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by Sophia Jones

  • A Free Syrian Army fighter in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Syria, Aug. 21.

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    A Free Syrian Army fighter in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Syria, Aug. 21.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • A Free Syrian Army fighter dodges sniper fire in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    A Free Syrian Army fighter dodges sniper fire in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Free Syrian Army fighters exchange fire with regime forces in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Free Syrian Army fighters exchange fire with regime forces in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Free Syrian Army fighters take cover from a Syrian attack helicopter in the Sakhour neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.

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    Free Syrian Army fighters take cover from a Syrian attack helicopter in the Sakhour neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • A Syrian civilian shows marks of torture after his release from regime forces in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.

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    A Syrian civilian shows marks of torture after his release from regime forces in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Free Syrian Army fighters take position in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Free Syrian Army fighters take position in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Free Syrian Army fighters exchange fire with regime forces in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Free Syrian Army fighters exchange fire with regime forces in the Salah Al Din neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 22.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Young Syrians run for cover as a Free Syrian Army fighter returns sniper fire in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 21.

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    Young Syrians run for cover as a Free Syrian Army fighter returns sniper fire in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 21.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • Free Syrian Army fighters take cover from helicopter fire in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 21.

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    Free Syrian Army fighters take cover from helicopter fire in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 21.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

  • A Free Syrian Army fighter climbs through a damaged wall during fighting in the Saif Dawla neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 24.

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    A Free Syrian Army fighter climbs through a damaged wall during fighting in the Saif Dawla neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 24.

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    Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

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When the Arab Spring broke out two years ago, photojournalist James Lawler Duggan grabbed his camera. As waves of protests pulsed through the Middle East, Duggan, on a leave of absence from the Corcoran School of Art, followed conflict through Bahrain, Libya, Egypt and finally into Syria.

This past August, he crossed the Turkish border and made his way to Aleppo to capture images of Free Syrian Army rebel fighters. Working for Agence-France Press, his photos were distributed all over the world.

As helicopters fired rockets and regime tanks rolled through abandoned neighborhoods, Duggan, 25, set out to document what he says gives meaning to his own life: the human extreme.

Photojournalist James Lawler Duggan.
Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

Photojournalist James Lawler Duggan.

His work represents a delicate balance between accessing risk, taking meaningful photos and dealing with the aftershock of seeing such extreme violence.

"Photographing something graphic spares you the trauma of it," he explains. "The focus on capturing the frame affords you a callus. But it catches up to you later."

Unarmed, Duggan put faith in the Free Syrian Army fighters who were guiding him — while also trying not to become too emotionally attached to them, a survival technique in its own rite.

"I never broke down crying in Syria," he says, looking down at a photograph of a man with crimson torture scars on his back. "But I have since I came home."

The photo, taken in a Free Syrian Army safe house, shows a man who had just been tortured by Assad regime forces. It is perhaps Duggan's most widely published photo.

A Syrian civilian shows marks of torture after his release from regime forces in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.
Courtesy of James Lawler Duggan

A Syrian civilian shows marks of torture after his release from regime forces in the Bustan Pasha neighborhood of Aleppo, Aug. 23.

Minutes before the photo was taken, Duggan explains, two civilian men walked into the room, one looking clearly roughed up. The other man at first seemed unharmed, but when he took off his shirt, Duggan clicked his camera. "At the moment, it wasn't clear the power the photo would have," he says.

In a way, the shot could symbolize how the war is everywhere in Syria — even if it seems hidden.

Photographers in war zones often have to be in the line of fire in order to capture it. While Duggan says he doesn't take unnecessary risks, he acknowledges the incredible dangers of "bang-bang photography," referring to a group of photographers who documented apartheid and violence in South Africa in the early '90s. Looking back, he says he can think of numerous occasions where he jumped headfirst into a potentially deadly situation.

"It's fashionable for conflict photographers to tell each other to be safe and not to take unnecessary risks, but at the end of the day, we're all trying to get closer and push the envelope. I spent two of my nine lives in Syria," he admits.

This month, he (along with this blogger) will be participating in RISC — Reporters Instructed in Saving Colleagues — a course that gives freelance journalists medical training for life-threatening situations. The program was set up by Sebastian Junger, a friend of photographer Tim Hetherington, who was killed during the conflict in Libya.

"I'm honored to get this opportunity," Duggan says — adding that all freelancers should prepare for the realities of combat.

He says he constantly thinks about the impact of his career on friends and family. "I wear a flak jacket for my mother, not my editor or anyone else. My mother."

You can see more of James Lawler Duggan's work on his website.

Sophia Jones is an intern with NPR News.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Claire O'Neill

National Geographic

My immediate response to the intricate carvings in these photos is awe — maybe even admiration. I can't believe they are made by hand from one solid piece of material. With such detail and complexity, I can see why they would be coveted and sold at a high price.

The rub is that the material is ivory, and the cost is way more than just the literal price tag. Poaching elephants for ivory is nothing new — but now, "levels are currently at their worst in a decade," according to the cover story of National Geographic's October issue. The article by Bryan Christy delves deep into the systemic, global problem.

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    "A sculpture like this can take a master carver years to produce. Front and center are the popular Taoist gods Shou, Lu and Fu —€” symbols of long life, money and luck. 'We hope —€” no, we insist —€” we can continue to protect these skills,' says Wang Shan, secretary-general of the China Arts and Crafts Association."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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    "Some of the last big tuskers gather in Tsavo, Kenya. A single large tusk sold on the local black market can bring $6,000, enough to support an unskilled Kenyan worker for 10 years."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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    "The largest ivory crucifix in the Philippines hangs in a museum in Manila. The body of Christ, 30 inches long, is carved from a single tusk. The piece dates to the early 1600s, when Spanish galleons began bringing Asian ivory craftsmanship to Spain and the New World."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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    "Bodies are what remain in Cameroon's Bouba Ndjidah National Park after one of the largest mass elephant slaughters in decades. Armed with grenades and AK-47s, poachers killed more than 300."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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    "A worker in China's largest ivory-carving factory finishes a piece symbolizing prosperity. China legally bought 73 tons of ivory from Africa in 2008; since then, poaching and smuggling have both soared."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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    "Smugglers failed to get this contraband past Kenya's law enforcement, but the animals are still gone. Small tusks indicate that young elephants were poached."

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    Brent Stirton/National Geographic

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Christy sums it up pretty succinctly:

"Although the world has found substitutes for every one of ivory's practical uses — billiard balls, piano keys, brush handles — its religious use is frozen in amber, and its role as a political symbol persists."

The preciousness of ivory has deep roots all over the world — appearing in Catholic iconography in the Philippines, for example, and Buddhist figurines in Thailand and China. The crux of the issue is revealed when Christy asks a collector if he ever thinks of the animal. "Not at all," he's quoted as replying.

So how do you put an end to something with such cultural significance? Christy's article does a thorough job of exploring that and other questions.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Padmananda Rama

This photograph is included in an exhibition currently at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Photography In Mexico. (Border fence, near Naco, Ariz., 2010)
Victoria Sambunaris/Yancey Richardson Gallery

This photograph is included in an exhibition currently at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Photography In Mexico. (Border fence, near Naco, Ariz., 2010)

On a recent Sunday afternoon, Victoria Sambunaris is standing on a cliff overlooking the Rio Grande in Roma, Texas.

From her vantage point, she says, she can view children swimming in the river while their families sit at picnic tables and barbecue across the bank. Some of the children race on their Jet Skis, trying to keep up with U.S. border agents patrolling the river on pontoons.

This portion of the Rio Grande divides Roma from Ciudad Miguel Aleman in Mexico. It's one of many border towns that straddle the U.S.-Mexico border, which spans nearly 2,000 miles — separating four U.S. and six Mexican states.

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This is also one of many stops Sambunaris, a photographer, has made along the border this year. Over the course of eight months, the New York-based Sambunaris has journeyed west from Del Rio, Texas, to San Diego, documenting the landscape with a large-format, 5-by-7 field camera. She calls it her "Border Series."

"I might say that I relate to this place for many reasons, being first-generation Greek with immigrant parents who came to this country in search of the American dream," Sambunaris writes in an email interview with NPR.

Her collection documents the physical landscape, which is an inherent part of the debate over immigration policy, as well as the violence erupting in border towns ignited by Mexican drug cartels.

"When I leave New York my friends are terrified for me," says Sambunaris. "They don't see the ... truth of the border — what the border really is — which is this incredible, rich place. It's beautiful."

A sense of place is evident either from Sambunaris' photos taken from high, or even on flat terrain. At first glance, some may not appear to be taken at the border; look closer, though, and many do have some trace of the border fence running directly across the center of the image.

"I'm trying to convey that it is one: one landscape and one place, although they're two different countries," says Sambunaris on the phone from Santa Fe, N.M., where she's taking a break from her latest road trip.

She says it's not long before she will be drawn back to the border's edge.

"You have all these border towns, and they're all unique in their own way, and there's a beautiful culture there," says Sambunaris. "Life still exists regardless of what's going on."

During her drives, border patrol agents have offered their own advice, acting as tour guides and telling her the best vantage points. Sambunaris says they've even offered her lifts and guided tours. Driving through remote areas, it's hard not to be noticed.

"Driving a dark gray Suburban with tinted windows and New York plates along the border fence definitely requires I tell Border Patrol I am there and why."

The focus of her next series examines the border's commerce and the many cars, trucks and trains that travel across it. Despite warnings of violence, her goal is to cross over to the Mexican side of the border, which she has begun to do, and take photos from there, too.

Tags: New Mexico, Immigration, Border Patrol , Mexico, Texas

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Claire O'Neill

Where did you sleep when you were growing up? Did you have a room or share one? What did it look like?

Italy-based English photographer James Mollison says that for him, it would depend on the age. Thinking back to his earliest years in Kenya, where he was born, he remembers teddy bears. A few years later, it was all about mice. Then Duran Duran posters. And later, Army paraphernalia.

Mollison is of the mind that a child's bedroom speaks volumes about his or her circumstances. And if you haven't seen the photos from his book Where Children Sleep yet, take a look and you will probably agree.

  • Joey, 11, lives in Kentucky with his parents and older sister. He regularly accompanies his father on hunts. He owns two shotguns and a crossbow and got his first kill — a deer — at the age of 7.

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    Joey, 11, lives in Kentucky with his parents and older sister. He regularly accompanies his father on hunts. He owns two shotguns and a crossbow and got his first kill — a deer — at the age of 7.

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    James Mollison

  • Ahkohxet is 8 years old and a member of the Kraho tribe, which lives in the basin of the Amazon River, in Brazil. There are only 1,900 members of the tribe. The Kraho people believe that the sun and moon were creators of the universe, and they engage in rituals that are many centuries old.

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    Ahkohxet is 8 years old and a member of the Kraho tribe, which lives in the basin of the Amazon River, in Brazil. There are only 1,900 members of the tribe. The Kraho people believe that the sun and moon were creators of the universe, and they engage in rituals that are many centuries old.

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    James Mollison

  • Dong is 9 years old. He lives in the province of Yunnan in Southwest China, with his parents, sister and grandfather. He shares a room with his sister and parents. They are a poor family who own just enough land to grow their own rice and sugar cane.

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    Dong is 9 years old. He lives in the province of Yunnan in Southwest China, with his parents, sister and grandfather. He shares a room with his sister and parents. They are a poor family who own just enough land to grow their own rice and sugar cane.

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    James Mollison

  • Tzvika is 9 years old and lives in Beitar Illit, an Israeli settlement in the West Bank. It is a gated community of 36,000 Haredi (Orthodox) Jews, who live their lives according to a strict religious code set out in the collection of writings known as the Talmud.

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    Tzvika is 9 years old and lives in Beitar Illit, an Israeli settlement in the West Bank. It is a gated community of 36,000 Haredi (Orthodox) Jews, who live their lives according to a strict religious code set out in the collection of writings known as the Talmud.

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    James Mollison

  • Home for this 4-year-old boy and his family is a mattress in a field on the outskirts of Rome. The family came from Romania by bus, after begging on the streets for enough money to pay for their tickets.

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    Home for this 4-year-old boy and his family is a mattress in a field on the outskirts of Rome. The family came from Romania by bus, after begging on the streets for enough money to pay for their tickets.

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    James Mollison

  • Four-year-old Kaya and her parents live in a small apartment in Tokyo.

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    Four-year-old Kaya and her parents live in a small apartment in Tokyo.

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    James Mollison

  • Indira lives with her parents, brother and sister near Kathmandu in Nepal. Her house has only one room, with one bed and one mattress. Indira is 7 years old and has worked at the local granite quarry since she was 3.

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    Indira lives with her parents, brother and sister near Kathmandu in Nepal. Her house has only one room, with one bed and one mattress. Indira is 7 years old and has worked at the local granite quarry since she was 3.

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    James Mollison

  • Prena lives in Kathmandu. Her room is a tiny, cell-like space at the top of the house where she is employed as a domestic worker. Her diet is mainly rice and vegetables. She is 14 years old and one of thousands of child domestic workers in the country.

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    Prena lives in Kathmandu. Her room is a tiny, cell-like space at the top of the house where she is employed as a domestic worker. Her diet is mainly rice and vegetables. She is 14 years old and one of thousands of child domestic workers in the country.

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    James Mollison

  • Lamine, 12, lives in a village in Senegal, western Africa. He is a pupil at the village Quranic school, where no girls are allowed. He shares a room with several other boys from the school.

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    Lamine, 12, lives in a village in Senegal, western Africa. He is a pupil at the village Quranic school, where no girls are allowed. He shares a room with several other boys from the school.

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    James Mollison

  • Alyssa, an only child, lives with her parents in Kentucky, in Appalachia — a beautiful, mountainous region that is also one of the poorest parts of America. Their small, shabby house, heated only by a wooden stove, is falling apart. Alyssa's grandmother, uncle and orphaned cousin live close by.

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    Alyssa, an only child, lives with her parents in Kentucky, in Appalachia — a beautiful, mountainous region that is also one of the poorest parts of America. Their small, shabby house, heated only by a wooden stove, is falling apart. Alyssa's grandmother, uncle and orphaned cousin live close by.

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    James Mollison

  • Jasmine prefers to be called by her nickname, Jazzy. She lives in a big house in Kentucky with her parents and three brothers. Her bedroom is full of crowns and sashes, which she has won in child pageants. Only 4 years old, she has already been entered in more than 100 of these competitions.

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    Jasmine prefers to be called by her nickname, Jazzy. She lives in a big house in Kentucky with her parents and three brothers. Her bedroom is full of crowns and sashes, which she has won in child pageants. Only 4 years old, she has already been entered in more than 100 of these competitions.

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    James Mollison

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"It came about because I was originally asked to come up with an idea for UNICEF's anniversary," he says on the phone. Uninspired by the stereotypical emotive portrait, he wanted to create something that says more.

UNICEF wasn't wild about his pitch, so he ended up tackling it on his own. In some instances, Mollison traveled specifically for this project, but for the most part, he found children to photograph while traveling for other assignments.

The concept doesn't seem like it would be an easy one to explain — especially in places like the remote regions of the Amazon. "People don't want to know what you're up to; why do you wanna go into a kid's bedroom?"

But the concept resonates when you see the images of children, literally worlds apart, juxtaposed on pages. Mollison photographed them all in the same way, he says, to show just how different they really are.

Mollison's book, Where Children Sleep, was released about two years ago, but the images were recently part of a projection series at the Look3 photo festival in Charlottesville, Va.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Greg Myre

Credit: Horst Faas/AP unless noted

Of all the memorable photographs that came out of the Vietnam War, Horst Faas was probably responsible for more of them than any other photographer.

Faas, who died in Munich on Thursday at age 79, spent eight years in Vietnam for The Associated Press. He was willing to go anywhere no matter what the risks, and he was relentless in his pursuit of images that captured the war.

He won a Pulitzer Prize. He was badly injured. And he was a stern taskmaster who helped mentor countless photographers, both Vietnamese and Westerners.

He assembled some of the best photography from Vietnam in Requiem, a 1997 book about photographers killed on both sides of the conflict.

Having survived all those years as a combat photographer, Faas returned to Vietnam in 2005 for a reunion of the press corps 30 years after the war's end. He fell ill there, the result of a spinal hemorrhage that left him paralyzed from the waist down for the final years of his life.

Just dwell on this image for a minute or two, and you get a sense of the power of Faas' photos:

South Vietnamese children gaze at an American paratrooper as they cling to their mothers, hiding from Viet Cong sniper fire west of Saigon, January 1966.
Horst Faas/AP

South Vietnamese children gaze at an American paratrooper as they cling to their mothers, hiding from Viet Cong sniper fire west of Saigon, January 1966.

There's much, much more where this came from, in the full obituary.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Claire O'Neill

Smithsonian museum specialist Sandra Raredon has been making radiographs, or X-ray images, for some 25 years. And although she doesn't necessarily consider herself an artist, per se, she's not surprised to see her work on display in that context. "I wanted people to see that they're not only scientific, but they're beautiful as well," she says on the phone.

Credit: Sandra J. Raredon/National Museum of Natural History/Smithsonian Institution.

A new exhibit at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History lies right at the intersection of art and science, showcasing the inherent beauty of skeletons — that is, fish skeletons.

Before the invention of X-rays, the only way to study a creature's insides was by dissection. X-rays are a quicker, cleaner and nondestructive way to learn about diet, growth and evolution. The exhibit, currently in Washington, D.C., will be traveling the country until 2015. But hey, as long as you're near a computer, check out these interactive exterior-interior photos in Smithsonian magazine.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Claire O'Neill

I don't know if I can directly answer the latter question. But certain curators like Joshua Chuang at the Yale University Art Gallery are determined to answer the former: Who is Robert Adams?

Chuang, now probably the leading Adams expert, started asking that himself, back when he was a student of photography. He picked up one of Adams' books — with characteristically dense writing and arguably unapproachable photos. "It took me a couple years to really get it," he says over the phone.

But now, it seems, he gets it. In 2004, Yale inherited a huge trove of Adams' work, and Chuang has been processing it since then. "There was not a single bad image in the group," Chuang says with a genuine deference. "His standards were so high and his editing of his own work was so rigorous." The fruits of their joint labor are in a traveling exhibition, The Place We Live, now at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA).

Credit: Robert Adams/Courtesy of LACMA

The basics: Adams can most succinctly be described as a photographer of the American West. He was born in New Jersey, but his family moved westward to mitigate his issues with asthma, and he has remained there. Only after getting a Ph.D. in English did he really begin photographing, and he has been at is since, but quietly. He doesn't email, he rarely takes interviews, and he lets Chuang come to him.

Maybe it helps to set the stage. When Adams picked up his camera, the most recognizable images from the American West were those sublime landscapes of Ansel Adams. To a large degree, that's still the case.

But where Ansel had a moral mission (to conserve nature by presenting it to the public in its pristine form), Robert's approach has been more clinical: He observes the interaction of man with land as objectively as possible. Where Ansel's photos say, "Look at what we should cherish!" Robert's say: "Here is what we are doing, and make what you will of it."

Chuang elaborates: "What sets Adams apart is his utter dedication to showing the whole picture, a truthful picture. ... Every one of his photographs is really a complex mix of good and bad. He tries to make pictures that say yes and no at once."

For example, one of the photos in the exhibit shows a small cluster of trees at the edge of a steep drop-off. By all technical definitions, one might call it beautiful. The balanced composition, the quality of light — those are things that say "yes." But then there's the title, straight-forward as it is: New development on a former citrus-growing estate, Highland, California. That seems like a subtle "no."

New development on a former citrus-growing estate, Highland, California, 1983
Robert Adams/LACMA

New development on a former citrus-growing estate, Highland, California, 1983

But it's not obvious. These photos are not on a soapbox preaching the ramifications of global warming. They are trying to be more black and white. At least, that's the idea.

"Adams has tried to go out of his way to make the uniconic pictures," says Chuang. "He chooses subjects that are so banal that they almost seem hopeless."

Though curator Joshua Chuang says Robert Adams is, in a sense, trying to make
Robert Adams/Fraenkel Gallery/LACMA

Though curator Joshua Chuang says Robert Adams is, in a sense, trying to make "uniconic" images, this one stands out as one of his more memorable: Colorado Springs, Colorado, 1968

Of course, I think Robert Adams would be hard-pressed to deny that he loves the West. I actually don't think he would try to deny it. In his writings, he waxes poetic about the quality of light, and how it redeems even the most dismal of tract houses.

You might not know he loves it, just from glancing at the images, and he sees value in that. But he also hopes you'll do more than glance. For all the desolate scenes of suburban sprawl, there's still that brilliant high-altitude light. For all of Adams' apparent indifference, and he might hate me for saying this, there seems to be a bit of hope there, too. It might just take a closer look.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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by Dana Farrington

This 10-year-old, R., was brought in from school by a police officer. He had stabbed a schoolmate, but it was unclear what tool he'd used. He was waiting to be picked up by his mom, who couldn't get him until she got off work, for fear of losing her job.
Richard Ross/Juvenile-In-Justice

This 10-year-old, R., was brought in from school by a police officer. He had stabbed a schoolmate, but it was unclear what tool he'd used. He was waiting to be picked up by his mom, who couldn't get him until she got off work, for fear of losing her job.

In the confines of jail cells, photographer Richard Ross documents children's experiences. He snaps pictures without revealing his subjects' faces, aiming to "give them a voice."

The Juvenile-In-Justice project includes photographs of more than 100 facilities in 30 states. The project's website has numerous images and quotes from incarcerated children.

Shooting compelling images in a bare, 8-by-10-foot cell is not an easy task, the veteran photographer tells The Picture Show in an email. Neither is "coming up with a new solution that respects the juveniles' privacy, identity and still gives a feel of what the space is, without being boring or predictable."

His images highlight scarred arms, bright jumpsuits and angular, empty cells. They show a variety of facility conditions and inmates of different genders and ages.

One photograph shows a small 12-year-old looking over papers in his cell. He says he was sent to the facility for fighting with another boy.

Ross argues in a caption that "institutionalizing juveniles and branding this as criminal behavior rather than dealing with it as normal behavior wrongly places juveniles in places they should not be."

 

The online galleries feature testimonies with the children's ages and other background information, which add more context to the faceless bodies. But Ross says the act of hiding identities sends a message of its own.

"By not showing the faces, I can imply shame or a sense of universality," he says.

The goal, Ross says, is to hand over the photographs to "organizations that have better data and more skills at advocating for policy change than I do. I hope this will better arm them to show a human side to their statistics."

Juvenile-In-Justice has required a high level of perseverance and negotiation, Ross says.

"I had to try and convince many, many people I was working with them in a spirit of bonhomie," he says. "Yet, I still had to allow the images to be critical or comment on the situation, while not violating the trust of the people I was dealing with."

The photographer has a forthcoming book featuring his photos of the juvenile justice system.

"After the years and years of work I have done in many fields on many assignments," Ross says, "this is the one that has been the most rewarding."

PBS NewsHour also interviewed Ross and produced a video about his work.


PBS NewsHour/YouTube

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

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