Ten minutes of improvised dance at BASE Milano. A week later, the photographs opened a question about calling, freedom, and the lives we make together.
Burkinabè photographer Warren Sare joins "A Bag of Stories" to share a vision shaped by memory, dialogue, resistance, and social justice. This essay opens a new series from Burkina Faso, rooted in the experience of " Je Suis la Rue."
Years ago, I wrote a small field guide about photographing people whose lives were not mine. Some of its rules I would write differently today. The question behind them has not changed: what do we owe the people whose lives enter our frame?
We have never made so many images, and perhaps we have never spent so much time asking photography to prove its own importance. There may be another way: move the photographer away from the center, and ask what an image can actually do in the life of someone else.
In LIMINA, photographer Anna Nagy looks at a corner of western Rome where family photographs, old houses, gardens, reeds, and apartment blocks occupy the same uncertain territory. Her work asks a deceptively simple question: when does private memory become the memory of a place?
We often say that music brings people together. Perhaps it does. But what kind of togetherness are we talking about and what happens to disagreement, power, memory, and responsibility when the music begins?
The words we use shape the worlds we are able to see. This is where "A Bag of Stories" pauses over some of them, not to fix their meaning forever, but to say what we mean when they appear in our stories.
A small printer takes almost no room in a travel bag. What it can change, however, is the direction of photography itself: an image no longer travels only with the person who made it.
Photographer and linguist Giulia Zhang studies the Burji language in southern Ethiopia. Her work moves between images and words, asking a larger question: what do we lose when we stop listening to the many ways people name the world?
