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There’s still time to enter the Weather Photographer of the Year contest – and there’s $10,000 in prizes to be won

There’s still time to enter the Weather Photographer of the Year contest – and there’s $10,000 in prizes to be won

Photographs of flooding, hurricane-damaged houses and wildfires are all too common in the news these days, as climate change brings with it extreme weather and natural hazards. 

The Standard Chartered Weather Photographer of the Year competition aims to raise awareness about the impact of climate change and extreme weather, and is organized by the UK’s Royal Meteorological Society (RMetS).

Whether you’re using your camera phone or one of the best mirrorless cameras on the market, you can submit your entries to this year’s competition until June 18 by entering here.

The competition is open to amateur and professional photographers from around the world, and there are three categories: 

  • The main Weather Photographer of the Year will win a cash prize of $6,400 / £5,000 / AU$9,500
  • The Smartphone Weather Photographer of the Year is open for images taken on phones or tablets, with a $3,200 / £2,500 / $4,800 cash prize
  • The Young Weather Photographer of the Year is open to anyone aged 17 and under (submissions by entrants under 13 must be entered by an adult) with a $950 / £750 / AU$1,400 cash prize

The Young Weather Photographer of the Year Award and RMetS have partnered with The Week Junior Science+Nature, and both the editor and the photo editor of the publication will be helping to judge the category.

Overhead Mammatus Over Beach Huts at Herne Bay was taken by 17-year-old Jamie McBean, who won the Standard Chartered Young Weather Photography of the Year Award 2023 (Image credit: Jamie McBean)

“We are proud that The Week Junior Science+Nature will continue supporting the youth category as a media partner this year,” said Standard Chartered, noting that the publication “takes 8-15 year-olds on amazing voyages of discovery around the world.”

Offering advice on how to capture the best cloud photos, Standard Chartered suggests the following:

“Find an open area with a clear view of the sky. Avoid areas with tall buildings or trees that get in the way. Early morning and late afternoon are great times to capture beautiful colours and soft light. Clouds come in all shapes and sizes, so keep your eyes peeled for interesting formations and be ready to snap before they pass by.”

New to the Weather Photographer of the Year award in 2024 is the Standard Chartered Climate Award. This will be awarded to the picture that tells the most compelling story about the impact of climate change, with a cash prize of $1,280 / £1,000 / AU$1,900.

The public can also vote for their favorite images after the shortlist has been announced in September.

The competition is free to enter and open to people of all abilities. Entrants are allowed to submit a maximum of five images per category, and photographs must have been taken between June 18 2019 and June 18 2024.

For more information and to enter your photographs, visit the RMets website.

Photographing interesting weather might mean getting wet, so make sure to check out the best waterproof cameras

Raw, intimate portraits that explore online identity

Raw, intimate portraits that explore online identity
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The process of taking the perfect selfie is by no means an easy one; variables like angle, lighting and choice of background all contribute to the ways in which we try to put our best selves forward in digital spaces. Vincent Ferrané’s latest photo book, IRL Corps, (published by Witty Books) and its associated exhibition (now running at Destin Sensible and Cnap until July 26, 2024) is a new collection of photographs exploring the gulf between the online and real-life spaces that we occupy, foregrounding how our selfies – and indeed, our digital selves – are constructed.

“The initial idea of this project is to question how a body IRL seeks to address the social body through the production of its image and its dissemination on digital social networks,” explains Ferrané. In order to explore these ideas further, his portraits introduce the “staged aspect of self-presentation”. Throughout the images in the series, we see artificial lighting, selfie sticks, even a mobile phone; in an image of David – one of the nine diverse bodies and identities Ferrané documents – we see him looking at his phone camera, presumably to take a selfie. Ferrané presents us with someone who is about to turn themselves into both a subject and object simultaneously.

This division – between being the subject of one of Ferrané’s images, and becoming an object through their own selfies – is emphasized by the ways in which the photographer deploys mirrors in his images “to compose images that further the mise en abyme of the different gazes: that of the subject in their role as image producer and spectator of their own image”. Mise en abyme is the practice of placing the copy of an image within itself, which Ferrané accomplishes in his portrait of Moon (below) by showing them lying on their back, with a mirror creating a reflection that looks off in a different direction.  

There’s a complicated political dimension to how we share our bodies online; Ferrané argues that this aspect “emerged in relation to social control […] which rejected the conformity of certain individuals or their social groups”. This tension between the politics of representation – and the democratisation initially promised to us through social media – and Ferrané’s desire to “present one’s self as one is” is something amplified by the project’s relationship to social media.

Ferrané has a complicated relationship with social media. “I am old enough to have known the beginning of social networks and utopian promise they held. Today, one can cast a very critical eye on what they have become, yet small islands of resistance and creation seem to persist.” IRL Corps can be seen as exactly that: an island of resistance and creation, with Ferrane and his subjects challenging the ways in which we understand something that’s become as ubiquitous as the selfie.

For Ferrané, this project both “illustrates the widening gap created by the substantial volume of images that are perpetually consumed and replaced”, while also shining a light on the relevance of the image. It’s this relevance that has shifted over time – as we move from physical to increasingly digital platforms – and what gives IRL Corps its political dimension. 

The guiding principle of these images is to allow people to present themselves as they feel they are. In spite of the transparent artificiality of the way Ferrané’s images are staged, the subjects themselves are presented with intimacy and tenderness, and the space to simply exist. But what makes IRL Corps so compelling is that, in presenting its subjects in this way, it reminds us of the fact that – whether IRL or in cyberspace – we still need to fight to exist as ourselves, as Ferrané puts it, to “be a body-subject rather than a photographed-body-object”.

Vincent Ferrané’s IRL Corps is published by Witty Books and is avilable here now. The exhibition is now running Destin Sensible and Cnap until July 26, 2024.

7 most famous Indian artists across genres | The Times of India

7 most famous Indian artists across genres  | The Times of India

India, a country rich in talent, diversity, and culture, has given the world some of the most famous and talented artists across different genres. From amazing painters who blended Indian and Western techniques, to Sitar maestros who collaborated with ‘The Beatles’, Indian artists have given the world some of the best paintings, ragas, voices, and beats.
Here we list some of the most famous Indian artists across genres.

A Black photographer added himself to places where history didn’t want him

A Black photographer added himself to places where history didn’t want him


CNN
 — 

In 1967 romcom “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner,” Sidney Poitier’s dashing doctor is dropped into the lives of the Draytons, a White middle class family, when their daughter arrives home and announces she has a fiancé. The parents are liberals, but the news is shocking; they’re not sure if they approve of an interracial marriage. No matter that this man is handsome and of spotless character – he’s Sidney Poitier, for crying out loud – his presence, in all its Blackness, marks an intrusion, upending this hitherto White space.

Now imagine we know nothing about the Draytons. They could be civil rights campaigners or conservatives or card-carrying members of the KKK. And no Hollywood ending is guaranteed. That is the provocative space a puckish Omar Victor Diop finds himself in in “Being There.”

Conceived by British photographer Lee Shulman and Senegalese self-portraitist Diop, the series sees the duo utilize a collection of family photos from 1950s and 1960s America, editing Diop into a series of intimate scenes, both public and private, in spaces where Black people were often shut out.

The 60 or so photos, Kodachrome slides purchased on eBay by Shulman years ago, are drawn from his “Anonymous Project,” so named because Shulman has no idea of the identities of any of the people in them. The collection has spurred on multiple side projects, including a book with British photographer Martin Parr, and now “Being There,” which debuted at Paris Photo in November 2023 and was recently turned into a coffee table book.

“Being There” came to life when Shulman noticed many of the slides contained an empty seat – presumably that the photographer had vacated to take the photo. “There was an absence,” he told CNN in a joint video interview with Diop. That they were taken in America circa the civil rights movement, but also of a segregated South, “played on my mind a lot,” he explained. That absence became abstracted. The person missing from the seat evolved into a totem of worlds and peoples often excluded from the privileges of White America. “Every time I saw that chair, I saw Omar in (it),” Shulman added.

Though the two photographers had never met, it tracks. Shulman owned a few works from the acclaimed self-portraitist, who has prior experience in this area. Diop’s series “Diaspora” depicts Africans outside of Africa at different points in history (albeit with some contemporary – often soccer related ­­– props). That sense of play and humor continues in “Being There,” in which an oft-grinning Diop offers a cheeky presence in each still.

Shulman and Diop curated the selection together. “We were looking for images that covered a broad spectrum of life, because it’s a family photo album,” said Shulman.

There are signs of wealth: a ski holiday, a Hawaiian jaunt, a trip to the Grand Canyon, alongside more modest adventures like a roadside picnic and a day at the zoo. The camera goes inside homes, capturing Diop in the back of birthday celebrations and lounging with families. However quotidian, that these moments were captured by cameras is a sign of race and class privilege, argued Shulman.

Other photographs, by nature of their location, are more charged. Diop splashes around in a public swimming pool; graduates from college; sits in a busy bar. He’s surrounded by White faces as he does so, occupying spaces which were historically segregated in some states. “The political potential of this series made it very easy for me to jump into this,” Diop said.

“We tend to have this glamorized gaze towards history. And in doing so, we forget how it’s easy not to make room for someone who’s different,” he added. “(The series) is an invitation to look at our lives nowadays and see how many people different from us that we allow into our intimate circles.”

Ironically, inserting Diop into these spontaneous shots involved a lot of planning. Period props and costumes were used by Diop in a greenscreen set, with rigs mimicking the lighting of each slide. Digital post-production slotted him into the photographs, approximating the grade and grain of Kodachrome film, along with any shadows, blur and movement in the shot.

Dressing up, Diop was struck by how much he looked like his father, who “laughed a lot going through the book,” the portraitist said.

“He’d been a student in Europe in the late ’50s, so he’d been sitting at these tables,” Diop added. “Of course, you can’t really compare (being an African in Europe) with what African Americans went through in the same era, but the idea of being different is something (they had in common).”

Omar Victor Diop (right) and Lee Shulman (left) feature together in one image, taken of a car with Mt. Hood in the background.

The collaborators never decided whether Diop is playing the same character in each photograph, or if it was a character at all, and not just Diop appearing as a time traveller. This ambiguity carries over into Diop’s relationship with the lens. “One of the reasons it works is that gaze he sometimes has towards the camera,” said Shulman, “you feel that he knows the photographer.” On the other hand, if it’s a case of Diop breaching the space-time continuum, photographs read as if he’s bringing the viewer in on the secret.

Likewise, neither resolved whether Diop was a welcome presence or gate-crasher in each scene.

Despite having the slides in his possession for years, Shulman still knows next to nothing about their subjects.

“As much as they’re anonymous, they tell us a lot,” he insisted. “Every time I look at these images, even without Omar in them, I feel these people are looking at us and telling us something about history.”

There is another, perhaps unintended, dimension to the photographs. The anonymity of the White people, and Shulman and Diop’s lack of desire to investigate them and their inner lives, forces the viewer to rely on sign and symbol to construct identity. We don’t know their politics, nor how they’d respond to Diop’s presence. Deprived of details, these lives become homogenized; bundled. In doing so, they’re treated like so many people of color were when portrayed by what was, for decades, a hegemonic Western – and almost exclusively White – lens, which had a knack for stripping away nuance. Diop’s winking presence, Black and African, seems to say, “Look where I am” but also, “See how you like it.”

Shulman insisted “there’s no pointing fingers in this book,” while later saying neither he nor Diop “feel like we own this project” now that’s out in the world and “lives its life.” All interpretations are valid, a fact they say excites them.

More than 60 years after the photos were taken, much of America appears different now. Gently probing, playfully satirical, Shulman and Diop remind us that much remains the same.

“It’s a very contemporary project,” Shulman said. “It has a lot of relevance to the world we live in today.”

“Being There” is published by Textuel and available now.

A Photographer Widens His Gaze to Loss, and It’s a Gain

A Photographer Widens His Gaze to Loss, and It’s a Gain
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Pieces add up to an archive of a life lived deeply in Lyle Ashton Harris’s compelling survey at the Queens Museum.

If you’re a habitual saver, not to say hoarder, of personal memorabilia — snapshots, postcards, clippings, ticket stubs, notes-to-self, — the time comes when you need to figure out what to do with the stuff — sort-and-toss, or deep store? — if only to clear space for more.

The artist Lyle Ashton Harris is just such a saver, and he’s found a terrific solution. He’s turned some three decades-worth of loosely curated personal accumulation into one of the most remarkable bodies of American art around, a data-dense, visually compelling archive, not just of one life but, as seen through that life, of the social and political history of Black queer culture in the post-Stonewall years.

The basic dynamic of his method and perspective is encapsulated in the phrase used as the title of his first New York survey, “Lyle Ashton Harris: Our First and Last Love,” now at the Queens Museum. He came across the phrase on a slip of paper in a Chinese fortune cookie back in the early 1990s, and pasted it, as he regularly did other finds, in a notebook.

That notebook is in the show, and if you track it down you discover that the “fortune” actually reads in full: “Our first and last love is … Self-Love.” And right from the start, Harris has used self-image, directly or indirectly — who he is, what he has — as a tool of personal and political investigation.

“Succession,” 2020, two dye sublimation prints on Ghanaian fabric and the artist’s ephemera. The bewigged Harris is here, and one of him as a toddler, sitting on the lap of his father, Thomas Allen Harris Sr.via Rose Art Museum, Brandeis University

His earliest work is a form of theatrical self-portraiture. As an undergraduate in the late 1980s at Wesleyan University, where he came out as gay and was one of the few Black students, he photographed himself in a blond wig and whiteface, flipping old machismo and minstrelsy tropes that still attached to Blackness. In self-portraits from a few years later he pushed a little harder.

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In pictures: A strange, magical vision of queer spirituality

In pictures: A strange, magical vision of queer spirituality
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There’s an anachronistic beauty to the images in Trouble Every Day, a new book exploring trans identity through paganism, rituals, and Edenic landscapes. For the book’s creator, Eddie Langham, this natural landscape – the images were shot on location in Sydenham Hill Woods – is at the core of the images themselves. Langham says that they wanted to “evoke the natural process of budding, blooming, rotting, and decay in the story of the book, which I think most queer and trans people could relate to in the expression of their own identity.” 

‘The Players’, as they’re dubbed in Trouble Every Day, are Puer Deorum, Rae Martins Ashton, and Donna Marcus Duke (whose text, Marsha, Gardens, and Fucking Liberals accompanies photographs by Eerie Rose and Karin Sarkizoba). They seem both at home in this landscape and alien to it, somewhere between the past and our own contemporary moment, a continuation of the cyclical growth, decay, and rebirth of gardens and the natural world.

For Langham – who says that their work is informed by historical fashion – the historical references to the aesthetics and silhouettes of royal courts “represent the idea that trans identity has been here since the beginning of culture yet has been ostracized from art history”. The book is designed to offer an “alternative timeline to our erasure, while centering and celebrating trans and queer people in aesthetic fashions and regalia we wouldn’t have had access to”. This idea is echoed by Rose, who gives credit to the element of fantasy that exists in these images: “If we did have this history, what would it have looked like? What do we want future generations to be able to look back on.”

Trans identity has always had a complex relationship with the past; whether through historical erasure, or the burdens and expectations that trans people might feel now. This tension exists in Fucking Liberals, the accompany text by Donna Marcus Duke, which grapples with the inescapable image of Marsha P. Johnson wearing a flower crown. The essay tries to make sense of what happens when a person becomes an icon; as Duke puts it, “ trans people, our relationship with own materiality and how it’s ascribed by others can often be fraught, which is why I think there is a tendency to find refuge in the spiritual”. Trouble Ever Day is reaching for both the spirituality in material life, and what it means to make spirituality less abstract. 

For Langham, these idea are expressed in the relationship that Trouble Every Day has with paganism. They explain, “So many English historical folkloric traditions have a trans energy which sits at odds with our erasure from history.” This also comes through in the images themselves; the flowing gowns and elaborate adornments – veils, armor, hoods – alongside the bucolic background and decaying ruins feel ripped out of folk horror. For Rose, their own queerness is “found in paganism and the occult […] the persecution of something as natural as paganism, one of our oldest forms of spirituality, feels adjacent to the queer experience in many ways.” Langham is poetic about this: “Transitioning and making oneself’s outside align with their inside is in some ways a magical and supernatural experience as it goes against the patriarchal assigned ‘order’ of things.”

“Transitioning and making oneself’s outside align with their inside is in some ways a magical and supernatural experience as it goes against the patriarchal assigned ‘order’ of things” – Eddie Langham

The central metaphors in Trouble Every Day – gardens and the natural world, the material ruins of times gone by – show a refusal to let the images and text simply gesture towards something utopian, instead offering something strange and compelling, even magical, but that you need to surrender yourself to. Community is at the heart of this – those that have been lost, and those yet to come – which Duke makes reference to in their essay, writing, “We wear flowers as a garden, because together we’re divine.” Whether or not this divinity is attainable isn’t made clear, and nor should it be.

The transformational nature of Trouble Every Day – whether in the image of the garden, or the mutability of trans identity – offers a more material kind of freedom than that, something that Rose describes through the language of the garden itself: “Just as flowers come and go, no matter how cold the frost is, come spring they will bloom again – so will queer and trans people. These are flowers that grow through the cracks in paving stones, creep in through the bricks, take root under the foundations of your home. Queerness is as natural as the ancient forests, and older than the stone circles.”

Trouble Every Day is published by New Dimension and is available to buy here. The book launches at Inventory Art Book Fair (7-9 June in Cromwell Place SW7 2JE).