A question scrawled on a wall in Beirut—Where do I go?—forms the emotional core of Rania Matar’s powerful new body of work. Her solo exhibition 50 Years Later – Where Do I Go?, on view at the Sidney and Lois Eskenazi Museum of Art through August 2, 2026, coincides with a photobook of the same name. Bringing together approximately 128 color portraits of young women living in Lebanon today, the project reflects on identity, belonging, and the weight of difficult choices.

The images are evocative and layered, shaped through a deeply collaborative process in which each participant plays an active role in how she is seen. For many of the women portrayed, the question at the heart of the work is not abstract but immediate, as they navigate the pressures of war, economic instability, and an uncertain future.

We asked Matar to tell us more about her process and the uncanny timing of this work’s release.

All the women seem to be around the same age. What made you choose this
particular period in a woman’s life? 
“The women in this project are of a similar age, generally, and that was entirely intentional.
In 1984, I was their age when I left Lebanon and faced one of the most wrenching decisions
of my life: to leave, or to stay. These women stand at that same crossroads. One path leads
away from family, home, and everything familiar; the other means remaining in a country of
fractured hope. All these years later, I saw myself in each of them, and with that came a
painful understanding that history keeps repeating itself.

“These women are also the ages of my daughters. Had I stayed in Lebanon, my daughters
might literally be them: standing where I once stood, facing the same impossible question
that I never thought the next generation would have to answer.”

Generally, what does this period in a woman’s life look like in Lebanon? What
decisions are they grappling with? And what are their choices?
“Generally speaking, young women in Lebanon aren’t so different from young women
anywhere else in the United States or elsewhere. They worry about education, career,
finding their path, falling in love, and life in general. But in Lebanon, sadly, they
sometimes also have to carry an extra burden: the burden of survival and war.

“This project grew out of a very specific moment that threw these young women into adulthood much faster: the explosions at the Port of Beirut in August 2020. That event shattered so many lives in such a massive way that it forced a generation of young women into an impossible crossroads: do they stay, or do they leave? What comes next?

“And those questions are not simple. Leaving home and family to go into the unknown is not
an easy decision to make. And if they stay, how do they begin to build something new out of
the rubble, literally and figuratively? Many stayed; some left and came back; others left,
but they never really left. I know that firsthand. And as I mentioned earlier, I viscerally felt their dilemma, their shattered hopes, their dreams, their pain, and I wanted to give them a platform to tell their story and the story of their relationship to this beautiful and fractured country.

“In 1984, when things in Lebanon got very bad, I faced the same decision. That’s when I came to the United States, thinking it would be for a couple of years. And here I am, so many years later.”

Did the women have a particular feeling that they wanted to convey, and how much
was discussed before the location scouting and positioning?
“I give the women agency over the process, and they’re deeply involved in every decision we make. Before any shoot, I always try to schedule a phone call first. I want to hear their story, what Lebanon means to them, where they’re from, and what relationship they have with a particular place.

“We plan the shoot together from the very beginning. We don’t scout the location in advance, and we don’t stage anything. I either pick the young woman up or we meet there, and from that point on, it’s pure creation, experimentation, and collaboration. We start feeding off each other — her ideas, my ideas, bouncing back and forth— and together we make something beautiful and meaningful happen. I make sure to establish a relationship of trust and respect throughout the collaboration. I want the session to be enjoyable and empowering.

“None of these pictures could have been made without the specific person standing in front of me. Each image exists because of who she is, what she brought to that moment, and what we created together. It’s a beautiful collaboration which, for me, is the heart of the project. If I get a picture I love, it’s the ultimate reward.”

How did you find the women you worked with? Is there something you were looking for?
Or feel they all have in common?
“I often find the women by putting out a call on Instagram before I travel to Lebanon. I
describe the project and ask who would like to collaborate. I was grateful and humbled to
have received such a large response. We then schedule a phone call to get to know each other and discuss where to go from there. There was no scouting involved, and I never asked anyone to send me photos or anything like that.

“My thinking was simple: anyone who responds is going to be interesting, creative, and
exciting to work with. Eventually, the circle grows from there: I collaborate with someone,
and she recommends a friend, a cousin, or an acquaintance. I also often meet people in other settings, really anywhere, and I approach them and invite them to be part of this series, then we take it from there.

“I have to emphasize that I owe so much to every one of these women. Their willingness to
put themselves out there takes courage and grit. Maybe this is what they ultimately have in
common. It’s always a little tentative at first. But then something beautiful happens as we
begin to discover each other, as the ideas start flowing between us. That connection is really where the work comes alive.”

I sense a “phoenix rising from the ashes” theme as well as portal-like elements such
as shafts of light, mirrors, or women sinking into the earth or flowers. Could you
speak to some of the recurring motifs?
“I’m glad you raised that, because hope is absolutely central to this project. It all began after
the Port of Beirut explosions in 2020, when I discovered that these young women were out
there: working in the reconstruction, clearing the debris. They inspired me profoundly. I was
in awe of them. And from that moment, the idea of hope and rebirth became inseparable from the work.

“It was important to me that the images feel metaphorical rather than documentary. Some
reflect the architectural wounds of the city, the destruction, the layers upon layers of it. But others reach toward something else entirely: the beauty of Lebanon, the Mediterranean light, the flowers, the mountains. I wanted to hold both truths at once.

“The mirrors and the light are very deliberate. For me, they speak to duality. There are always two sides being revealed at the same time. The light shining through a woman, the mirror reflecting something just out of frame. It’s that constant tension between devastation and resilience, between what has been lost and what is still possible.

“And ultimately, that generation gives me genuine hope for Lebanon, in so many ways. I
wanted that hope to live in every image, even the difficult ones. Especially the difficult ones.”

How do you feel about the timing of this exhibition with what is going on in
Lebanon currently? And do you think the portraits take on a different meaning
now?
“The timing feels almost eerie, and sadly, incredibly relevant. The question at the heart of this project, ‘Where do I go?’ — the title of the book and the exhibition — is being raised again and again as a quarter of Lebanon’s population is currently displaced.
When I was working on this book and the exhibition was being planned, my goal was to
commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Lebanese Civil War (1975 –2025). Little did I
know that a year later, we would be living through something like it all over again, or even
something worse. I am heartbroken.

“And yet I am grateful that this exhibition is happening now. The news cycle talks about
numbers, statistics, the price of gas, etc., none of which bring you close to the human
reality. What I hope this work does is put a face on these women, many of whom are from
South Lebanon, from areas that are currently being bombed and occupied. They deserve to be seen as individuals, as full human beings, not as abstractions in a headline.

“Do the portraits take on a different meaning now? Absolutely. They have become the face of hope against what feels quite bleak at this moment. And for me, that is everything: to be able to show the world the beauty of my people, and of this country that refuses, generation after generation, to stop believing in itself.”

Are you hearing from your models and keeping tabs on what is happening with
them?
“Yes, I am very much in touch with them. Some have been displaced and are sheltering with
their families in different parts of the country. A few of them are from South Lebanon, so it
has been an incredibly difficult time for them.

“But I am also in awe of them, truly. Just as they rose to the occasion after the port
explosions, so many of them are doing it again right now. They are raising funds, sourcing
mattresses, cooking meals, and distributing food to the people who have been made homeless by this war. They are showing up in the most concrete and human ways possible. I am grateful to every single one of them.

“It brings me back, again, to the heart of this project, and that question: ‘Where do I go?’ It felt urgent when I began this work. Sadly, it feels just as urgent today. And these women, in
everything they are doing right now, are the most honest and beautiful answer I know.

“These images are my love letters to them. This project is for us all: the ones who stayed and the ones who have left but can never leave.”

The post To Stay or Leave? Young Women in Lebanon Navigate War, Crisis, and Uncertainty appeared first on Feature Shoot.

Josh Aronson (born 1994 in Toronto) is a Miami-based artist. His photos have been published in places like The New York Times, The Paris Review, Financial Times, Frieze, Italian Vogue, Teen Vogue, Dazed, i-D, and The Guardian. Josh grew up in Florida, and much of his photography is made there: cinematic scenes of young people hanging out, playing, and showing care for one another in forests, swamps, and other outdoor settings. He’s also the creator of Photo Book Speed Date, a public program where people meet up to share and talk about photography books in a fun, fast-round format.

We asked him some questions about his series, Florida Boys, which depicts coming-of-age experiences in nature in the backwoods of the state.

In your excellent article for Vogue, you wrote: “Making photographs is, for me, a way to
reclaim a sense of belonging. Photography allows me to imagine belonging somewhere
and to make that fantasy a bit more real through the act of visualizing it.” Can you
expand on this?
“I was born in Canada but raised in Florida. It’s home, but my family has no roots here, so I’ve
always felt like an insider-outsider. Photography lets me belong to a place I’ve been told I don’t.

“Growing up, I never saw myself in the images of Americana or coming-of-age stories I
encountered. Through photography, I’ve been able to expand that language. To place myself
and people like me inside it. I cast young men as surrogates for myself and bring them into rural and natural locations around the state. Many are first-generation Americans or children of immigrants who, like me, never had those quintessential outdoorsy coming-of-age experiences. Together, we make-believe. We play pretend as young men on the fringe, at ease in nature and in harmony with one another. In the act of pretending, we actually start to feel that sense of belonging. Fake it ‘til you make it.”

I feel that many people don’t feel safe deep in nature, especially if they grow up in big
cities. They are scared of animals or insects, or just being secluded and removed from
other people. Was this a hurdle you (or your subjects) had to get past?
“You’d think it would be, especially in Florida. But no. For me, nature has always been a haven. Despite the mosquitoes and the reptiles, there’s a calm that overrides my discomfort. Nature activates my imagination; it brings me back to a time before urbanization. That experience feels foundational and worth sharing.

“Before each trip, I make sure everyone knows what we’re getting into. The people who join me are usually excited to be outdoors. Still, your point is real: not everyone feels welcome in natural spaces. America’s idea of “wilderness” was built on the displacement of Indigenous people, of Black and Brown communities. The conservation movement has roots in eugenics, and that legacy lingers. I hope this work helps expand who feels they belong in nature.”

I think about freedom when I look at this series, and I think about your process. How did
this project feel emotionally for you (and your subjects/collaborators)?
“It was deeply emotional. Exhilarating, really. Some days felt like making the best pictures of my life. Other days, it was quieter, more reflective. The work became my love letter to Florida, to my own coming-of-age, and to the people I collaborate with.

“There’s also something healing about it. Photography is my excuse to gather people, to show them places they’ve never seen, and to create memories together. That’s the point of all this. To use photography as a tool for connection, for joy, for belonging.”

You chose to work with “Florida Boys” for this series. Why “young, queer Black and
Brown men from Miami”?
“Most of the people I photograph are young men from the greater Miami area. Some queer.
Some straight. Many first-generation. When casting, I look for people who remind me of myself, or who feel emblematic of Florida’s cultural DNA: creative, curious, resilient. I’m not
photographing local youth I happen upon in rural towns; I’m staging scenes with people I bring from the city into these landscapes.

“That act of staging matters. By recreating boyhood and coming-of-age scenes in
quintessentially Americana settings, I can open up those narratives and make them more
tender, strange, inclusive, and real to my experience.”

You wrote: “For a long time, I thought nature was neutral, that anyone could belong
there. I understand now that it never was. The American landscape is built on a hierarchy
of who could rest, roam, or feel safe within it.” Can you expand on this?
“I used to think nature was universal…that anyone could find peace there. But the American
landscape, as we know it, was built on systems of exclusion. The early conservation movement displaced Indigenous people and centered whiteness as the default steward of the land. That history still shapes who feels safe outdoors. My hope is that these photographs expand our collective image of who belongs in the landscape, and who gets to rest there.

Tell me about location scouting for this series? Did you research or explore, or a bit of
both?
My process is heavily research-based. I spend hours scrolling through hashtags like
#VisitFlorida and #FloridaWild, digging through old travel guides, and studying archives. I rarely explored the rest of the state growing up, so this project became my excuse to see it. I’d plot multi-day routes, scout alone, make test compositions, and collect ephemera. Maps, postcards, brochures. Some of that research and found material ended up in my Florida Boys exhibition at Baker–Hall, alongside my photographs.

What are some of the things you encountered in nature? I’m getting alligator vibes from a
few of the shots.
“No alligators, surprisingly! But plenty of Florida magic: owls, turtles, cypress trees rising out of lakes, beaches made of rock formations that look almost lunar. State parks only reachable by boat. Diners. Trump flags. Confederate flags. Gas stations. Stars. Friendship. Core memories.

You didn’t develop the film for three years after you shot this work. This seems almost
fitting with the subject matter, but it’s obviously not the norm. Why did you wait so long?
I think of my practice as having two distinct modes: the maker and the editor. I don’t like to mix them. While I’m in the maker’s mode, I don’t want to analyze or judge what I’ve made. By
keeping the film undeveloped, I could stay curious. Stay hungry to keep staging images. It
helped me sustain the project for five years without overthinking it. When I finally developed the film, it felt like rediscovering a diary I’d forgotten I was writing.”

What did you think when you developed the film?
“Honestly…thank God my camera still worked. But really, it was relief and recognition. The
pictures felt like proof that what I imagined had actually happened.”

Since you’ve released the work, what has the response been?
“It’s been incredibly moving. People see themselves in it, and in ways I didn’t anticipate. I’ve
loved hearing from Floridians who grew up here in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s saying the work
resonates with them.

“I’m also grateful for the way conversations around the lineage have unfolded. This work
wouldn’t exist without Justine Kurland’s Girl Pictures, which inspired me to challenge myself with group portraiture. Her influence, and Ryan McGinley’s, runs deep in how I think about the photograph as a space for freedom and collaboration.

“Exhibiting Florida Boys pushed me, too. I experimented with scale, installation, and new materials. Made large outdoor works, an assemblage wall, and grids. Each exhibition teaches me something new. And through all the dialogue around the project, what’s felt most rewarding is that people recognize my background in film: the way the pictures straddle the cinematic and the real. I’ve been calling them ‘film stills’ in my artist walkthroughs, and I like that term a lot.”

The post ‘Florida Boys’ Find Themselves in the Backwoods of the State appeared first on Feature Shoot.

Given the dominance of AI and social media in our lives, I believe the world (and the photography world, specifically) needs more in-person events and opportunities for deep and meaningful connection. How exciting to come across Photo Book Speed Date, an initiative by Miami-based photographer Josh Aronson, “where people meet up to share and talk about photography books in a fun, fast-round format”.

What made you decide to combine photo books and speed dating?

“In 2022, I had an exhibition at a commercial gallery and wanted to find a way to bring people in. An artist’s talk felt too self-gratifying. I wanted something more democratic. An event where guests felt just as important as the artist. I’d been to a speed-date–style photo night in New York hosted by the artist Shaniqwa Jarvis, which planted the seed.

“I thought: what if I made it even more participatory? Most people, whether a photographer or photo lovers, have at least one photo book at home that means something to them. What if they brought that book and shared it in timed rotations with someone across from them?

“The first Photo Book Speed Date was an experiment. I had no expectations. But the idea worked. People loved having a space to geek out about photo books, and that’s how the program was born.”

Once you had the idea, what did you do to make it a reality?

“Part of what I love about this idea is how little it requires. No big budget. No fancy tech. I designed a flyer, shared it online, and set up a few rows of chairs in the gallery. The first event was the week of Thanksgiving, on a rainy Wednesday night, and I remember the room filling up with people eager to connect. We ran out of chairs within the first few rounds. For three hours, people moved from seat to seat, book to book, in timed rotations. The energy was electric. Communal. Generous. Deeply engaged.”

Have you noticed that people reveal different sides of themselves through the books they bring?

“Absolutely. One of the best pieces of advice I ever got was to pay attention to who my favorite artists’ favorite artists are, and study them. I’ve learned so much about people I admire by looking at what they love. Photo Book Speed Date works the same way: you learn about your peers, your friends, and their influences through what they choose to bring and share.”

What kinds of relationships or collaborations have grown out of these events?

“So many. My good friend met her boyfriend at a Photo Book Speed Date. I met my girlfriend there, too. And beyond romance, dozens of photographers have met other artists, publishers, and curators through these nights. The goal was never matchmaking. It’s about opening access and creating a space where people in the photo community can meet in person, inside museum or gallery spaces that sometimes feel off-limits. I want people to feel belonging in those spaces, even just for an evening.”

Do you see Photo Book Speed Date as a way to build a creative community in Miami, or more of a one-time spark between individuals?

“Definitely the former. It’s a primer for community connection. Each conversation may only last five or ten minutes, but often they continue long after the timer stops. Any time spent face-to-face with other artists is vital. By creating a space to share what we love, my hope is to inspire others to host their own programs and to keep building the creative ecosystem here in Miami and beyond.”

Have you noticed any recurring themes or emotions that surface across the conversations?

“The same questions come up again and again: Why this book? What does it mean to you? How does it relate to your own work? People get so locked in that I often hate calling the next round.

“The conversations are that alive. They’re about getting to know both the artist behind the book and the person across from you.”

Why was it important for this project to happen in person rather than online?

“Because books are physical objects, they’re meant to be held, flipped through, and smelled. The intimacy of sharing a book in real time, across a table, can’t be replicated online yet.”

Do you think projects like this could help rebuild social connections in a time when so much engagement happens virtually?

“Absolutely. I’ve seen it firsthand. Historically, artists have always grown in community with one another. 2025 is no different. It’s just our turn to create the spaces where that can happen.”

What does the future look like for this project?

“In 2026, I plan to bring Photo Book Speed Date to museum spaces around the world. The program will make its West Coast debut in California and return to New York. I’m also hosting an edition in Miami at a venue central to the city’s book and art scene. My goal is to keep expanding access. To keep making space for connection through the photo books we love.”

The post Photo Books and Speed Dating: Connection Forged Through An Unlikely Pair appeared first on Feature Shoot.

For photographers, there’s nothing like seeing your images in print. A photo book transforms your project into something lasting and tangible—something people will display on their shelves, gift to friends, or showcase on their coffee tables. But beyond being beautiful objects, photo books can also be a smart way to generate income from your work. And thanks to Lulu, creating and selling them has never been simpler.

Skip the Long Publishing Timeline

We’ve interviewed many photographers who have published photo books, so we know first-hand that publishing a book can take years—finding a publisher, committing to expensive bulk print runs, and hoping enough copies are sold to cover costs. Lulu changes all of that with print-on-demand. Your book is printed only when someone buys it. No upfront costs, no inventory stacked in your living room, and no waiting on a publishing house. Just upload your files, design your book, and make it available for sale right away.

Simple Tools for Beautiful Books

Designing a book might sound intimidating, but Lulu provides step-by-step guidance and templates to get you started. Whether you’re creating a high-end coffee table book, a compact travel zine, or a themed collection, the process is straightforward:

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Here’s where Lulu really stands out: selling your book. With Lulu Direct, you can connect your book directly to your existing website through Shopify, Wix, or WooCommerce. That means your customers buy straight from you—no middleman, no extra markup. You keep 100% of your revenue minus printing and shipping costs, and Lulu seamlessly handles the production and fulfillment in the background.

Imagine this flow:

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Why It Works

Photo books do something digital galleries can’t: they slow people down. A book is an experience—flipping through pages, revisiting images, absorbing the story you’re telling. For your audience, it’s a chance to own a piece of your vision. For you, it’s a way to build deeper relationships with your supporters while creating a new income stream.

Wedding photographers can offer premium albums that elevate their packages. Documentary photographers can publish limited-run collections tied to exhibitions. Fine art photographers can create collectible editions that live beyond the gallery. Even hobbyists can test the waters with small-batch zines for niche communities.

The Bottom Line

Lulu makes it easy: from design to sales to fulfillment, the process is fast, flexible, and risk-free. Your images deserve more than likes on a screen. They deserve to be held, treasured, and yes—purchased. With Lulu, publishing a photo book isn’t just possible; it’s practical. And it could be the simplest way to turn your photography into something your audience loves and supports.

The post How Lulu Makes Selling Photo Books Simple for Photographers (Sponsored) appeared first on Feature Shoot.

In New York City, thousands of birds collide with glass towers, fall prey to traffic, or become tangled in string and wire. For most passersby, it’s a sad but forgettable moment. But a small, loosely organized group of volunteers—known as the New York City Bird Alliance Transporters—make it their job to stop, pick up the bird, and carry it to the Wild Bird Fund on the Upper West Side, the city’s only wildlife rehabilitation center.

One of those volunteers, photographer Travis Huggett, has been quietly documenting the people who do this work. The project began a few summers ago, when he discovered the transporters while searching for an activity for his son, who loves birds. “I asked if he’d like to help, and he was immediately into the idea,” he said. They’ve been ferrying birds together ever since.

Pigeons make up the bulk of the rescues, though migration seasons bring rarer species. The injuries are varied: window strikes, poisonings, attacks by cats, or tangled debris wound around a bird’s legs. Most calls come with little notice. “You never know what you’re going to get,” he said. Once, they picked up a vireo that had been hit by a bike. Midway through transferring it from a flimsy bag into a sturdier box, the bird escaped and began circling their car. “It suddenly seemed very healthy and unhappy to be there,” he said. A quick photograph on the dashboard was all he managed before coaxing it into the box.

Unlike the rehabilitators at the Wild Bird Fund, transporters don’t need specialized training. The work is less technical than it is logistical: answering an email, showing up, driving a few miles. Still, it requires a level of attentiveness most New Yorkers don’t give to the animals around them. “It can seem like the city is filled with nothing but pigeons and sparrows,” he said. “But once you start paying attention, you realize there are so many more species than you’d ever expect.”

The photographs started casually—snaps of his son with a box or the birds themselves—but soon became something larger. He now carries a medium-format camera on his transports and has begun making formal portraits of other volunteers. He describes the images as an attempt to give shape to a community that most people don’t know exists. “I was happy with the results right away, so I kept shooting, and I plan to add more portraits this year,” he said.

In his portraits, the volunteers appear calm, resolute, even noble—an intentional contrast to the often frantic circumstances of the rescues. It’s heartening that in a city dominated by glass and steel, a quiet network of people are helping to save bird life.

The post The Volunteers Who Rescue New York City’s Injured Birds appeared first on Feature Shoot.

From the raw testimony of domestic abuse survivors to the quiet resilience of climate migrants and the hidden havoc of cholesterol, this year’s Wellcome Photography Prize winners offer a striking visual meditation on how science and health shape the human experience.

Announced at a ceremony held at London’s Francis Crick Institute, the 2025 prize celebrates three compelling image-makers — Sujata Setia, Mithail Afrige Chowdhury, and Steve Gschmeissner — each awarded £10,000 for their standout work. Now in its 28th year, the Wellcome Photography Prize continues its mission to spotlight the intersection of health, science, and storytelling through exceptional photography.

“These winning works stood out not just for their technical excellence, but for the empathy, collaboration, and deep social engagement they embody,” said Lara Clements, Associate Director of Engagement at Wellcome. “They remind us that health is not just biological — it’s social, political, cultural, and personal.”

Domestic Abuse and Generational Trauma: A Thousand Cuts

Winner of the storytelling series category, UK-based artist Sujata Setia’s A Thousand Cuts is a powerful collaboration with survivors of domestic abuse within South Asian communities. Using a blend of portraiture, testimony, and traditional Indian sanjhi paper-cutting, Setia creates images that protect anonymity while preserving identity. The series, developed in partnership with the UK charity SHEWISE, gives voice to stories often hidden in plain sight — of forced marriage, psychological scars, and the legacy of gendered violence.

“Domestic abuse isn’t a singular event — it leaves an imprint that stretches across generations,” said Setia, herself a survivor. “This recognition isn’t just for my work; it’s for the invisible scars carried by millions. It’s a call to include domestic abuse in our understanding of global health crises.”

Climate Migration in a Rooftop Picnic: Urban Travel

The striking solo photography prize went to Bangladeshi street photographer Mithail Afrige Chowdhury for Urban Travel — a deceptively serene image of a mother and daughter enjoying a rooftop picnic in Dhaka. As climate migration swells the city’s population and green spaces disappear, this simple act becomes a statement of adaptation and care.

“This moment reignited something I thought I’d lost,” said Chowdhury, who had stepped back from photography due to personal struggles. “To be recognised for an image born out of love and displacement — it gives me purpose again.”

Chowdhury’s work, rooted in the everyday lives of Bangladeshi people, has documented everything from Rohingya refugees to urban water crises. His photograph captures not just environmental urgency, but the quiet emotional labor of parenting under pressure.

Microscopic Beauty and Hidden Danger: Cholesterol in the Liver

In the Marvels of Scientific and Medical Imaging category, UK-based science photographer Steve Gschmeissner was honoured for Cholesterol in the Liver, a colourised scanning electron microscopy (SEM) image that transforms biology into art. The image reveals cholesterol crystals (in blue) forming inside liver cells (in purple) — a silent process that can lead to heart disease and stroke.

“It’s thrilling to see microscopy recognised as not just data, but art,” said Gschmeissner, whose five-decade career includes over 10,000 published images across journals, stamps, and even fashion runways. “This award is one of the highlights of my life’s work.”

Gschmeissner’s image is a vivid reminder of the beauty and danger that coexist at the cellular level — and of the public’s growing appetite for scientific imagery that both informs and inspires.

The top 25 finalists, selected from submissions spanning over 100 countries, are now on display at the Wellcome Photography Prize 2025 exhibition, free and open to the public at the Francis Crick Institute in London until October 18, 2025.

The post Wellcome Reveals the 2025 Photography Prize Winners appeared first on Feature Shoot.

Hannah Altman, photographer:

‘We Will Return To You’ is rooted in Jewish folklore, performance, narrative, and material culture. Drawing on traditions of storytelling, it explores how memory and ritual live and expand in narratives, how symbols shift through reinterpretation, and how mysticism threads through the mundane. The work explores how stories are not only told, but embodied, reimagined, and returned to.

The photographs move between portraits and still lifes, each scene offering its own kind of narrative. In Curing, a hand sits distilled in a bag of salt water and hovering over a chair, evoking ideas of preservation, stillness, and remembrance. The project often considers how narrative lives in the body. In Telling You, I sit in the light, mouth open, as a mirror inside reflects a burst of sunlight back into the camera. The glint of light hovers at the back of the throat as a visual interruption that references oral storytelling, reflection, utterance, and revelation.

My body is both speaker and medium. I think of light as a recurring character throughout the work; it has a voice that shifts, sharpens, interrupts, and transforms. She casts long shadows, illuminates skin, and lends each image a sense of heightened presence.

Maybe, too, it’s a way to visualize the idea of the divine shifting through the mundane. In many ways, light is a form of storytelling in these photographs: it directs attention, withholds, and reveals.

Ritual objects appear throughout the project not just as symbols, but as punctuation marks that shift tone, mark transition, or reshape the flow of a visual sentence. These objects are recontextualized, often pulled from their primary use and situated within uncanny, surreal environments. I’m interested in how objects can hold narrative weight, how they act as touchstones for both memory and imagination.

The project also engages with text. The accompanying book, published by Saint Lucy Books, weaves a short story between the images. Like the photographs, the story slips between past and present, myth and memory. It reflects Jewish storytelling traditions that honor both written and oral forms, and invites a layered, open-ended experience where the photographs speak to one another, and to the viewer, in echoes.

Ultimately, We Will Return To You is about expansion and continuity. It asks how Jewish stories live on, not just through preservation, but through reinterpretation, through embodiment, through return. It explores what it means to move through time with sacred weight, and how performance, gesture, and image can carry forward the rooted narratives while remaining open-ended enough for new meanings to emerge.

‘We Will Return to You’ is available through Saint Lucy Books.

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The Wellcome Photography Prize 2025 has announced its finalists, celebrating powerful visual storytelling at the intersection of global health, science, and human experience. This year’s entries were selected from an extraordinary group of finalists representing 18 countries, with stories ranging from microscopic discoveries to deeply personal portraits.

Some of this year’s most striking works include:

• The world’s first non-invasive image of microplastics embedded in living tissue, captured by P. Stephen Patrick and Olumide Ogunlade using photoacoustic imaging.
• An experimental underwater greenhouse in Italy, documented by Giacomo d’Orlando, a futuristic solution to climate-resilient food production.
• Portraits of loneliness and resilience in old age, including Madeleine Waller’s tender documentation of her mother’s daily routines in rural Australia, and Oded Wagenstein’s intimate image of grief and concealed identity in a nursing home.
• A stark self-portrait of endometriosis scars by Georgie Wileman, bringing visibility to an often-overlooked chronic condition.
• A haunting aerial view of a toxic lake in Romania by Alexandru Radu Popescu, where environmental catastrophe reveals eerie beauty.

Other winners explored climate change, mental health, disability, and biomedical innovation through a range of photographic techniques — from drone footage and documentary styles to cyanotypes and microscopy.

Winners will be awarded £10,000 each, with finalists receiving £1,000. The winning images will be on display at a free public exhibition at the Francis Crick Institute in London, running from July 17 to October 18, 2025. The official awards ceremony will take place on 16 July.

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Kyle Meadows, photographer:

“In February of 2025, I embarked on a photographic pilgrimage of my own – to document the faces and spirit of Kumbh Mela, the world’s largest gathering of people. Occurring once every 12 years, over six hundred million pilgrims descend upon the Ganges for ritual bathing, prayer, and devotion. India’s holy men or ‘sadhus’ are drawn to the spiritual significance of this festival. Devoted to their religion, they renounce worldly possessions and attachment.

“The men are revered by Hindus as representatives of the gods. It was these sadhus that drew my attention. Over two weeks, I explored the back streets of Varanasi in India to photograph these sadhus. I wanted to isolate the individuals from the chaos of Kumbh Mela and their frenzied environments, so I often opted to set up a makeshift
studio on location and wait for passersby who caught my attention. I used one strobe, shot through an octabox, and usually positioned my subjects against studio-like backdrops.

“The Naga sadhus, fierce and ancient in appearance, were best photographed at dawn, where they would emerge at the banks of Ganges to smear their naked models with ash and chant mantras. Other sadhus, wrapped in the bright safford-coloured robes, were often found meditating and reciting prayer under the shade of temples.

“Photographing them was not merely an act of portraiture but an exercise in respect, patience, and cultural understanding. In many cases, a respectful nod or a whispered “Namaste” was enough to open the space between us for a portrait. At other times, simply sitting together without the camera, sharing tea or silence, proved to be the most important prelude to any image.”

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Whenever I look at this work by photographer Monika Chabicovsky, the line from the song New York Cares by Interpol plays in my brain: “I had seven faces. Thought I knew which one to wear.”

The song is melancholy and deals with the struggles of living authentically in New York City, whereas in Chabicovsky’s series entitled “The Two Sides of the Truth,” I take away an inspiring call to explore.

By day, Chabicovsky is a toxicologist working as a consultant for the biotech industry. In this work, she portrays her struggle with the rational side of self (work, work, work) vs. the creative/fine art photographer side that wants to play. The struggle is real, even if some of us do not know we are engaged with it.

If you’re familiar with Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Jung and his theories of “persona” and “individuation,” this series and interview will seem very relatable.

Like Chabicovsky, Jung also struggled with play. In his memoir “Memories, Dreams, Reflections” he writes that he only gave in to play after “endless resistances” and with “a sense of recognition”. He says: “For it was a painfully humiliating experience to realise that there was nothing to be done except play childish games.”

What was the inspiration for this series?

‘ThIs project began in 2020 during a time when I was really struggling to balance my creative pursuits with my professional life. The rational side of me kept insisting that I focus on my business, leaving little room for making art. This internal conflict became the driving force behind my ongoing series The Two Sides of The Truth, where I seek to explore and reconcile my opposing “parts.”’

How do your self-portraits challenge typical/traditional notions of identity?

‘My self-portraits disrupt traditional notions of identity, acknowledging it as fluid, multifaceted, and often contradictory. Rather than portraying a single, unified oneness, I explore the tension that results from engaging with differing aspects of my identity — reason versus emotion, science versus creativity, persona, and the authentic self.

‘I question the stability of identity and how much of it is shaped by societal expectations versus internal realities. This challenges the idea of identity as something fixed or singular and instead presents it as dynamic and layered.’

Have you discovered aspects of yourself you hadn’t considered before starting this project?

‘Creating these self-portraits is fun, and I discovered how much I enjoy the process of planning and playing—choosing the right dress, outfit, and concept for each shoot. For a long time, I didn’t allow myself to embrace a sense of play.’

How do you use visual metaphors to convey abstract concepts like reason, emotion, or duality?

‘I use simple visual elements to represent complex concepts like reason, emotion, and duality. Masks, for example, serve as a central metaphor for the duality that lies between persona and authenticity, blurring the line between what is hidden and what is revealed.

‘I also play with functional contrasts — light and shadow, rigid shapes versus soft textures — to reflect the tension between order, reason, and emotion. Hopefully, my visual language invites the viewer to think about how they see — and live out  — their own inner conflicts and truths.’

Are there any recurring symbols in your images? If so, what do they represent?

‘I use masks to represent different facets of the self and to explore the relationship between our different selves — the contrasts as well as interconnectedness. The masks also blur the line between fiction and “truth,” inviting the audience to engage with these universal themes on a deeply personal level.’

Which came first: the images or the captions?

‘The first image, created in 2020, is titled “Me Telling Me What to Do” and reflects my daily struggle. The image presents the core of the ongoing tension between rational, scientific thinking — quick, focused, and efficient — and the fine art photographer who delves into the world of emotions, taking time to explore and embrace a quieter, more deliberate pace.’

What do you hope viewers will take away when reflecting on their masks and “complicated truths”?

‘Through this project, I explore the multiple realities and midpoints that shape my own identity, while encouraging the audience to peel back their own masks and confront their own personal truths, however complicated and uncomfortable they may be.’

Have you received any surprising or impactful reactions from viewers about the series?

‘Some viewers have asked why I haven’t explored creating diptychs, triptychs, or even a full narrative storyline instead of focusing on single images. This feedback is inspiring, and it’s something I’ll be experimenting with as this project evolves. It also opens the door to exploring the use of triptychs, their meaning, and how they function within the history of art, so stay tuned!’

What questions do you hope your audience will ask themselves after viewing your work?

‘I hope people take a moment to consider their own “two sides of the truth.” Who are you, truly? What lies beneath the masks you wear every day? The Two Sides of the Truth invites viewers to explore the layers of their own personas, accepting what can be complex, dynamic aspects of their own.’

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