Vasilev Dmitrii

The horizon is the visible line of contact of the earth or water surface with the sky, their border. This is an illusion that arises only because the earth has the sphere shape, but in reality, it does not exist, it is impossible to achieve it.

In my work Horizons I work with the concept of boundaries. The border is that which separates one from the other, internally from the external, that is why things and phenomena exist. The search for the meaning of things is connected with demarcations, with the search for qualitative and quantitative boundaries. In my work, I reflect on the possibility of searching for such boundaries, on our subjective perception of demarcations.

I pair the photographs of the surface of Mars made by NASA with the photographs of my body in such a way that the relief of the surface of Mars passes into the relief of my body. Thus, I blur the boundaries between the incredibly distant and the closest, between the living and the inanimate, between my image and the stranger.

— Vasilev Dmitrii, St. Petersburg, Russia

Kazuo Haraya

I walk around my neighborhood almost every weekend with my camera. I point it at views that most people find boring. I find beauty and solitude in those views.

There’s something about documenting a changing city that makes me feel good about myself. Photographing the city means documenting its changes, the changes in the environment and people’s desires and loneliness.

I will continue to photograph the quietly-changing city with my camera.

— Kazuo Haraya, Aichi, Japan

Joan Sorolla

An animal species dominates the world: Homo Sapiens Sapiens. In recent times I have been thinking that we do not deserve that last name. We are a horde of terrifying specimens that eliminates or modifies everything that does not serve us — including what we traditionally call “landscape.”

We can affirm that by modifying the landscape we modify our lives. But we could also construct this phrase in reverse: our lives are being altered because we are changing the conditions of the landscape.

One of the areas of my photographic work tries to approach and denounce this situation. When I speak of “new landscape” I understand, not the consequences of these transformations — that is, the radically altered landscapes — but the landscapes that are been altered at this moment (or at the moment when I captured them with the camera).

I am most interested in capturing the symptoms or the modifications in a first stage, since this way we can better appreciate the magnitude of the tragedy: the moment when the landscape is becoming a “new landscape.”

— Joan Sorolla, La Roca del Vallès, Catalonia

João Henriques


There is always a subjective aspect in landscape, something in the picture that tells us as much about what is in front of the camera, and who is behind it.  — Robert Adams

The inspiration to make these pictures came through this phrase from Robert Adams, a photographer whose pictures were part of the New Topographics exhibition of the 1970’s, in which some paradigms of landscape photography were questioned. The phrase also sums up beautifully the paradox of subjectivity and objectivity in photography.

These images depict the city where I live, Torres Vedras, one of them illustrating specific characteristic of this territory, in its planning, use, morphology, the other having been made immediately after the first, at its opposed plane of 180 degrees. From the second picture comes an aleatory, non-thought, non-determined photography, the pair granting an unexpected association and contrast between the identity of the place, as well as referencing ontological aspects of photography linked to objectivity, subjectivity, and canons of aesthetic reception of the landscape.

— João Henriques, Torres Vedras, Portugal

Luís Aniceto


Margem Sul is a project about my hometown territory on the south side of the Tagus river. Unlike Lisbon, where its political and economic prominence is also built upon its symbolic space, the territories on the south side lack this sovereign, historical and self-referential value in their urbanity. Suburbs were the most used adjective that pointed to a sub-value of its patrimonial reference.

It was in this set of urban places, a-historical and outside the spaces of power and desire, in which the processes of mutation and decomposition generated in the landscape a strange hybridism, that I decided to focus my work. Spaces in which anonymous buildings reign by the vulgar omnipresence of its facades, where cars, victims of accident and abandonment pose mute as useless statuary, but also places that have not yet been and are no longer, that seem suspended, unfinished and therefore renewedly liberating.

— Luís Aniceto, Almada, Portugal

Yiannis Trifonopoulos

Before Your Very Eyes is an idiom that means right in front of you, where you can see something very clearly.

This series attempts to bring out everyday details, such as small street corners, trivial things and various paradoxes, which, although they are in front of our eyes, we do not see.

— Yiannis Trifonopoulos, Kavala, Greece

Stefan Hagen

One Thousand Steps

I record. I record my movements in nature; I record nature.

The photographic process has the unique ability to collect light. I use this with images exposed over an extended period of time: time determined by the space, by my experience in that space. 

While I often focus on the specifics of a place, exploring the momentous light and the shapes of a locale, the series One Thousand Steps focuses on my movement in a place. 

These images are created by exposing a negative while walking 1000 steps in a straight line, focused on one point, mostly the rising or setting sun, our primary source of light. 

While the locale of these walks is defining the colors and approximate shapes in the image, the image becomes also a direct imprint of my movement, the movement of the camera, over the roughly 400 yards I am walking.

— Stefan Hagen, New York City

Jan Töve


The images in my book Night Light are views of dormant small towns and communities during bright nights and dark days. A street lamp, an illuminated window, a neon sign or the light of a summer night sky that never completely fades out. And the opposite: the winter season, when the darkness is grafted onto days early.

Strolling around these night landscapes is a lonely walk. The empty streets, the deserted park benches, the parked cars, the silence, gives a sense that time has stopped, and that the surroundings await a new day’s life and movement.

When you then look at the illuminated windows, the glimmer from TV screens, the silhouettes of people, you are reduced to a viewer, a statist, without a role and a reply. You are absorbed by the darkness, you become a shadow, a stranger. A moth searching for light in a landscape that, compared to the daytime, completely has changed character.

— Jan Töve, Hökerum, Sweden

Tom McGahan

I Am Always Here

I’ve walked the banks of this river for as long as I can remember, looking for something, looking for nothing, looking for her. This landscape is forever changing with every tide, never knowing what it may bring: muddy salty paths never really going anywhere, no destination, no arriving, walk some and maybe more turn back towards home, refreshed, windswept, sunkissed, sore feet, dry mouth, made an image or two, sometimes none.

The Romans came here. Saint Cedd came converting the locals to Christianity from their Pagan ways, and Vikings in their long ships battled here — spilling blood of the local Saxon inhabitants. The local Earl Brythnoth lost his head and like many tales of defeat it became a battle cry of the underdog.

My parents came here in 1971. They both came from Ireland: Mother from County Wexford and my Father from Tyrone in the North. Like many before them looking for a different life, Mum was a nurse and Dad a ground worker, Not long after my sister Theresa was born. I came along in ‘73 and my younger sister Mary Louise in ’79. You could say we were the typical Irish family: Convent educated, Mass on Sundays and to the Pub after, we played here, cried here and made our stories. We too were underdogs.

On my walks along the banks of the Blackwater Estuary I would often meet other solitary walkers. This Landscape with its “big Essex sky” has a very meditative quality, almost featureless. It encourages you to look within. I’m sure as with me much soul searching has been done while trudging along the sea wall, down past Northey Island to Southey Creek, or on the North bank around from Heybridge Basin to Goldhanger or Old Hall Marsh and up to Salcott Cum Virley, and the Blackwater Estuary Reserve. It’s a place where you can get away from it all and walk for hours without seeing a soul, left to your own devices and the sounds of oyster catchers and the rush from a lapwing murmuration.

In 2001 my mother was diagnosed with type 3 breast cancer. It was a deep shock to us all. I was living at home after returning from a stint of working on cruise ships. Sadly mum lost her battle with cancer, like Earl Brythnoth on the banks of the Blackwater. She fought hard but eventually succumbed to her deadly foe. It took a toll on the whole family, which I don’t think we have ever really recovered from.

Mum held things together, she was a kind and gentle woman, great at listening and great at talking. She had a deep faith and was a devoted Catholic although she didn’t like people saying she was religious. I would have said she was a spiritual woman. One of my friends described her as a “ Real Mum.”

During the time of Mum’s treatments and eventual death I frequently walked those salty paths — usually accompanied by her wee Jack Russell, Snoop Doggy Dog — trying to come to terms with the great loss. It was my “go to” place, my retreat. I found something there, something that I had never really lost: a deep connection to everything, my consciousness spilling out from all of my senses touching everything it pervades. It came from nowhere. I wasn’t looking or searching for answers. I was just walking and looking, nothing special, no sitting for hours in the lotus position no navel gazing, although I had done quite a lot of both of those activities.  Christians call it seeing God in everything. Buddhist call it realizing your true nature. I personally don’t think you can put a label on it. It just is.

This Landscape imprints itself onto your soul, and likewise we imprint ourselves onto it.

These images are based around the ideas of solitude, introspection and transcendence.

— Tom McGahan, Tollesbury, Essex, United Kingdom

Vincenzo Pagliuca

mónos is an ongoing project I started in 2015. Solitary houses along the Italian Southern Appennine stand out against the natural environment as monoliths. They are singular and magnetic architectures, photographed in the wintertime and with particular light conditions. They are places of dreams and meditations, which invite us to reflect on the symbolic meaning of the house for human beings.

— Vincenzo Pagliuca, Milan, Italy