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“With the world in apocalypse mode, I had no choice but to rejoin the rat race”

“With the world in apocalypse mode, I had no choice but to rejoin the rat race”

Which came first? My passion for traveling or my passion for photography? They are both so intertwined that it’s a hard question to answer. However, I do remember once standing in front of the New York City skyline and realizing that my old phone camera simply wasn’t doing justice to what my eyes were seeing. Since then, I have traveled to over 50 countries taking shots that showed the culture and sights of each new city, village or nature park I was visiting.

In 2018 that eventually led me to leave everything behind – including my job, my apartment and my furniture – so that I could travel the world for 18 months. Despite the many challenges, it is a decision that I will never regret. It wasn’t an easy one, though. I kept overthinking things, telling myself how foolish I was to leave everything behind just for a few months of travel. Yet my heart kept pushing me the other way.

I started nervously in Argentina, my home country, but kept on at a fairly slow pace, visiting almost all the countries in Latin America. From the Atacama desert in Chile and the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu in Peru to the chicken buses of Central America and beyond – at every step of the way, my camera was always around my neck.

I mostly prefer street photography, so my memory card was filled with faces of everyday people going about their daily lives. Holding a big DSLR makes you conspicuous, yet I mostly encountered curiosity from the locals, rather than anger. 

I eventually made my way to southeast Asia, that old beaten path of backpackers, where destiny decided that I would be stranded in Thailand for four months. And by destiny, I mean the COVID-19 pandemic. With the world in apocalypse mode and my trip cut short, I had no choice but to return to my old office job and rejoin the rat race. Yet always in my mind, the roads were calling me back and inviting me to finish what I had started in 2018. 

That moment is now. So, in 2024, I am, once again, beginning a world tour to complete the task that I set myself up for back then. This time, it will be Africa, the Middle East and Eastern Europe. I hope I can share with you what I’m seeing through my lens.

Travel Photography
Gonzalo Rosendo

Gonzalo Rosendo is a travel and street photographer from Argentina, who has captured images from around the world over the past 10 years. In 2018, he embarked on an 18-month world tour to capture life in Asia and Latin America,
but his trip was cut short by the Covid-19 pandemic. Now, he plans on doing the same in Africa and the Middle East.


Tech details

Canon EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-6.5 IS II

(Image credit: Canon)

Camera: Canon EOS Rebel T2i (550D / Kiss X4)
Lens: Canon EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-6.5 IS II
Aperture: f/6.3 
Shutter speed: 1.6 sec 
ISO: 200


Take a look at the best travel cameras and the best lenses for travel photography

The Camera Eats First: Dallas Photography Pros Who Create a Feast for Our Eyes

The Camera Eats First: Dallas Photography Pros Who Create a Feast for Our Eyes
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Greenville’s gritty Poe Mill skatepark will soon be gone. A photographer is capturing it.

Greenville’s gritty Poe Mill skatepark will soon be gone. A photographer is capturing it.

GREENVILLE — As skateboarders flip and fly across the concrete at Poe Mill skatepark, a yellow construction truck vrooms behind them on flattened dirt.

It’s an eerie glimpse into the future.

Those construction trucks are building the early stages of a 482-unit apartment complex. At some point, they will come rumbling for the skaters, destroying the 21-year-old, do-it-yourself skatepark born on the ashes of a burned-down textile mill with makeshift ramps tatted in graffiti, created and maintained by the community.

That reality brought photographer Zach Suggs to Poe Mill.

Suggs wasn’t initially a skateboarder, but he fell in love with what was left of the 125-year-old mill after a devastating fire. Among the towering twin smokestacks, he fell in love with the impossible tricks, young people, old people, families and the community it gave him during a time when he felt alone.

“The skatepark became definitely like a sanctuary,” he said.

After Poe Mill was sold in 2021, the 35-year-old spent over three years taking pictures of the skatepark and portraits of the skaters.

Now through May 25, those images are being displayed at Woodbine Studio & Gallery in an exhibit called “Poe Mill: A Skateboarding Retrospective.”

Matthew Craven co-owns a private skateboarding gym, Companion Skatepark, and sees the preservation effort as vital.

“We need to preserve the images and the feel of what it is like to be at Poe Mill once it’s gone,” Craven said.

After a multi-year delay, the shrubs have been removed around the skatepark, parts of the dirt have been leveled and construction area signs are visible, though nothing has been built yet. It’s unclear when Contour Companies will finish the mixed-use project and shut down the skatepark, which it has said will happen.

The developer didn’t respond to the Post and Courier’s multiple requests for comment for this story.

The birth of a DIY skatepark

A century before the skatepark, there was a textile mill.

Founded in the 1890s, the 75-acre Poe Mill anchored the neighborhood for decades, surrounded by a church, school, cow pasture, baseball field and a swimming pool. At its peak, it employed 800 workers and operated over 70,000 spindles.

It closed in 1977, falling into disrepair like the other mills that orbited downtown Greenville from the west side for decades. It sat vacant for the next 25 years. Windows were broken and weeds grew.

Then in the early 2000s, two fires burned the site to the ground, leaving behind nothing but brick rubble and two smokestacks rising high.

In its wake, skaters made the brick rubble their home. They cleared a path and built a wooden box, cinder blocks, a big green wooden ramp and, little by little, the debris was pushed to the side and a skatepark came to life.

It evolved into the city’s only free full-fledged skatepark — even as the government put up a fence to keep people out.

They slathered those slabs with orange and green graffiti, tagging them with phrases that no one but the people there understood. When the ramps broke, they pieced them back together. When the park was quiet, they turned up the music. When trash piled up, they hosted a clean-up. It was a far cry from the buttoned-up, glossy, picturesque city rising just a mile away downtown.

“That’s part of the appeal is building it and skating and it being rough around the edges and not perfect,” Suggs said. “You learn to skate there, you can learn anywhere.”



Zach Suggs 3

“Poe Mill: A Skateboarding Retrospective” includes pictures from other photographers who have documented the skatepark since its founding in 2003. These photos show the DIY skatepark before 2014 when debris still covered the space. Benjamin Simon/Staff




Poe Mill is where Ben Swehla learned at 13 years old. He didn’t have much money, so he went to Poe Mill. He and his friends would squeeze into cars, drive to the park and spend hours there until the sun went down. It was where they hung out, even on their birthday.

“We had to find a way to make a spot for us for feeling included, for feeling welcome, for that sense of community that skaters always strive for,” Swehla said. “(Skating) is not something you feel welcome doing if you don’t have a community with you. It’s frowned upon by society.”

Craven, the Companion skate gym owner, called DIY parks “100 percent necessary” to the “art and culture” of the skateboarding community.

At other skateparks, he said, “you’re not going to be able to spray paint. You’re not going to be able to have a DJ out in the parking lot practicing spinning. You’re not going have somebody selling t-shirts that they just pressed and they’re trying to get their brand coming off. That’s the kind of stuff you see at a DIY spot. It’s a community center more than a skatepark.”

The Greenville County Redevelopment Authority bought the land and spent $800,000 in federal funds to clean up the hazardous waste left behind.

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In 2010, the redevelopment authority started working with Clemson University architecture students on design plans. A 40,000-square-foot sanctioned wheel park was floated, but it never materialized.

In 2021, GCRA sold the 11-acre site to Contour Companies for $1 million. The Michigan-based developer planned to create “The Village At Poe Mill,” a 482-unit apartment complex with shopping, restaurants and a connection to the Swamp Rabbit trail, spurring gentrification concerns.

It also signaled the end of the skatepark.

Finding Poe Mill

Over the course of two years, Suggs drove out West multiple times, helping friends move to new places.

He also hoped to find a new home for himself, far from Greenville.

The Gastonia native and Clemson graduate had lived in Greenville for a decade. Entering his 30s, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should move somewhere else, somewhere outside of the Southeast. In Greenville, he felt directionless. Surviving, not thriving. Depressed.

“It really felt like I was not in control of everything, but I was just getting dragged along this path,” he said.

When Suggs returned home in 2018 after moving his last friend, something changed. He realized that he couldn’t keep dreaming of new places. He needed to settle down.



Zach Suggs 5

“Poe Mill: A Skateboarding Retrospective” is a full-immersive exhibit, featuring life-sized portraits, historical photos of the site, newspaper accounts and grainy videos of skateboarders. Benjamin Simon/Staff




So he started a photography project.

He had become a photographer after tearing his ACL mountain bike-riding as an undergraduate at Clemson. While injured, he picked up a camera, started shooting and never stopped. He taught himself the craft, secured photography jobs and produced a self-reflective exhibit called “A Well-Worn Path” in January 2020 about his cross-country road trips.

When he decided to stay in Greenville, he chose a project about the Swamp Rabbit Trail.

Then it was announced Poe Mill would close, where he had visited with friends occasionally over the years.

He abandoned the Swamp Rabbit Trail subject matter and turned to Poe Mill. He spent over three years learning how to skate, scouring old Greenville News articles and photographing skaters.

It evolved into the current exhibit at Woodbine Studio & Gallery — a fully immersive time-capsule of Poe Mill.

Life-sized portraits of skateboarders like Tre, Elizabeth and Charity hang on the wall, portrayed as saints, Suggs said, in the style of Dutch photographer Rineke Dijkstra.

A chronological account of Poe Mill in newspaper articles and pictures leads visitors through its history. Old TVs show grainy images of skaters flying up and down Poe Mill. Sounds of rolling skateboards and kids talking play on speakers in the background. There’s also art from other artists, tributes to skaters who passed away and a poem by an 11 year old.

“I see it as my duty to present these folks not as outsiders or misfits,” Suggs wrote in an artist statement, “but as a tight-knit community of friends, and skateboarding not as a fringe sport but an incredible venue for artistic expression and self-reflection.”



Zach Suggs 2

Zach Suggs’ Poe Mill photography project features pictures of the smoke stacks of the former textile mill, portraits of skaters and history of the near 125-year-old site. Benjamin Simon/Staff



But Suggs doesn’t only want to honor the past. He hopes to advocate for a future public skatepark.

In 2023, Greenville revealed plans for a new public skatepark near the downtown airport, though it’s still in the early stages.

Suggs has started a nonprofit, Greenville Skatepark Foundation, to serve as a bridge between government agencies and the skating community.

Suggs doesn’t know what’s next for his photography. He hasn’t had time to think. He’s spent three years dedicating his life to Poe Mill. When asked if the effort has tired him of the skatepark, he shakes his head instantly.

“No,” he said. “Not at all.”

Cardiff and Barcelona to host simultaneous photography exhibition with focus on independence

Cardiff and Barcelona to host simultaneous photography exhibition with focus on independence
Richard Jones -Annibyniaeth barn

A simultaneous photography exhibition on independence will be hosted at the Senedd and at the Civic Centre Lleialtat Santsenca in Barcelona on Wednesday.

The exhibition Framing the Future: Photography from Wales, Scotland and Catalonia’, both exhibitions are important elements of a world-first, non-partisan academic study on the sentiments and experiences that shape people’s perspectives on independence.

image

Diverse perspectives

Previously showing in Aberystwyth, Caernarfon, and Ynyshir, Rhondda earlier this year, the simultaneous exhibition zooms in on 46 photographs from 35 photographers, illustrating diverse perspectives and emotional responses to the idea of independence.

To coincide with the exhibition in Cardiff, award-winning journalist and author Will Hayward will join exhibition curators and leading academic researchers, Dr Elin Royles and Dr Anwen Elias including participating photographers, in a panel discussion on the “Creative Conversations about Wales’s Constitutional Future”.

The event is sponsored by Senedd Llywydd, Elin Jones MS.

image

Striking perspectives

Dr Elin Royles said: “We’re interested in how people from different backgrounds, from different nations, think and feel about their different futures, and what experiences shape their views. These photographs provide diverse and striking responses to the issue of independence.”

Funded by the Economic and Social Research Council as part of the WISERD/ ESRC Civil Society Research Centre (Wales Institute of Social and Economic Research and Data), it also initiates a different way to continue the conversation about Wales’s constitutional future, which was a key recommendation in the final report of the Independent Commission on the Constitutional Future of Wales in January.

The Cardiff exhibition can be viewed for one day only at the Senedd, with the Barcelona exhibition continuing until 31 May.

Both are free with no booking required. You must book here by 21 May to attend to attend the reception/panel discussion at the Senedd, between 6pm-8pm.


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On finding and protecting your passion

On finding and protecting your passion

How did you get your start as a photographer?

I was a deeply shy child, and my parents wanted me to find my tribe and my passion. Early on, they sent me to a Montessori school, and I really connected with that way of learning. Actually, the self-directed model resonated with me at a young age, which is essentially foreshadowing me becoming freelance. When I was in second and third grade, there was a big book of masterpieces of the 20th century, and I would just faithfully draw them, so my parents were like, “I think she likes art.”

They sent me to this art camp when I was 13. It was like a magnet for artsy, creative kids in Western Mass. I instantly developed this huge crush on the photo counselor. He took me under his wing and taught me how to develop film in a dark room. I was just enthralled and it felt like magic. I think because I came to it really young, there was an element of the process that I couldn’t fully understand. And for that reason, it felt kind of like alchemy and really bewitched me.

I was too nervous to photograph people, even though that’s really what I wanted to capture. Instead, I photographed clouds and developed this body of work where I just took rolls of film of clouds. I was uncharacteristically really confident about them and felt like there was something really powerful and true about these photos. When we had an exhibition at the end of the summer, I was incredibly proud and I wanted something to happen with [the photos]. I was just like, “This is my life’s work.” That experience was so catalyzing for me as a young artist.

It’s often said that artists rehash the same themes over and over in their work and that there’s strength in that. I am so compelled by variation and the infinite combinations of nature and mankind.

I felt that my feelings about variation were summarized effectively by this quote in the Agnes Martin retrospective at the Guggenheim a couple of years ago, where she talks about how she’s celebrated and well-known for her repetitive and geometric compositions. She spent a month studying cloud formations and looking for echoes and repetition to see if nature ever repeats itself. And she concluded it never does. I just felt that spoke directly to Subway Hands and my interest in the captivating singularity of the individual.

I love how that summer you had as a kid led to something so fundamental to your day-to-day life now.

Kids are little geniuses.

What has been the most surprising part of Subway Hands?

I’ve always thought of this project as this somewhat quirky hyper-fixation of mine. It’s been notable the way Subway Hands has resonated with artists and non-art alike. I think that came as a surprise to me because I have this background in art history and a lot of my references come from paintings, and at first, I didn’t see the human interest angle.

There are people who respond to the photos and don’t necessarily think about them as art. They find them emotionally resonant, which really moves me. I routinely get messages from artists asking if they can draw my photos as hand references for their art or their paintings. That feels like a more expected connection. But its broader resonance has been incredibly shocking, gratifying, and really affirming.

You mentioned that in a lot of the images that you make, you’re referencing different paintings. Do you set up the images thinking about a certain piece in mind, or are they taken more spontaneously?

They’re all spontaneous, but I think any project has a constellation of inspirations. I was in an art history class and I saw these portraits of Georgia O’Keeffe taken by her partner Alfred Stieglitz, and the photos were strictly of her hands. There was one photo where you see her face partially, but her hands dominate the image. That moment was really profound to me because I realized how flexible portraiture can be and how the emphasis doesn’t have to be on the face. And I think because of my early anxiety around photographing people or making people uncomfortable, that was really freeing and really powerful.

Over the course of our lives, we project these masks with our faces when we don’t want to reveal our inner emotions. And those masks can be really effective and really disinteresting to photograph. On the subway, when I first moved to New York, I was frustrated by how blank and vacant people’s faces were and immediately noticed this high contrast between faces and hands and how so much of that energy was pulled in gesture and activity in people’s laps.

That’s interesting. I’ve never thought about how hands might reveal even more than their face, especially on the subway, depending on their mood or what’s going on.

The other day, I was stuck on the train for 30 minutes. There was no service, and it was one of the few moments where people’s faces were as expressive as their hands. And I was so tickled by that. [laughs]

How do you nourish your creative side when you’re not working? There’s a blurred line between working and not working when you’re a freelancer, but maybe you can speak on that too.

In recent years, I’ve realized how precious our creativity is and how it needs to be proactively protected in a world that’s exhausting and wearying. I’ve made a concerted effort to create artistic habits that are private and I don’t share online. I’ve started to paint again, which has been so nourishing and exciting. When you’re an artist who’s sharing much of your work publicly, it is easy to fall into the trap of collapsing your relationship with your work and the way it’s received, so I have tried to create more space in my practice for private art making. I also have a lot of friends who are artists. Two of my dear friends and I have a monthly critique group.

Oh, interesting! Are you all photographers or do you work on different mediums?

Different mediums. My friend Jack is a playwright and Robbie is a performance artist. We alternate sharing our work. I think I find it so energizing, especially the way that we’re grappling with a lot of the same larger questions in our work. I think it’s a distillation of why I have connected with teaching so much. Talking to other artists about their work is so compelling and fascinating to me.

I’d love to hear more about that. How did you get into teaching and how has it been?

I was approached during the pandemic to teach a class at the International Center of Photography on the iPhone, using the phone as a fine art artistic tool. Around the same time, I had a photographer friend ask me to speak with his class. These opportunities cohered into speaking about my work more formally. I found that my work as a photographer, documenting strangers, is quite solitary and siloed. In many ways, I am a really social person, and getting to add this layer of connection to my practice and my habits has been so gratifying and has been like a counterbalance to my way of working.

Yeah, I love that. I think it’s always good to have different modes and different contexts for your work, whether you’re making it or sharing how you make it or teaching.

Time to talk about money! How do you juggle the demands of making money with the desire to make meaningful work?

I have historically never made consistent money off of my art. My practice has been very self-directed and self-generated. I only became a professional photographer when that path had basically presented itself to me by getting offered these opportunities.

Before those opportunities were offered up, you never thought this was what you wanted to do?

No, and I think it was a crisis of confidence, somewhat. Now that I am a full-time artist and have to somewhat shape my work to the whims of the market, I have realized how much pressure that puts on your art-making. I feel so fortunate to be making a living as an artist for the moment, but I still have the mentality of someone who doesn’t make money off of their art.

It makes sense that you’re operating from that place because we live in such a precarious society. Even if you’re doing well now, that doesn’t necessarily guarantee much for the future because of how things are set up.

Totally. I think to an extent, being a freelancer can feel like you’re on borrowed time. I try to stay very present with my gratitude for making a living. But it never feels guaranteed.

How has your approach to photography changed since the pandemic?

I’ve realized how much more community-concerned and political my work has become. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I know that’s not a coincidence. During the pandemic, I came to teaching and was really motivated to create meaningful connections and invest in relationships outside of my work. I also started photographing social movements. My Subway Hands photos are very emotional and not without a political ideology. The first photo that I took for that project was born of this conviction that every person is worthy of a closeup. And there’s something very hierarchical about a lot of street photography where it prioritized faces and kind of like really striking faces.

I’m also trying to document New York and all of its multiplicity and layers of experience and class. During the pandemic, I teased out that thread of using photography as this tool to platform the work of activists and organizers and really emphasize their devotion and sacrifice.

I’ve really resonated with the recent protest photography you’ve been doing. The images are so intimate and powerful.

I’m interested in personalizing the sacrifice and commitment of organizers. In this era of increased political awareness, I’ve noticed myself becoming somewhat averse to a certain frame and lens for documenting social movements. So I’ve been trying to react to that by finding new ways to look for the detail and texture that reveals the individuals who are working so tirelessly.

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New York City staples: the Village East Cinema, the Met on Friday nights, the Transit Museum, joyrides on the Staten Island Ferry, joyrides on the subway, public art.

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Thypoch announces Simera 35mm & 28mm F1.4 lenses

Thypoch announces Simera 35mm & 28mm F1.4 lenses

20 May 2024

Chinese camera lens manufacturer Thypoch has announced its 28mm and 35mm f1.4 lenses will soon be available in Z,E,X and RF mounts, for $649/€609 ($1,058 AUD).

Image: Thypoch
Image: Thypoch

The manual focus lenses, which previously were only available for Leica’s M-mount, are made up of 11 elements in 7 groups for the 28mm version and 9 elements in 5 groups for the 35mm.  

Compared to the previous M mount versions, the most notable change is the lenses have ditched the “bump” on their focus ring at 0.7m which served as a signal that the lens had reached the limit of the Leica M’s focus.

However, as that is not the case with mirrorless cameras, the focus is smooth all the way through.

Each lens comes with a square lens hood, a front cap, and a rear cap, and you can choose between two colors: black and silver. We’re currently reviewing the new lenses, so keep a look on our website soon.

You can find out more about the lenses on Thypoch’s website.