People 2026

Displaced Palestinians gather in prayer on the rubble of a mosque destroyed by Israeli airstrikes in Gaza. Amid the wreckage and forced displacement, worshippers stand shoulder to shoulder, turning devastation into a moment of resilience and faith.

In southern Sri Lanka, a retired stilt fisherman sits quietly with a photograph of himself taken years earlier while balancing above the surf. The portrait brings past and present into the same frame, echoing a lifetime shaped by patience, rhythm, and the uncertainty of the sea. Once a common sight along this coastline, stilt fishing has gradually faded, leaving behind memories carried by those who lived it. In his hands, the small print becomes more than a picture. It is a trace of endurance, dignity, and a way of life that is slowly slipping into history.

In the Mundari cattle camps, kids are doing most of the daily work. Kids collect the fresh cow dung and put it into piles which are then set on fire. Those fire are useful as they repel the (extremely) numerous and voracious flies and mosquitoes of the South Sudanese countryside.

Half emerging, half concealed, the figure clings to the edge of stability. Water turns into space, and the body becomes structure a temporary balance between exposure and resistance.

Palestinian civilians—men, women, and children—walk through the ruins while crossing a checkpoint imposed by Israeli forces that separates northern Gaza from the south. Forced from their homes, families move together through devastation in search of safety.

A portrait of a Berber nomad in the Moroccan Sahara who invited our group to share tea in his desert camp. The image captures a moment of quiet hospitality and the enduring traditions of nomadic life.

The Statue of Liberty has left her pedestal. She walks the streets of New York at night, and in her raised hand — no torch. A caricature of Donald Trump on a pike. His face, above the city he made his name in

The Mursi tribe are an African tribe from the isolated Omo valley in Southern Ethiopia near the border with Sudan.

The essence of people’s nature is to be driven by curiosity about the unknown. “The Black Square” by Kazimir Malevich.

An artisan woman weaves a vibrant hand-crafted mat, her weathered hands pressing geometric patterns into place, surrounded by a tangle of vivid fibers that echo the intensity of her craft.

In a whirl of fabric, rhythm, and dust, the Egungun emerges—not as a man, but as a vessel. Layers of richly textured cloth expand and contract with each movement, concealing the human entirely, allowing the spirit world to step forward, if only for a moment. The face, veiled behind intricate beadwork, denies identity and affirms transformation. This is not a performance in the conventional sense, but a sacred manifestation. Each gesture, each turn of the body, carries the weight of lineage—an embodied dialogue between the living and those who came before. The sweeping garments, alive with color and motion, echo the unseen presence believed to inhabit them. Rooted in the spiritual traditions of Benin, the Egungun is both guardian and messenger, a reminder that ancestry is not distant, but ever-present. In this fleeting instant, captured mid-motion, the boundary between worlds dissolves—revealing a culture where memory, spirit, and identity move as one.

Part of my project “SOL-A” about Steve Sola recording studio in New York City.

In the Mundari cattle camps, kids are doing most of the daily work. Kids collect the fresh cow dung and put it into piles which are then set on fire. Those fire are useful as they repel the (extremely) numerous and voracious flies and mosquitoes of the South Sudanese countryside. The Mundari also use the ash created by these fires to rub on themselves and their cattle, creating a protection against mosquitoes.

A solitary figure disappears into a snow-dusted European street. Wide-brimmed hat, leather coat, hands in pockets. No destination. No urgency. Just the quiet dignity of a man who belongs to the city — and to no one in it.

A suspended gesture between water and wood. The body becomes a point of tension neither fully submerged nor fully secure existing in the fragile space between support and uncertainty.

It was pouring rain,I found shelter behind a glass wall.He kept on walking, determined, his head covered with the hood.

Framed by weathered wood and the quiet geometry of a stilted home, a mother and child emerge into the light—two faces held gently between shadow and day. Their gaze meets the outside world from within, bridging the intimate space of home and the vast openness of water that defines their lives. In Ganvié, often called the “Venice of West Africa,” life unfolds upon the surface of the lake, where homes, stories, and generations are anchored not to land, but to water. The worn textures of the walls speak of endurance, while the small window becomes a quiet threshold—between past and future, protection and possibility. There is tenderness here, but also resilience. The child’s steady curiosity and the mother’s calm presence reflect a world shaped by adaptation and continuity. This image captures more than a moment—it reveals a way of life, where even the simplest opening becomes a lens into identity, belonging, and the enduring rhythm of community.

Street Portraiture

In the Mundari cattle camps, kids are doing most of the daily work. Kids collect the fresh cow dung and put it into piles which are then set on fire. Those fire are useful as they repel the (extremely) numerous and voracious flies and mosquitoes of the South Sudanese countryside. The Mundari also use the ash created by these fires to rub on themselves and their cattle, creating a protection against mosquitoes. The photo is part of the album “SOUTH SUDAN TRIBAL EXPEDITION 2021”

The human figure functions as both presence and line, interrupting the surface of the water. The image explores physical contact as a form of structure a moment where vulnerability and strength coexist.

Two Jewish men (an older White man and a younger Black man) pray at the Western Wall in Jerusalem.

Emerging from the dense green silence of the forest, an Asaro Mudman steps into view—an apparition both primal and theatrical. His clay mask, heavy with exaggerated features and hollowed eyes, transforms the human figure into something mythic, unsettling, and deeply symbolic. It is a face shaped not for identity, but for presence—designed to intimidate, to mystify, to command the unseen. The body, dusted in earth and stripped of ornament, becomes an extension of the land itself. In his hands, a spear anchors him to an older rhythm—one of survival, storytelling, and ancestral memory. The tension in his posture suggests movement, as if he has just emerged from legend into the present moment. Rooted in the traditions of the Papua New Guinea highlands, the Asaro Mudmen embody a narrative where fear once served as protection, and performance became heritage. This image captures more than a figure—it reveals a living echo of a culture that blurs the line between ritual and myth, between man and spirit.

At the bustling Brixton Market I passed by two women doing thei shopping.Afar a bus with a poster of Tuna Turner.Three beautiful women.

A young woman slices vegetables in a food market in Bangkok, Thailand.

Set against the quiet austerity of an earthen wall, a young woman stands absorbed in the delicate act of reading—her presence at once intimate and timeless. She is adorned in a flowing garment inspired by Hanfu, the traditional attire of the China’s Han Chinese heritage, where elegance is expressed through layered silk, fluid lines, and intricate ornamentation. Her coiffure, crowned with ornate hairpins and blossoms, evokes the refined aesthetics of imperial courts, where beauty was both ritualized and symbolic. The scroll in her hands suggests not only literacy, but a quiet devotion to culture—poetry, philosophy, and the written word as enduring pillars of identity. There is a striking stillness in the composition: a moment suspended between past and present, where history is not reenacted, but gently reawakened. Through her, tradition becomes a living gesture—subtle, composed, and profoundly human.

I came to the docks to capture the sunset by I was surprised by some youngsters playing, jumping, diving, laughing. He wanted to do like the others but seemed hesitant.I heard him say “I don’t like water”.

Photo taken in the historic center of Mexico City.

Part of my project “yo soy (mas que uniforme)” about people waring uniforms in Havana, Cuba

In this image, the ability to balance chaos and organization is clearly demonstrated. In Chongqing, this balance is constant for the working class.

Wrapped in luminous white, she stands as both presence and symbol—an embodiment of purity, strength, and quiet spiritual authority. The layered beads that rest upon her chest are not mere adornment, but markers of identity, each color and form carrying echoes of lineage, protection, and belief. Her gaze, composed and self-assured, suggests a deep-rooted connection to something beyond the visible. In the spiritual traditions of Benin, white is often associated with spirits of clarity, wisdom, and the sacred threshold between worlds. Though her exact role remains unnamed, her appearance evokes the aesthetics of Vodun devotion—where dress, gesture, and presence become expressions of reverence and power. This portrait does not seek to define her, but to honor the ambiguity she carries. She is at once individual and archetype—an image of living spirituality, where beauty is inseparable from meaning, and identity is shaped as much by the unseen as by the visible.

While trying to experiment with using a document scanner as a way to capture an image I wanted to create a photo that appeared as if I were pushed against glass, then when I posted to social media it would appear as if I’m trapped. Focusing on abstracting the face and playing with the feeling of being trapped.

In a moment suspended between ritual and becoming, a young maiko stands poised in luminous stillness. Her porcelain visage, delicately framed by intricate kanzashi ornaments, reflects both discipline and the quiet weight of tradition. The layered silk of her kimono—flowing in hues of ivory, crimson, and violet—whispers stories of seasons, artistry, and inherited grace. There is a subtle tension in her gaze: the innocence of youth intertwined with the precision of a craft honed through years of devotion. Each detail, from the symmetry of her obi to the careful gesture of her hand, speaks of a world where beauty is not merely worn, but rigorously learned. This portrait captures not only an individual, but a fleeting chapter—an in-between state where identity is still being shaped, and where elegance is both a performance and a promise.

In the vast world of the city of Singapore, where the towers rise like giants, the child fills the whole scene. A small silhouette leading the way, while the grandmother, quiet and essential, lifts this moment higher than all the skyscrapers.