Almost home

Near Ferrara, Italy. January 2015.

Card players

Shattered sky

Friends on new year’s eve

Kodak Tri-X in Rodinal 1:50. Shaken, not stirred.

See you

The geese and I share an inextinguishable, almost compulsory need to cover great distances, never settling down completely, commuting between opposite corners of the world.

These days they’re flying southwards. In 36 hours, I’ll be heading eastwards, leaving for THE train journey. See you.

Manicure

Copenhagen, 25.10.2013. Kodak Tri-X.

Grenoble 8.10.2013

08.10.2013

Sofia’s love for pigeons

Bologna, Italy. T-Max 400 developed in Rodinal. Scanned, uncropped.

Mourn

Young owls. Kodak TMax 100.

“The Japan book” – now for sale

Dok1

Now you have the opportunity to buy a paper copy (or an iBook versjon for tablets) of my book “The Japan book”, featuring all photos from my post “The Tokyo post” and many more.

You can scroll through, preview and purchase the book for a modest price at: http://www.blurb.com/b/4477107-the-japan-book

Enjoy it!

The Tokyo post

My notes from a recent trip to Tokyo and Kyoto. Written on Kodak Tri-X.

(open the post for full-sized slideshow)

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A penny for your thoughts

Girl in a coffee shop, Kyoto, June 2013. Kodak Tri-X 400.

The blue of Afghanistan

A number of you, after seeing my previous series from Afghanistan, noticed (and commented on) the absence of women.

Well, with this post I focus exactly on the women of Afghanistan. Unfortunately, photographing women there is rather problematic. Just about everyone will strongly advise you against doing so: Photographing a woman (even one in a chador) out in the street may result in you being confronted by angry men or, worse, in her being beaten up. The sad reality is that there is barely worse place in the world to be born as a woman than Afghanistan, with the country’s rural areas being worst.

Here, a woman is a man’s property just like a donkey. Failing to accept a husband’s authority (even when imposed with violence) can result in jail, or in the worst case in a new, more terrible life begging in the street, stripped of all dignity.

Not many women in Afghanistan get married because they’re in love. Most of them are married off, meaning that at an age of 15 – 20 they are sold by their own parents to the best offeror, a man who not unusually is 20 or 30 years older. A more fortunate girl may stay home a little longer, study and even get herself a job, as long as each step is discussed with – read decided by – her parents. She may not exactly get married off, but will be engaged to and eventually marry the first man who proposed himself (to her parents) convincingly enough. Once engaged, she’ll even be allowed to date her fiancé, in her mother’s or aunt’s presence, of course.

Women here are generally not supposed to work, but I hear that an increasing number of men now allow their wives to do so, at least in the cities. However, a number of professions that require contact with male strangers or public exhibition (e.g. flight attendant or singer) may still give a woman a social status that’s barely better than a prostitute’s. Things are changing, however. Women condition is slowly improving, starting from the cities. But the process is slow, particularly in the most remote rural areas.

To foreign visitors, the women of Afghanistan are melancholic silhouettes of an intense blue moving along dusty road sides, alone or a few steps behind their husbands. I wish I had had the opportunity to talk to those women, to ask them about their lives and dreams or wish them a brighter future. I couldn’t. That chador of blue polyester, worn every single day from their puberty on, is an impenetrable barrier, and not only for the relieving breeze in the intense summer heat..

Pervomayskiy market (sequence I & II)

Murmansk (Russia), 16th March 2013. Temperature -25 C.

Back to Russia

I just came back from yet another fantastic journey through a remote region of Russia. Remote because it lies almost 2 days by train from Moscow or St. Petersburg, but in fact it’s pretty much around the corner if you enter it from northern Scandinavia. Yet, the landscapes and especially the cultural landscapes that meet you as you travel the Kola region of Russia are very far away from those of the Scandinavian countries.

For this trip, I chose to use trains, and this series is about exactly that. Outside the dirty windows, in the cold autumn air, endless forests only interrupted by industrial settlements; towns having the extraction of minerals as their only reason of being; low, timber houses with their Siberian mood. Inside, in a overheated train car, many human stories I got the privilege of sharing a few hours of. When language was a problem (my Russian is still rudimentary), concepts as complicated as the social situation in the country could be illustrated by means of countless pieces of paper scattered on the seat, representing the government, the police, the rich business men, the poor people, the mafia.

So this one is about the train. You may also see the first and third part of my trip here: Part II and Part III.

What to do with critique

I’ve been active on street photography forums and critique groups lately. Photographers seem to have different opinions on pretty much, but they all seem to agree that we learn from critique. Both from giving and receiving critique.

Sometimes critique makes us think about aspects of our photos that we hadn’t thought about, or makes us aware of distracting elements we hadn’t seen or technical aspects that the viewer feels make our photo week. That’s supposed to teach us to take better photographs. Surely true.

But how about negative critique of photos that we like just as they are? What do we do with that?

Example: Last night, in a rather poorly lit street, I saw this couple hugging, I reacted quick and, without stopping to frame precisely, got the two photos below. I bet most people will say they are too dark, too blurred, not perfectly composed and that the burned highlights behind are distracting. I very much appreciate all of this and the time you spent looking at my work but, honestly, there are times where I just don’t care about critique: I love these shots just like that.

It’s possible that I’m the only one liking my stuff, or that only one of ten viewers does. But should I change my photos (or even worse, my photography) to please as many viewers as possible? I won’t.

Feel free to share your thoughts, or to keep them for yourself..

The guide

Brunico, in the Italian Alps, early afternoon of a summer day. A little but noisy group of tourists walk along the main pedestrian street. Their guide, a man so elegant that he seems jumped out of a movie, captures my attention. He must be a very charming guide, as none of his clients seem bored or distracted and at times he works hard to moderate questions and comments from the most “interactive” ladies…

Streets and roads of Afghanistan

What defines street photography? And what defines a street? Asphalt? Shiny skyscrapers? Street lights? Busy people rushing in or out of a subway?

In this case, doing street photography in Afghanistan (and much of the world) might be hard, as you find none of that.

Whether they qualify as street photography or not, the pictures below are all taken on the streets and roads of Afghanistan.

You may also want to check the color gallery with more images:

Steep lives of the Hindu Kush, Afghanistan

The bill

This post, the last one before my trip to Afghanistan, is about being old and alone, about loneliness.

You figure out a story behind this shot.

No more trains

Very different human stories, the same destiny: a subway station. Not as a short, noisy interlude between home and work or between family life and friends, but itself home, family, friend and only daily occupation.

Some of these people just kept missing the train of their life, the train that could have taken them to a regular office job or to the joys of a happy family. Some others jumped on many trains but were thrown off each and every one of them, humiliated like ticketless passengers.

Invisible border

A couple of centimeters of glass can keep two worlds completely apart. It happens in prisons. It happens in the streets. I took this picture in a busy shopping street of Quartier Latin in Paris, in 2005. On the one side of the window of a fashion store, while their parents do some shopping, two children look at the unaware homeless man sitting just on the other side of the window.

A thin glass plate is the invisible border between young and old, rich and poor, symbolically separating innocent childhood and adult life at its hardest.

(Image awarded the 1st price in the category “snapshot of the month” by National Geographic and published on issue 8/2012 for the Scandinavian countries)

Image

Dummies

I’ve always been searching for new ways to make my life meaningful, to fill it with something worthy. And I’ve always felt little and insignificant comparing myself with those I admire, famous or completely unknown people who really make the difference for others as well as filling their own lives with things worth living for.

I believe that having a brain and a normally functioning body and living under the most fortunate conditions almost forbids us to just stand and watch, like headless, armless dummies. I have always dreamt of getting my chance to act, well knowing that my definition of acting requires either a particularly smart brain or guts, if not both.

Now, I have a chance. Engineers Without Borders need a geologist with landslide / avalanche experience in a remote province of north-eastern Afghanistan, where entire villages have been buried and hundreds of people killed by major avalanches the last two winters.

One of the dummies is tired of standing there and watching, and in a few weeks will not only try to help those people stay safe against avalanches, but hopefully also tell their stories in pictures. Stay tuned.

Turid

I was taking street photos, when I came across a nursing home that I didn’t even know was there. Just outside it, on a wheel chair, an elegant old lady seems to be enjoying some fresh air as she whaves me hallo. Then she tells me to be careful not to slip on the ice, how nice of her!

I stop to exchange a few words, and she promptly introduces herself as Turid. Without asking too much, I find myself knowing a bit of her life: a life long job at a hospital in Sweden, many years going fast, a move back to Norway after retirement, and now her new life, receiving that care that she used to give others.

I hope Turid is happy as she receives a couple of prints I sent her of these photos. She was so amused and flattered by being photographed!

The perfect machine

Few things fit to the definition of “the perfect machine” better than an orchestra. To agree on this, you just need to commit yourself to learning an instrument. It will take you many years of devotion (and frustration) and most likely you’ll never get close to the skills it takes to perform in a real orchestra.

Some years ago I was asked to take a few photos of the Tromsø Chamber Orchestra during a rehearsal. Here are some shots.

Am I a criminal?

Two days ago, once again in Oslo, I got slightly in trouble with a hotel receptionist for taking one of the photos in the series below. She meant I was not allowed to photograph the hotel window from the public street. I protested that even though it was a private property, it’s perfectly visible from the public street and there’s no sign forbidding photography.

After I got back to my hotel, I did some research to find out what the Norwegian law says about street photography. Am I only doing this now after 10 years of street photography? Yes in fact.

What I found out is that the Norwegian law is very strict in protecting personal rights. It’s perfectly legal to photograph anyone (maybe except children) without asking for a permission, but it’s not allowed to publish photographs of identifiable persons without their permission. Exceptions are photos where the identifiable persons are taking part in street protests, parades or similar, photos that have a public usefulness (whatever that is), and photos the main content of which isn’t the person – although identifiable – but the situation, the context this person is involved in. Hopefully, most of my pictures will fall within this last category for the judge who gets my case the day someone sues me for doing street photography and sharing it. The alternative is photos like the ones below, without a face or a soul. Feel free to leave a thought on this, if you like.

København

Just back from a week end in wonderful Copenhagen, here are a few street shots…

%d bloggers like this: