A genuine picture taken on an iPhone was thrown out of a photography competition after judges suspected it was generated by artificial intelligence.
Suzi Dougherty’s photograph of her 18-year-old son Caspar was deemed ‘suspicious’ by judges despite the mum insisting it was taken on her mobile phone.
The picture was taken at a Sydney Powerhouse Museum exhibition, with her son dressed in the same colour of the bathroom of the installation and mimicking the stance of the mannequins.
Ms Dougherty told Daily Mail Australia she photographed her son Caspar next to two mannequins at the Gucci exhibition.
‘We really liked the picture and so we printed it for my mum who loves Gucci but couldn’t go as she was sick and she told me I should enter it in this competition,’ Ms Dougherty said.
Despite never entering a photo competition, she entered it into Charing Cross Photography competition under the theme Fashion.
The entry was viewed by four judges who loved it but rejected it as they were suspicious it was AI-generated.
‘In our most recent photo competition, CCP received an image that first intrigued all the judges and then suspicion set in so we decided not to include the photo for judging,’ the competition organisers said.
‘We have already indicated (in the socials as well as the T&Cs of the competition) that though we may in the future include a section for AI images we are not accepting them now so ask that you do not submit any.
‘We want the images to come from YOUR real-life experience, and not sourced from cyberspace.
‘There is no way we can be completely sure the image submitted was made by AI but you really can’t ignore the gut instincts of four judges.’
Ms Dougherty was flummoxed by the decision but said that she was ‘flattered’ as she wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to create an AI image.
‘I was a bit confused at first, I thought it was a bit of a prank but no, I actually was disqualified,’ she said.
‘I think it is really funny and I was very flattered that they thought it was good enough to be AI.’
While she had never entered a competition before Ms Dougherty didn’t rule out a future entry joking: ‘I think I might have the photography bug now’.
‘I don’t know now I might try again, there is a kangaroo photography competition I saw and I might take my trusty iPhone out and have another go,’ she said.
Ms Dougherty also says she has no hard feelings for the photography store who runs the competition saying they are a great place and have offered to make things right.
‘They have offered me a print in a frame and are going to put the picture in the window to sell the picture of my son in the shop which is amazing (that) they think it is good enough to do that.
‘It is just hard and obviously people can’t tell anymore what is real and what’s not real.’
Iain Anderson, the owner of Charing Cross Photo Sydney, shared an update following a conversation with Ms Dougherty where she informed them that the picture is real.
‘It’s a great play on what is real and not in our world indeed,’ Mr Anderson said.
‘Sadly, for the entrant, the timing was not great considering that AI is such a hot topic and without the background info we felt the need to question the entire image.
‘We can confirm that this photo did not contravene our T&Cs.’
To understand the challenges at Lake Okeechobee, a vast inland sea in Florida, The New York Times piloted a drone.
Times Insider explains who we are and what we do and delivers behind-the-scenes insights into how our journalism comes together.
Lake Okeechobee, in South Florida, has a problem that grows every summer.
Toxic algae fed by agricultural fertilizers spread across the wide, shallow lake, which is the largest in the Southeast United States. The algae poisons the air, and seasonal rains threaten to swell the lake and disperse the contaminated water toward popular beaches.
The New York Times published an article on Sunday that examined these issues and the plan by the United States Army Corps of Engineers to mitigate them.
But the scale of the algae problem is hard to understand from the ground. To capture the vastness of the slime, The Times had to be high above the water. So Josh Ritchie brought in a drone.
Mr. Ritchie, a photographer based in Margate, Fla., spent four days in June and July launching his camera-equipped drone from the shores of Lake Okeechobee. He used it to tour the lake’s 135-mile perimeter and to search for aerial views of the electric-green algae, while also taking pictures and filming videos of the water, the nearby municipalities and the sugar cane fields that contribute to the issue.
Mr. Ritchie said the threat to Lake Okeechobee was hard to capture because the main characters in the story were not humans, but a huge body of water, agriculture and engineering. He cited a quote attributed to the photographer Eddie Adams: “A photo is good when it can reach into your chest, grab your heart and twist it.”
“How do you do that with photos of algae?” Mr. Ritchie said.
So he focused on the patterns of the algal blooms as they moved across the water, and sent the drone 400 feet in the air to capture the lake’s locks and dikes, the sugar cane fields and the sunrise over the nearby town of Pahokee.
“We knew we wanted drone photography for this, both to convey the size of the lake — it’s huge — but also because the area is just so flat,” Matt McCann, a photo editor at The Times who worked with Mr. Ritchie on the visual components, wrote in an email. He added that an aerial perspective helped readers see the lake’s scale and better understand the Army corps’s plans.
This isn’t The Times’s first drone photography project: For example, The Times relied on drone footage in 2016 to convey the grandeur of Mexico City and in 2018 to show the vulnerability of Stone Age sites on the Orkney Islands.
Mr. Ritchie, who has worked as a photographer since the late 1990s, started experimenting with drone imagery around 2018. By then, safety functions had made the technology easier to use and drone licenses were easier to obtain, he said.
He said taking photographs with a remotely piloted device required some adjustments — he had worked with hand-held cameras for decades. With a drone, he can’t as easily adjust to the sun’s glare or light exposure.
“When I’m not using my eye piece, my brain is not working in the same way,” he said.
But Mr. Ritchie’s drone allowed him to take pictures of algal blooms on the lake that he couldn’t see from the shore. Another reason to rely on the tool: alligators. Okeechob-ee is teeming with them.
“I’ve lived in Florida for 15 years, and I saw more alligators in the lake than in the Everglades,” he said.
Photography, as a form of artistic expression, possesses a profound ability to capture fleeting moments, evoke powerful emotions, and transport viewers into the depths of imagination and contemplation. Likewise, Cristina Garcia Rodero’s staggering photographs left an indelible mark on the world of documentary photography and visual storytelling. With a keen eye for capturing the essence of human experiences and cultural traditions, Garcia Rodero’s photographs transport viewers into vibrant and often marginalized communities, offering a window into their unique rituals, beliefs and ways of life.
Through her distinctive style and sensitive approach, she delves deep into the human condition, exploring themes of identity, spirituality, and the resilience of the human spirit. Her evocative images not only serve as visual narratives but also challenge societal perceptions, fostering empathy and understanding across cultures. Her contributions to the field of photography have garnered numerous accolades, including being the first Spanish photographer to become a member of the renowned international photo agency Magnum.
During her visit to Istanbul for a conference titled “Journey to the Unknown,” organized by the collaboration of the Spanish Embassy in Türkiye and Cervantes Institute in Istanbul, I had a chance to interview this great artist, whose work engulfed me as I witnessed documentation of mythology in her works.
It is common for photo artists to capture the ritualistic moments of societies. They often encounter portraits, historical places or beautiful landscapes. Therefore, when asked what motivates Rodero to photograph these sacred moments, she said: “These moments are about breaking everyday life, the day-to-day, the work. It’s a moment to pause and change the rhythm, open up to everyone and desire to be happy. So it’s about making food, bringing music, drinking, dancing and doing things that are not done or not usually done throughout the year as a whole community. And these moments always break with the established order. They are moments like changing seasons or the end of a harvest or remembering a historical event.”
For Rodero, rituals have long played a significant role in the history of human beings and their communities. In certain instances, entire communities have come together to offer sacrifices and express gratitude in response to events such as epidemics, plagues or other momentous occurrences. These rituals serve as a commemoration of the community’s liberation from adversity, a gesture of thanks for the newfound freedom.
“Giving thanks for something that has happened most of the time, or they are supplications. ‘I want it to rain; let the water come, my God, let it rain.’ So some people go into the river with the image, with the religious part, with the sacred part. But they go into the river and sing, asking for rain,” she elaborated.
“I finished Fine Arts; I studied painting; I studied photography. So, after finishing Fine Arts, I had a scholarship in Italy. And in Italy, I was alone for three months. And there, I remembered Spain a lot because of the loneliness I felt. And I could also buy many photography books, which were scarce in Spain and the scholarship truly changed my life. Because I asked for it to work on the villages in Spain, but in general, their architecture, their landscape, their food, their jewelry, their traditional costumes, there are so many traditional costumes in Spain, incredibly beautiful,” she said.
“When I discovered the festivals, I said, I don’t want anything else, I don’t want anything more. This is rich enough, and it has everything. It has the cuisine, it has the costumes, it has the jewelry, but it has the history. Life. You discover the reasons behind many things, behind their manifestations. And it seemed so rich and beautiful that it fulfilled my life. It filled me and excited me because I had very little idea of what reportage was. I came from portraiture. I was always interested in human beings. But festivals are action. And I used to do posed studio portraits. Well, I had to change my mindset and stop doing portraits because the action was much more interesting than the perfection I was seeking,” Rodero added.
By doing so, Rodero embarks on a journey to discover her country’s sacred rituals and longstanding festivals, leaving almost no unexplored area in Spain.
“Wanting to get to know Spain, wanting to talk about Spain, realizing that Spain had a lot of popular wealth, a lot of history, because Spain, being a peninsula, has had many invasions. It has invaded, but before that, it was invaded by many peoples. So there is a tremendous variety of things. There were Jews; there were Arabs; with the Arabs, it was eight centuries, they left their culture, they left a lot of knowledge, especially about the use of water. The Jews left a lot of astronomy, banking, and the Arabs left culture because they were much more educated than the Christians, much more educated, and they lived very normally. Everyone was fine, very integrated. Until the Catholic monarchs came, and they wanted to be unique, the only country, only Christianity, but for interests, more economic interests than spiritual interests,” she explained.
As Rodero photographed the most sacred moments of the people who are practicing the rituals, the whole process requires mutual trust between the subject and the photographer.
“It usually depends on the type of festival it is. Some are very intimate and some are very open. So, I think being a woman has made it easier for me to connect with people. Because when I started, which was in 1973 when I began, it wasn’t normal for a woman to travel alone to villages. People always thought I was there to sell things, carrying big bags with photographic equipment and a sleeping bag,” she said.
“On the other hand, Spanish people are very open and very trusting. I really like people; I participate in everything I can. I try to be as unobtrusive as possible. It’s about understanding the other person because if you’re chasing someone with a camera, it can be very aggressive. I try with my behavior to be as non-aggressive as possible and as affectionate as I can be. The camera helps you a lot. It can be very aggressive, but it can also be a bond. The camera is like an octopus, where one of its tentacles can caress people, or it can hold their hand with the camera, spiritually,” she said.
“In their own way, they create another portrait of you. This woman is nice; she is trustworthy. She’ll come back next year. Or she’ll be a bird of prey that comes and eats, flies away and doesn’t return. Like Attila’s horse. Because wherever he went, grass wouldn’t grow. I would climb; I don’t know how many kilometers carrying equipment and work for 10 consecutive hours. Maybe seven hours without eating and people observe you. And then they tell you. They create their own portrait of you and know if they can trust you. Again, it’s about respect for photography, for the pride of learning about their customs and traditions,” she added.
In Rodero’s style of uniqueness, for me, there is an evoking of gothic and grotesque, maybe an origination from rituals’ very own nature. For example, Rodero explained one of the attention-catching festivals she witnessed: “Corpus Christi is the celebration of Christ, the way to worship Christ, is to communicate. It is also the celebration of the body of God. And there is a man who symbolizes the devil. And the procession goes through the streets. And the priest blesses them. Before the blessing, the devil jumps and it means that the devil leaves their bodies because God will bless them. Protection for children born in that year.”
“And the priest walks through the streets of the town and they place eight mattresses with the children born during the year. But I haven’t found anything like this anywhere else in the world. But I did find in Mexico that children were placed on the ground and a man walked over them. And in India, I have seen it too, but there are no children. There are people. Of all ages, women, men, and children. So this Indian priest walks on them. But the meaning is not about the devil leaving the body, but it is about protection. Stepping on those bodies does protect people,” she remarked.
In Rodero’s journey to explore the sacred rituals and longstanding festivals of her homeland in Spain, she discovers a world where everything is interconnected. These rituals, she realizes, serve as a profound way of connecting with the sacred and paying homage to the ancestors. From dramatic and unique moments that evoke powerful emotions to instances filled with a great sense of humor, tenderness and even the presence of peculiar characters, Rodero witnesses the diverse tapestry of human existence within these rituals.
Through this rich blend, she comes to appreciate the depth and complexity of humanity, finding moments that resonate deeply with her own spirit. With each new encounter, Rodero immerses herself in the captivating world of these rituals, where the boundaries between the spiritual realm and the human experience blur, revealing the inherent interconnectedness at the core of her culture’s traditions.
Mjaji, who started his photography company, Innovative Photography, in 2021 said the picture of his niece was an idea that started when he planned his “My Footprint” project.
“I wanted to capture the essence of South Africa and its love for children, as well as showcase the products that are popular in our country. I saw an opportunity to involve Albany, a well-known bread brand, and decided to incorporate it into the shoot,” he said.
To make it happen, he requested support from his mother, who has always been supportive of his artistic endeavours.
“She provided me with the necessary funds to buy Albany bread for the shoot. It is heartwarming to have her encouragement and willingness to help me, even if it means buying items specifically for my photography,” he said.
During the shoot, he explained the concept and importance of the images to his niece. He shared with her the idea of going to Gauteng with her, symbolising a journey of success and opportunity.
“Lethukukhanya understood the assignment and willingly participated, displaying her natural talent. Together, we created images that resonate with the South African audience and capture the spirit of the child and our country,” he said.
He said as he focuses on his future, he is committed to continuing with his studies at the Tshwane University of Technology and further expanding his skills and knowledge. He said he would keep shooting every day, driven by his belief that every day holds creative potential.
“Through my photography I hope to inspire others, challenge stereotypes and pave the way for the next generation of photographers. I am excited about the possibilities that lie ahead and grateful for the support I have received on this journey,” he said.
His TikTok video of the shoot with his niece was shared by the Love Albany Bread page on Facebook.
He confirmed Albany branch managers have reached out to him but were waiting for their bosses to respond.
İzzet Keribar, who has been recording the city and people for years, told about his adventure of becoming a master photographer.
“Compared to now, I think that I have photographed Istanbul very little. Because we could not predict that Istanbul would change so much. We thought that boats in Karaköy would always stay,” he said.
Keribar, one of the photography masters in Türkiye, grew up in Istanbul during World War II. He recorded the city and its people for years.
The master photographer, who still produces, brings together his favorite snapshots of Istanbul in a newsy opened exhibition, titled “Enchanted City” (Efsunlu Istanbul), which opened at Üsküdar Nevmekan Sahil Gallery, curated by Erkan Doğanay.
Speaking about when he first met the camera and the change in Istanbul, Keribar said, “There was a Zeiss camera in the form of a black box at home. I used it for fun. But it was my older brother who changed my life. We used to explore Istanbul and take pictures with him every weekend. We would visit as many mosques and historical places as there were. I got a Leica machine that I wanted so much in high school. When I was 16-17 years old, I was taking pictures like crazy, never leaving the camera with me. However, when compared to now, I think I photographed Istanbul very little. This makes me feel so sad. Because we did not expect that Istanbul would change so much. We thought that the boats in Karaköy would always stay there.”
Stating that not everyone could take photography in the past, Keribar said, “It used to be a privilege to take photos. However, photography was not seen as a profession. Ara Güler, Sami Güler and a few journalists were the best-known photographers.”
Expressing how he has developed in the field of photography, Keribar said, “I became a reserve officer at the age of 20 and went to Korea as a volunteer translator. I had a desire to explore a terrifying world. When I went to Korea, I took my machine in my hand. Over time, my profession of photography came to the fore.”
Stating that he was not happy in his other jobs, Keribar said, “When I returned to Istanbul, I met my wife and got married. Of course, once we got married and started a family, priorities changed. First of all, I got into the decoration and textile business. I was making money, but I was not happy. However, after a long trip to the U.S. in the 1980s, I bought a camera again. Then I took incredible shots. I said, ‘I will continue taking photography’ and did so. Then came competitions, awards and exhibitions.”
Recounting a memory about the late photographer Ara Güler, Keribar said, “We knew each other, but I fell in love with the Tarlabaşı demolitions in 1986. I was taking pictures in the dust, and there was only Ara Güler. He said, ‘There is no one else but you and me at such an important moment. You are the real photographer.’ I was doing other jobs, and he was a reporter.”
Stating that Istanbul has lost its unique texture, the master photographer said, “We can no longer tour Istanbul as before. Also, apart from some historical monuments and the Bosphorus, Istanbul has lost its unique texture. Abnormally ugly buildings have been built in the last 50 years. Unfortunately, the city turned into concrete. This aesthetic sense is killing me. I have to sort things out while taking photos. It is very difficult to take pictures in Istanbul without sorting things out anymore.”
Explaining the reason why he defines Istanbul as “enchanted” in his exhibition, Keribar said, “I always manage to discover something in this city. The word ‘enchanted’ comes from there. There are places that I like more in Istanbul, such as the Grand Bazaar, Tarlabaşı and the back streets of Beyoğlu. Despite everything, Istanbul still excites me. Historical monuments are being renewed, and new places are being opened. For example, something happened recently that made me happy: Barbaros Hayrettin Pasha Mosque was opened in Levent. I was one of the first to go and photograph there.
Explaining why the exhibition “The Enchanted City” was held in Üsküdar, Keribar said, “Üsküdar is one of the main places in Istanbul. I love Atik Valide Mosque and Aziz Mahmud Hüdayi Tomb in this neighborhood. Both are good photography venues. There is also Kuzguncuk, of course. Üsküdar is important to me.”
The exhibition can be seen through Aug. 24.
One day in 1978, Janine Wiedel found hell a few streets south of Spaghetti Junction in Birmingham. “The noise was deafening. The heat was intense. I’d never seen anything like it,” she says. In her native US, she’d photographed Black Panthers and student protests at Berkeley in California, but neither prepared her for this industrial inferno, on which one-time West Midlands resident JRR Tolkien reputedly based Mordor.
Inside Smiths’ Drop Forgings were nine 35-hundredweight hammers worked by some of the filthiest men she’d ever seen. The forge had been in operation since 1910 and was typical of the small Birmingham firms that made the city proudly define itself not just as the workshop of the world but as the city of a thousand trades.
This particular forge made couplings for British articulated lorries. A piece of metal was heated in a furnace, then placed beneath one of the hammers. One of Wiedel’s portraits depicts Alan, the stamper, releasing the rope that dropped the hammer about nine feet with an ear-splitting smack. No wonder heavy metal originated in the West Midlands: Ozzy Osbourne and Tony Iommi, who lived a few streets away, probably heard these hammers before they formed Black Sabbath.
Wiedel recalls that the hammers were referred to as Jim’s or Bob’s or Alan’s. “They belonged to the men, which showed how close they felt to their work. I remember they used to say, ‘Any child could work in the modern forges, but we are the real stampers.’ There was a pride and a camaraderie I suspect you don’t find much nowadays.”
That pride is evident in her photographs. “I don’t think there was one person who said they didn’t want to be photographed. They were just pleased, I think, by the fact that someone was taking an interest in their jobs.”
The New York-born photographer was in Birmingham thanks to a bursary from West Midlands Arts, which wanted her to document the local people. She was making a name for herself as a documentary photographer who spent time earning the trust of the close-knit, often threatened communities she photographed, such as the Inuit of Baffin Island in Canada and Travellers of western Ireland.
Her West Midlands project was trickier because she decided to document a diverse range of communities – the miners of North Staffordshire, the chainmakers of Cradley Heath, the metal stampers of Aston, the potters of Stoke, the blastfurnace workers of Bilston, the craftspeople of Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter. The results of the project are due to appear in a book called Vulcan’s Forge.
In it, she documents ways of living and working that had existed in the Midlands for centuries. Some details also date-stamp her work: one chap in a woolly hat has a safety pin attached to his earring – this was the era of punk rock.
What Wiedel didn’t realise was that she was documenting end times. Many of the industries she photographed no longer exist: the steelworks and blast furnaces of Bilston closed before the 1970s were out. The colliery in Sedgley has become a country park, as if Mordor had mutated into Hobbiton. Today, Cradley Heath still makes chains, and there are artisans in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter, but many fewer are employed in these trades than when Wiedel first visited. “It was the late 1970s, a time of economic crisis and underinvestment,” she recalls.
The coup de grace for many firms came after the election of Margaret Thatcher in 1979; her chancellor of the exchequer Geoffrey Howe’s deflationary budgets sped up the region’s deindustrialisation. The later defeat of the miners’ strike effectively closed collieries like the Staffordshire one Wiedel photographed.
The photographer would travel the region in a VW camper van, in which she also lived. Each night she would develop her film to see what she had captured, like a movie director studying the day’s rushes. At weekends she’d return home to London and print her favourite pictures. Though she strove to spend time with her subjects to get beneath the cliches, the task was made trickier when an ATV film crew, fascinated by this American’s interest in heavy industry, shadowed her for a documentary on the project.
She capturedwhat now seems like a health and safety nightmare. In nearly every photograph from Smiths’ Drop Forgings, cigarettes dangle from workers’ lips as they work surrounded by raging flames and molten metal. “There were lots of accidents,” recalls Wiedel. One group shot shows a man with a plaster across his nose next to another with a fresh cheek wound.
Several of her most charming images are of men from the forge quenching their thirsts at lunchtime with well-deserved pints. Were these men really going back to operate heavy machinery afterwards? They were. “Wouldn’t be allowed today, of course.”
In one shot, which she called Waiting for Dad, a little boy weighed down by his school bag stands outside the mighty forge. That boy grew up to become Andy Conway, the prolific novelist and screenwriter. One of his Touchstone sequence of novels, Fade to Grey, is set in the forge and includes a nod to Wiedel’s project, which he praises for documenting a fast-disappearing working-class world in all its toil, squalor and occasional majesty.
One of Wiedel’s heroes is Dorothea Lange, famous for her US Depression-era photographs. Vulcan Forge has Lange-like integrity and evident fondness for the people she depicts. But Wiedel’s West Midlands project reminds me most of the work of another American, Janet Mendelsohn. When she was a Birmingham University photography student in the 1960s, Mendelsohn made a celebrated study of Varna Road in Balsall Heath, then a red-light district described as ‘The wickedest road in Britain’.
Both Wiedel and Mendelsohn shot in black and white; both achieved a non-judgmental intimacy with their subjects. But Wiedel went where women rarely trod. At Littleton Colliery, north of Cannock, Wiedelthinks she was the first woman allowed to descend to the coal face. “The miners were reluctant to let me go down the pit. They said: ‘You haven’t got the right footwear,’ which was nonsense. There was a prevailing idea that it wasn’t good luck to take a woman down the pit shaft.
“In the end they gave me a helmet and said, ‘Follow us’. I trotted after them with my tripod, but it was a nightmare. It was absolutely black and I couldn’t use flash. I managed to use the helmet light and paint the light that way.”
Away from the pit, many women did of course work in the industries. Some of the most compelling pictures in Vulcan’s Forge are of women making chains in Cradley Heath and gilding medals in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter. “There was one woman, Florence Allen, who had the secret formula for gilding. Everybody was terrified that when she died she would take it with her.”
After her West Midlands project, Wiedel spent two years in the early 1980s with women anti-nuclear protesters at Greenham Common. She doubts my thought that she was going from a tough man’s world to a sympathetic women’s one. “For me, both communities were fighting for a certain lifestyle. When I look back on my work I think I’ve always been drawn to people who have the strength to survive despite the pressures of society. I often take pictures of people who protest and I’m interested in what it takes to get people out on the streets to stand up for things they really believe in.” That’s what impelled her to photograph the Black Panthers in the 1960s and what has inspired her most recent work, documenting Black Lives Matter protests and Iranian female demonstrators. “These people are fighting for their own identities. That never ceases to impress me.”
Last year, Wiedel went back to Birmingham for an exhibition of the pictures she’d taken 45 years earlier. “The best thing was that so many of the men I’d photographed back then showed up, older, greyer but still lovely.” During the intervening years, she has regularly been asked for photographs by family members. Only the other week, a family got in touch with her after their dad, whom she photographed, had died – they wanted one of her pictures of him at work for the funeral service booklet. “I was really pleased to be asked to do that because there is so little documentation of what it was like to work in these industries – so little for their kids and grandkids to see, to give them an insight into what their dad did.”
What she recorded is a time very different from our image-saturated 2023. “For many of these people this would have been the first time they had been photographed at work. There were no mobile phones, no selfies.”
Often the portraits she produced were a shock to the men’s families. “I remember one woman saying to me, ‘Couldn’t you have got him to wear a suit?’ In those days, you might be photographed at your wedding and that was about it. Women didn’t know what their men looked like at work because they’d never been inside the forge or down the pit.
“It was important to record these lives,” she concludes. “For me, it’s been great to give people back their history – that’s the best part of what I do.”
Preorder a copy of Janine Wiedel’s Vulcan’s Forge on Kickstarter and also support the Bluecoat Press publication by buying limited-edition prints here
