As I talk to my fellow survivors I truly can't believe I spent so many years disconnected from this group of my peers with such an incredible shared experience. Through opening up about our stories I am learning so much about this long journey of survivorship we are all on.
Here, you have no opinions, no judgments, no preconceptions, no language. The purity of this expression is exquisite. Yet how often do we tap into it? How many of us can say we live from it? How might we even try?
Holding the beast over his shoulders like a shawl, the man walked into the center of the clearing, wedged the goat's head between his knees and grabbed its horns. In a flash I realized what was coming next.
Very few animals who enter the shelter system come out alive; instead, a high proportion are euthanized, often in horrific gas chambers, in spite of volunteer networks scurrying to place adoptable shelter dogs in homes before their short time runs out.
Alexa Torre is a Mexican photographer currently living in Mexico City. A graduate of the New England School of Photography in Boston, Massachusetts, Torre has been working on a project about her heritage and the traditional dresses of regions of Mexico.
I'm proud because life threw me in the way of being a little catalyst for a process that was already happening on its own. I had a part to play in fanning the flame. It's not my flame, but I had the privilege of helping.
When we retouch, we say to our clients, "You're better this way." "You're better with a flatter tummy." "You're better with skinnier arms." "You're better with a rounder bum." "You're better without that scar." Who do we think we are?
A photographer in the field who isn't directing their subject on how to pose, where to sit, or which way to tilt their head, has to anticipate the person's next move and be ready to capture it in that 1/250 of a second. Therein lies the art of being a street photographer.
The 'Humans of' movement feels to me like a vehicle for illustrating what all of us know deep down: that we're all humans of somewhere, we all have a story and we all have something of value to say, if we're given the chance to say it.
Furr's grandmother introduced him to oil paints when he was 12 years old. He would set up a still life with fruit and paint it. He was obsessed -- he loved and still loves oil paint and the distinct smell of pure turpentine. "I was lucky. I found my dharma at age 12 years," he says.