Portrait Magazine, a digital publication dedicated to portrait photography, has chosen The Hadzabe of Tanzania to be featured in its latest issue amongst six other photographic projects. < Back The Hadzabe in Portrait Magazine 19 Sept 2020 Portrait Magazine, a digital publication dedicated to portrait photography, has chosen The Hadzabe of Tanzania to be featured in its latest issue amongst six other photographic projects. The brainchild of Mexican photojournalist Alex Coghe, the magazine can be purchased here . < Previous Next >

2026 has been a big year for the Vatwa of Angola already - appearing in Rome and Boston - and now getting ready for Melbourne in April < Back 2026 for the Vatwa 8 Jan 2026 2026 has been a big year for the Vatwa of Angola already - appearing in Rome and Boston - and now getting ready for Melbourne in April From 8 April - 6 May 2026 the Vatwa will be on display at Ladder Art Space in Australia. Regarded as the first indigenous inhabitants of the Onconcua region, the Vatwa remain semi-nomadic and grow crops and tend goats within the compounds housing their traditional huts. A select number of curated portraits will be on show in the Kew gallery, highlighting the striking Vatwa women, covered in a red paste of ochre clay, animal fats and lotion that makes their skin shine in the unrelenting sun. < Previous Next >

One of the images in the upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia, has featured in the US magazine Digital Photo as their Photo of the Day. < Back Digital Photo Magazine's photo of the Day 4 May 2017 One of the images in the upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia, has featured in the US magazine Digital Photo as their Photo of the Day. The image of Aman Ipai smoking was taken in his longhouse (uma) doorway using natural light against a dark interior backdrop. < Previous Next >

This walking dichotomy of a young Huli boy - is he turning his back on a traditional way of life, or walking towards his future - has been selected by Rotterdam's Galerie Sehnsucht as part of its Wanderlust exhibition. < Back Huli Boy in Dutch exhibition 5 Jun 2018 This walking dichotomy of a young Huli boy - is he turning his back on a traditional way of life, or walking towards his future - has been selected by Rotterdam's Galerie Sehnsucht as part of its Wanderlust exhibition. The image, taken in the highlands of Papua New Guinea, will be on show in The Netherlands from June 20 through to August 5. < Previous Next >

December sees The Hadzabe of Tanzania continue its world tour in Barcelona, as part of the 6th Biennial of Fine Art & Documentary Photography. < Back 6th Biennial of Fine Art & Documentary Photography 25 Sept 2021 December sees The Hadzabe of Tanzania continue its world tour in Barcelona, as part of the 6th Biennial of Fine Art & Documentary Photography. A curated set of nine portraits will be shown at PhotoNostrum, the largest photography gallery in Spain, whose mission is to increase society’s understanding and appreciation of photography and its evolving role in contemporary culture. < Previous Next >

In the semi-arid East African wilderness just above the Equator live a tribe of nomadic pastoralists called the Samburu. A proud, welcoming people, the Samburu migrated from Sudan in the 16th century, settling north of Mount Kenya in the Rift Valley. TRIBES The Samburu Samburu County, Kenya In the semi-arid East African wilderness just above the Equator live a tribe of nomadic pastoralists called the Samburu. A proud, welcoming people, the Samburu migrated from Sudan in the 16th century, settling north of Mount Kenya in the Rift Valley. < Previous Next >

“When the alarm goes you grab this,” Officer Cadet Dusan said as he pointed to my lifejacket. “And this.” An orange survival suit. “We muster on C Deck, starboard side.” I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that my welcome was bringing up Titanic-like thoughts. < Back Off-grid Ocean Journey New Zealand Herald 5 Feb 2015 “When the alarm goes you grab this,” Officer Cadet Dusan said as he pointed to my lifejacket. “And this.” An orange survival suit. “We muster on C Deck, starboard side.” I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that my welcome was bringing up Titanic-like thoughts. I had just boarded the ANL Bindaree, a Liberian-flagged freighter that was slowly pulling out into the Hauraki Gulf laden with 30,000 tones of freight, 24 crew and 1 other passenger. I was following a little-known tradition of passengers on cargo ships, harking back to the days when cabins were set aside for owners and VIPs. Today they’re taken by people looking for a slow alternative to air travel, who are independent, have time to spare, and who – like me – just want to do something a little different. I’d chosen a rather circuitous route as was pointed out by Adrian, the bemused Chief Engineer. “OK, so you’re leaving here to come back here to go nowhere?” “Uh huh,” I replied. From Auckland around Cape Reinga across the Tasman to Melbourne, up the Australian Coast to Sydney and then into the South Pacific to disembark at Tauranga. The journey would take two weeks. “You are very strange,” he chuckled. Adrian was one of the Bindaree’s band of officers from Croatia, Romania, and Montenegro; the crew were all Filipino. As is maritime tradition there was strict segregation between the officers and the crew including socialising, eating and sleeping. This irked my fellow passenger, Naomi, a Canadian environmental educator, who was telling me so when we were interrupted. “Attention all crew. Attention all crew,” boomed the PA system. “Clocks go back one hour tonight. One hour.” That marked us entering international waters and that meant the Slop Chest was open. The Slop Chest (official name: Bonded Store) was a duty free treasure trove of alcohol, treats and cigarettes. You pick what you want from the checklist, hand a slip to the officer, it gets delivered to your door, and you pay in $US before disembarking. I made the landlubber’s mistake of thinking I was paying US$18 for a dozen Becks beer. 24 bottles turned up. No matter, there was more than enough room in my quarters. Officially the “Owner’s cabin”, I had a dayroom (two couches, table, writing desk and chair, fridge, LG mini-system, DVD player and TV) as well as a bedroom plus shower and toilet. My porthole (ticket note: “View may be restricted by containers”) looked all the way to the bow. As the days went by the low rumble of the engines was occasionally punctuated by the creaking of container lashes. I spent as much time as possible on the Bridge. Being allowed in the Wheelhouse is one of the perks of being a passenger on a merchant ship, but it definitely wasn’t what I expected. Sure, I’d done my research – if watching Captain Phillips counts – but I hadn’t reckoned on was how automated it all was. There is no grand wheel any more; this one was the size of a PlayStation racing control. “Surprised huh?” Third Officer Paul called out with a grin on his face. “Everything is automatic now, see”. He pointed to the navigation console. “Of course, we still do things manually. Every two hours we plot our exact position on the charts behind you. Don’t want anything to go wrong,” he said understatedly, still smiling. As Officer on Watch he wasn’t actually steering the ship; he was checking it was on track. Just to humour me though he opened a small hatch on the bulkhead – out popped a Morse code machine. The following day I joined Chief Officer Aleksandar on the outer Bridge – him with cigarette and coffee in hand, me with sunglasses, both of us looking out to the horizon. “People don’t understand,” he said passionately. “We are the life blood of the world economy!” He jokingly jabbed his finger to his forearm. “No planes, no trains, ever carry as much as economically as us. This is why shipping will never die.” I nodded in agreement. We were heading west at a majestic 14 knots. He opened a small hatch on the bulkhead – out popped a Morse code machine. Seven decks below the powerhouse of the ship thundered on. In the engine room nine turbines pumped out 720RPM of raw power. “140°” said the engineer, “That’s how hot these pipes are. Don’t touch them.” I didn’t need to be told twice. As awesome as all that power was it was a relief to be topside again. My favourite place was at the bow with 250m of container ship behind me, the hypnotic sound of the swell and the gentle rocking of a massive ship. The mornings were fresh and tingly; the afternoon’s hot and tan-worthy. It wasn’t until Day 6 that we saw land again – Australia. The mood on the Bridge noticeably changed and focus replaced humour. It was as if the ship had been given a talking to at half time and came out with guns blazing. In Melbourne I saw first-hand the life-blood of the world economy. Every container was positioned on the deck according to its declared weight, need for power, displacement of cargo and final destination. Massive cranes, hoists and lights worked 24 hours to keep the infrastructure pumping. After ‘shore leave’ I was back up the gangway in time for dinner. Meals were at set times (7-8am, Noon-1pm, 5-6pm) and eating in the Officers’ Mess was a chance to get to know the men onboard. On freighters the meals are dependent on how good a cook you have and ours was good. Chef Leonardo and Messman Rodel invited me into the galley to proudly show off their honey-glazed chicken, Thai-inspired beef and ice-cream sundaes. Evenings were spent chilling. There was time to read, watch DVDs, work out in the gym or just stare out to sea. More than once I caught up with the ship’s Master, Danko Grgurevic, a typically friendly Croatian who was usually dressed in shorts, a company t-shirt and tennis shoes. We arrived in Botany Bay under a full moon. By then I’d learnt that you’re not supposed to take your passport off the vessel when entering another country (oops) and you have to sit at your allocated place at the dining table even when you’re the only person there (oops again). But despite all those idiosyncrasies there was one great benefit: being “off the grid”. No cellphone, no Facebook, no hashtags, no selfies. After another five days we arrived in Tauranga. I left the crew with a few magazines and beers, and descended the gangway one last time. It had been a privileged insight into a rarefied ecosystem, one with rules and norms that could be daunting to the uninitiated. Luckily, I had the best hosts I could have asked for. And I was rather pleased that I never had to put on that orange survival suit. Details Journey: Freighter passenger Ports: Available worldwide (author did Auckland-Melbourne-Sydney-Tauranga) Duration: From 1 week to as long as you like Cost: Budget for $190 per day including transport, accommodation, and meals Require: Passport, Medical Certificate, Indemnity Certificate, Deviation Insurance, Travel Insurance, Ticket Contact: Freighter Travel NZ Ltd, 06 8437702, hamish@freightertravel.co.nz Web: www.freightertravel.co.nz Planning Tip Catching a freighter isn’t like catching a Swiss train. You need to be flexible and have the right temperament. There’s no way to guarantee your departure date because there could be strikes, foul weather, technical problems at ports or diversions at sea (ticket note: “approximate departure date”), so don’t cut your holidays too tight. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

As I left the room, I respectfully bowed my head and thanked my host, Tanjkeara. His wife, Francisca, who I had met at a cock fight had invited me into their home, impressing upon me that her husband spoke English, Dutch and Bahasa. As it was Tanjkeara didn’t say much - he hadn’t since he had died three years ago. < Back The Land of the Toraja Otago Daily Times 1 Nov 2023 As I left the room, I respectfully bowed my head and thanked my host, Tanjkeara. His wife, Francisca, who I had met at a cock fight had invited me into their home, impressing upon me that her husband spoke English, Dutch and Bahasa. As it was Tanjkeara didn’t say much - he hadn’t since he had died three years ago. For the Toraja of southern Sulawesi, death is very much a part of life and their elaborate funeral rites are renowned throughout Indonesia. As per custom, Tanjkeara was being kept in the southern end of the house until he could be buried. For now, he was considered ‘ill’ and was still talked to, brought water and tobacco, and received visitors like me. Ithos, my local guide, explained more. “For us, it is important to honour those who will pass to puja , the afterlife, and to connect between the living and the dead. And here that is very expensive.” Although the Toraja are predominantly Christian – a highlands enclave in the most populous Islamic country in the world – they blend this with Alukta , the ‘old religion’. It is believed that without a traditional tomate funeral ceremony misfortune will come to the family of the deceased. For the high caste that means constructing temporary seating and housing for hundreds of expected guests, feeding and watering the helpers in the months leading up to the funeral, and then the bloody sacrifice of at least 24 buffalo to accompany the deceased to puja . Until then, like Tanjkeara, they rest at home in a coffin. Ithos continued. “After burial, once every three years we remove them to change their clothes, and polish their necklaces, and clean their glasses. This is ma’nene , this is how we look after them.” The exhumed are then returned to their graves which may be in the form of crypts carved into solid rock, coffins hanging from cliffs, or natural ledges in caves. He nodded upward. Sitting quietly in the rock balconies above us, tau tau effigies of the dead reached out with chipped wooden hands. “It is OK, I know it is different for you, but think of it as a celebration not a sad time.” I must have been silent for a while, as Ithos sensed my wonder (or unease) and offered to take me to see his family’s tongkonan for a change of scenery. The drive from the town of Rantepao into the countryside was a pretty one, full of rice paddies and giant bamboo, punctuated only by swerving to avoid dogs sleeping on the road. As we approached his family’s traditional tongkonan my jaw dropped. Intricately carved, elaborately painted, saddleback-roofed houses stood before me, reaching to the sky. That is, until I was corrected. “No no, not those,” smiled Ithos, “They are only alang , rice barns. There are our tongkonan ”. Facing north stood three giant houses, their distinctive shape representing the prows of ships that brought the original Toraja across the Java Sea and up the Sa'dan river. The architectural beauty was only surpassed by the extraordinary number of buffalo horns adorning the front of the house. When it comes to tongkonan size does matter, with social status measured by evidence of sacrificial ceremonies. As luck would have it I was about to find out where all these buffalo came from as the Bolu market was being held in town. The market, held unhelpfully ’every six days’, is a raucous affair of yelling and haggling on top of crowing and grunting. The giant buffalo pen smelt like, well you know, as close inspections started on the most prized white-faced buffalo. The cost? I could pick up a small buffalo to take home for about 14,500,000 Indonesia Rupiah ($1000 US dollars). Something bigger? I'd be dropping a cool 50mil at least. When it comes to tongkonan size does matter, with social status measured by evidence of sacrificial ceremonies. Bolu market is also where a canny Torajan can pick up a winning investment – in the form of a rooster. Although betting on cock fighting is not officially allowed, a blind eye is turned in the case of celebrations or funerals. Before me, men crouched, holding their prized roosters before challenging others to a mock fight (no blades). By proving their rooster’s prowess, through speed and ‘efficiency’, the men get to put more Rupiah in their pocket. Knowing I was keen to explore the countryside, the next morning Ithos took me further into the hills. The name Toraja comes from “People of the uplands” and the geology of region naturally irrigates the numerous rice terraces. As we navigated between paddies the retreating mist gave way to early morning workers, passing slowly under Salamat Datang signs that welcomed visitors to each village. “You like rice?” Ithos asked half-jokingly. “Tonight, I take you to a favourite restaurant for bamboo in chicken.” Not quite knowing where to expect the bamboo to be but always keen to try local delicacies, you can imagine my relief when pa’piong ayam arrived - grilled chicken minced with vegetables and extra hearty Toraja spices, all sitting in a hollowed-out bamboo shoot. As we sat there discussing the price of buffalo, the roar of engines and horns got louder. We looked outside to see a procession of bikes, revved up motors and cheering passengers, slowly making their way up the street. Behind them in a cloud of fumes followed an ambulance. The motorcade was the Torajan way of paying respects to someone who had just died and was being returned to their village. They were now on the first part of their journey to puja , but would first rest in their home, receiving visitors and guests. Details Where: Toraja land, South Sulawesi, Indonesia When: July and August are the drier months when the ma’nene cleaning is held How: Fly into the new Toraja Airport (TRT), one hour’s drive from Rantepao Stay: Toraja Misiliana Hotel, including options to stay in a Toraja Tongkonan Suite Original publication: Otago Daily Times < Previous Next >

One of the most defining images of the Shades of Otara series is spotlit in this month's Royal Photographic Society's Journal. < Back Otara in the Royal Photographic Society Journal 9 Mar 2018 One of the most defining images of the Shades of Otara series is spotlit in this month's Royal Photographic Society's Journal. The image of a young man resting on a pile of crates he has just unloaded. There is something balanced about his physical exhaustion and the girl in the background, licking an ice-cream as if it was her reward for his hard work. < Previous Next >

PROJECTS Colour Nature Manurewa, New Zealand During the dark days of the Coronavirus pandemic this series echoed Henri Matisse, "There are always flowers for those who want to see them". The images, each taken at the Auckland Botanic Gardens with only natural light, are a microcosm of hope and the future, of growth and life. The collection is a digitisation of beauty, not beauty itself, highlighting the power of a singular image at its most pared back simplicity. Previous Next

We’d been in the village for less than half an hour before we were propositioned. Usually, I’m a little wary of strangers inviting me to their house but the tall man in the grey hoodie insisted. “It’s only three minutes away,” he said with a straight face and slight accent. “You should come.” So we slowly followed him down the road. < Back Magical Māpua The Press 29 Sept 2025 We’d been in the village for less than half an hour before we were propositioned. Usually, I’m a little wary of strangers inviting me to their house but the tall man in the grey hoodie insisted. “It’s only three minutes away,” he said with a straight face and slight accent. “You should come.” So we slowly followed him down the road. Not that there was anything to worry about. The inviting local was one of the Māpua’s many talented craftspeople, industrial designer Sebastian Roccatagliata. In the workshop below his house, he pointed to thin boards of rimu, matai, and rewarewa, ready to be crafted into lamps for his Studio Deco Design showroom. Sebastian, like many of Māpua’s residents, had moved here for the lifestyle and natural beauty. The name says it all: Māpua means ‘a place of abundance’ in Māori. Only 30 minutes from Nelson, the township is best known for the historic and revitalised Māpua Wharf – an eclectic mix of boutiques, restaurants, bars, galleries, and a bike hire shop. “You want a step thru? A hardtail?” Establishing that I was a novice, the staff at Kiwi Journeys carefully wheeled out my first e-bike. “Go round to the left, between the buildings, down the ramp, onto the sand, we’ll meet you there. We drive the ferry too.” The flat-bottomed Māpua Ferry is the cycle-friendly link to nearby Rabbit Island and the only ferry crossing on New Zealand’s cycle trail. It took a whole five minutes to get to the other side. “See you in a few hours” came the cheery wave and off we went, doing a majestic 20kph with the help of eco and sport modes, peddling the coast track before heading towards the beach. Beyond the protected bird nests lay total solitude, undisturbed sand as far as the eye could see. Further inland we doubled back though the pine forest, navigating pinecones and debris before taking on the Conifer Park Track. Along the way we came across other cyclists who were doing the Great Taste Trail, one of the Ngā Haerenga Great Rides of New Zealand. Once back in Māpua it was time to eat, and The Jellyfish’s sun deck was calling. Located in a prime position on the wharf this well-regarded restaurant was bustling despite the chilly spring day. I rued not choosing the BBQ brisket dripping in caramelised onion that she-who-doesn’t-like-to-share ordered. Oh well, there was always Hamish the heron to watch on the pier (spoiler alert: it took me a while to figure out Hamish is not a real bird). Not far from the restaurant are the old apple coolstores, now converted into an art lover’s paradise. Where once 100,000 cases of Granny Smiths and Galas sat ready to be exported, today it is pīwakawaka sculptures of recycled spoons (Forest Fusion), hand-painted scarfs (The Mapua Collective), and mini terracotta vases (Coolstore Gallery) that take pride of place. But it was a pop of fuchsia nearby that caught my eye. The brightly painted beacon that is Kandē was a magnet to my oh-so-sweet tooth . Seated behind the smallest counter in the world was college student Aidan Porch, purveying jars of Grow Some Balls and Stop the Whining Gums . “How would I describe this shop? Small!” he laughed, going on to explain that the candy store was a family affair - built by him and his dad, with mum doing the ordering – giving him the flexibility to work when he can. Like many seaside towns, opening hours in Māpua vary by season : the Golden Bear Brewing Company was still ‘hibernating’ in early September; the ferry timetable was operating on winter hours (weekends / school holidays); and many of the pop-up shops hadn’t popped-up yet. Thankfully this wasn’t the case everywhere. “Open every day but Christmas,” shouted Tim over the Wega coffee machine at Java Hut, a little further up Aranui Road. Complete with self-identifying grumpy old men sitting out front and an overflowing tippo-potamus, it was obvious that Java Hut is a local’s local. “I love it when we get visitors, but there’s more to Māpua than just the wharf.” He wasn’t wrong. Staying in a converted warehouse apartment at Pohutukawa Farm, with its expansive views of tidal Waimea Inlet framed by the distant snowy ranges, it was easy to forget how much the wider area had to offer. In a region renowned for its wines we headed to Moutere Hills Restaurant & Cellar Door in search of lunch. Mistake #1 : not making a booking during a potentially busy period (I’m looking at you, Fathers’ Day). Mistake #2 : not giving ourselves enough time to take in the surrounds. We laser focused in on deserts. Dark Chocolate Ganache Tart? Yes please. Orange Cake, Safron Gel and Aquafaba Meringue? We’ll have that too. A trio of Feijoa Cake Limoncello, Tiramisu, and Ginger Loaf Icecream? Go on then. It’s fair to say that we didn’t have dinner. We had one last stop though: Brook Waimārama Sanctuary, a shortish drive away. The South Island’s biggest predator-free sanctuary is home to 65 tuatara and 41 kiwi pukupuku (Little Spotted Kiwi), as well as the critically endangered kākāriki-karaka (orange-fronted parakeet). We were warmly welcomed to the visitor centre by Chris McCormack, CEO, enthusiastic conservationist, and our tour guide for the night. Red-light head torches on, puffers zipped up, we headed through the double doors into the forest valley. A few hundred metres in Chris froze. “Hear that?” he urgently whispered, “It’s a male.” A high-pitched whistle. A pause, and then another one. “No, he’s a different male.” Then a lower call, slower, a short of trill. “Wow, she’s responding! That’s two kiwi males and a female you’ve just heard”. This was going to be hard to beat. We followed the path through the sanctuary, Chris shining an infrared light to bring the hidden glowworms alive, stopping occasionally to open a wooden ‘weta hotel’ (it’s OK, they’re in cases). This time there was a sharp “Shhh”. Leaves rustled to our right. Then suddenly, out popped a kiwi pukupuku metres from us and shot up the side of the path, it’s powerful legs too quick for us to get a photo, its soft shaggy feathers shining in the full moonlight. We were stunned. To see this taonga in its natural habitat really did feel like an honour. “That has never happened on a tour,” Chris said, when we all got our breath back. The wide smiles continued all the way back to Māpua. The next morning, still excited about our kiwi encounter, we coffee’d in Māpua one last time. As we left the wharf we passed Sebastian’s lighting showroom, his whale-shaped lights still on, grateful that this stranger had taken the time to proposition us. Original publication: The Press < Previous Next >

Guy Needham's inaugural exhibition in Portugal, Os Dani, opened in Lisboa this weekend hosted by PsiRelacional and Incubator Photo Gallery. < Back Exposição os Dani 23 Sept 2025 Guy Needham's inaugural exhibition in Portugal, Os Dani, opened in Lisboa this weekend hosted by PsiRelacional and Incubator Photo Gallery. The opening night included a dialogue on "Art, Identities and Psychoanalysis", with a discussion on the role of norms, customs, and social cohesion in different societies. The exhibtiion runs for a month and has limited edition books available on The Dani exhibition in both English and Portuguese. < Previous Next >