Shanghai Revisited~
A traveler returns with photographs.
A resident accumulates an archive.
After twelve years in Shanghai, I found myself with more than 200,000 images and the persistent belief that one day I would have the time to go through them all. That day never quite arrives.
Instead, I revisit the archive in fragments. A few folders at a time. Small excavations into a city that shaped a significant part of my life.
What I have come to appreciate is that photographs often need time. Distance removes the immediacy of memory and allows the images to speak for themselves. Pictures that once felt ordinary reveal new layers. Others become records of a world that has already disappeared.
This selection comes from one of those journeys back into Shanghai.
Shanghai, China.
Exploring the Solitude and Serenity of Myanmar’s Landscapes
Myanmar (once called Burma) had been on my list for many years. For a long time, political circumstances and travel restrictions made it difficult to visit, so when the opportunity finally arose in 2016, I planned a solo journey from China with the goal of exploring as much of the country as possible through my camera.
What I encountered was unlike anywhere I had experienced before. The internet had only recently become accessible to the public, and there was a palpable sense of being in a place that had not yet been transformed by the rapid pace of global connectivity. Daily life felt grounded in traditions, rituals, and personal interactions that seemed untouched by many of the changes taking place elsewhere in the world.
Over several weeks, I travelled through Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan, and Inle Lake. I photographed fishermen balancing on the waters of Inle Lake, monks crossing the ancient U Bein Bridge at sunrise, and the vast landscape of temples stretching across the plains of Bagan. Everywhere I went, I was met with kindness, curiosity, and generosity.
What remains with me most strongly, however, is not any single photograph or location. It is the atmosphere of the country itself. Myanmar felt mysterious, timeless, and deeply connected to its cultural and spiritual roots. There was a quiet dignity in everyday life and a sense of wonder that accompanied even the simplest encounters.
Of all the places I have visited during my travels, Myanmar remains one of the few that continues to call me back. Today, travel there is far more complicated, and many of the images in this series document a moment that has since changed. Looking back, I feel grateful to have witnessed the country during that brief period of openness and to have experienced the warmth of its people, its landscapes, and its enduring sense of mystery.
Lens Tribe Global
A collaborative platform for photographers in displacement
Lens Tribe is a collaborative initiative built to support and connect photographers living in displacement, particularly in refugee communities.
It began from a simple observation.
Across different countries and camps, there are photographers with strong visual voices, working with limited access, limited visibility, and very little structural support. Many are documenting their own environments with depth, nuance, and proximity that is rarely seen from the outside.
Lens Tribe exists to create a space where this work can be seen, shared, and developed.
Meeting the photographers under the care of Umoja Ni Nguvu and their instructor Josephat Primo El Ramiro. Dzaleka Refugee Camp, November, 2025.
What it is
Lens Tribe is not an agency, and it is not a traditional organization.
It is a growing network.
A platform that connects photographers across different locations, allowing them to share work, build visibility, and engage in a broader photographic conversation beyond their immediate environment.
The focus is on:
• Visibility for underrepresented photographers
• Building a shared visual archive
• Creating connections across geographies
• Supporting long-term photographic development
From a photography training session in Dzaleka Refugee Camp, Malawi. November, 2025.
Why it matters
Much of the visual narrative around displacement is produced from the outside.
While this work has value, it often misses the everyday realities, the subtleties, and the internal perspectives of those living within these environments.
Photographers within these communities are not only subjects of documentation, they are authors of their own visual language.
Lens Tribe shifts part of that perspective.
It creates space for work that comes from within, not about.
Young photographer in Dzaleka Refugee Camp, Malawi. November, 2025
What we are building
This is an evolving initiative.
At its core, Lens Tribe is focused on:
• Sharing photographic work through digital platforms
• Creating opportunities for exposure and collaboration
• Building relationships between photographers across regions
• Exploring future possibilities for exhibitions, publications, and partnerships
The intention is not to impose a structure, but to grow something that is responsive to the realities on the ground.
A meeting with Photographers in the Rohingya Refugee Camp in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, December, 2025.
A long-term approach
Lens Tribe is not a short-term project.
It is a long-term commitment to building trust, continuity, and presence.
This means working slowly, staying connected, and allowing the platform to evolve with the people who are part of it.
Umoja Ni Nguvu is a community organization in Dzaleka Refugee Camp, Malawi . It empowers youth through education, creativity, and skills development. November, 2025.
Closing
This is a beginning.
If you are a photographer working in displacement, or if you are interested in supporting or collaborating, the conversation is open. Contact us on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/lenstribeglobal/ for more info.
Logo by Kabeya Ilunga .
Reflections from Xposure: Showcasing Stories from the Field
I currently have the honor of exhibiting my work at the Xposure International Photography Festival in Sharjah, where my photographs are on view from January 29 through February 4 in the gallery of the The Big Heart Foundation. Being part of this festival, surrounded by photographers and visual storytellers from around the world, is both grounding and deeply inspiring.
The exhibition presents six images created during fieldwork with the Big Heart Foundation in Jordan, Malawi, Kenya, and Bangladesh, photographed between October and December 2025. These images emerged from extended time spent with displaced communities, moments shaped by trust, presence, and shared experience. Working in these contexts continues to remind me of the responsibility that comes with documenting lives shaped by displacement, resilience, and everyday continuity.
This collaboration has also resulted in the book Carrying Home, which brings together photographs from these four locations. The book and the exhibition are closely connected, offering different ways of engaging with the same visual narratives and the places where they were made.
It has been a particular honor to present this work to Sheikh Sultan bin Ahmad Al Qasimi, whose continued support of culture, education, and humanitarian initiatives underscores the importance of visual storytelling in creating dialogue and understanding.
Xposure itself is a remarkable gathering. Beyond the exhibitions, it is a space for exchange, reflection, and learning, where conversations with fellow photographers reaffirm the power of the medium and its ability to move between art, documentation, and social engagement.
I am sharing the images exhibited in the gallery, along with some photographs from the festival itself. I am grateful to everyone who has visited the exhibition so far, to the Big Heart Foundation for their trust and collaboration, and above all to the communities in Jordan, Malawi, Kenya, and Bangladesh who allowed me into their lives and spaces.
Changing Course~
There are moments when life taps on the shoulder and says, “It’s time.” Today feels like one of those moments. For almost six months now, I’ve shown up daily, posting images and thoughts as a practice of presence and discipline. But something has shifted. As Saturn makes its return, it feels like a strong inner tide has started to turn, asking for a different rhythm.
Instead of structuring my creative output around daily sharing, I’m feeling a deep pull toward instinct and intuition. There’s a sense that not every day needs to be visible. Some days are meant for silence, for journaling that remains tucked away, private and still forming. I want to give space for that — to be in flow with what asks to emerge, not just what I’ve planned.
The phrase keeps echoing: change is the only constant. We are all navigating a time of collective uncertainty, and to stay fluid out there, I need to stay fluid in here. This post marks a pause in the daily rhythm and the beginning of something less defined, more responsive.
Thank you for being here with me in this unfolding.
When the City Dances~
Late summer in Düsseldorf carries with it a certain stillness, as if time itself is slowing down before the inevitable shift of seasons. This evening, around 9 p.m., our small photography group wandered along the riverside, and the light had that golden, lingering quality only late summer can offer.
We didn’t expect music, but there it was—spilling out into the open space near the promenade, and with it, movement. A group of people had gathered under the shade of low trees and a concrete overpass. They weren’t professionals, just city dwellers drawn into rhythm. Salsa beats pulsed from a small speaker, and the dancers, barefoot or in heels, swayed and spun like they had always belonged to this moment.
There was something grounding in the simplicity. No stage, no lights, no audience. Just strangers turning into pairs, letting the music guide them. Some danced tightly together, others let the music drift through them freely. In those steps, under the fading sun, it felt like the city itself was exhaling.
Moments like this are why we walk, why we carry cameras, why we look closer. They remind us that joy doesn’t always need a plan—it just needs a beat.
The Turning Point~
Today marks a shift, subtle but unmistakable—the summer solstice, the longest day of the year in Germany. There is something nearly imperceptible that begins to change with this day. We are at the apex of light, the furthest reach before the slow retreat back into longer nights. It’s a strange comfort, this knowledge that time keeps moving, and that even light must ebb.
As the day stretched luxuriously into the evening, the sun lingered over the horizon, turning the fields gold. There’s a stillness that comes with such moments, as if everything is aware of its part in the turning wheel of the year. The barn, in the image I imagined, standing solitary in the field, catches the last of the golden rays, grounded and patient. Time circles around it as it always has.
This solstice is more than a marker of time—it is a quiet invitation to notice. To witness how light plays on a young woman’s face and on grass, how a shadow stretches, how warmth rests on the skin longer than it did yesterday. It’s a reminder that we live in rhythm, even when we forget. This long day comes, it holds us in light, and it too, passes.
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