Cape Town owns its identity. There’s something almost aspirational about the imbalance and (lack of) contradictions in this particular city, and they are clear to me when I explore it on foot, on different days and times, and try to understand why my basic feeling is absolute discomfort.
Life has its miseries wherever you may be. Into each life some rain must fall it floods onto the poor. They try to darn it somewhat. These lines from Hama Tuma’s The Case of the Prison-Monger started running through my head yesterday when we walked into a man’s home somewhere between Igoji and Embu. Maureen, …
Before we left Turkana, we met someone. The image you have of a Turkana woman is wrong. She is skinny, yes, but she is gorgeous. You don’t need a camera to tell she is gorgeous. She has dark, flawless skin, and eyes with gorgeous, thick set eyes. She doesnt always wear her tribal garb, the …
A photograph freezes a moment in time. Even a bad photograph. It is one of the few forms of art that can tell stories without moving across lines upon lines of detail. Yet good photos have so much detail that the human eye instinctively takes in, and the brain understands and translates, that beauty is …
Our team has a simple rhythm. The photographers are the hearty story tellers. Brian, our scout, sometimes goes quiet for prolonged periods of time, listening to music that doesn’t climax, as Maureen said yesterday. She herself sits at the back of the Cruiser, mostly being creepy and mothering us all. Once in a while she …