which the human role is reduced, but still present. Using maps to locate the landmarks of local folktales, historical task-scapes, and contemporary environmental project, Phillipa walked in all of the landscapes of the Forest; the ancient woodlands, plantations, heathland, quarries, and underground mines. Often alone on these journeys, the rhythm and pace of walking became a meditative hymn which allowed the memories of each collected story to influence her photographs. These the routes, Phillipa notes, “were chosen in the moment, defined by the topography of the land.”

- Edited by Alexa Fahlman

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Phillipa Klaiber and Joseph Horton - Landscape and Identity: How Rurality is Pictured in Modern Britain

Featured alongside Vorest is a lock-down conversation between photographers Phillipa Klaiber and Joseph Horton. In a running email thread, they discuss their work, projects made during their time on the UWE photography MA, and the theme of landscape in contemporary photography. Both of their projects were made within a 40 mile radius of each other and revolve around the relationship between people and the environments they inhabit. Their approaches, however, are entirely separate, as are their landscapes. During their conversation, Joseph and Phillipa took turns proposing questions, allowing for connections to be made between their projects, and exploring how these themes are related in a wider context.

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JH: When creating your MA project “Vorest” what was it that inspired you to make the work? You, like myself, have a lived experience of the landscape you based the project in, but what other elements drove you to look deeper into it? And did you become further invested in that personal connection as the project went on?

PK: For years I have been intrigued by the landscape of the Forest of Dean and its rich culture of land use. Its woodlands have a mysterious allure and the ancient land-based rites that are still upheld today are particularly unusual. The one I  have always found most fascinating is the rite for “Foresters” born within the historic boundary to train for a year and a day (or more) to become a Free Miner and open their own mine of coal or iron ore. It is traditions like this that form the foundation of the Foresters’ culture and collective memory.

I had made work in this Forest twice before. They were long term projects during my most formative years as a photographer. I still felt a need to continue photographing there, to walk in the woods and the common land I  had not yet discovered, and to dig deeper into the cultural history of the Foresters. I grew up on the outer edge of the border to this Forest that I have always wanted to call home, but never quite belonged. I  am in some ways a Forester and an outsider, able to move between the two. The personal connection I  have with this place has grown immensely with the development of this project. The two are so intertwined, that I can no longer be sure where one begins and the other ends.

JH: It took me some time to find an isolated portrait within the work, the relationship between the people in your images and the landscape is enveloping. There is a sense of entwining between the two parties which is presented in your photographs. Was there an intention to develop the tactile nature of the landscape toward the viewer?

PK:  Absolutely. Landscapes are material. They are something we dwell in, act in, think in. The material elements of landscapes create different experiences for us. Here, for example, there is a particular feeling of being surrounded on all sides when you are far from the threshold to an old woodland, and straying from the beaten path. Or, in the heathland, where the gorse is sharp and rough, and the ground is soft beneath your feet. You choose the clearest path, and probably regret wearing shorts. All of these elements are material and tactile. I have tried to capture them in detail and in expansive panoramas that place you within the landscape. 

JH: Having spent such a long time with the “foresters” who inhabit this environment and researching its ecology, what are your thoughts on its role within a modern society? For example, does the work fall within the issues facing climate change?

PK: This work does contribute to those wider discussions on climate change. The term “climate change” is vast and often daunting (and rightly so, it is terrifying). I believe the urgency doesn’t always reach people on a personal level. Which I  think is necessary to really promote change.

In this Forest, there is a collective desire among the inhabitants to maintain the ecological balance of their land. It is the foundation of their culture and collective memory. Recently, there has been a shift towards promoting activities and education within the local environment. There has also been a vast project to restore heathland and wetland, which is still ongoing. Large areas of this Forest, the common land and nature reserves, are open to be freely explored.

I do see the way this place is managed and inhabited as an example of what is possible when a community promotes education and conservation. When we really experience our natural surroundings in our everyday lives and form lasting memories, we are more likely to develop a life-long relationship with our environment, and to care more deeply about its well-being.

JH: WIth a lot of British history and folk tradition there is often an element of spirituality connected to it, whether that be religious or more individual. The landscape in your images evokes the corporeal component of this, do you see the landscape in your work as one of the same as its inhabitants? What role does spirituality play in the work?

PK: The landscape of the Forest of Dean is certainly rich in folk tradition. In my research, I read many of the local stories, some very real and others more fictional. I mapped the sites of historical significance, with their picturesque names. Titles which often alluded to the subject of the folktales that surround them, and sustain their mysterious allure. Photographing these places corrupted the aura that their names and associated tales created. They were disappointing and banal. It was on the solitary journeys to these sites, and in the other places I sought for their topography, that I found that aura of spirituality or myth.

The Foresters and the landscapes they inhabit in this work are certainly very closely connected. The archive photographs I selected from the local museum’s collection show the actions of the land and how it used to be managed. My own photographs show the landscape as tactile and material. A place in which the human role is reduce, but still present. Together, they form a visual dialogue that considers the narratives of the past with the environment in the present. 

Throughout this project, I was very conscious of the connotations of the rural idyll and a desire to actively avoid such idealism in the narratives I created. Which brings me to my first question. In your own going project “Terrain Vague”, how have the visual and literary ideas of a traditional and pastoral Britain featured in your work and your research?

JH: The division between urban and rural perspectives and the mythology of the countryside played a big role in the making of this work and really served as a way to contextualise it. Like a lot of myths, there is often some truth to them and with the British countryside that is also the case, it is idyllic and it is tranquil. However for me, what makes a story interesting is using those associations to help counter the argument and tread that fine line between the myth and reality and this was a balance. I  really tried to strike. In order to do so I  made myself very aware of the culture that has transfigured our real landscapes whether that be movements in painting such as the Romantics and Naturalism or their literary counterparts like Keats or William Blake. So as to be able to acknowledge them and use this iconography to guide a new narrative without getting too close to nostalgia. I  chose to photography all along the road in question as I  wanted to pull in sciences which are normally connected with this real tranquility into scenes more associated with industrial decline. These pastoral scenes associated with romance and aristocracy are so strong that contrasted against more “urbanised” scenes, I  hoped to cause a tension which could run throughout the work and allow for questions to arise.

PK: Some of your landscapes seem to reflect the style usually associated with the banal American landscapes of the New Topographics. The British and American landscapes are two very different places; historically, culturally, and topographically. How have you been influenced by the real and suburban landscapes of other countries? Has looking outside of British photography helped you to subvert those stereotypical ideas of the rural idyll?

JH: In my opinion, what Americans are very good at is using photography as a critical lens and playing with its transformative abilities. I have a real fascination with the evolution of photography in America because it is so intertwined with their history, each step of American idealism has been witnessed by photography. This may be why they have such a deep connection to the medium as a critically descriptive tool, however that is not to say that we do not. But when looking to break away from the rigidity that can be found in photography, the contemporary American practitioners for me, are a very good place to start looking. When I  was thinking about how to confront the stereotypes of the rural idyll it was a real awakening to look at how the American photographers were using their real narrative of “The West”, as they were able to bring vernacular life to a position of power from which individual lives and narratives could be used to discuss the inequalities of their nation. Generating that power within a subject by not describing an accurate photographic depiction but elevating that person or object from banality as you put it. It is an evolution in the concept of “photographic truth”, how do you truthfully document a landscape in a medium which is founded in aesthetics? Anyway, it is getting to phenomenological, the transformation from the everyday to metaphor is where documentary is beginning to sit comfortably and is where photography has its power to me. When looking at our landscape, this lived and known space, I  wanted to achieve a similar goal hat the photographs of The West do, in that I wanted the iconography and the reality to communicate. 

PK: As you mentioned in your first question to me, we both have a lived experience of the landscapes we based our projects in, so I  would like to ask you the same question. What was it that inspired you to make the work? What other elements drove you to look deeper into it? And did you become further invested in that personal connection as the project went on?

JH: What I was trying to accomplish at the start of making this project was to help form an updated perspective on what it meant to live in a rural area in the UK. Having spent a lot of time travelling along the road and having grown up on the east end of it, I felt I had a ground view perspective on the nuances that could be found. While working in London, the interest grew as I  came across peoples’ interpretations of the countryside, often very idealized and surreal. It didn’t fit with the depth that I  had seen in such areas and to an extent, it frustrated me. I  was always reminded of the film “Withnail and I”, I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but it’s such a brilliant representation of the urban/rural divide within pop culture. When I began the work, I really didn’t know how to contextualise it and how exactly I  was going to communicate the complexity and diversity. As the project went on, I began to be able to formulate and understand the work a lot better which drove the interest in the project further. I am now more than every really fascinated by how we categorize and build our sense of place via the culture and sociology found within it. 

PK: The complexity of real life is often overlooked. The stretch of road you travel in “Terrain Vague” is an example of the ever changing British landscape. The landscapes you have photographed are often the in-between places, the ones deemed of little value to development. What do you believe gives these spaces significance? And do they have a place in the formation of local identity? 

JH: I have a bit of a love hate relationship with “labels” which makes me sound like an angsty teenager, but the problem I  have with very defined aresas, or understood landscapes, is that they are just quite boring. They are also really hard to reimagine and because of that my eye tends to wander much more towards the spaces which are hard to categorize. When you look at areas which form on the edge of these constructed or known spaces you find a lot more conflict and interaction between opposing elements and that really interested me. It took a long time to find a way to understand these areas and during my research I  came across a couple of books which really helped me put it into words; The Anthropology of Landscape by Christopher Tilly and Kate Cameron-Daum and Non Places by Marc Augé. Both of these texts brought  my thoughts to a more structured place and actually generated more confidence around the project. I’d like to add a little quote which presents the thinking behind a lot of my photographs.

“ …conflict is a vital part of what landscapes are and in a very real sense this gives landscapes their vitality and makes them into a living presence, something that matters, and gives them dynamism and emotional presence and value in people’s lives. A harmonious landscape would be one that is socially dead, meaningless and irrelevant: conflict both engages and empowers in profound ways.”

— The Anthropology of Landscape. 

I think those spaces in-between really do contain the most vitality and as a photographer it is where you can find those symbiotic relationships which can be brought to metaphor.

JH: As we’ve discovered through this conversation, even though our projects relate so closely geographically and in genre, they are distinctly individual in their presentation and influence. Both of us use the photograph as “document” in a way that only briefly meets, which is of huge credit to the flexibility of the medium and the future of documentary photography. I  wondered where you feel British documentary photography might be headed next? Do you see it developing its own identity procured by the landscapes we reside in? What would you like to see more of?

PK: British documentary photography has quite a distinct identity, when you look back at the most renowned photography of the last 50 years. As we have both discovered, even within our own sub-genre of “landscape” or “place” based work, the possibilities for the photograph as “document” are immense.

I think, for several years to come, what it means to be British on both a global and personal scale will be studied, discussed and contemplated even more so than before. So it is a very interesting time for photographers documenting life in Britain right now. I  would like to see this period of time explored diversely and for new voices to emerge. Uncertain times often inspire the most memorable movements and trends or subcultures. It would be really interesting to see a new visual language or style emerge that is attributed to British photographers.

JH: Keeping these last questions directed to the future (which could include any number of catastrophes if we look at how 2020 is currently going), do you have any future plans for new work? Or career objectives you’d like to share? How do you see your practice evolving post graduation?

PK: Towards the end of June I finished photographing for “Vorest”. At the moment, I  am working on a book edit and looking for a writer to contribute a piece to it. I always imagined this work as a book, so contracting a visual language for the page has been my main focus. I am also working on two new projects. They are in the early thought and research stages at the moment, so I think it is too soon to reveal anything about them. I can say though that my practice will continue to be within those broad topics of landscape.

My practice has rapidly evolved over the last two years, with incredible tutors and peers guiding and challenging me. I discovered a lot about myself as a photographer and visual artist during this time. So, I  think over the next few years, I will continue to make work, research and write about landscape and our relationship to place. I really feel I have barely skimmed the surface of these subjects, and there are many more aspects that I  want to delve into. In the long term, I  want to position my work within the wider contexts of our relationship to land, outside the world of photography and contribute to the wider conversations on ecology, climate change and land use. 

PK: Firstly, thank you for recommending The Anthropology of Landscape. It is true, landscapes are alive with conflict. Whether they are rural, urban, suburban or industrial; there is always a conflict in the purpose or value of spaces. Particularly in the Global West, where nature is an exploited resource and bound by land ownership. The pandemic and events of this year have shown us that there are many possibilities for change. One of the innumerable things that comes to mind is the likelihood that many people will continue to work remotely. Jobs that previously meant living in a major city, could now feasibly be done from anywhere with a wifi connection. What changes do you think the British landscape itself might face over the next few years? And for the people and in-between places in “Terrain Vague”?

JH: This is a really hard question that I’m not sure I have the answer to. I  would like to see a broadening of perspectives toward which regions matter. I think London as a hub is of great benefit to creating, curating and building art, but it is an exclusive environment. And so, I  would like to see photographs from outside of London be able to sustain their practice and their merit without the burdens of relocating. It is hard to say whether that will happen as I’m not entirely sure that people (Londoners) see it as an issue. The event of social media has allowed for some levelling but it has not gone so far as creating much regional equality. Unfortunately for the landscape itself I feel it will continue to be cultivated and curated to fit the confined roles we have attributed it to and it will continue to be organized to fit these roles. Our perception of landscape and our attitudes toward the environment are really intertwined but are not often acknowledged. The area in “Terrain Vague” will continue on as it has done since the fall of the coal mining industry in the 80s, it has an incredibly strong sense of community that will always be the case fortunately. Local and small scale farming is in decline with many family run farms going out of business because of our disconnection with the source of our food, so I  expect parts of our countryside will be bought for housing development or possibly go to scrub land. I  have been working on a small series around my parents’ farm over the last few years and when making the work, it became really apparent how much the countryside is home to an ageing population and this is only going to increase as jobs are centered in towns and cities. It is actually quite a serious threat to these areas, that one they may be of no use. Maybe that’s a little beak.

PK: As we write, “Terrain Vague” is an ongoing project. What are your plans for the final phase of the work? And have the events of the past few months reshaped these plans? Lastly, do you have any career objectives you would like to share? How do you see your practice developing over the next few years?

JH: I  am looking to build from this project and continue digging deeper into the complexities of rurality. I  feel that there is still more to be said int he project, more stories to share within it, and for it be realized as a book. The project was always intended to be seen that way and I  really feel it will be presented as such. So I  think if all goes to plan I’ll be back out in the landscape toward the end of summer and into autumn and then I’ll be working on a dummy book. I  would like to have continued it over the summer, but like you mention, the events since the end of March have prevented this so I ’m keen to continue once it is safe to do so. 

Working on this project really helped me to navigate the steps it takes to create a long term body of work and I hope to take those lessons into the next project. It also showed me that it is possible to weave complex narratives together by using the flexibility and ambiguity of photography and this is an element that really excites me. It has given me more identity in photography and my next project will hopefully build on that idea. I have applied to a couple of grants to work on projects abroad and I  have another idea for a series in the UK which I ’m hoping to start photographing for next year. The crisis we are going through has really rocked the boat for the industry and so I  think we’ll be feeling the effects of it for some time, especially in the commercial sector. 

Hark1karan - Day Out With The Girls

This series is about everyday living as a Punjabi in Britain. The images focus on young Punjabi women and their lived urban existence through which they can be themselves. Their day-to-day life is expressed through style, routine, friendship and environment. These photos have been captured as a documentary concept and portraiture project from the perspective of a group of friends going about their day.  

This project explores the relationship of living with multiple cultures - in this case, the natural coming together of Western and Punjabi cultures in the context of modern urban Britain. Here, the lines between cultures blur and sometimes mesh, telling an ever-changing story. The series subtly considers a number of questions often explored by a generation who are growing up with multi-layered experiences. Am I British enough? Am I Punjabi enough? Am I an outsider? How can I practice my faith? Do I have to pick one culture over the other? The photographs present a new normal where the Punjabi suit is worn alongside trainers, not as a costume, but as an everyday outfit, just as our mothers did when they arrived in this country. Our attitudes are changing towards what was once seen as traditional and ‘backwards’ - there’s less shame and fear of openly embracing our culture. We are now celebrating who we are. We are now challenging the dominant culture, internalised fetishisation and cultural appropriation. We are now asking ourselves questions like, ‘who are we?’ and ‘what can we become?’ 

My personal belief is that there is no reason why one cannot express one’s many cultures and faiths, within their given context. You have to think and live in a way of life to actually be it. Your truth has to be lived; even though self-acceptance can be difficult at times with so many conflicting narratives. We must allow those who do not connect with their past to also move forward with what they see as comfortable for them. You can’t forever be the diaspora.

Sandro Livio Straube - Mountains Bleach

“Berge bleichen” or “Mountains Bleach” takes place in the small valley "Val Lumnezia" in the Swiss Graubünden. A valley with one entrance and no exit, with one road and no tunnel to the next area. This creates calm, a pale island in a saturated country like Switzerland. Things are left standing, time can pass, clocks run behind. Nobody cares. The light of the sun is strong and proudly shows its traces. It peels colour, bleaches nature and man-made things in it. Mountains are serious and often scary. They talk about life and death, about permanence and transience. They don't easily reveal history and secrets.

Sandro Livio’s project shows the previously described, different picture of the mountains. The opposite of the romantic picture that everyone knows. Apart from tourism and pure infrastructure, places in the valley have been sought that are simply allowed to be. Without claims to meaning and purpose for the masses. The pure undemanding itself - at first glance. Because they need great attention to the apparently invisible. Things that seem trivial to us at first and only reveal something deeper, if we look closely and intensively. These objects and landscapes make us reflect on the transient nature of things and lets us appreciate the beauty of decay again.

Hark1karan - Portrait of a Village in Rural Punjab

Hark1karan is a South London photographer capturing the lives of Punjabi’s and Sikh’s across London. Celebrating the release of his debut photo-book PIND, we talk with Hark1karan about the mental and physical journeys we take to document the daily rituals inherited from our ancestral cultures.

PIND: Portrait of a Village in Rural Punjab documents life in Hark1karan’s ancestral village of Bir Kalan in Punjab, India. Through a collection of documentary photographs that span over 3 dedicated trips, Hark1karan’s photo-book captures the everyday nuances of village life– showing how people live, work, socialize, learn, and go about their day-to-day. These photographs act as historical documents, giving the people of his village both a voice and face, as they capture a liminal moment in time of the changing landscape and culture of rural Punjab. Part photo-book, part memoir, PIND is dedicated to Hark1karan’s ancestors and fellow Punjabi community; now available for purchase on his website.

- Alexa Fahlman

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How are you doing amidst all this global turmoil?

On a whole I am grateful that I’ve not been heavily impacted by the global pandemic. I still have a job, a roof over my head, food and my family. It’s hard to get a clear grasp on the situation as a whole and it is evolving, so we are finding out new information daily. It’s a matter of taking it day-by-day and trusting your own judgement, especially in the age of information overload. That being said I personally remain positive and see this as a chance for changes to take place. For new ideas and rituals to blossom. Who knows how we will look back on this time. In the strangest way possible I feel I wouldn’t have realised my debut book working full time in an office as I have gained back precious time which has allowed me to balance work life much easier.

In as much detail as you can, to help our readers visualize your surroundings, can you describe where you are right now in the world?

I’ll break it down so you can easily digest my chaotic thoughts. Physically I am in South London, England. Mentally, I am global in thought. I feel optimistic. To be honest I always feel optimistic and this is probably down to the fact that I interact with so many different types of people in my life. Both in the digital and physical world. This creates less fear and more awareness. That feeling excites me and energises my thoughts as I see what needs to be communicated. Self-funding, self-publishing, self-marketing and self-distributing my debut book has been an act of self-empowerment and belief. To go and create something that has never been seen in such a way has been a big responsibility. To go out and tell a story true to what I see has proven to me that it is possible to share your vision with others using photography. That has been a beautiful learning experience and a sign to continue my work. My work as a community photographer allows me to connect people not only through the image but also through the practice of photography. For me, photography is an extension of seva, a Sikh practice of selfless service. Through it, I am able to fulfil my moral duty as a human being.

You mentioned you grew up in England, what was it like growing up there? Especially being from a Punjabi background? 

At home I grew up hearing and speaking Punjabi. This allowed me to think and see life from a different perspective and express myself in different ways. Being born in England you learn to switch between the two cultures and identities as a way to navigate any given space. We grew up around extended families which was very important especially as there weren’t many other Punjabis in South London. Having that family structure was exactly as it would have been in Punjab. We ate Punjabi food most days in the same way people do in the pind. I think the first song I ever remember hearing was Punjabi. Being from the Indian side of Punjab meant we were also Sikhs which made us more visible. We’d frequent the gurdwara (Sikh place of worship) where we would be with other Punjabis and Sikhs. As you can see, there are many practices and rituals that we lived out that are similar to life in Punjab, hence why there was such a big connection despite living thousands of miles away. 

It’s about time we turn to your debut book, PIND! What initially compelled you to create a photo-book?

I began documenting my community of Punjabis and Sikhs in the UK after realising that we did not have any substantial documentation of our community from within. I also wanted to create a wider and inclusive documentation away from internalised stereotypes. As I was out in the field, I realised that I could take it one step further and document our culture’s reference point, pind. Pind means village in Punjabi. For over 30 years, I’ve been lucky enough to visit my pind since I was a baby. Through these journeys I’ve realised pind is a massive part of our story and one that has never been told or seen through a photo-book. I saw this as a multi-layered opportunity to cover a number of points. I wanted to document pind as I’ve never come across anything in photographic form. I wanted to focus on Punjab as its own place and culture, rather than as something seen as Indian or South Asian. My primary audience would be our community both diasporic and those living in Punjab. To capture the book as an insider and not a voyeuristic outsider with a western gaze. To capture a moment in history as modern technology and outside influences have accelerated change. To connect those that had left, back to their roots. To give the forgotten people of pind a face and a voice. Why in photo-book form? I’ve always been fascinated by different forms of documentary photography and how it’s presented in photo-book form. I wanted to tell a nuanced yet everyday story of pind life. For me, a comprehensive photo-book was the best option. The story had to be intimate and emotional. 

Is there anything that photography has revealed to you about yourself?

Over the years I’ve learnt about the power of photography to tell stories and challenge narratives. Photography is a powerful form to empower and bring people together. For me it’s not a job, it’s a tool to communicate what I see. A way to express what I cannot express in other forms.

Can you paint us a picture of some of your earliest memories of your mother's pind growing up?

My earliest memories of pind are all great and vivid. When you go somewhere so different from where you permanently live as a child, the opposite of that always stays with you. I remember not having any restrictions and being allowed to play with other children and hang out with elders. Everyone would offer me cha (tea) or milk when I went into their homes. I remember sneaking off to eat food I wasn’t supposed to. There were always animals about. As a child that was fascinating. Trying to get close to the water buffalo and playing with the dogs. It was just pure freedom. Going down to the farm on the back of a Royal Enfield Bullet. There is a lot of love in pind and you really feel it. I learnt very early on about sharing as those who didn’t have much were willing to offer me something for nothing in return.

I noticed that there's a sense of community in both how you've described your photographs and taken them– in what ways would u say community is important to Punjabi culture? How did this inform the way you photographed the village and portraits?

A lot of my work involves my environments and cultures. This is my life and I am part of these places and practices. When you belong, you become part of an “us” - a wider group of people which you share some commonality with. My common-unity comes from lived experiences which allow me to belong to a certain group of people. My lived experience connected me to the people of Punjab, seeing them as an extension of myself and not as something foreign. Seeing everyone as equal meant I was able to tell an inclusive and intimate story. I want the viewer and the subjects to equally benefit from this story otherwise the project becomes an ‘us’ and ‘them’ story. I made the effort to see as many different people as possible. To earn their trust and capture an untold story. Asides from culture, Sikhi is of great importance here as it teaches our community of oneness. From childhood we embody this and I would say that it is a part of my photographic ethos. That love is what ties the whole book together and keeps it so grounded.

Your portraits certainly capture your subjects, but also speak to something more universal. With that said, what gap were you trying to bridge between your experience and your audience?

All human stories are rooted in similarities and differences in cultural norms. Therefore I knew people would relate to each image differently. There is an overarching story of childhood, family, relationships and daily rituals. I would say that is a universal aspect of the story. The second layer is for the diaspora to relate to - here the images become a second language in the book. An example of this would be the shot of the women kneading the dough for the roti, connecting the viewer to a cultural practice they may also live out. The third language is of nuance - the symbols and signs of life in pind including people’s jobs, religions and social statuses. There is always an underlying political tone to my work and so the fourth language is of inclusion - the reveal of ignored or untold stories. These are the defined gaps I had in my mind that I wanted to bridge.

In what ways have you noticed the changing landscape of Punjab?

From a distance the flat agricultural landscape looks the same as it’s always been. The changes that have occurred can be noticed closer up. The clothes that the younger generation want to wear and their style is fusing with an influence from the west and social media. Mobile phones have given access to a new world meaning that people’s wants are changing. Those that can afford a good education aspire to migrate to other countries for a perceived better life. The divide between cities and rural villages is significant. It’s as if people in the rural parts have been left behind and forgotten. It’s difficult to establish if social mobility has improved over the last twenty to thirty years. Advancements in technology have meant that old techniques for making quilts and clothes have changed with easy access to new machinery. There is access to gas cylinders and power generators making it easier to cook and access electricity. Mass consumption and access to commodities has made survival a little bit easier. The photographs in the book capture these small changes throughout. For me, it was the last chance to capture the few people still doing things the old way.

This is more of an ethical question: would you say that there is a visible difference in the way a photographer captures their own community vs. how a photographer from outside that same community depicts it? Historically speaking, popularized photographs of asian, brown, and black communities have often been shot by white photographers. When shooting do you feel like you're consciously having to subvert the white gaze?

I’d lump everyone into holding the western gaze regardless of race as that view comes from a mind-set. People can also be outsiders to their own ancestor’s cultures as much as those who have no connection whatsoever. Class would be another factor to consider. This goes back to belonging, community and how much of your culture you practice. My experiences over time have allowed me to be aware of what I am capturing and why I am capturing it. If my connection to pind was weak, I personally would not feel comfortable or confident in telling a story that I am not connected to. The photographer needs to ask themselves who are these images for and what ideas they will put out into the world. Am I capable of telling this story? Do I show respect to the people in the photos? This is the responsibility of the photographer. They must not let the ego takeover. The “photography” is not everything. I speak to my primary audience and I know I am taking photos of signs and symbols that will be alien to those outside the culture and I think this is ok. Here, the photographs become a challenge for the outsider and this goes back to my point of layers in which we see things.

My process involves giving back - returning after each trip, I handed out prints of all the photos I shot. The process is about give and take in equal amounts. This is why I also opted to have my introduction translated into Punjabi, broadening my pool of accessibility. I have 60 copies of the book I am taking back to pind once Covid calms down. This, for me, is the most exciting part. To share the story with the people who made it.

Continuing on from the last question, What are some things photographers should think about when trying to capture an honest or authentic portrait of someone?

For me the person being captured has to be comfortable. If it helps, explain as much as possible to them about why you’re taking their photo. Earn their trust, be open and communicate clearly. There is no harm in asking for portraits if you feel shy to approach someone. Always take your time composing and setting up the shot, as you may never see them again. If the environment allows, try to incorporate it into the photograph for extra depth. Try different angles and distance if you’re presenting the images as a series. This can help build a story about a person. Inevitably the photo will always show your relationship with your subject in that moment.

To end things off, do you have a favourite shot from your book?

My favourite shot is the one of 6 children with white dastars (turbans) waiting to go to school. I love the feeling of this image. The layers of faces beaming back at you. It was 7:30am in the morning and they looked pristine waiting for the school bus amongst all the dust. I feel like it reminded me of my childhood and I could relate to them. I love that this is a normal scene in pind. To look the way they do is not something that would be considered odd. As like many of the shots in the book I feel as though they’re looking at us and not the other way round. This photo reminds me to always capture feeling and emotion in my work. I have this up in my house.

Sangwoo Suh - Finding the Homeland

Finding the Homeland is photographer Sangwoo Suh’s conceptualization of an idealistic land in which we claim as our home. It is an unclear and cloudy place, on the cusp of reality, existing only through the influences of Westernized ideals, media representation and memorabilia from our youth. Sangwoo writes, “I feel like I have lived in that world for a while, but this homeland does not exist, it is only in my head.” Exotic nostalgic is the term Sangwoo uses to describe this sense of having grown up in a Westernized South Korean society, “I convinced myself into believing that I inhabited the Western world because of its influences all around me.”

Through Sangwoo’s photographic journey in Italy, we’re able to perceive these feelings of exotic nostalgia. The warm tones of each photograph evoke the sense of a home, welcoming and safe, yet, in its far-off beauty, we’re reminded of the distance between the photographer and photograph–Sangwoo cannot inhabit this homeland, it can only be re-visited, and re-imagined through photographs.

- Alexa Fahlman

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I was born in Jinju in 1994 and mostly raised in Jamsil, Seoul. While growing up, I fellt a strange separation between the two worlds around me: Western and Korean. I think this was because Jasmil was especially gentrified for the 1988 Seoul Olympics. It has western-style buildings, Olympic stadiums, monuments, a fancy science experience museum, and a huge amusement park and department store. There is even an American casual restaurant called “Chilis” which has predominantly foreign workers. I used to go there with my parents and cry on Christmas Eve as a guy gave me a present while dressed in a Santa costume. Whenever I went outside, I experienced this Westernized environment.

I remember my dad always brought me a present when he came back from business trips. Those presents were mostly from the U.S. and Canada. One of the gifts that influenced me most was a toy that I could make into an American village. It had a long railroad and alongside it, there were many houses, bridges and village details. It all appeared so real that I felt like I was living in that village.

In the same room where I played with my toy, I could also see real rail tracks from the subway outside my window. When I got bored of playing, I’d switch my attention to the subway rail tracks. This back and forth often blurred the real and unreal landscapes of my childhood.

On weekends, I used to watch Western movies on TV. Compared to the life outside of my door, the films were made up of such stunning worlds. I yearn for this world, but since I was so young, I don’t remember the names and stories of the movies. Now, I’m left with these secondhand, fictitious cultural experiences; the imagery that I saw in these films is strongly carved into my soul. I remember an American cowboy riding a horse, Roman soldiers fighting, European nobles and peasants going on adventures, intense golden sunsets, a cozy house lying beneath silver moonshine, old Italian houses, and flowery highlands.

This works as the primary vision of my ideal homeland. These memories inspire me to long for the homeland that I can’t visit. However, I can partially explore it as a I go on a journey. Then, my longings are partly satisfied as I capture and collect my journey.

Stefano Gio Semeraro - Mare Rurale

Mare Rurale tells, through images, of a little explored and known territory in which I lived part of my life. Specifically, it is about Specchiolla, a small seaside resort frequented mainly in summer, which stretches on the Brindisi coast. This area has been my reference point for many years as my parents owned a restaurant near its cliff. It is only when I stopped frequenting those places that I could really notice what was around me and its hidden beauty. My photographs show how architectural and natural elements coexist and interact with each other. I have already pictured the architecture-nature dualism in some of my previous projects as it is increasingly becoming my own signature when I capture the landscapes that I find myself in front of.

The name Mare Rurale (Rural Sea) refers to a specific characteristic of the Specchiolla area: the continuity between land and sea. In the collective imagination, these two ecosystems are quite distinct, while here they coexist harmonically. The inhabitants of this area take this rural landscape that touches the sea as ordinary sightseeing and do not realize of its interesting glimpses and amazing contrasts. 

A good part of the inhabitants of the nearby villages, such as Carovigno and San Vito dei Normanni, are farmers or land owners that cultivate a variety of products and sell them in local and national markets. If you enter the narrow streets that cross these cultivated plots, you will come across large, rust-coloured fields, mostly cultivated with tomatoes, wheat fields, fruit trees and local vegetables. These colourful fields create a sharp contrast with the strip of blue sea that overlaps in the distant background and welcomes and fascinates tourists. Dried stone walls and rock constructions alternate with newly constructed holiday homes and unfinished or abandoned works. All these constructions are in perfect harmony with huge fig trees, sea pines, coastal dunes and Mediterranean maquis. These and other elements reveal an extraordinary corner of Apulian territory and tell us about this dualism between land and sea, all to be discovered.

Ruan Van Jaarsveldt and Armand Nel - South African Youth in Conversation

SAY (South African Youth in Conversation) is an intense and candid confrontation with issues surrounding South African youth. It shows a spectrum of identities, portraying their often misunderstood, contrasted, and contradicting ideals. Although the once racially segregated society now claims to live in unison, Armand Nel and Ruan Van Jaarsveldt turn to South Africa’s youngest generation to question whether there is true unity amongst South African citizens, or if such a statement simply eludes to equal voting rights.

Photographic portraits and interviews examine the differing personalities and cultures of young South African citizens. Here, Armand and Ruan’s aim is to portray how each individual is affected in a society where no particular group feels fulfilled. The simplistic nature of meeting by chance conversation ensures spontaneity and honesty in an area which is contrasted by its diversity. SAY’s photographs document the raw and unfiltered lives of South African Youth, showing how this nation has both grown and failed to grow in its infant democracy.

See more from SAY below

-Alexa Fahlman

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“People say if you grew up in Soweto, chances are you won’t make it. That’s bullshit. People make it in the Kalahari.”

“My tattoos represent the native Africans. You see, it represents knowing- being enlightened”

“The biggest problem is an inferiority complex. The kids feel like they can’t make it. They don’t feel like they’re worth much.”

“ I don’t think certain people fully understand what racism is and what it means, and the difference is in upbringing. I don’t think people truly grasp how it affects people.”

“Back then you can say there was Apartheid and all that, and it was painful. But people prayed, we prayed at school. We prayed at home. We carried a value system.”

“I was speaking to my waiter and he literary has two degrees. Two degrees and he is a waiter. Adults told us to study hard and that meant we’d definitely get a job. We study hard and there are no jobs. What now?”

Daniel Rolider - Ballad for the Carriage Horse

Ballad for the Carriage Horse is a long-term documentary project about the carriage horses of New York City. Numbering more than 170,000 in the 19th century, these horses were the driving force of the developing metropolis, transporting goods, locals and tourists across the city's bustling streets. Today, less than two hundred carriage horses are the living testimony of this history. Under the pressure of animal rights organizations and the recurrent attempt of the mayor to shut down this business, one of New York's most iconic institutions is under threat. Photographed in Clinton Park Stable, one of three left in Manhattan, on the streets, and in Central Park, this project explores this famed subculture, as well as the deep emotional bond of humans and horses.

For some carriage drivers, horses are a way of life, a purpose, and Ariel Fintzi is one of them. Ariel grew up in kibbutz Netzer Sereni in the center of Israel, his relationship with horses started as soon as he could walk. He spent most of his days outside, worked at the cowshed and the fields, but his daily highlight was to work in the kibbutz's stable. When he joined the army, at 18, serving as a combat soldier and fighting in Lebanon, he brought the horses with him, and built a stable inside his base. After the army, he moved to New York and became the first Israeli carriage driver. After 38 years in the business, he's now the last Israeli driver. For Ariel, it is more than a way to pay bills. It's love, his biggest passion and a way to deal with traumas.

Although they are icons of New York, very little is known about this controversial issue and the life of the horses and the drivers. The business is very diverse, as women and men, young and old, students and full-time drivers, are working together. The stables are more inspected than the city's homeless shelters and daycares, and laws prevent the horses from working if the weather is too cold or hot. When the horses reach retirement age, they are moved to farms upstate, unlike racehorses - which are sold to the meat industry. I agree that the place of a horse in a city like New York is a subject for discussion, and this project's goal is to unfold and reveal the nature of this culture and to provide a better understanding of it. When so much money is invested to stop the carriage horses, provided by organizations like PETA and NY Class, the public have to understand the complicities and dilemmas of this business and how it changes. When the project started, six months ago, there were four stables in Manhattan. Today there are three. In addition, after the city's decision to ban the carriage from 59th Street, the night shift earns a third of what they used to. After more than 150 years of carriage riders in Central Park, the next few years might be the horses' last.

Ariel Fintzi and his horse Whiskey in Clinton Park Stable, New York, February 2019.

Ariel Fintzi, a carriage driver for the past 38 years, New York, April 2019.

Ariel Fintzi and his horse Whiskey, outside Clinton Park Stable, New York, March 2019.

The beginning of a working day outside of Clinton Park Stable, on 52nd Street and 11th Avenue, New York, May 2019.

Gasper cleans the stalls in Clinton Park Stable, New York, February 2019.

Stableman brands the front hoofs of a horse with its unique numbers in Clinton Park Stable, New York, January 2019.

Like license plate, the numbers on the front hoofs are the way to track the horse back to its owner. The fine for an unmarked horse, enforced by NYPD, stands at 250$.

A horse in his stall, Clinton Park Stable, New York, May 2019.

Tino washes his horse in Clinton Park Stable in Manhattan, New York, January 2019.

"The horse knows we are going home, to the stable", said Tino, who moved to New York from Sicily, Italy, 26 years ago. "I just want to relax, to chill, to be with the horses outside. I've been always horses person, that's before anything else".

Horse mane, Clinton Park Stable, March 2019.

Ariel Fintzi in Clinton Park Stable, New York, March 2019. "A normal person doesn't stay in this business so long."

A horse waits to be washed in Clinton Park Stable, New York, February 2019.

Built in 1880 to host the city's sanitation department horses, the stable is the house of 64 carriage horses. The first floor is devoted to parking carriages while the second and third floors house the horses.

Clinton Park Stable, New York, March 2019.

Jenny and Ariel and their horses Whiskey and Layla at 59th Street and 7th Avenue pickup spot, New York, February 2019.

Carriage horses ride in Central Park, New York, April 2019.

"Horses are no late, and they are not on time- they are in time", said Ariel Fintzi, a carriage driver for the past 38 years.

Ariel Fintzi waits for clients on the south east corner of Central Park, New York, April 2019.

Clinton Park Stable, New York, March 2019.

Ariel Fintzi and his horse Whiskey wait for their next ride in front of Tavern on the Green restaurant in Central Park, New York, March 2019.