#photojournalism project | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

violentivy · 2 years

Text

REEL FEELS: DAYS 9 AND 10

Yoshi lives at my Mom's, and has since the last time my sons were there in early 2014. Even though it's a different house, this Yosh made the move. My family has never given up on seeing my kids again.

Even when I've thought I would never see them again, there are all these little reminders. A vinyl Mario toy, a bathtub toy, and the sad doting my step father does with just a little less pep in his step.

My step dad is a man of few words. He has some hearing troubles and it's generally kind of hard to communicate with him. He's taking very good care of my Mom and Brother.

But since the boys haven't been around, you can just see him move a bit slower and sadder.

He still keeps the cookie jar stocked with Dan's favorite cookies" even though Dan has Celiac's disease and couldn't possibly eat them anymore.

It hurts sometimes just to go over there. My Mom has lost 2 sets of grandkids. My sister moved to Ireland when my niece and nephew were still quite young. Of course, my various situations and my brother's relationship with his baby mama dissolving soon after his youngest was born...

They at least only live around the corner, and during the school year my brother's kids go to Moms after school a few days a week.

But, my Mom has all these grand kids and only really ever sees 2 of them. Sometimes 3. My step kids like going to see her but seldom make the time, my daughter lives more than halfway across the state and...

It must be like a nightmare that keeps replaying in her head.

This is why, I think, she told me that I never did anything to raise my own kids.

She wanted to hurt me for allowing my children to go to my ex in laws when she was right there.

But she doesn't remember choking me, or hitting me. She only remembers threatening to kill me before I was 5.

(she mentioned this last night.)

I spent the night last night explaining what autism and ADHD look like in adults and how every last one of us has symptoms.

Poor emotional regulation that looks like BPD? Check.

I have been staying away because menopause is making my emotions a bit more roller coastery than usual.

Luckily, I'm able to stay calm most of the time at home now. The worst I do is occasionally yell at or throw inanimate objects.

This was not always the case. I am a product of my conditioning. I wish I could go back for a lot of reasons. I wish I had known these things when I was younger. But I can only act on what I know now.

I know I am not good at regulating my emotions and mess. I know I have severe abandonment issues due to the way my parents treated me as a kid, only reinforced by sending my ex to prison and having my kids taken away. It isn't anyones fault but my own and I own that.

I really thought I was doing the right thing at the time. And yes, having harmful people in one's life is less pleasent than their absence. However, my life is a bit different and I haven't quite figured out how to navigate these feels yet.

I will. I know I will. In the meantime I try really hard not to drive people nuts with my poor regulation.

My ex father in law, on one of the last occasions we spoke, said something that angered me, and I walked away from him.

He said "Why do you do that, Dee? You get angry then you walk away! Stay and talk with me."

I didn't want to have to find a shovel, old man.

That's the answer. I'm a loose fucking cannon with a horrible temper that I'm usually pretty good at directing into things that aren't people.

But I swear if any harm comes to any of my kids, I will direct every bit of righteous rage at whomever has committed the atrocity. So, he best not upset any of my kids enough for me to get involved.

He will have unwittingly opened a firehose of rage, and my capacity to make someone's life an absolute living hell.

Like dude, I get it, your son is in jail because I made a judgement call. Remains to be seen whether or not it was the right one. I stand by it though because I literally can't legally do anything else. Nor can you.

It is a fool's errand.

In this next photo, Emma reminds me that when folding laundry, getting kissy breaks is an important and nessesary measure to keep one productive and sane.

This. Fucking. Doggo.

Emma crash landed into our life about 5 years ago, right around my birthday. As you can no doubt tell from the picture, Em is a dog of a certain pedigree, the kind that many apartment complexes prohibit.

Luckily, her paperwork just says she's a lab mix. We told our original apartment when we got her that she was part vizsla, and she's the right color and shape for that, so they accepted without question.

And being the kind of dog she is, she must be very close to a human at all times, she wakes herself up snoring. She is afraid of her own farts. She is also incredibly friendly.

She can identify someone crying in any room of the house and will determinedly try to get to whomever it is to dry their tears with her tongue until they are giggling again. If I am the Queen and my partner is the "Princess", (his/their choice of designation) then Emma is the court jester.

She loves kids and young adults more than she loves anything else in her life. A close second is her Daddy.

I am a distant third. I am the preferred play parent though, so I'll take it.

She broke my finger once! It really hurt and Nyxie has as a result taken on the majority of the walks. She's just a big strong dog and I am... Well I'm unaware that I'm 5'0" and over 40. Sorry fam, didn't get that memo. I know you were trying to tell me something important, too. Darn.

Emma has witnessed Nyx falling several times in the winter and usually isn't much help. She panics well.

But we love her silly pibble butt, and we're glad she lives here with us.

She's a lot, but so is my Princess.

😂

#reel feels #pictures #photojournalism project #dog #adhd #actually autistic #actually adhd #missingmykids❤️#actually dyspraxic #yoshi

1 note · View note

spilladabalia · 6 months

Text

Photographs of ‘El Segundo Barrio’ of El Paso in 1972 by Danny Lyon.

Documerica was a program sponsored by the United States Environmental Protection Agency to “photographically document subjects of environmental concern” in the United States from about 1972 to 1977. These particular photos shot in Kodachrome by Danny Lyon are all of El Paso and in particular the Second Ward which was described as a classic ‘Barrio’ on the Mexican border.

#danny lyon #el paso #el segundo barrio #photography #photojournalism #photo project #documerica #1972 #kodachrome

52 notes · View notes

wertheyouth-blog · 2 years

Text

Hello Tumblr! Back from 2010-2018 we had a project called We Are the Yourh, photographing and interviewing LGBTQ youth in the United States, and the Tumblr community helped share the stories.

Now we’re back, a d We Are the Youth 2.0 is getting off the ground, we wanted to intro ourselves and give a little background on the project.

Over the years, we travelled to many states, published a book (TY @cameronrussell!) showed our work in museums and galleries and most importantly met hundreds of incredible queer folks who changed the way we think about so many things. We’re so excited to explore new queer stories / themes / intersections in 2022!

Laurel Golio is a photographer and visual anthropologist. Her work revolves around the examination of community and its various subcultures, with a focus on using portraiture to investigate issues of self-presentation and identity.

Diana Scholl is a writer and digital strategist who is interested in exploring the ways that the internet connects communities and encourages social change. She currently works at Google as a creative strategist and has worked for YouTube and the American Civil Liberties Union

📸 @caitoppermann / @yael_malka

2 notes · View notes

sloanp-mp3 · 1 month

Text

Beauty in the Mundane

Come take a walk around my neighborhood with me!

I've spent hours and hours walking around my neighborhood in Nashville, Tennessee. Usually, when I walk, I don't pay attention to what's around me. I usually just zone out and get lost in whatever music I'm listening to- for the past few years I've been living here, I've always found it boring.

But I want to be more in the present. When I was walking the other day, I decided to take my camera. I started taking shots of things I saw, anything that interested me in the slightest. It turns out, there were a lot of things.

I noticed everything; mailboxes, yard signs, decorations, flowers- the way the light fell through the leaves. There's so much beauty and creativity I had been missing- even in the smallest, simplest things. By the time I had gone down every street in my small neighborhood, it had been 3 hours.

I love my neighborhood, and I no longer find it boring. I've gained a new appreciation for my community that I don't think I would've had otherwise, and I want to start taking this approach to other aspects of my life.

Here, I'm documenting some of my favorite things I noticed in my neighborhood. I hope this inspires someone to take things slow, and appreciate their community for the little things.

-Sloan

#photography #photojournalism #blogging #school project #writing

1 note · View note

grnpnsth-blog · 5 months

Text

#palawan #puertoprincesa #philippines #Photojournalism #documentary #long term project #fisheries #fisherfolk #puertoprincesacity

0 notes

anonuid · 1 year

Photo

Brooklyn Museum, 2023-03-11 The Incandescence of Lady Macbeth, Thierry Mugler: Couturissime (3-D hologram projection by Michel Lemieux) . . . . #brooklynmuseum #thierrymugler #couturissime #fashiondesigner #hologram #projection #ladymacbeth #365project #photojournal #dailypic #streetphotography #streetshot #ig_street #justgoshoot #nycphotography #nyclife #newyork_ig #what_i_saw_in_nyc #googlepixel #teampixel #urbanphotography (at Brooklyn Museum) https://www.instagram.com/p/CprUv0aOrS9/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

1 note · View note

thesunisatangerine · 7 months

Text

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part five

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, angst (i'm sorry)

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.2k

Today’s the day you were going to talk to Alexia about it.

You had about two weeks left of your additional three weeks and with each passing day, your stay in Barcelona was drawing to a close and Alexia knew it, too. During the period of time you’d gotten to know her to now, Alexia’d put in the same effort in trying to get to know what you did outside of sports photojournalism. You’d told her, of course, and even showed her photos of your previous photojournalistic coverage, although you’d kept the more graphic ones away from her.

Despite the fact that she had jokingly tried to convince you to stay in sports photojournalism, Alexia had been nothing but supportive of your job. The thing was, she just didn’t know yet what it was you’d be returning to: you just got word that you–among other colleagues–were bound to head over to a conflict zone in a region going through civil unrest and military aggression. But it wasn’t like the thought never crossed your mind.

Sports photography had been a welcome reprieve from the violence and depravity that came with human conflict, a typical scene to witness while on the field. And although unplanned, Alexia had played a part in your enjoyment with this side-project–so much so that it was on top of your list for alternative careers down the line. Be that as it may, you knew deep down that you wouldn’t trade your current career for anything else.

This was what you wanted to talk to Alexia about. Well… among other things but you wanted to ease her into the conversation with a home-cooked meal and a gift. Even though it was difficult to do with Alexia around, you were able to finish making the latter a few days ago. The gift was something similar to the one she gave you: a bracelet with the colors of the flag of your country and instead of a diamond, you used a small, silver, hollow rectangular charm to represent you and your camera. And with that dealt with, you only needed to grab the ingredients for the former which brought you out to Mercat del Centre on this fine Barcelona highnoon.

With paper bags of groceries in hand, you were thinking of grabbing something from that sushi place you’d passed on the way to the market but just as you turned the corner, you saw three women walking ahead a few paces away with their backs turned to you.

They were all wearing matching tank shirts, shorts, and ankle socks but the one with the cap stood out to you and instantly, you recognised it to be Alexia. Knowing that and from the Barcelona matches that you’d been to, you recognised that it was Mapi and Patri flanking her.

Excitement filled you immediately although you wondered for a second what they were doing there until you realised that Estadi Johan Cruyff was only a few blocks away. The instinct to call out Alexia’s name and reach out for her didn’t go unnoticed by you but you managed to stop yourself in time before you accidentally did.

The both of you never really talked about where the both of you stood and there was no clear label for the nature of your relationship. If someone had asked you this when you just met her over two months ago, the answer would’ve been clear; it was merely physical with a dose of infatuation. Now, it was more than just sex to you: you wanted her in every possible way, you wanted to know and to be known by her, you wanted to be the person she’d tell about the most mundane of things to–to be the person she’d allow to fall for her because you already know you were on the brink of falling. So apart from your job situation, this question was the other half of the conversation you wanted to have with her.

Though you meant to go to the same direction, you didn’t want to risk Alexia noticing you not because you didn’t want her to or that you were afraid she’d ignore you–no, you just didn’t want to accidentally interrupt her time with her teammates. She’d come to you later anyway so you’d just tell her about this then. You were just about to turn around when something in their conversation got your attention.

“So, Ale, are you dating that photographer?” Patri asked, her question oozed of mischief.

“What photographer?” Alexia replied with a flat tone.

Mapi snickered. “You’re too smart to play dumb and when you do it on purpose you just sound stupid.”

For that, she got a punch to the shoulder from Alexia but Mapi only giggled.

“Fine, fine. And, no, I’m not.”

“Oh, come on, Ale! If she’s not, then why does she always take the best photos of you? Right, Patri?” Mapi whined.

“Exactly! Oh, remember those matches when you weren’t even on the pitch? And the way she always looks at you after a match? I’d say that’s something!” Then as if she just had an epiphany, Patri’s eyes widened, hand clapping over her opened mouth. “Wait! Unless…”

Patri didn’t even need to finish her sentence, her suggestive tone was enough to communicate what she meant by it and your ears burnt at the implication.

“Oh, shit. Are you, you know?” Mapi exclaimed, finally catching on, eyes just as wide as Patri’s.

“Keep your voices down, assholes,” Alexia growled in annoyance then she grumbled something you couldn’t quite hear. In response, the other two women just laughed.

“Love you, too, Cap,” Mapi said in a saccharine tone.

Alexia sighed. “Okay. Yes. Are you happy now?”

The other two women hooted and patted Alexia on the back.

“Ha! I knew it!” Patri exclaimed.

“Do you like her though?” Mapi’s question stilled your breath as you anticipated Alexia’s answer.

“No,” Alexia shook her head and she shrugged. “She means nothing to me.”

“Ouch! Not even considering dating?”

“I can’t deal with that right now.”

“Damn… So does that mean she’s one of your girls, then? And here I thought you finally stopped.”

“I’m not even going to answer that.”

You didn’t hear anything after that. Alexia’s words rooted you to the spot and you watched as the three of them walked on.

She means nothing to me. She’s one of your girls. She means nothing to me. She’s…

Those same words echoed in your mind in a ruthless cycle but what stuck to you the most was the way Alexia said them. You’d never heard her that cold… that detached. Your hands shook, a chill ran up your spine and you shivered while the world blurred in front of you.

You brought a hand to your eyes and felt warm tears on your fingers.

Oh.

And without even asking you got the answer to your question.

––––––

The moment Alexia stepped foot into the house that night, you grabbed her by the lapels of her jacket and pulled her down for a searing kiss. She gasped in surprise as you pushed her against the door and you took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, your fingers now tangled in her hair while your front was pressed firmly against her.

It wasn’t enough.

You bit and tugged her lower lip before you nipped a path along her jaw down to the base of her throat where you sucked at her pulse point. Her muscles responded and rippled beneath your palms when you traced their lines along her sides and stomach under her shirt while Alexia gasped and moaned from your touch.

It wasn’t enough.

By the time the both of you reached the bed, you’d stripped Alexia off her clothes. She landed on her back on the bed when you pushed her, gasping as she did so, and you immediately crawled on top of her. Wasting no time, you sucked and marked the expanse of skin in front of you: her neck, her chest, her breasts, her stomach. You nipped and bit as Alexia writhed and keened beneath you.

It wasn’t enough.

When you felt her large hands along your sides trying to tug the hem of your shirt to strip it off you, you grabbed her wrists and pinned them on either side of her head–a rejection to her offer, one that you never thought you’d do around Alexia. But just the thought of being completely naked made you shudder, and not in a good way. So you pressed a bare leg against her core to distract her to which Alexia keenly responded to by arching against you while her wetness burnt like a brand against your skin there.

It wasn’t enough.

When Alexia cried out your name while your fingers worked deep in her core, neck straining and muscles tensing, the pit in your chest only seemed to yawn wider and dug deeper.

It wasn’t enough.

When Alexia clung to you as she dozed off with her soft breath caressing your clothed stomach, tears burnt in the corners of your eyes as you watched her glow in her slumber, so peaceful and beautiful. Emotions bubbled in the base of your throat, a string of words coiled themselves tighter around your tongue, but something else burnt in your throat that you found difficult to swallow.

In your desperation to get closer–to make Alexia forget about whoever else that she was sleeping with–you’d used sex as a tool for possession not for intimacy, and the streak of shame that that knowledge left behind pained you more than you could ever thought it could. You weren’t like this. This wasn’t a person you wanted to become, especially when it came with Alexia.

But… you wanted more.

You wanted so much more.

But wasn’t this what you already convinced yourself of? Deep down, you knew all too well that this was too good to be true–too good of a love to be yours.

You brushed away a lock of blonde hair from Alexia’s temple, admiring the strong slope of her nose, the fierce slant of her eyebrows, the gentle curves of her eyelids, the elegant bow of her lips. You soaked as much of her as you could because this would be the last time you’d be able to see her like this.

It was a blur, the journey back from the marketplace to the house earlier today, and your mind was a cacophony of words but a single thought was in clarity: you needed to leave. So the moment you got back, you did two things: you emailed Derek and booked your flight home.

There were no details included in the email you sent to your brother as to why you were coming back early–it was extremely unprofessional but an apology was the only thing you could come up with. You’d never not seen a project through to the end no matter the circumstance but this was different; you felt as though you were more equipped to navigate mortal peril than this dance with Alexia so leaving was the only option.

Tomorrow at midnight, you’d be gone, two weeks ahead of schedule. You didn’t know if Alexia would get here tomorrow before you depart but that was a question for then. For now, you would allow yourself to savour this moment when Alexia was still right here beside you for the final time.

You brought one of her hand to your lips and pressed a light kiss against her knuckles.

A line from a poem fleeted through your mind.

these, our bodies, possessed by light

––––––

Everything was already packed by the time early evening came and even though the caretaker was scheduled to come early tomorrow, you made a point to check around for anything important you might have forgotten and to ensure you’d sufficiently tidied up after yourself. Finally satisfied, you went downstairs and just after you ordered an Uber to take you to the airport, a knock came to the door and the door handle turned.

Shit.

“Hey, the door’s unlocked! Look, I didn’t know what you wanted to eat since you didn’t text me back so I just grabbed us some–”

Alexia’s voice floated into the room and as she passed through the doorway with her bag of takeaways in one hand, she stopped in her tracks as she saw you and your luggage. Then her face turned cloudy, concern and a question in her eyes.

Her hair was still damp, cheeks still flushed from training, and you longed to reach out to tuck that loose hair behind her ear but instead, you clenched your fists at your sides as you watched her mouth open a few times before she seemed to finally settle on what to say.

“Is… everything alright?” She regarded your luggage for a moment longer before she met your eyes again.

“Yes.”

It was only one word but your voice trembled nonetheless, and you hated that it did. Alexia’d must have heard something in your tone because her brows furrowed even further as understanding began to seep in.

“You’re–” Alexia’s throat bobbed, “you’re leaving now?”

“Yes.”

As each second passed, you could see the way Alexia’s walls began to climb.

“You said it’s not until after two weeks–”

“I lied.”

At that, the remaining warmth in her eyes flitted away and left her hazel eyes flat and cold. Then she scoffed, hurt clear in her voice when she asked, “were you even planning to say goodbye?”

A heavy silence settled in the air; an answer in and of itself. You could feel the distance between the both of you widen as the moment stretched on, the air so thick from tension it hurt to even breathe. Then a notification from your phone disrupted the quiet and it gave you an excuse to divert your eyes from Alexia’s.

Your Uber just arrived. You sent the driver a quick message to wait, that you’d pay them for the time, before you faced the music again. Clearing your throat, you moved to get the paper bag addressed to ‘Ale’ from the counter–the one you originally planned to leave by the door once you’d left–then you stood just out of arm’s reach from Alexia and offered her the bag.

“Before I forget, here.”

Alexia’s eyes bore into yours before she eventually dragged them down to the bag in your hand. She placed the takeaways beside her feet before she grabbed the bag in your hand, her fingertips brushed against the skin of your knuckles and you fought the urge to flinch away.

You watched as she peered inside and you bit your lip as you hoped she wouldn’t see the pictures and the letters you wrote; it was bad enough she got here before you left to begin with, how much worse could this get if she saw them in front of you. Oh, how you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Once she stuck her hand inside to grab something, you held your breath. Then you saw the way her jaws worked at what she found inside. She lifted it enough for you to catch a glimpse of it over the edge of the bag: blue and scarlet, her Barcelona jersey.

Alexia sucked in a breath, ragged, before she breathed out with a trembling voice. “Oh.”

“I did promise I was going to return it.”

She looked up at you, her eyes now glazed over and you were sure with the way your eyes burnt that yours were just as red.

“Why?”

There were so many ways you could answer her question, the words because I could fall in love with you were poised at the tip of your tongue but you bit it off before they could slip out and leave you more vulnerable than you already were.

“Because… it was fun while it lasted. No strings attached, right?” The words sounded so cruel to you and immediately, you wanted to take them back. To reduce those moments with her and the memories that were now permanently a part of you to a passing fling felt abysmally wrong. You wanted nothing more than to step into her embrace, to tell her how much she’d come to mean to you, to tell her that you could fall for her if she’d just let you… but you never really had a chance did you? You knew that now and you couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t want more.

Alexia’s jaw worked again as her chin quivered, her tongue skimmed over the corner of her lips, a habit you noticed she did when she was upset–whenever she wanted to stop herself from crying.

“Is this it, then?” She whispered the question and at that, a tear fell down your cheek.

“I guess it is.”

And in the silence that followed, as if guided by an invisible force, your hand began to reach out for Alexia but your presence of mind came back to you and you quickly retracted it. Instead, you grabbed your two bags and began to head out the door. You passed by her and you were already a few steps away when you heard Alexia speak.

“Will I ever see you again?”

You knew she knew the answer to it; you knew she wanted you to say otherwise.

You didn’t turn back when you said, “goodbye, Alexia. Take care of yourself.”

––––––

The flight back home was nothing short of a fever dream: one minute you were at Barcelona-El Prat Airport nursing your head in one of the bathroom stalls as you cried, the next your plane was touching down at your home country’s landing strip.

Derek was there to pick you up and he looked like he was about to bombard you with questions but upon seeing the state of you, his gaze softened, brows furrowing in concern and there–in place of your business partner from a moment ago–was your brother.

He pulled you into a tight hug and you closed your eyes revelling in his comforting scent while you willed yourself not to cry. Although his arms brought solace to your aching heart, the ones you longed to hold you belonged to someone who was a thousand miles away.

Over the next few days following your arrival, you ignored everything and went off the grid, deleting the social media apps on your phone lest the temptations would convince you to check how Alexia was doing. So instead, you busied yourself with catching up with your mother and your friends, and buried yourself with work while Derek hovered in the background, protective and concerned but respectfully giving you time to come around and tell him what happened.

You told yourself you would–that it could wait a little longer. But you never got around to it because the next thing you knew, you, Gilda, and Jones were on air to the conflict zone for journalistic coverage. Once your plane landed, the current malaise from your personal life seemed infinitesimal for it was nothing compared to the afflictive catastrophe of war.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: im so sorry #also an extra round of apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes for this one #hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine)#apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

599 notes · View notes

visualvico · 7 months

Text

📣 CALL FOR ARTISTS 📣

Hi!

I’m Ludovico, I’m a graphic designer student currently working on my graduation thesis. I’m looking for queer creators to collab on the project which is going to be a queer magazine named “Kwir” about subjects that are often left aside such as trans people, being poly, the drag panorama and so on…

All the contents of the magazine must be made just by queer artists because I want the magazine to be, in a world where we don’t have much space, a safe place to make our voices be heard and our works displayed. The number 0 of “Kwir” will hopefully be printed and distributed from April so the goal is to sell it in independent bookshops or queer shops in the future. I hope we can build a bigger and bigger team of creators to work on this to make it become a reality and a support chain for queer youth. The aim is for “Kwir” to become a project that will evolve and grow and continue to exist with more than just one published number. Since I’m a student I don’t have any funds at the moment so it’s a non-paid work but your works will be visible since it’s going to be published (and as I was saying the idea is to make it become a real thing for the upcoming years as well!). So, every content of the magazine will have the name of the creator to make your works gain visibility and for you to get known.

Let’s talk now about the structure of the magazine!

Each section of the magazine will have some articles and some visual contents as well.

Articles are going to be experiences and thoughts about each subject written by different people so, for example, subject 1 “Gender identity and sexual orientation” is going to be discussed from different point of views by more than one person. Person x will talk about their view about subject 1, as well as person y and person z so that an internal dialogue will take place about the same subject from different perspectives. If you are a queer person who has something to say about these subjects or if you like to write or even if you studied photojournalism, you could take part to the project this way!

On the other side if you are an artist, you can collab by creating visual contents and those can be anything: poems, photographs, illustrations, sketches, sculptures, tattoos and so on… They can be new or previously published contents; the only limitation is that they need to be related to the topics covered in the issue 0 of the magazine, which are the following: gender identity and sexual orientation; drag queens and the drag panorama in Italy; HIV and why schools should talk about it in the right way; the importance of language and pronouns for everyone; what’s the alternative world from cishet; sex work is work; trans lives, AFAB-AMAB and the word transexual; why a queer support network is fundamental and websites that can help; being poly: monogamy is not the only choice.

These are the primary topics to be covered in issue 0, which gives you an idea of the magazine's internal structure, including various themes that may often intersect with one another.

If you are a queer artist and would love to take part to the project text me! If you have any other question, I’m here to answer them all! I hope to hear from you soon, have a great day :)

#queer #illustration #graphic design #call for artists #artists #queer artist #queer community #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #content creator #trans #transgender

31 notes · View notes

strangebiology · 1 month

Text

I was looking for photojournalism fellowships, funding etc, and I found this one related to animals. I thought I'd share it in case someone wants it, although I won't apply:

You: -Have a photo research/photojournalism project in mind involving animals/animal welfare -Can commit to "two to three hours per month during the planning and promotional stages, as well as time in the field" over the course of 6 months -Want free training and "funding to cover project costs and a stipend for the duration of the Fellowship, totaling $6,500 CAD." -"Embrace vegan values and a non-speciesist philosophy."

Due April 30, 2024.

Note: The last point doesn't work well for me considering my journalism ethics and goals, so it's not for me, but I respect that it works for some people who don't mind leaning into advocacy. IMO the photo book produced by this organization, Hidden: Animals in the Anthropocene, is full of amazing, deeply meaningful photos, and it's worth looking at them and considering such a viewpoint. (Found it while looking to see if anyone else had done a photo book of dead animals! There's not much on that front!)

If anyone knows of a photo fellowship opportunity like this without such a strong philosophical angle, let me know and I will consider applying! Or if you find one that has a contrasting point (like, pro-meat and fur? IDK) I'll share it and not apply, as well.

#photography #photojournalism #animal advocacy

9 notes · View notes

jimhair · 1 year

Photo

I’ve always loved wandering with my camera in the street, and it was even better when I carried one of my kids on my back. In the early 1980’s I started photographing @sanfranciscopride and I think one of the reasons people allowed me to make their photograph was I carried my three year old daughter on my shoulders. In the 1990’s my daughter held on to a belt loop, and with my son on my shoulders I think we provided a little entertainment. Dad and Sleeping Baby, Japanese Memorial Park, Portland, March 26, 2023 Second slide is me with my kids at the Djerassi Project, photo by Robert Randles, 1991 🇺🇦💔🌎💔🌏💔🌍💔🇺🇦 #earth #america #human #family #cherryblossom #park #documentary #sakura #photography #street #photographer #mediumformat #4x5 #camera #bnw @ilfordphoto #film #blancoynegro #blancetnoir #Hēiyǔbái #siyahbeyaz #白黒 #shirokuro #blackandwhite #istillshootfilm #photojournalism #pdx #portland #nw #northwest #oregon @oriana_sans_ @rexsoleil 230346D HP5 1947 Graflex Super D Kodak 190mm 5.6 Ektar Photograph © by Jim Hair 2023 https://www.instagram.com/p/CqTL4whpLRa/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

67 notes · View notes

freeadmission · 2 years

Text

Behance

Have you ever used it?

It’s free with any Adobe Subscription, and with that subscription comes the option to post a website.

So guess what, I have a Behance website I have been creating since 2016 because I posted projects there since then. Easiest site I ever created.

Thanks, Behance, check it out! https://deannaflinn.myportfolio.com/

#Artist #BTS #Deanna Flinn Photography #Editorial Photography #Fuji X100F #Free Admission Photography #Girl Gaze #gratitude #In the Luupe #Photojournalism Project #Bespoke #lifestyle photographer #Moving Forward #Newsletter

0 notes

violentivy · 2 years

Text

REEL FEELS: Day 9 The world of Underdesk

I have adjusted this photo heavily. I have curves following the highs and lows, and also turned the saturation up to wayy too much. I kinda love that for you. It's interesting noise to look at, don't you think. Below the cut is a story. Read it, or don't. I'm a sign, not a cop.

This is underneath my desk.

For the purposes of this essay, let's just call it the land of "Underdesk" I have sat here for the better part of 2 years, on and off, mostly off.

This is like my home at work. I come back here when I am done with my adventures throughout my day.

Working IT as a woman is a bit of an adventure for sure. It's less so now, but it used to be every time you walked up to a desk, you had a pretty good chance of being chased away for the crime of being a woman, and not possibly having ANY IDEA what the hell you are talking about.

I joke a lot about the fact that some folks feel like computers have Pen15 ports, and that those that feel this way feel like you must stick your dick in a machine in order to get it to work effectively. It's a joke with a lot of truth to it.

The pictured place is where I will likely be if someone comes and opens fire on campus ever, that is if I can't find an MDF to duck into.

Much of my day is spent walking from building to building, which also feels a lot like walking from culture to culture, each unit operating differently, some more formal, some WAY less formal.

But I know I can always come back to my desk, and find comfort.

After all, my bestie sits here too, and if anything goes wrong, I know he'll protect me.

I wish I had a good story about underdesk. All I can tell you is that this area I sit in now used to be a bowling alley according to some accounts, and according to others may have been a data center (due to the raised floors.)

One thing is for certain, we are not the only inhabitants. The ghosts of many a person still haunt these hallowed halls. And you know what? I'm good with that.

Haunt away!

#oversaturated #high saturation photos #photojournalism project #women in it #actually autistic #autistic woman #actually dyspraxic #Dyspraxic artist #dyspraxia #reel feels

1 note · View note

davidwalterbanks · 1 year

Photo

My new project, tentatively titled ‘Trembling Earth,’ aims to convey the universal value of the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge and its need for further protection from the titanium mining industry. I am taking a two-pronged approach visually. I will utilize strict documentary photography to serve as evidence and facts to prove my case of the refuge’s value. In my opinion, the sum of this place is more than a direct factual approach can total though. There is a mystical ethereal quality of this primordial place that escapes both the written word and limits of photojournalism. My secondary approach looks capture the intangible feeling one is left with after communing with this magical space. These images will still be created fully in-camera, but will utilize abstract methods in lighting and filters to achieve unique emotive tones in a style I have honed over the past decade. Georgia’s 438,000-acre Okefenokee Swamp is one of the largest intact freshwater ecosystems in the world, and is home to more than 600 species of wild plants, 200 species of birds, 100 species of amphibians and reptiles, and 35 species of fish, including rare and endangered species. Despite designation as a National Wildlife Refuge, North America’s largest blackwater swamp is still under threat by the titanium mining industry. While the refuge may be protected, its boundaries are not. Trail Ridge, the geologic formation that forms the eastern boundary of the swamp, is currently threatened by the Twin Pines Mining Company which has proposed plans for heavy mineral sand mining that would cover an expanse of roughly 8,000-acres next to the refuge. This mining process will lower the water table and increase drought, causing greater susceptibility to wildfire, and permanently altering the ecosystem. Lowered water table and increased drought exposes more peat that can catch fire — peat that stores over 95 million tons of CO2, which cannot be recaptured once released. The swamp as it stands is fire adapted but peat dependent. Upsetting this 10,000-year-old balance could lead to the collapse of an entire ecosystem. https://www.instagram.com/p/Cr00y1oOtHG/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

22 notes · View notes

sp4ceman-craig · 10 days

Text

Turned in my photojournalism project, even though it wasn’t finished. I did what I could. I am SO stressed though. Me vs. the everpresent guilt surrounding not doing all my schoolwork.

#vicious cycle: anxiety because i haven’t done the project -> decide to do the project -> anxiety because i have to talk to people idk

3 notes · View notes

theresawritesstuff · 1 year

Note

Kitty showing Midge and Lenny the pictures she’s taken of them over the years and asking them if she can use them for her school project

(This one rambles and waxes poetic on photography as a medium a little... Less of a story and more of a snapshot. Hopefully it's okay.)

Kitty first fell in love with the camera when she was nine. Just not in the way most people in show business families do.

She'd tagged along to watch her father's photo shoot for the article announcing his step into the role of late night television host.

There'd been a team of photographers buzzing around, getting the staged shots they had planned.

Things had almost wrapped up when she finally worked up the courage to ask one of the assistant photographers if she could look through the camera lense.

"Sure. It's a little heavy though so be careful."

"I will."

It was bulky, but not unreasonable.

She'd put her face to the eye piece, aiming it around the studio, seeing things through that magic little window for the first time.

She found her dad relaxing on the set, talking with Midge while the principal photographer switched gear.

Midge said something that made Dad laugh and she instinctively just clicked.

"Sorry!" she'd said, after realizing what she'd done.

"Don't sweat it kid. That was the last of the role. Saves me from having extra on the end when we develop them."

A week later, they'd sent over proofs for the images they planned to use for the article and the ones the studio marketing team wanted.

They'd made a copy of Kitty's shot with a note giving her credit and a word of encouragement.

Her dad kept the print framed on his desk next to his typewriter.

She got a camera of her own for her tenth birthday.

After that the rest was history.

Which was fitting because she'd developed a bit of a fascination with history. Capturing a moment that would otherwise be lost to time and preserving it. Giving it life to live on. To say we were here. For however long, this was us, as we were in our truth as we lived it. And what a phenomenal thing, to be able to hold a moment in your hands.

And so every vacation, every outing, Kitty had her camera ready.

It was a fixture of trips into town, of family dinners, frequently snuck into quieter moments when it was least expected. But the images spoke for themselves.

She eventually found her way into studying photojournalism, a natural fit really for someone raised for the better portion of her upbringing with the Bruce and Weissman brand of championing truth and raw honesty in media and in life.

Before she knew it, she was preparing for her senior portfolio exhibition, a decade behind the camera under her belt and more than enough material to choose from. Arguably too much.

She'd really gotten shutter happy in her early teens...

The work was good, mostly. She'd weeded out the weaker of the shots earlier in the semester. But now she needed her own version of a tight ten.

And she really wanted it to be good.

"Thanks for letting me drop in like this, Dad,"

she said as she walked through the familiar doorway of her childhood home.

Her father hugged her around the shoulder. "Any time, Kit. You know there's always room at the table."

"Even when Mom's hosting brunch?" Kitty quipped.

"Hey we ran out of chairs one time!" Midge called from the kitchen. "And that's because Alan had his nephew in town who then decided to also invite his entire basketball team."

"Thinking ahead was never that family's strong suit," her dad chuckled, taking her bag from her. "Jesus, Kitty! What's in here?"

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about…"

They made their way to the living room and Kitty started to lay out her work.

"Now I know you both have worked hard to keep our home lives private, and I get that! So you can totally say no. But I was going through my portfolio at school and I kept coming back to some of these pictures of you two… I was hoping you'd give me permission to use them for the exhibit."

The three of them looked over the images laid before them.

Midge reached for the shot to her left picking it up.

"I remember this one," she said fondly.

In it, she and dad were sharing a moment while hanging out the cabin window, trying to get the rabbit ears to pick up enough signal for the rest of the family to catch the moon landing.

"I call that one Fly me to the moon," Kitty admitted.

There were shots of the two of them from family parties, a few from the civil rights rallies they'd attended together, along with several backstage highlights from some of their more prestigious career events.

The images brought out sighs and laughter alike.

"These are great, kid," her father praised. "I'd buy all of these."

"They're not for sale, Dad. It's just a portfolio exhibit. A chance to show off our work. Maybe get some job info from the scouts the local papers send," Kitty reminded him.

"You do know you have multiple family members with contacts in the newspaper industry."

*Yeah but this is different. It's not like I'm writing."

Her father shrugged. "Still. Keep it in your back pocket. I know nepotism is a whole can of worms but when you're actually good at what you do…"

Her father lost his train of thought as he picked up a photo from some awards night featuring him leaning discreetly towards her step mother, whispering some joke or other.

"Oh man, what was I saying to you here? Based on that smirk, it must have been good!"

Midge laughed at the image. "I don't remember! Probably something about Gordon's shoes."

"Was that the night with the loud shoes?"

"Who knows…Oh this one, I do remember."

"Nope. Can't use that one." Her father snapped the image out of the pile. "I thought I burned all evidence of my mustache era."

Midge rolled her eyes. "You lost a bet. It happens. You're lucky Jo-jo let you still be his best man with that caterpillar on your lip."

"He was the one I lost the bet to!" her father laughed.

They managed to winnow it down to the most memorable of the set until Kitty felt satisfied with the results.

"Think your professor will be happy with these?" Midge asked as Kitty packed up to go after dinner.

"I hope so." Kitty gave her a hug as she pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. "I think he'll get a kick out of the one with Papa Abe at the piano from New Years. He's a fan of his old column."

Her father called from somewhere in the apartment, "Hang on! Before you go, I've got one more I think you should keep in mind."

"We just got it narrowed down," Kitty sighed heavily.

"Hear him out. He sounds enthusiastic." Midge smirked.

"Mom…what is he doing?"

Midge shrugged noncommittally. "You know he likes to keep your work around the house."

He soon returned with a familiar frame in hand.

"I just thought it might make a good addition."

"Dad…"

"Now don't lose that! Because I will want it back after you're done with it," he told her, crossing his arms seriously.

Kitty fingered the edge of the frame she'd seen so many times next to her father's articles as they were being typed, the little note tucked in the glass slightly yellow with age.

"I'll make a copy for the exhibit and get this back to you when I come for family dinner next weekend," she told him.

He nodded, satisfied.

"Hey, Kit. Not that we aren't flattered but, you've got a lot of other shots you could have chosen. Why us old timers?"

Midge elbowed him in the ribs lightly.

Kitty shrugged. "My professor left things pretty open for us to decide. But his big advice was we should shoot what matters most to us. So…"

Her father nodded mutely, hugging her goodbye and kissing the top of her head. "Good answer."

"See you at dinner next weekend, sweetie," Midge said.

"Chicken?" Kitty asked.

"Brisket."

Kitty pumped her free arm in celebration. "Yes."

"Hey. Love you, kiddo," her father said, leaning on the doorway as Kitty hailed down a cab.

"Love you, too."

The older comics watched until the cab drove out of sight.

"I know we wondered what the hell we were doing pretty regularly. But we must have done something right," Midge observed, resting her head against Lenny's shoulder.

"Yeah she turned out pretty great," Lenny admitted.

Midge hummed in agreement.

After a moment she asked, "So where'd you put the mustache picture?"

"In the garbage where it belongs," Lenny laughed.

Midge grinned wickedly, running into the house to retrieve it.

#Midgelenny #tmmm fanfic #midge x lenny #Fictional Kitty #Fictional Lenny

29 notes · View notes