Tag: photojournalism


  • The Myth of Press Photography Glamour It’s a funny old world; one where perception and reality are so often worlds apart. Take press photography, for instance. Imagine the reader, binging such films as The Bang Bang Club, Blow-Up, and Minamata. By now, they’d believe life in this universe is a dangerous, exhilarating, and glamorous cocktail—an…

  • I have a terrible memory, and it’s getting worse. Up until now, that’s been a blessing in disguise. Let’s face it, as a photojournalist who has covered war and natural disasters, who wants total recall? But as I said, it’s getting worse. Until now, life has been like driving a car through the dusk with…

  • If you do one thing this bank holiday, or even just one thing in the next three months, visit the World Press Photo Exhibition at the MPB Gallery, Here East, London. Why? Because not all superheroes wear capes. Some wear press vests in the most dangerous corners of the world. I call them superheroes because,…

  • A Strange Turn in the Mirror Hopefully, I’m not going to cry, but I am gripped by a sense of melancholic failure as I’ve just suffered a quite frankly strange out-of-body experience. My life flashed before me. I was there but not really present; I was wandering like a stranger in my own world. It…

  • One at a time – a series of posts where I will examine a single image – today it’s tsunami. Vision fractured, life unbroken. A survivor of the 2004 tsunami in Sri Lanka sits in the small makeshift treatment centre, the same one that would later treat my chest infection caused by breathing the toxic…

  • One at a time – a series of posts where I will examine a single image – today it’s Ted Fest. After narrowly avoiding getting killed when the gearbox on our helicopter sprang a leak, I finally made it to the real-life Craggy Island, Inishmore, an island on the West Coast of Ireland, for the…

  • One at a time – a series of posts where I will examine a single image – today it’s Woman and Child. Sunday evening, on my way back home from a shift, the light was glorious. So much so that I was compelled to get the backup kit out of the bag. That’s the thing…

  • “Son, I Hate My Job” I have an ever-abiding memory of my father, one that haunts me to this day. I remember, early one morning, bumping into him as I made my way to the bathroom. Through my bleary eyes, I could see such weary eyes, and with a look that I can still feel…