DEFINITION 013 | THAT WHICH MATTERS MOST

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BY JONAS DYHR RASK

In definition 005 I wrote about my day job as a medical professional. I’m an M.D. G.P.

But I don’t want to write about my profession again. I did that already, and nothing has really changed. CoVid19 is just another disease, another problem I need to solve, another task I need to complete. It is, as they say, business as usual. 

But something else has changed. Something unrelated to my profession, yet so intimately linked to it. 

The world around me has changed. CoVid19 prompts for swift actions on a global scale. They are not medical actions, they are social actions, and as such they have social consequences rather than medical. 

These lockdown periods are sweeping away the feet on which many people balance their livelihood as photographers and creatives. 
It’s not the disease, it’s the means by which the world has chosen to try and stop it. 

It’s definitely the right path to tread, but that doesn’t make it less filled with sharp rocks and spiky thorns.

This disease will end up costing more than we as a global society can possibly fathom, but it will also bring us something that a lot of us have possibly forgotten about in our race towards our-end-of-life.

I cannot remember the last time I have felt so intimately linked to my wife and my children. I cannot remember how long it has been since I had such a deep worry in my gut regarding the health of my parents.

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I’ve always prided myself as being a family man, but this past month of lockdown have shown me that there’s a layer above this. A layer of absolute intimacy in every moment spent with those that you love. A true appreciation of what I am so fortunate to have, and what can so easily be lost. 

Economies will crumble, jobs will end.
But that which bring meaning to my life is right here, right now. Right beside me. 

And that’s really all I need. 

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Definition 012 | STAY AT HOME

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PHOTOGRAPHY & TEXT BY KEVIN MULLINS

“Sometimes I get to feelin’
I was back in the old days, long ago
When we were kids, when we were young
Things seemed so perfect, you know?
The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young
The sun was always shinin’, we just lived for fun
Sometimes it seems like lately, I just don’t know
The rest of my life’s been, just a show”
— Queen
We’ve had quite a bit of this

We’ve had quite a bit of this

Well these are the days of our lives, for sure.

This event will certainly affect my business as a professional wedding photographer massively (no work for me from the end of February to at least September), I’m reminding myself constantly that, I’m in a far better position than many.

Whilst governments around the world use this to score political points, and I’m cocooned in my house, there are people with no roof over their head, no access to water or medical care. I consider myself lucky in that respect.

I don’t have any client work to do, so Neale James and myself have decided to publish our Podcast daily in an attempt to bring some normality to our listeners days. Do listen if you can – you can find it on all good podcast networks by searching for The FujiCast.

March 22nd 2020 - Not Going Out

March 22nd 2020 - Not Going Out

It’s not just a case of staring at the wall

It’s not just a case of staring at the wall

As many have discovered, spending time at home with the family has been rather therapeutic. I’ve been spending this first week or so rearranging weddings and sorting out mortgage holidays and fighting with the government over my [not happening] business grants.

And because of that, I’ve not had the inclination to document this time. I just haven’t felt the passion for it. However, I have forced myself to take a few snaps. Albie and I have played about a bazillion games of chess – which I adore.

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Gemma and I have been amazed at how well our two are playing with each other and celebrating the time together, rather than fighting in any sense at all. It’s difficult, of course it is, but as a family, I feel like we are stronger.

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We are not on the coalface, like the Chinese were, or my European brothers in Italy and Spain are now, nor like the USA are about to be.

I’ve also taken a few moody portraits of the kids as I pretend to be David Bailey.

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We are lucky, again, in that respect.

This series was meant to be about our definitions and one thing is for sure, we are all, every person on the planet, being defined somewhat now.

This will end, soon enough. When it does, let’s not forget the love.

In the meantime, here’s a picture of my whippet. She doesn’t seem to be affected at all.

KM.

Breezy the Whippet

Breezy the Whippet

DEFINITION 011 | 60 JOURS 60 NUITS

By Vincent Baldensperger

Blanc. Vous aimez le blanc ? Son silence, son goût, sa légèreté, sa douceur, son parfum ? Blanc. On en passera des nuits blanches dans le blanc des yeux de la Liberté, on essayera de se souvenir de sa couleur, on oubliera ce mariage cousu de fil blanc. On continue la danse quitte à saigner à blanc le présent ou l’on dégaine le drapeau blanc ? Finis les chèques en blanc, va falloir montrer une putain de patte blanche et marquer ce printemps d’une pierre toute aussi blanche. Elle est là, éblouissante, la Liberté, notre page blanche. 60 jours, 60 nuits pour la réinventer…

Flamboyante lorsque le soleil s’affaisse entre les rues désertes, le silence gagnant du terrain, bâillonnant les cités. Etourdissante, vertigineuse au changement de tempo. Fulgurante, fascinante de possibles. De ces premiers bouleversements, ici, à quelques mètres, dans cette rue où trois enfants rient en pédalant, naissent des improvisations musicales, des lectures, des discussions passionnées ou légères, des partages, de l’entraide, des découvertes, des sourires. Des petits riens, de grands espoirs entre voisins, de fascinantes pousses d’une Liberté blanche comme neige. Merci à vous.

Definition 010 | The Story Of Her Beauty

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PHOTOGRAPHY & TEXT BY DEREK CLARK

There is only a handful of things that defines me and most of them involve photography. I spoke about street photography in my first Definitions post last month, which is a form of documentary photography. But I also like straight-up photojournalistic stories that are plain and simple, with no frills. What you see is how it was, and all the better if it has an impact on the viewer.

Documentary photographers have to keep their eyes and ears open for opportunities to tell someone’s story. It’s very easy to miss the chance of a good story simply because you were not paying attention to the signs in front of you. Almira simply wanted a portrait taken the night before her operation. She was about to go through gruelling surgery that would be life-changing and the outcome was uncertain. This is the story of her beauty, a title I got from a conversation with Almira.

Almira’s body language shows the apprehension the night before the operation

Almira’s body language shows the apprehension the night before the operation

Almira contracted German Measles when she was just a few months old in the Philippines, which led to facial disfigurement. An operation was performed many years ago that involved inserting a piece of bone into her jaw, but that bone started to grow and it began to restrict movement. Eating would become a problem unless she received an operation to fix this. She has lived in Scotland for many years with her husband Alex, and although it has taken almost 5 years, the operation was finally scheduled.

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We left for the hospital the following morning at 6 am, setting off early in case of traffic but arriving so early that the nurses had not even started their shift. We waited outside the ward, mostly in silence. When the nurse finally opened the door and led Almira and Alex down the corridor to the waiting room, she explained that the ward was empty because no other surgeries were scheduled for that day. She joked with Almira about how special she was to get the full unit dedicated to her. The nurse let Almira and Alex say their goodbyes and then led her off down the corridor until they were both gone.

Queen Elizabeth II Hospital

Queen Elizabeth II Hospital

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A nurse leads Almira down a corridor toward the operating theatre

A nurse leads Almira down a corridor toward the operating theatre

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The surgery to repair Almira's jaw with titanium was scheduled to last 5 or 6 hours, but she was in theatre for a total of 13 hours. The following day we arrived at the hospital to find Almira asleep on the bed. She looked like she had been through a war, battered, bruised and swollen. She woke-up and was helped to straighten up on the bed, still drugged heavily, but possibly not heavily enough. She struggled to eat some chocolate mousse, which along with soup and ice cream, would be her only food for the foreseeable future.

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Almira was discharged the following day. It was hard to believe the difference from when I had last seen her the day before propped up and looking like she had been used as a punching bag. As she entered the elevator and looked in the mirror, it was as though she was staring into the face of a long lost sister. She held on to a tub of ice cream, even though it would be melted by the time she got home.

Almira stares at her face in the elevator mirror

Almira stares at her face in the elevator mirror

Almira walks up the stairs at her house

Almira walks up the stairs at her house

Almira shows pictures on her phone from when she was a baby - before the German Measles attack.

Almira shows pictures on her phone from when she was a baby - before the German Measles attack.

Almira was back at the hospital a week later to have the staples removed from her head and the stitches from her face. The surgeon had made incisions each side of her eyes and packed them so that each eye would be more level. The wound ran from almost the top of her head down the front of her ear, with a second scar on her jaw.

She had suffered a lot of pain to get this far and she was anxious about the staples being removed. The nurse gently parted her hair to reveal the scar and then proceeded to remove the staples one by one. Almira held the second nurse's hand and gripped it even more tightly each time a staple was removed, her swollen face grimacing with the discomfort. When the staples had been removed the nurse then started to snip each suture, before removing it with tweezers.

Almira anxiously waits for the staples to be removed from her head, and the sutures from her jaw and next to her eye.

Almira anxiously waits for the staples to be removed from her head, and the sutures from her jaw and next to her eye.

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When it was over, Almira looked relieved with an almost child-like expression. It was the end of this procedure. But there may be more surgery needed in the future. For now, all that was left was to heal and have the braces removed from her teeth that were fitted to hold everything together during the operation.

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Almira - March 2020

Thanks to Almira for allowing the world to see her at her most vulnerable. People have to throw vanity out of the window to allow documentary photographers to tell real stories. That takes real bravery.

A special thanks to all the people that make the UK’s health service one of the best in the world. We are on the brink of the most devastating health crisis in over 100 years, and even though the NHS has been getting underfunded for the past decade, the amazing doctors, nurses and all the other staff will give everything. Sadly for some that could mean giving their lives.

Definition 009 | It Would Not See Colour

By Patrick La Roque

Well, this took a turn. I was initially going deeper into self-examination for this essay, writing down thoughts about the fluidity of identity, not yet exactly sure of the angle but getting there, slowly. And then the words suddenly felt...claustrophobic.

The concept of how we define ourselves is immense. It branches out from our private thoughts, to our perception of others through language and culture; to tribes and to nations. As we can now see all too clearly however, these are nothing but shells. Ultimately we’re not red or white or black or blue; we’re not doctors or kings. We’re not even photographers. We’re a collection of atoms, all of us assembled according to a single blueprint. All of us carrying the same design flaws.

It’s humbling, this virus. It lays waste to class and to borders and makeshift walls. It equalizes. It levels. It does not differentiate. It attacks a single organism…
Us.
One identity.

...

I don’t scare easily. But I admit being afraid for my friends, my family. I admit being terrified for my kids. So yes, this story took a turn. I shot multiple exposures, then I scribbled and painted on the images in an attempt at exorcism. 

It doesn’t define anything.
It might express something. 

Definition 008 | Hanging up the Cape

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By Bert Stephani

Let me tell you a secret … I’m a superhero. At least I used to be one until a couple of years ago. My superpower to solve pretty much anything: work harder and longer. There was always more of that unlimited supply of energy. But then, one day, I was flying high as usual, right arm stretched forward, left arm along my body, my cape flapping in the wind … bam … I hit a wall and tumbled from the sky. Who would have thought they build walls in the sky?

After spending some time on the earth, dazed and confused, I started to feel a bit better. I raised my right arm again … but … nothing.
It took me a while to realize that I’m a mere mortal right now. I slowly got to grips with the fact that my energy supply is not endless. From time to time, I still forget. But I got better at it and I started to find my way in this human life.

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Lately I’ve been finding peace and beauty in the imperfection. Surprisingly, accepting that my energy is limited, gives me more energy than ever. A different energy, calm, steady and more profound.

Every now and then, I look at my old superhero cape and think of all the great adventures I had wearing it. But I’m completely fine with entering a new chapter. I’m actually looking forward to what this mortal life will bring.

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DEFINITION 007 | EQUANIMITY /

BY DOMINIQUE SHAW

The months of February and March have long been scheduled loosely in the diary as relative down time - a period of comparative relaxation and reflection, a time to refresh body and mind after an intense wedding season, consider where to take my work next and come back ready to do it all over again better than I ever have before.

This downtime has in fact been an annually recurring fixture in the diary year after year and has, at the more stressful of times, served as the light at the end of the tunnel; only by now such has been the predictable unpredictability of our schedule that this period has gained its own seasonal nickname amongst our small family unit: “The Era Of Good Intent.”

Suffice to say that any notion of down time has, once again, moved so far down the timeline of the day that it’s no longer even visible in the diary and right now the wedding season looks like an absolute oasis of calm in comparison. Don’t get me wrong - the presently frenetic nature of my life is all in pursuit of exciting causes, but never has quiet time thundered quite so deafeningly in my ears.

And so right now I find myself reflecting backwards instead of forwards to find that fleeting essence of tranquility; back to another frantic “period of relaxation” in which I somehow found myself in a New York apartment desperately collating a ‘body of’ my New York street photography ready to present to one of my photographic heroes, Alex Webb. The body of work in question so far was based around a day and a half of actually being in the city and maybe one image I might, at a push, be persuaded to actually show…

That New York trip was defined not by the familiar beating pressure of spiralling events though but by quite the opposite. What idle force possessed me to rise and wander solo through the streets of Brooklyn at 3am with an expensive camera in hand I’ll never know, but somehow, well before the crack of dawn one night, I found myself floating across the waters on the Staten Island Ferry, X-T1 in hand.

I don’t know how many hours passed on that boat but there I stayed, travelling back and forth as individual passengers got on and off to carry on whatever strange business might have brought them out at this unseen hour of the day: the creatures of the New York night. But there were no night terrors here, there was, strangely, only a curious sense of peace. 

With the New York skyline illuminated by the breaking dawn a beautiful quiet and stillness came over that boat. Right there in that moment without a single distraction in my mind I somehow gained more of an understanding with my camera that I hadn’t felt before and an unspoken connection to these total strangers that became integral to how I have approached all of my subsequent work. 

For those brief hours, in a sea of upturned good intent, I found equanimity. And when the frantic buzz of everyday life echoes all too loud in the ears the photographs I took that day serve as my place of solace.

Definition 006 | Home is where the art is

Definition 006 | Home is where the art is

I seem to be accumulating identities.

When we first started talking about this project for 2020, I thought I knew what it meant, more or less.

But the reality is, I don’t find it much easier to define myself now than I did at the end of high school, when we were supposed to be choosing careers, and figuring out our plans. I mean, I know what I do, and where I’m from, and where I live - but are any of those defining…?

DEFINITION 005 | ALWAYS COMFORT

BY JONAS DYHR RASK

“To cure sometimes, to relieve often, to comfort always”
— Dr. Edward Trudeau

I knew since I was around 15 years old.
Because of my mothers occupation, the dinner table discussions always seemed to turn into discussions of healthcare issues.
It moulded me. It directed me.

It was different times back then. I could actually go visit my mother when she had her shifts. It was so fascinating for a kid like me. The Logistics. The sector. The staff.

But most of all - The patients. Their destined temporary habitat. Their transition from healthy to sick and hopefully into recovery.

I felt the need to help them. I wanted to be there for them. I wanted to hear their stories.

It was a long path to tread. Sometimes steep, sometimes bendy, sometimes downhill.

For 15 years it was life defining. My life. My present, and my future.

It was not only a path of education, but a path of developing my identity. During my walk along the path I became a father, a husband and a home owner. I didn’t look back. Only forward. I kept pushing.

I succeeded. I saw it through!

Not to be able to tell stories, but to experience them. To witness the absolute miracle of new born life. To experience the absolute horror of terminal illness. To experience everything in between.

I am a trusted firsthand witness to the life of many.

Always comforting.

Often relieving.

Sometimes curing.

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All images shot on the Fujifilm X100V

DEFINITION 004 | HOPE PREVAILS

BY KEVIN MULLINS

“But he could not bring himself to say he loved her; not in so many words.”
— Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

We have become defined, in Britain, at least, more so over the last three years than any other time in my living memory.

There are swings and roundabouts, there are ups and downs, there are good and bad, there is love and hate and there is social politics on a grand scale.

Either side of our barriers are words of wisdom, correctness, wrongness and ego.

What is defining me right now?

Being me. My family. Our lovely world. Our love for each other as humans.

In Britain, we have developed a sense of magnitude, perhaps.

A sense of fortitude, maybe?

Even, incongruously , a sense of independent structure.

But wherever I look, whatever I see, Britain, and British people are still the same.

Family first.

Crazy dips in the Ocean in winter.

Dogs.

Holding hands, supporting each other.

And for everything else, there is always a nice cup of tea.