Photographer: Sofia Aldinio

Heidi: How did you learn about this community and the impacts of climate change on this once-thriving area?
Sofia: In 2020 while traveling through Baja California, Mexico with my family in our 1978 Mercedes Fire Truck. On New Year’s Day, we decided to commit to a 6+ hour dirt road to chase some waves. It was out there. We had never been so remote with the van. We were only 7 km away from the town, right at sunset, we were stoked and relieved that we were almost there, when we felt a huge pull in the van and we saw our back wheel driver side wheels sliding off the axle. We were then stuck for 3 days, on the side of the dirt road.

The local mechanics tried everything to avoid a four-hour drive by truck to the closest town to help us move the van. They finally worked their magic and we moved the van into town. We were stranded on the oceanfront and surf paradise for over six weeks.

In my time there, I was so curious about the area. In just a few days we met so many locals. At this time, I was already developing a story about the small fisherman communities and their struggles to sustain a living. On one of my daily trips to the beach, I met this one American woman who shared with me that I had to visit a community located 2 hours away. She then described it as something you will never find in Baja. I was immediately so curious and before you knew it I was driving with her to the community to spend an entire day out there. I was hooked. As soon as I got there it felt to me that I was witnessing the past in the present moment. I fell in love with the slow pace and the old tales you could feel hanging in the air. It was a sense that these are the last keepers of this community.
Most of my work focuses on climate impacts and I was already reporting on the fishing community and how they were being impacted by the changes in the weather patterns and climate change, I immediately started questioning how the canyon community was affected. I then learned about the lack of rain, the unpredictable weather changes, how this is affecting the existing crops, and how the one and most important life source, water, has been significantly decreasing over the years.

Despite the unforgiving landscape and harsh living conditions – you found pockets of hope and resilience – when did that begin to unfold?
Since my early 20’s I have been always roaming around in and out of small villages in Latin America. It really didn’t take long for me to discover the joy that there is in simply living in a community surrounded by nature. The joy comes from just feeling that nature provides everything you need. Many times I have encountered travelers or outsiders thinking that these communities are poor, the truth is that they don’t have much, but also they are content as they are. I don’t want to sound naive, I am aware that there is a lot of poverty and in many cases, people there do desire more and they end up choosing another way of life. It’s complicated. Today fewer people choose to live in this way, and most refuse it. But there is still a small portion of close communities that do enjoy it, and they do want to preserve their heritage. That’s what I found in San Jose de Gracia.

In the San Jose de Gracia community, the land has provided for them, daily. They also have a long relationship with it. They are part of it. Most of the people were born there and still live there to this day. The memories are everywhere, and I found this created so much joy in them. It goes full circle. The land provides and they will become a part of it, no matter what, and I call this resilience.

When did the photo project begin?
I have always been intrigued by slow-paced stories. The stories that are not often “dramatic”. Stories that can speak of daily life with ordinary people. I think there is so much to learn from them. The idea of photographing someone in a remote location who is simply living sounds extraordinary to me. Eugene Richards once said “People’s lives are revolutionary in little ways.” I love this. I love ordinary moments, just a detail that we can all relate to.

So, going back to the question, I think this photo project began even before I went to the community. When we lost our van wheels and were stranded, I just knew everything was happening for a reason. And then I heard about San Jose de Gracia and I just knew that was why I was there.

How did you approach storytelling within a community of just 21 people?
I often approach any story, assignment, or project the same way. I never make a plan. I like the feeling of seeing where the story and the photographs take me. I might walk into the story with an idea of how I wanted to approach this kind of work, but then the work starts showing me it’s way, and dictating how it should be displayed and photographed. There was one thing I knew, that I wanted to be collaborative. I wanted to provide the community a space to tell their story.

When I decided to focus on the intersection between climate and cultural heritage I immediately knew it would be beautiful to ask community members if they wanted to draw places in the community that have changed over time. On one of my trips I brought with me paper and a lot of pencils and what they drew was so beautiful. I was able to see into their past. They started drawing their memories. So what started with just photographs, ended up with archival materials, drawings, and photographs. Patience and time are key in projects like this. I think it is important to challenge the conventional way. When we let the people that we are photographing take part in it, something magical happens, a new depth is created.

Congratulations on your Pulitzer Center’s Eyewitness Photojournalism Grant – was that always a goal for this work?
When you spend several years working on a project, you need financial and community support. What I liked the most about the Pulitzer Center was the opportunity to be part of a community of storytellers and reporters. I was excited about the opportunity to share my work through their teaching programs. Over the past years, I have had some opportunities to share my work with students learning about climate change and Mexico here in the USA, which was so rewarding. It also gave me the chance to connect with other storytellers working on climate change stories.

How will this work evolve?
It is constantly evolving. It’s like every relationship.

Sometimes my mind works like a filmmaker. I am not your classic photographer who will come back with this one frame that encapsulates everything in one photograph. I do very much love this idea of a photo story. This series of photographs can compose a story. It is my favorite thing. I am obsessed with it. One image will reveal the next and so on. I also love audio. Today I am working on putting together a multimedia piece to combine the illustrations, photographs, audio, and a little bit of video. I like to experiment in my work. And I think in some cases photos are just not enough. I also like the idea of reaching a different audience by creating multimedia pieces.

How does memory and cultural preservation vs erasure come to life in this work for you?
To me, it comes to life when people experience the work and can walk away asking themselves what would it mean to keep losing places and communities like San Jose de Gracia. The purpose of the work is not trying to answer any questions, it is trying to ask them. Behind the purpose of this work is the question that has driven me forward.

Creating a multimedia exhibit where people can experience the tension of preservation and erasure through the real-time experience of San Jose de Gracia has always been my goal. A place where you can feel in real time – these memories fading, traditions being washed away, and all that is left is their land while at the same time witnessing the few struggling to keep living in their way.

I hope it inspires US audiences to view migration as a shared challenge and instills a desire to live more sustainable lifestyles and preserve wild lands, sacred traditions, and cultural heritage.

How has being a mother, a wife, and living a determined and considered life impacted your work?
Being a mother has been an extremely beautiful, and challenging journey. Especially because I decided to be a full-time freelance visual journalist at the same time, I became a mother. This was extremely painful because I wanted to be in the field for infinite hours. I have such a big pull for this work, but I couldn’t leave my kids behind. Sometimes I brought them with me. I did anything I could to keep working and being a present mother. It took everything out of me. I got burned out. I was up working most of the night and then up with the kids. It took a big hit in my relationship. I knew I didn’t have the luxury of time. So I told myself I needed to become good, really fast. I needed to be able to get the shot super fast. I trained myself to be very efficient in the field. I am not sure if I was always successful, but I know that when I’m shooting I’m working super hard to capture the right shots, not just a lot of shots.

The biggest way motherhood has impacted my work is that when I’m photographing someone, I am always aware that this person has a mother or children. Before photographing a person in a harsh situation, I always ask if it is worth it and how this photograph is going to benefit them. The way I feel and see photography today is not the same as it used to be before having kids. I think it is ok to challenge photography in this way. I love seeing all the new approaches by photographers to talk about migration, racism, climate change, and other topics.

During covid you took your kids traveling – nature was the classroom – tell us more about that.
My favorite memory was a trip we did in the Green River where we decided to follow the John Wesley Powell journey and the pioneers. It was so much fun. We bought a book and learned about their journey, went to the museum, and took the kids on some multi-day kayak trips in the Green River learning about their journey and what it looked like to that trip back to them. It’s my favorite memory from that time. I still dream about paddling more sections of the Green River with them!

Here’s how photographers recommend dealing with stolen images.

Always register your images with the Copyright Office which will then allow you to collect a maximum of $150,000 for each infringement if it was willful.

Several software companies are recommended for tracking stolen images and getting settlements.

Ultimately a lawyer will get you the best settlement and take less for their fee.

Ideally you register your images within 3 months of publication. You can still register after the infringement which allows you to sue in federal court. Registration also gives you the ability to collect attorney fees which raises the stakes considerably when you consider the infringer paying for both attorneys and damages.

@cameron.davidson.photo
I use Visual Rights Group to track-down image theft and they have been very successful for me.

@scottseriophotos
ImageRights for me since 2015.

@catebrownphoto
There’s ImageRights, Visual Rights Group, and Copycat Legal to name a few

@charliornett
I’d recommend checking into Copyright Agency

and Pixsy:

@mscottbrauer
Pixsy has been ok, for me. Most settlements have been for a few grand, and a few have been between 10k and 20k. I register all my work, which helps get higher settlements

@tinacci
Pixsy has worked for me over the years though the process is definitely very slow.

Others report that pixsy drops cases regularly, settles for less, and if they use an outside attorney you get 25%.

Many recommend using pixsy to track infringement then engage a lawyer to settle:

@david_paul_larson
There’s been many of these companies over the years. You’re getting peanuts to what a real lawyer would get you. The max my lawyer takes is 40%. Usually about 30%

Here are recommendations for IP lawyers:

@toddspoth
Look up attorney David Deal and tell him I sent ya! Thank me later!

@laurengrabelle
Higbee & Associates is reputable

@meredith_bruner
@mad.ip.law @bmadanat as an intellectual property law recommendation.

@robertfreundlaw I believe handles this.

@chrismurrayproductions
@mpkelley_ Mike Kelley has a website called @apalmanac .
They are a treasure chest of information. If you reach out to AP Almanac they can refer you to the right attorneys. Super legit.

@sampson.photography.fl
Attorney Rachel Brenke (@thelawtog) handles this type of work

@brentdanielsphoto
Imagerights has a great IP lawyer in Australia

Photographer: Karabo Mooki

Heidi: How did the Black women’s Skateboarding project evolve – did you notice they were a force but underrepresented?
Karabo: Skateboarding isn’t always embraced by Black communities, and my own experiences having limited proximity to Black role models in skateboarding have had a massive impact on my feelings toward the sport and the culture of skateboarding. It’s made me wonder what skateboarding means to Black women immersing themselves in this world. What does it mean to take up space in a predominantly white male sport? I became aware of the increasing presence of Black women in skateboarding and then developed organic relationships with the community.

Understanding that South Africa has a tumultuous history with gender-based violence; the right to occupy public space is not equally shared amongst genders. Women are often met with harassment, micro-aggressions, and other threats that make them feel unsafe and unwelcome in public spaces. Crews of skateboarders such as the “Island Gals” and “Spectrum” are recreating the narrative by actively organizing and occupying spaces that many have previously felt uncomfortable being in. 

Their passion for skateboarding and community transcends through each individual and there is an undeniable sense of dedication to skateboarding and pushing for greater representation within the sport.

The collective work of Black women in skateboarding has been impossible to ignore, and as a documentarian, I found myself in the fortunate position of working alongside these dominant forces to help share their message globally.

How did you approach the female skateboarders, how did you explain your intentions to them?
As a documentarian, it is important for me to learn about the experiences of the community I am working with and to earn their trust. I invested time in understanding the community’s goals and spotlighting what they have overcome to realize their accomplishments.

I intend to create awareness and celebrate the importance of the social-political work perpetuated by these young freedom fighters. Many marginalized communities in post-apartheid South Africa are still carrying the weight of systematic oppression and my duty as a photographer is to let the truth be told and realized by local and global audiences.

Tell us how your style as a photographer evolved and how you got your start.
My passion for photography is rooted in my interest in human connectivity, history, and culture. I’ve been in a photographic dialogue most of my life, and the focus of my photography has developed from documenting counterculture to placing a more acute interest in political and cultural themes. Over time, I realized the weight of institutionalized colonialism that I was carrying and how systems of oppression had created doubt in my self-worth. This is why it is so important for me to highlight and celebrate Black culture in all its glory. 

What were your influences then and now?
Not so much what, but who – Peter Magubane, Ernest Cole, Dawoud Bey, and Joseph Rodriguez have been great storytellers I have sought inspiration from. Documentarians whose work upheld a deep sense of integrity and truth. They sought to tell stories of communities close to them and the social-political work they achieved is everything I aspire to in my work.

How did the Freedom Charter inform the culture in Soweto and your work?
As I mentioned earlier, Peter Magubane and Ernest Cole are prominent South African photographers and freedom fighters who taught me the importance of adopting a revolutionary mindset.

I learned that photography is a powerful tool to decolonize my mind and that of the communities I began working with. Photography has taught me so much, especially the importance of searching and sharing the truth of my people’s stories. I focused on stories that invite viewers to engage with political and social issues. 

Photography has allowed me to find my place amongst constant change and given me a voice to communicate and connect through this form of dialogue. The process has taught me to be intentional with my approach to photography and value the connections I’ve made with people along the way.

“As part of every encounter, Bey gave each person a small black-and-white Polaroid print for themselves as a way of reciprocating and returning something to the people who had allowed him to make their portrait” What practices do you have in any of your portraits encounters?
As an independent photographer, embarking on personal projects requires a lot of investment. I pour everything into realizing photo stories, but it’s not easy. Production costs are difficult to cover independently but as time goes on and my investments become greater, I find that simultaneously the relationships created are strengthened. My gratitude for the time and trust is expressed by upholding the integrity of the communities I work with. When I can afford to, I print out images on archival paper for the people I have worked with.

Ernest Cole’s House of Bondage was six years in the making. Each chapter represents life under apartheid, illustrating segregation’s impact on housing, education, employment, childcare, medical care, and daily life – which images are the most memorable to you and why?
The image that is engraved in my mind is the image of a schoolboy who squats on his haunches in an overcrowded segregated classroom, beads of sweat streaming down his face as he intently grips a pencil and a notepad in his small hands, following along with the teacher’s lesson. Ernest Cole provided audiences outside of South Africa with their first visceral view of apartheid, his work draws viewers into the beauty of this quiet act of defiance, this small moment of creation, which Cole ensured would one day be seen. Cole’s work captured my people’s struggles, and his photography’s message lives on as historical moments in the liberation of Black communities.

What parallels exist between your skateboarding work and the AfroPunk scene images from your Dogg Pound Days.
The AfroPunk skateboarding world brought together an unlikely group of Black and white youth, crossing a divide entrenched by Apartheid.

The makeshift independence of DIY culture is a crucial component of punk, where everything is self-constructed, from the experimental music and performances that take place in unconventional—and, as with skateboarding, sometimes unauthorized—locations, to crews building their ramps and filming skate sessions. My images capture the energy of the punk/skateboarding scene—the freedom in its expressions of rage, the power that comes with asserting one’s own identity, and the culture’s deep camaraderie.

Dogg Pound Days Captions
1. Curious kids from the neighborhood try to get a glimpse of a punk show.
2. In true punk rock style, Thula ‘Stroof’ Sizwe – guitarist of TCIYF – continues to perform after being electrocuted by a short-circuited fuse.
3. Searching for street spots to skate in Soweto is challenging, both physically due to the lack of infrastructure and attitudinally due to the general population’s misperception of skate culture as one that is destructive and dangerous. The Soweto Skate Society has made it their mission to shatter the belief that skateboarding culture can only exist in spaces outside of the township.”

The Photo Industry Need To Do Better.

“This industry is unkind to mothers, there is no denying that.”

“Leading up to giving birth, I completely hid my pregnancy and never mentioned it to anyone. Even when I became so obviously pregnant, I just never talked about it to clients unless they brought it up.”

“I can’t tell you how many women shooters/assistants have felt they have to hide their pregnancy in order to keep working. The whole topic/concept is so difficult to navigate.”

“I didn’t share it on social media or tell anyone in person until I started to show. I hated it, I wanted to shout my exciting news from the rooftops but I knew the impact it would have on my work, which is incredibly sad”

Here are some comment from a post I made on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/C4yc-K6O-dq/

Leading up to giving birth, I completely hid my pregnancy and never mentioned it to anyone. Even when I became so obviously pregnant, I just never talked about it to clients unless they brought it up. I was terrified of losing a job if someone found out/like I’d be an undesirable person to work with. I did almost lose a job with a very large well known client who found out through word of mouth that I was in my 3rd trimester. They stopped emailing with me and instead called me to ask me very personal questions like when my due date was, if I was physically able to take on the job, etc. it was so sketchy that the woman did it all over the phone.

A week after my son was born, just home from the hospital, my editorial shoots and hustle paid off. I got a call from one of the big three agencies in Boston at the time. The Photo Buyer *gushed* over my work, the creative team loved it! They couldn’t wait to meet me. When can I come in? In my half awake new mom haze I said “I just got back from the hospital with my first baby. Let’s get something on the books in three weeks.” She hung up on me. I never heard from them again and still haven’t shot for them 20 years later.

DO NOT TELL A SOUL. I worked til 37 weeks but could have gone until the day I delivered. The main issue was being uncomfortable driving. I took 2 months “off” but it was extremely slow afterwards and no one hired me for an ad job for another year. If I did it again I’d keep it all a secret, unfortunately I lost a huge IUD pharma campaign because they found out I was pregnant. The irony! Obviously it’s illegal but what can you do?

Luckily I didn’t show and I hadn’t told anyone when Covid lockdowns started so I could kind of hide it through not being outside. Even after having my baby I didn’t really tell any clients or post about it. When my main client found out I had a kid the jobs dropped off dramatically.

During my first pregnancy which was 18 years ago, I had a photo editor tell me straight up when I went to the office after a shoot that she “wouldn’t have hired me if she knew how pregnant I was” – at about 32 weeks. In general I hid my pregnancy for fear I wouldn’t get work.

I kept my pregnancy to myself and did not share publicly or with clients. I just showed up to work pregnant and did my job just as well (sometimes better) than I did not pregnant.

Pregnancy is the easiest part of navigating life as a freelancer (I told clients on a need-to-know basis while pregnant 13 years ago, and happily worked until 39 weeks). The hard part of working in this field really happens once the child is born. I know many female photographers whose careers were sidetracked by the challenging logistics of balancing an unpredictable photo schedule and childcare.

I kept it very private. Nothing on the internet until my daughter was born. Almost 100% of the time, I only told clients once I was already on set because it was visible. I was soooo scared to lose work because I thought people might assume hiring me would be a risk.

I worked until I was 38 weeks pregnant but also didn’t tell any clients that I was pregnant for fear of not being hired. The part I found difficult was after I had the baby, trying to be 100% on shoots after little to no sleep some nights but the pumping was really difficult, having to take a break somewhere private every few hours was very tough.

Never told anyone but also wouldn’t lie if asked. Wore oversized clothes on set and worked up until a month before birth. Booked an extra assistant if needed just to have an extra person to have my back. Was back on set when baby was 8 weeks old which was a bit unnecessary/early in hindsight (for me – everyone’s different). A few clients didn’t book me because I was pregnant but I figured I don’t wanna work for them anyway – it’s my choice.

In my experience as a event and editorial shooter in LA at the time, not telling anyone i was pregnant until it was very obvious was a good choice for me, only because once the clients knew I was pregnant they were all very kind but many were also much more cautious and concerned about me, and acting as though i was much more delicate like I should be doing something at a desk LOL so I had to really reassure more people that i was absolutely fine and capable. And that women have done this since the dawn of humanity and i’d let them know if i was ever feeling not capable.

My boss and management was not supportive at all. I was scrutinized even if I only came in 30 minutes late due to doctors appointments and so I scheduled each doctors is the very first appointment of the day so I could rush to work

This is a really important topic to discuss as a lot of us feel we cannot tell people we are pregnant for fear of not getting booked. I was also one of those people. I didn’t share it on social media or tell anyone in person until I started to show. I hated it, I wanted to shout my exciting news from the rooftops but I knew the impact it would have on my work, which is incredibly sad. I would turn up to shoots and shock people not only because I was pregnant but because I was still very much capable. IMAGINE!? Once the news was out and baby arrived, I did have some clients presume that I wouldn’t want the work we had in the calendar for the coming months and THAT is the problem. The attitude towards pregnant people drastically needs to change

Book pregnant photographers and support them by booking them when they are back to work.

Let’s try and change this crappy narrative, we deserve better!

High Country News

Photographer: Emily Sullivan
Photo Editor: Bear Guerra

Heidi: How has your experience as a backcountry guide informed your photography
career, were you an athlete first and then a photographer? No doubt being a
guide took to you some magical places.
Emily: I was a photographer first—I got my BFA at VCU Arts in Richmond, Virginia, where I
fostered a longstanding love of photography and film through large-scale installation
pieces. Much of my time in art school was spent creating imagery that integrated
sculpture into landscapes and vice-versa. I grew up as a city kid, but my passion for
chasing light and landscapes later inspired me to seek out hiking, backcountry skiing,
and other forms of wilderness travel. Working in the outdoor industry as a guide helped
me to develop hard skills that allow me to now travel deeper into the mountains and
other remote locations with my camera.

You’re originally from the South East, what drew you to the vastness and wilds of
Alaska and how long have you been there?
I grew up in Richmond, Virginia, and lived there until I was 22 years old. In my teens, I
was drawn to Alaska with photography in mind—I wanted to experience and document
the unique landscapes that Alaska had to offer. I first came here in early 2010. I didn’t
know a single soul, but I wanted to learn more about the place and experience the land.
I spent the first nine summers guiding hikes and working seasonal jobs in Denali
National Park, then I moved full-time to Anchorage in 2019.

How did you weave your way into the community in AK and eventually, retrace
the (some) steps of the famed naturalist and conservationist, Mandy Murie, a
voice in helping create the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge?
My relationship with the Alaskan landscape eventually inspired me to direct my energy
towards conservation issues. This is how I became more deeply entwined in
community—once I began working on land protections with environmental non-profits, I
became invested and involved with others doing similar work.
I was originally inspired to travel through the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge following
Mardy Murie’s steps to raise awareness for the importance of protecting the
Refuge’s coastal plain from oil and gas development. It wasn’t until later that I began to
understand how integral Indigenous land protectors have been to these issues, though
conservationists like the Muries are more widely celebrated. I also began to learn about
some of the harms of conservation—how designated Wilderness can prevent
Indigenous communities from accessing or hunting in their ancestral homelands.
Since then, I’ve turned my attention and efforts toward uplifting Indigenous knowledge
and stories in conservation work. My last four visits to the Arctic National Wildlife
Refuge has been with Indigenous land protectors involved in a project called the
Imago Initiative, who have taught me so much about the importance of ancestral
reciprocity with lands and waters.

Tell us how you met Deenaalee Chase-Hodgdon and learn about their Smoke
House Collective.
Deenaalee and I met when we both worked seasonal jobs in Denali National Park about
ten years ago. We got to know each other better in recent years—Deenaalee is deeply
invested in land and water protections, so our work would sometimes overlap. Alaska is
a huge state with a small population, so our community is relatively tight-knit.
I learned about the Smokehouse Collective when Deenaalee shared an early fundraiser
to help the Collective purchase a commercial fishing permit. I loved what Ruth and
Deenaalee were aiming to do—reclaim cultural practices while redistributing fish,
berries, and other foods to communities that are experiencing food insecurity due to
colonization and the climate crisis. I wanted to support this work in any way possible.

How many days did you spend with her and what was the conversation in
between photo moments?
I spent a few days with Deenaalee in Interior Alaska, one day with their co-founder Ruth
in Anchorage, and then six more days in Dillingham with Deenaalee. We hadn’t planned
to shoot in such a concentrated manner, but plans changed a few times due to illness
and travel commitments. I was very appreciative of the trust Deenaalee showed me by
inviting me to join them in Dillingham. Shooting in small communities in Alaska requires
trust from the community and awareness of cultural norms and consent.
Deenaalee had established relationships in Dillingham from their time there as a
fisherman, but had just moved there full-time after a long period of nomadic movement
throughout Alaska. Between photo moments, Deenaalee was not only trying to get their
new home set up, but they were attending meetings with funders and partner
organizations, connecting with community members over Smokehouse initiatives, and
doing a lot of the behind-the-scenes work of getting the Collective up and running.
This made for interesting reporting as I got to learn a lot of the background of the nuts-
and-bolts of establishing a grassroots non-profit like the Smokehouse Collective.
Deenaalee and I even attended a local meeting of the federal Subsistence Advisory Council in Dillingham. These “down moments” added a lot of context to the story the
photo essay would tell. The on-the-ground reporting inspired us to run the image
captions in long form, adding nuance to the wonderful written intro by Joaqlin Estus.

How did this project come about and what is the Climate Futures Fund?
In August, I received a call for pitches for a photo grant offered by High Country News,
specifically seeking to tell stories of climate resilience. HCN offers such grants a few
times a year to support assignment-based photo essays for their special issues. The
Climate Futures Special Issue was focused on sharing the message that “it’s not too
late to create a better climate future,” and I thought Smokehouse was a great example
of boots-on-the-ground work towards creating climate resilience in Alaska. I reached out
to Deenaalee for a pre-interview, and then I wrote a 500-word pitch explaining my approach.
In September, I was awarded the grant. The final edit was due in November. HCN and I
agreed that the story would benefit from an Alaska Native writer, and the magazine
assigned the intro text to Tlingit journalist Joaqlin Estus.

What type of direction did you get from the HCN, most notably from the photo
editor Bear Guerra.
I met with photo editor Bear Guerra and issue editor Emily Benson a couple of times
before beginning my reporting, and then I met with Bear several times throughout the
assignment. He prompted me to consider how we could visualize the early phases of
Smokehouse’s resource distribution (Deenaalee jarring salmon), encouraged me to
show the behind-the-scenes work of establishing the Collective (Deenaalee and Ruth
meet on video calls), and helped me think through a number of challenges that arose
during my reporting.
A few of the scenes I hoped to capture were just not possible, so Bear provided
encouragement and was a great thought partner in pivoting towards what was possible.
I came back from Dillingham with more images and scenes than we could use
in the story, so Bear gave me an opportunity to cull and choose my own favorite images
before he curated the final set. I’m really happy with the set of images Bear ultimately
selected, and his input as a photo editor was vital to telling a cohesive story.

El Pais

Photographer: Daniel Beltra
Photo Editor: Gorka Lejarcegi

Heidi: Your work balances a line between environmental beauty and catastrophe with a focus on
aerial photography. How difficult was it to work from the ground, I know you had planned to fly a drone.
Daniel: Working from the ground was complicated, security is understandably tightened, and lots of different permits needed to be secured. There are also many military checkpoints all over the country.
The main difficulty for me was to wrap my head around the fact that the project I had planned and trained for most of the year (I had never flown drones before) was gone and I needed to get in gear and do what was possible.

Heidi: What foiled those plans and how hard was it to pivot? What was the lesson there?
Daniel: Even though my initial project using drones was supported by the Ukrainian authorities, things changed once I arrived in Kiev. A total ban on any civilian flying was implemented with no exceptions made. For a while, we tried to get special permission without any luck.
Flexibility would be the lesson, I had to adapt. I was concerned and had doubts, but I always told myself that the only way to take photographs was to go out and take them. Too much thinking or worrying is counterproductive. I just had to start working and get a feel for it. Now, almost three months after my return, I’m happy with the results.

Heidi: There’s an abundance of imagery covering the destruction in Ukraine, what drew you there?
Daniel: There are so many talented photographers showing the direct and brutal impact of the war.
The project I was trying to execute was different: documenting the war’s environmental impact from the air had not been done, at least not on a larger scale.
As horrible as the consequences of this terrible war were for Ukrainians, I wanted to show that there were other long-term consequences.

Heidi: Tell us about the planning and what support you had going into this trip.
Daniel: My project was sponsored by the Embassy of Spain in Ukraine and the Spanish Agency for International Cooperation and Development (AECID). I also got a couple of private donors to help.
Organizing a project like this remotely is challenging. The team at the Embassy in Kiev was crucial to get the planning going. It was them who made all the connections with the Ukrainian Ministry for the Environment. I also consulted with Greenpeace (I have a very long relationship with them) and they helped suggest locations to photograph. Between all these parties we came up with a list of locations that we thought were interesting. We then had to get the permits to be able to access them. Many were not available due to their proximity to combat zones.

Heidi: You mentioned working with the military who was juggling 100s of journalists’ requests a day – how did you hope your imagery would stand out?
Daniel: As I previously mentioned, the ecocide (environmental impact of the war) had not been covered extensively. I am not a war photographer, in fact, for this project, I had no access to the current front lines.
The final set of images diverted from that original goal. They show some of the scars the war is leaving in the country.

Heidi: Your images are haunting and absent of the human element – but indicate humanity, was that always the plan?
Daniel: That was part of the original plan. A lot of my work is done from the air. This unique perspective helps emphasize the impact we are having on the environment.
That was not an option in Ukraine. More artistic and abstract images helped give a different perspective, less harsh than pure photojournalism but also efficient to convey the ongoing tragedy.

Heidi: Knowing your work and plans for this project,  I thought the first image was land scars shot from above – I was wrong. Tell us about the image.
Daniel: I like images that can be confusing on a first approach, where the viewer needs to go an extra step to understand what’s on the frame. Through that tension, I hope to inspire some reflection. This particular photograph shows the snow-covered, bullet-ridden windshield of a van damaged during the battle in the small village of Lukashivka. I shot the image from the inside of the vehicle, what happened to the occupants? It’s a haunting frame.

Heidi: Do you have plans to return?
Daniel: Hopefully before this summer, working on that right now.

The Russian invasion of Ukraine began in 2022, what were your observations on how daily life has adapted since then?
We just passed the second anniversary of the invasion. I was amazed by the Ukrainian’s resilience, despite the daily missile and drone strikes and the endless air raid alarms. Most of the nights I was there the alarms were going off, even on multiple occasions on a single night. One day a Ukrainian friend asked me if I went to the refuge during the air raid.  When I answered I stayed in bed, and she replied you are Ukrainian now.  It made me reflect on how tough it is to be living constantly under threat and how humans manage to adapt to almost anything.