For years, photographer and filmmaker Chris Burkard has captivated audiences by bringing them to new corners of the world for adventures. With a special focus on some of the coldest spots on Earth, viewers have learned more about glaciers in Alaska and the Northern Lights in Iceland. 

Burkard has become one of the most popular names in outdoor photography and films. He’s worked for companies like Patagonia and National Geographic, and he’s hosted a TED talk. His past films, like Under An Arctic Sky, document a group of surfers battling the harsh conditions of Iceland on a quest to surf in the foreground of the Aurora Borealis. 

In his most recent film, The Forgotten Coast, Burkard once again brings the audience to Iceland. However, this time, he goes to a place where very few people have ever stepped foot—Iceland’s southern coast across glacial rivers.

‘The Forgotten Coast‘

“It’s a pretty personal project, to be honest,” says Burkard ahead of the documentary’s release in select theaters. “It’s sort of a funny process because, for me, typically, most of the films I work on are more intensive projects, or else it has to be something personal. It has to be something meaningful, or else I just don’t feel the passion or compulsion to really share in a way that I feel a film requires.”

The Forgotten Coast features Burkard front and center, a change from some past work. In the film, he’s joined by two others on the journey, Steve “Doom” Fassbender and Cameron Lawson. The pair are two outdoor adventurers with long resumes of experience in rafting and bikepacking. The trio embark on the expedition from a town called Djúpivogur on Iceland’s east coast and then head westward along Iceland’s black sand beaches for 300 miles. The entire trip is human-powered on bikes and packrafts. The team faces Iceland’s harsh Arctic weather while crossing freezing flowing rivers and avoiding the deadly waves stirred by the Atlantic Ocean. 

The Inspiration and Planning

The inspiration for the journey came to Burkard 10 years ago while photographing Iceland’s glacial rivers. The well-known images reveal an out-of-this-world view of Iceland from above, since Burkard took the images from a plane. The pictures show the intricate veins of water that flow from the country into the ocean. They gained so much popularity that Burkard eventually released the pictures in a book titled At Glacier’s End.

On a personal level, Burkard says he’s thought about those images for years. He knew he wanted to get closer by being actually on the ground.

“There’s always a desire as an artist to go deeper, to go more immersive, to be more connected . . . to the places that you love, and I felt like this was sort of that extension. That was the goal of the trip,” says Burkard. “Yes, the bike is fun, and rafting is fun. Combining that all together is super great, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it gets you as close as you want to be. And so I think that was kind of the objective. How can I get closer to these places? How can I be more involved?”

From there, the planning began. Burkard spent time mapping out the journey and flying to some of the most remote places on the trip. Also, the team he enlisted had years of experience with rafting and whitewater rescues to increase the chances of a successful and safe trip.

Making the Film

However, the expedition wasn’t without its challenges. For one, a hired film crew struggled to reach the team on bikes and rafts. This led to a lot of the film being shot by Burkard, with the occasional drone video provided by the film crew that were miles away. The film does a great job of showing just how hard it was to access some of Iceland’s coast.

Second, traveling by bike and packraft isn’t easy. The team had to inflate and deflate rafts each time they came to a water crossing, and there were plenty of them along the way. Once in the water, there are a few scary moments while the trio tries to safely navigate these glacial rivers. Mistakes could be fatal. The remoteness added to intensity, but for Burkard, the adventure was worth it.

“To have seen that from the air for so long and [then] to move through it, I just felt a deeper connection and appreciation for it,” says Burkard. “I felt a deeper amount of love for that place. It was really personal and beautiful on all accounts. I think, if anything, just simply the fact that I did the trip with selfish intent to be able to move through these rivers, personally, is enough. That was a really fulfilling experience.” 

The process he went through to document this trip is a familiar exercise for Burkard. With more than 4 million followers on Instagram, he has to decide what becomes a film and what is a photography project. 

Burkard says he considers himself a storyteller above all else. So, he looks at a story critically and then decides how to showcase it. In this instance, The Forgotten Coast was a film. 

“Depending on the project, I try to filter it through the lens of what is going to be the best storytelling modality for this project. How am I going to get the point for this project?” says Burkard. “I think that sometimes that means it’s a stills assignment. Sometimes, it means it’s a public speaking thing or a presentation. Sometimes it’s a film, and I think that with this visually and with this story, it really merited being a film.”

Inspired by Iceland

Burkard says he hopes the images and adventure from this latest project will inspire people to protect places like Iceland’s southern coast. Or, at the very least, he hopes it’ll inspire some viewers to get outdoors for their own adventure. 

“I would say Iceland is probably the most incredible place for riding a bike,” says Burkard. “I genuinely feel like there are few locations on Earth that are more friendly, safe, beautiful, and will humble you immediately, right? It is exceptional. I think that this trip shows that all the details are really there for someone to plan, orchestrate, and make it happen.”

He adds that scouting and proper planning are key before adventuring in a place like Iceland; he does this for his films. On any adventure or expedition, safety and logistics can make or break the experience.

Burkard should know—this isn’t his first trip in the country on a bike. Past adventures brought him across the middle of the country and along other remote stretches. Like so much of his work, he leveraged these trips to highlight the beauty of Iceland.

In some ways, Burkard has become an unofficial guide for Iceland. He and his family moved from California to Iceland, and his photos and films inspire other people to explore the country he now calls home.

Part of what drew Burkard to the country was the Icelanders’ inspiring culture. He says the unofficial slogan of the Icelandic people is “Þetta Reddast,” which loosely translates into “it will all work out.”

“That saying originates from their deep needed desire and necessity to live in the moment,” says Burkard. “They could never plan crops for two or three years out or plan a wedding six months in advance. You don’t know what the weather’s going to do. You don’t know if a volcano is going to erupt. This country is living in the moment as a people. I think that is hard to describe to somebody who isn’t there or who hasn’t lived there, but there is a sense of community there that I’ve never seen anywhere else.”

How to Watch ‘The Forgotten Coast’

Burkard is releasing The Forgotten Coast to select theaters in the U.S. and a few other locations. He says he also plans to submit it to several film festivals. Eventually, the 35-minute-long documentary will be available online for the masses to view. As the film makes its way out in the world, it is sure to inspire plenty of people to get outdoors and find their own adventures.

Marie Bush, a retired physician and seasoned photographer hailing from Lafayette has an upcoming exhibition at The Firehouse Art Center titled “Secret of the Soul,” where she delves into the intricacies of movement through the lens of her camera, specifically focusing on the dynamic world of dance.

“My family gave me a camera for Christmas when I was eight years old. That’s what sparked my interest,” Bush said. “My aunt was interested in photography; she always had a camera, so I’ve always had one … With photography, I get to express my feelings about things. It’s a way for me to get outdoors and photograph what I enjoy.”

For Bush, photography isn’t just a hobby; it’s a profound means of expressing her innermost feelings and connecting with the world around her. Her primary focus has often been nature, a subject that allows her to immerse herself and capture the essence of what she loves.

However, her upcoming exhibition takes a different turn as she unveils her collection of dance photographs. In “Secret of the Soul,” Bush employs creative techniques, particularly utilizing slow shutter speeds to encapsulate the fluidity and emotion inherent in dance movements.

“Dancing is one of my passions. It’s an expression of who we are, an expression of our soul,” Bush said. “Capturing images of dance is a way of exploring another way of expressing who I am.”

Bush takes numerous shots to try and achieve the desired result, particularly when photographing subjects in motion. The challenge lies in distilling the raw emotion and energy of dance into a still image. Bush meticulously selects images that best convey the emotions she associates with dance — a feeling of freedom.

“The images in ‘Secret of the Soul’ are an expression of our unconscious mind,” Bush revealed. “They reflect a dream-like feeling, a sense of freedom that I experience when dancing — a spirit that comes from my soul.”

As a retired physician, Bush has devoted over two decades to honing her photography skills and exhibiting her work. Now, with more time to dedicate to her craft post-retirement, she’s delving deeper into various facets of photography, including this dance exhibit.

“It was one night a week where I could just let go and not worry about anything,” Bush reflected. “It’s very social for me. I have a whole group of friends that I hang out with. It’s just fun.”

Her involvement in ballroom dancing goes beyond mere hobby; it serves as a sanctuary — a space where she can immerse herself in the moment, shedding the responsibilities and stresses of life.

“It’s about capturing that feeling, that abstract emotion within the frame … It’s about trying to capture who they are, their essence,” Bush expressed. “If I know the person, I’m more likely to get them to relax and capture their essence.”

The intricate interplay between the technical and emotional aspects of photography, akin to the synergy between leading and following in dance, exemplifies Bush’s adeptness at balancing the creative process. The parallels between her former profession as a physician and her artistic endeavors are evident.

“You have to use both sides of your brain,” Bush said. “I love science, I love nature and science … I’m really good at organizing chaos. That’s what I had to do at work a lot, where things were just chaotic.” 

The ability to synthesize information, make assessments and formulate plans — a skill she honed in the medical field — resonates in her approach to photography, where she integrates these various elements to express her artistic vision.

Discussing her photography, especially her images capturing dance, Bush unveiled the emotional elements woven into her compositions. She reflected on the significance of the color pink, describing its passionate essence within a spinning woman’s dress next to two black fixed legs of a man. This hue juxtaposition intensifies the fervent motion blur, contributing to a striking visual story.

“Secret of the Soul” is set to open on Friday, January 12 upstairs at the Firehouse Art Center, offering a glimpse into the world of dance as seen through Bush’s photographs.

Valentin Goppel’s upcoming photo book Zwischen Den Jahren depicts coming-of-age during the pandemic

Christopher Payne’s fascination with factories goes back decades. As an architecture student at the University of Pennsylvania in the 1990s, Payne had the good fortune to find a summer job with an agency inside the National Park Service called the Historic American Buildings Survey. “They sent teams of architecture students, historians, and photographers to document all kinds of projects,” he says. “We documented grain elevators in Buffalo, cast iron bridges in Ohio, a power plant in Alabama, national parks in Utah. That experience instilled a deep appreciation for industrial architecture.” After graduation, he worked for several years as an architect in New York City before transitioning full time to photography. His previous books include New York’s Forgotten Substations: The Power Behind the Subway; Asylum: Inside the Closed World of State Mental Hospitals; North Brother Island: The Last Unknown Place in New York City; and Making Steinway: An American Workplace. Last month, Payne gave the School of Visual Art’s Ralph Caplan Memorial Lecture, and shortly afterward I reached out to him to talk about his most recent book, Made in America (Abrams), his long love affair with factories, and the photographic process.

MCP: Martin C. Pedersen
CP: Christopher Payne

MCP:

What drove your interest in factories?

CP:

It was inspired by my experience photographing abandoned state mental hospitals for my book Asylum. The hospitals all functioned as self-sufficient communities, producing everything they needed on site, like food, water, power, and even clothing and shoes. For the book I tried to recreate a typical state hospital in its heyday, reconstructing a whole from parts gathered here and there: a bowling alley from New York, a theater from Connecticut, a shoe shop from Massachusetts, a slaughterhouse from North Carolina, etc. After Asylum was published in 2009, I stumbled on an old yarn mill in Maine that reminded me of the hospital workshops. While those places had long been abandoned, this mill was fully functional, a scene from the past coexisting miraculously with the present. From conversations with employees I learned of other mills around New England, remnants of a once-dominant industry that had moved south long ago, and then overseas, in search of cheap labor. I started photographing these old textile mills, and this project eventually broadened into Made in America.

MCP:

Were you documenting their demise?

CP:

Some places were barely holding on and had a definite forlorn look to them, while others were doing just fine, having survived by catering to a niche market that values the “genuine article” produced on vintage equipment. By contrast, the modern textile mills weren’t as photogenic.

MCP:

The layers of time weren’t there.

CP:

Yes, exactly. But sometimes these layers of time make for a very cluttered environment and challenging photographic conditions, which is why so many of my pictures now are dramatically lit, with the background fading into darkness. That said, of all my industrial work, the pictures that resonate most with people were made in these older factories and are of traditional, familiar subjects like pianos and pencils.

MCP:

Let’s talk about the process of actually taking the pictures. Do you scout these places first and take preliminary shots on a cell phone and then come back with a bigger camera? How does it work?

CP:

Ideally, I will scout with my cell phone, let the snapshots marinate for a few weeks or even months, and return later with my big camera. This is what I did at Steinway, General Pencil, and the New York Times Printing Plant—all long term personal projects that were close to home. But with editorial assignments I don’t usually have the luxury of time, and the entire creative process must be compressed into a few days. No matter how much research I do beforehand, there are always surprises: a production line might be down, or a particularly beautiful color might have already run the previous week, etc. I always feel a sense of urgency because nothing stays the same for very long on a factory floor. Big assembly lines can’t be stopped, and sometimes I watch things go by and realize I’m just not going to get it.

MCP:

When you walk onto a factory floor, what are you looking for?

CP:

When I walk into a factory for the first time—whether it’s new, old, large or small—I start searching for moments that are unique to that place. I’ve realized over the years that I don’t need to document every aspect of how something is made; I just need to focus on what’s essential—and beautiful. This could be an interesting part of the production process, a purposefully designed machine, or an employee immersed in their work.

MCP:

Some modern factories look almost clinical, and microchip factories, known as “fabs,” look like giant operating rooms.

CP:

That’s an apt comparison, especially since chip fabs are in fact much cleaner than operating rooms and filled with some of the most sophisticated machines on the planet. The giant lithography machines that etch circuit patterns onto the chips cost up to $180 million each and blast molten drops of tin with a laser 50,000 times a second. It’s a hidden process that I’ve always wanted to photograph, but not even the fab employees are allowed to open the machine!

MCP:

Do you have a list of possible photos in your head or on paper that you go in with? Or is it looser than that?

CP:

I do as much research as I can, but if it’s a little-known subject, or one with proprietary concerns that is rarely photographed, I have to go in blind and trust my instincts. I was recently commissioned to photograph some robots for Scientific American, and I knew I would need to do something different than what had been done before. Luckily the story was already written, so I knew what message the pictures needed to convey to support the narrative, and that helped guide the creative process.

MCP:

The factory shots are quite beautiful. But they’re not “ruin porn” because they’re still in use. What are you saying with these pictures, beyond their formal beauty? They’re beautiful as pictures, but so is a perfume ad. There’s a deeper meaning here. What’s that meaning?

CP:

Beyond their formal beauty, my photographs are a celebration of the making of things, of the transformation of raw materials into useful objects, and the human skill and mechanical precision brought to bear on these materials that give them form and purpose. We all know what a pencil, piano, or an airplane looks like, but what happens when we peel back the facade and go deep into the choreography of production? I like the challenge of taking everyday, overlooked objects and elevating them to works of art by revealing them in a way that’s never been done before. I’m also thinking about how each picture relates back to the larger story I’m trying to tell about the importance of manufacturing in America, craftsmanship, and manual labor. 

MCP:

What about the people in the photos?

CP:

Whenever possible I try to include people for scale and context, and sometimes a good portrait can stand in for a factory that is not very interesting or photogenic. Most of all, the people in my pictures are a celebration of teamwork and community. There are workers with soiled, stained hands, and others suited head to toe in clean protective gear—young and old, skilled and unskilled, recent immigrants and American-born men and women, side by side. These are the people who make the stuff that fuels our economy, and in this time of social polarization and increasing automation, they offer a glimmer of hope.

MCP:

A printing plant is one of the few factories that I’ve been in. I will say, the workers were really proud of what they did. They took great pride in printing our magazine. 

CP:

I loved watching the pressmen and women at the New York Times Printing Plant climb around the giant presses, carefully feeding the web of paper by hand through the print rollers, and the environmental portraits I made there are some of my favorite pictures. It is my aim to honor the workers and their skills, and thanks to the often repetitive nature of assembly line and factory work, I will watch and wait patiently for the peak moment of elegance. As Kathy Ryan said in the foreword to my book, “There is no excuse for not getting it right.”

MCP:

It’s hard work.

CP:

To be clear, there’s nothing romantic about manual labor; it is repetitive, often dull, low-paying, and physically demanding. But the majority of people I met take pride in what they do. Finding young people who can sew or want to learn a vocational trade, however, is another story and as big a challenge to a resurgence in American manufacturing as foreign competition. There has been much said about how immigrants have “stolen” manufacturing jobs, but it is clear from what I’ve seen that many of these factories would no longer be in business if it weren’t for the newly arrived labor pool to fill the void.

MCP:

And yet, regardless of how tough and repetitive some of the jobs are, these jobs held communities together. When they left or were downsized, the places were less for it.

CP:

When a factory closes, the surrounding community dies, as do the small industries that fed the factory. It’s a domino effect, because the skills needed to make those things are lost too, shipped overseas with the machinery. We’ve traded good jobs for low prices and are now dependent on foreign countries for essential goods. It’s a precarious position to be in, quite the opposite of what I saw at the state hospitals, which were all self-sufficient and seemed to serve as a better model for a more sustainable way of life.

In the last few years, the industrial landscape in America has been re-energized by pandemic supply-chain shortages, competition with China, national security issues, energy concerns, and federal legislation. The seismic shift to electric vehicles has been a windfall for car companies, which are scrambling to build new mega campuses and entirely new circular manufacturing ecosystems that combine production with battery recycling. For sure, consumer goods like apparel and electronics aren’t coming back anytime soon, but essential technologies like computer chips, perhaps the most complex products on earth, have become a priority of national security. We haven’t seen this kind of investment in the future in decades, and some of the newer factories I visited had the buzz of tech startups.

MCP:

Obviously, the next wave has to be green manufacturing. You’ve photographed electric car plants. Talk about that experience.

CP:

I visited both Rivian and Tesla, and the size of these factories was mind-boggling. The interiors seemed to stretch for as far as the eye could see, and a golf cart was needed to get around. Almost everything I saw at Tesla was proprietary, probably because that was back in 2017, while Rivian was much more relaxed and had the cool vibe of the “the new kid on the block.” In places so vast, the photographic possibilities are endless, but in reality, these new car plants look very much like the old ones; they’ve just swapped out internal combustion engines for electric motors and batteries. 

MCP:

What are you working on these days? Do you have a new project?

CP:

It has been many years since I photographed the small yarn mill in Maine that started me on this journey, but every time I step onto a factory floor I feel the same sense of excitement and possibility. There was only so much I could include in Made in America, so I’m already thinking about volume two. In the coming years, factories will continue to open and close as the manufacturing landscape changes and evolves. Without a doubt though, the ultra-modern places I’ve photographed for this book will themselves become outdated and replaced one day. It is one long continuum, hopefully, towards a brighter future.

Featured image: Assembly of a heavy industrial electric motor. Ward Leonard, Thomaston, Connecticut. All photographs courtesy of Christopher Payne.

You might chuckle or even roll your eyes at the so-called social media “influencers,” but it’s actually a lucrative (not to mention addictive) industry. That’s not even considering the new breed of photographers that rely only on their smartphones, plus some specialized lenses, to jump immediately into the middle of an action and not miss a beat by having to take out a bulky DSLR. But despite the popularity of smartphone photography, this market also feels a little underserved judging by the lack of basic accessories like something as simple yet as important as a camera bag. Now the wait is finally over and mobile shutterbugs can now enjoy the freedom and versatility that a dedicated smartphone camera bag offers thanks to Shiftcam’s new Workflow Sling, the first hyperfocused camera bag designed just for smartphone photography.

Designer: Shiftcam

The reason why some people prefer to capture photos and record videos using a smartphone is the near-instant action and versatility. You almost always have your smartphone with you, whether in your hand or in your pocket, and you can immediately edit and share those photos on social media. In fact, you can livestream directly from your phone, something that’s not easily done with a digital camera. But as your smartphone photography skills get better, you start to need and use more advanced accessories that you can’t easily fit in your pocket. That’s what a camera bag is for, and the Workflow Sling brings that same convenience to smartphones at long last.

It’s more than just a regular sling bag, mind you, because every corner and every feature was designed for people who use their smartphones as cameras. There’s a dedicated “Action Pocket” in the central compartment that makes sure your smartphone is in your hand in a split second. There are also dedicated pockets to keep your smartphone lenses safe and within reach, like the ones you might be purchasing from Shiftcam itself. There’s also plenty of room for all sorts of smartphone photography tools, from a tripod to a drone to even a water bottle to keep you hydrated during your adventures.

The Workflow Sling, however, does more than just hold your phone and its accessories. There’s an innovative MagSafe clip that lets you attach your phone to the strap and on your chest for a dramatic first-person view or in front of the bag, turning it into a makeshift stand. These features clearly mark this accessory as a product that was designed from the ground up to cater to smartphone shutterbugs, delivering the functionality and features that finally put them on the same playing field as the pros with their bulkier, heavier, and more expensive equipment.

Nzeribe has always had a vivid understanding of what beauty means to him, be it the quiet and rainy demeanor of summers in Owerri or capturing the simplicity of Black existence as he has “only ever known beauty from a Black perspective.” His style may not be documentary-focused, but it reflects the lighthearted realities of his experience as a Black man. As with many young creatives of African descent, Nzeribe’s work challenges stereotypes of what our existence in this world looks like. 

“I feel like as Black creatives, we get pigeon-holed into this idea of creating dark work rooted in struggle. Our experiences have not always been dark and heavy. We’ve had light, we’ve had joy, and we need to celebrate that. We need art that isn’t centered around pain. We need art that is centered around just being.”