August 31, 2012
The New York Times covered the sea ice story too. This is the page from their international section that used one of my images. It’s of the Icebreaker called The Arctic Sunrise which belongs to Greenpeace International. The image was made from a helicopter high above the Fram Strait, which is usually choked with drifting and broken ice in the summertime. The online version of this story uses a colour version of this image, you can read the New York Times story about sea ice here.

The New York Times covered the sea ice story too. This is the page from their international section that used one of my images. It’s of the Icebreaker called The Arctic Sunrise which belongs to Greenpeace International. The image was made from a helicopter high above the Fram Strait, which is usually choked with drifting and broken ice in the summertime. The online version of this story uses a colour version of this image, you can read the New York Times story about sea ice here.

August 31, 2012
The coverage of sea ice in summer shrunk to a record level recently, beating the previous record low of 2007. This is the front page of the International Herald Tribune which uses one of my sea pictures. You can see more of the sea ice work here

The coverage of sea ice in summer shrunk to a record level recently, beating the previous record low of 2007. This is the front page of the International Herald Tribune which uses one of my sea pictures. You can see more of the sea ice work here

July 1, 2012
Canoeing on the lake at Fjorda in south Norway. Great place for a few days away, camp on a rocky island, make a fire and fall asleep watching the wildlife. #fjorda #norway #canoe #kayak #lake (Taken with Instagram)

Canoeing on the lake at Fjorda in south Norway. Great place for a few days away, camp on a rocky island, make a fire and fall asleep watching the wildlife. #fjorda #norway #canoe #kayak #lake (Taken with Instagram)

2:13pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZYBZLvSVjIgK
Filed under: canoe fjorda kayak lake norway 
June 4, 2012
I like seeing text on photographs, partly because of the lack of preciousness that it can convey, but also because it makes it harder, in our digital age, to separate an image from its true context. Imagine the image above without the three words scrawled in the bottom left corner.
The young girl is my grandma (‘Nan’ as we called her) and the baby is my great uncle Arthur who died a few weeks ago, I took a very quick snap of the original photograph on the train on the way to his funeral. The man in the portrait in the background is obviously their father, my great grandfather. When the above picture was taken around 1916, he was a soldier, looking after horses amidst the mud and shelling of the first World War. He returned to the east end of London eventually and was reunited with his children again, but died not long afterwards from the mustard gas that had damaged his lungs. It’s possible that this pocket-sized photograph was mailed to him and that he’d carried it with him until he returned.
After the funeral of Arthur last week (the boy on the right who lived into his mid nineties) his grandchildren unpacked his old photo albums, over cups of tea and sandwiches in their back garden. Arthur never talked about his years in the RAF where he served in the second World War, preferring to talk about any number of other more joyous things. As we turned the pages it became obvious why, as we saw what he’d witnessed captured in detail. In his work preparing runways for the allied planes, during the push across France and into Germany after the D-Day landings, he’d photographed some of the destruction he’d encountered at the end of that war. These bound albums marked his journey and curiosity in series of small black and white images. Page by page it showed whole cities raised to the ground, shocked people roaming the streets, as though the end of the war had stopped time itself.
He’d written underneath the photographs, where they’d been taken and what they represented, carefully in pen. Similar to the same curly script that his mother had used to mark the photograph above, as the family waited for his own father to return from the front in 1916.

I like seeing text on photographs, partly because of the lack of preciousness that it can convey, but also because it makes it harder, in our digital age, to separate an image from its true context. Imagine the image above without the three words scrawled in the bottom left corner.

The young girl is my grandma (‘Nan’ as we called her) and the baby is my great uncle Arthur who died a few weeks ago, I took a very quick snap of the original photograph on the train on the way to his funeral. The man in the portrait in the background is obviously their father, my great grandfather. When the above picture was taken around 1916, he was a soldier, looking after horses amidst the mud and shelling of the first World War. He returned to the east end of London eventually and was reunited with his children again, but died not long afterwards from the mustard gas that had damaged his lungs. It’s possible that this pocket-sized photograph was mailed to him and that he’d carried it with him until he returned.

After the funeral of Arthur last week (the boy on the right who lived into his mid nineties) his grandchildren unpacked his old photo albums, over cups of tea and sandwiches in their back garden. Arthur never talked about his years in the RAF where he served in the second World War, preferring to talk about any number of other more joyous things. As we turned the pages it became obvious why, as we saw what he’d witnessed captured in detail. In his work preparing runways for the allied planes, during the push across France and into Germany after the D-Day landings, he’d photographed some of the destruction he’d encountered at the end of that war. These bound albums marked his journey and curiosity in series of small black and white images. Page by page it showed whole cities raised to the ground, shocked people roaming the streets, as though the end of the war had stopped time itself.

He’d written underneath the photographs, where they’d been taken and what they represented, carefully in pen. Similar to the same curly script that his mother had used to mark the photograph above, as the family waited for his own father to return from the front in 1916.

May 17, 2012
I took this picture outside the courthouse in Oslo, the roses were left behind by some of the 40,000 people who’d gathered in nearby Youngstorget Square that lunchtime. They’d sung the peace song Children of The Rainbow in defiance of the killer Anders Breivik, who had previously condemned the song in his trial, as promoting multiculturalism.It was pouring with rain that day and as water dripped off my hood onto the camera, I watched people of all ages, gender and colour bringing roses, reading the cards and looking at pictures of the young people who died on the island last July. The roses formed a wall of red along a narrow passageway with just enough room to walk through the puddles between the endless media booths and the tram line.
I’ve been working in Norway a lot recently and I’ve been constantly moved by the reaction to the trial, as friends translated testimonies and comment from the Norwegian media. Back in Britain I followed the coverage of the trial on the radio, yesterday I heard how a young woman of 21, two years older than my own daughter, swam to safety."From Utøya island to the mainland is 600 metres (almost half a mile).  Many youth swam this distance with clothes and shoes.  One youth swam ashore while towing his wounded friend."The bravery and the personal power of those young people shines through wherever you are, but perhaps the subtlety of the reaction to the trial needs to be explained directly by a Norwegian; much is lost in the media’s translation. When I first heard about the killings on Utøya I was really struck by this comment by the Mayor of Oslo Fabian Strang:"Together we will punish the killer. Our punishment will be more generosity, more tolerance and more democracy"

I took this picture outside the courthouse in Oslo, the roses were left behind by some of the 40,000 people who’d gathered in nearby Youngstorget Square that lunchtime. They’d sung the peace song Children of The Rainbow in defiance of the killer Anders Breivik, who had previously condemned the song in his trial, as promoting multiculturalism.

It was pouring with rain that day and as water dripped off my hood onto the camera, I watched people of all ages, gender and colour bringing roses, reading the cards and looking at pictures of the young people who died on the island last July. The roses formed a wall of red along a narrow passageway with just enough room to walk through the puddles between the endless media booths and the tram line.

I’ve been working in Norway a lot recently and I’ve been constantly moved by the reaction to the trial, as friends translated testimonies and comment from the Norwegian media. Back in Britain I followed the coverage of the trial on the radio, yesterday I heard how a young woman of 21, two years older than my own daughter, swam to safety.

"From Utøya island to the mainland is 600 metres (almost half a mile).  Many youth swam this distance with clothes and shoes.  One youth swam ashore while towing his wounded friend."

The bravery and the personal power of those young people shines through wherever you are, but perhaps the subtlety of the reaction to the trial needs to be explained directly by a Norwegian; much is lost in the media’s translation. When I first heard about the killings on Utøya I was really struck by this comment by the Mayor of Oslo Fabian Strang:

"Together we will punish the killer. Our punishment will be more generosity, more tolerance and more democracy"

6:54am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZYBZLvLeDr5z
  
Filed under: olso peace roses Norway Utøya 
May 11, 2012
This page heads up the story that I made about the Petermann Glacier on north west Greenland. The story shows how a small team of scientists explored the floating tongue of the glacier which broke off shortly afterwards. It was the size of Manhattan Island. You can see the full page and the set of images which make up the story here:

This page heads up the story that I made about the Petermann Glacier on north west Greenland. The story shows how a small team of scientists explored the floating tongue of the glacier which broke off shortly afterwards. It was the size of Manhattan Island. You can see the full page and the set of images which make up the story here:

May 11, 2012
This is the lead page that we made to introduce a story about the sailing ship, the Noorderlicht. You can see the published page and the complete gallery here:

This is the lead page that we made to introduce a story about the sailing ship, the Noorderlicht. You can see the published page and the complete gallery here:

May 11, 2012
This is the page that heads up the new gallery about sea ice on my new site. The story called The Solid Sea is about scientists that work to find out how much sea ice is retreating and thinning. The full gallery is here:

This is the page that heads up the new gallery about sea ice on my new site. The story called The Solid Sea is about scientists that work to find out how much sea ice is retreating and thinning. The full gallery is here:

May 11, 2012
This is the page from my website about icebergs. The full gallery is called Signatures. You can see the intro page and click through the gallery here:

This is the page from my website about icebergs. The full gallery is called Signatures. You can see the intro page and click through the gallery here:

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