PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING HOUSE
Progressive Publishing House (PPH) is a new and dynamic venture dedicated to contemporary photography. The company represents a team of outstanding photographers from round the world, whose works it intends to publish.
But PPH is much more: books designed to showcase documentary photographers who focus on, photojournalism, social issues, life in the street, travel, and so much more - with both enthusiasm and measured sensitivity. The underlying motivation is always to document the infinite variety and beauty of the Globe.
Don't miss this opportunity to see the world through the eyes of both experienced photographers and passionate amateurs. A different look: attractive, professional and vibrant.
Each book is available for print-on-demand, approximately for the price of $25,00.
We're offering you to get the print version from on demand printing house Peecho.
Important: that is a pure service we provide towards our readers, we neither generate any income by selling the print nor have we any influence on the printing service and quality Peecho offers.
The premier monograph in this ambitious series features the work of American photographer Michael Kennedy, and his coverage of Rajasthan, considered the jewel in India’s crown. Kennedy’s 20-year career as a photojournalist allows us to discover a wide array of people and environments, customs and colors, in 28-pages of a highly professional format, with short commentary texts.
PPH already has other editions lined up for this exciting series of monographs, to include The Ghosts of the Memorial, by Roland Groebe, Yorkshire, by Robert Bannister and Berlin/Milano, by Batsceba Hardy from the on-going collection: Where we come from.
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“India called my name last year, and I answered. Actually, India has called my name many times over the years.
Yet I ignored this because I did not want to become clinically depressed by seeing beggars everywhere, cows shitting in the streets, people bathing in the Ganges River while the ashes of newly cremated bodies floated by on the journey to somewhere.
After all, I had already read Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha immediately after listening to The Beatles’ White Album 50 years ago (Oh, my God). Besides, I have racked up countless hours watching Anthony Bourdain as he joyfully took me round the world on the Travel Channel. His loss is so profound.
Regardless, off to India I went a year ago in October.”
Michael Kennedy is an American photographer, writer, and reconteur who lives in Seoul. Although photography has always been his passport into other worlds, he has also managed to write hundreds of love letters to several women with names that begin with “S”.
Call me Kennedy. I am an American - St. Louis born, that baseball and beer-loving city on the milewide Mississippi River.
Early on I knew I wanted to be a writer because writers were elegantly louche.
As St. Louis bad boy William Burroughs sardonically noted, they lounged around Singapore and Bangkok smoking opium in yellow pongee silk suits. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful servant boy and lived in the native quarter of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet gazelle.
This was the life for me.
Yet I showed little academic promise in my youth, barely graduated high school and finally emerged from college after prolonging my adolescence for the better part of a decade in the 1970s. Like many aspiring writers, it made sense to work for newspapers. I had a lively interest in the morbid and the abnormal. I also had an appetite for the extreme and the sensational, for the slimy and the unwholesome. I felt at ease among people who were liars, sluts, crooks, morons, cretins, perverts and obsessives.
Over a 20-year period, I worked for small town American newspapers in Montana, New Mexico and Oklahoma - primarily owned by publishers who were either alcoholics or sex addicts.
This period of life was what I desperately needed, as I tried to put my misspent youth in the rearview mirror. What I had not counted on is how I fell profoundly in love with photography. And, in that bygone era, this meant constant access to Tri-X film, a definition of heaven superior to any previous ideals.
Labels are a drag - yet if I must adhere to a frame of reference for some context, I’ll go with photojournalist - which is inclusive of both documentary and street photography, and allows visuals to compliment and reinforce written discourse.
My days in photojournalism ended over 20 years ago. In fact, I put my cameras away for a decade and had no further connection with my former world.
Yet - true love is what it is, and now I have returned home like Odysseus to find Penelope still waiting for me. That’s a little overly dramatic, because my Canon F-1 from 1976 is now a bookend, and my mainstay system is the Nikon D5300. Yet a Penelope is a Penelope is a Penelope (right, Gertrude?).
The truth is I’m still susceptible to falling in love, and lately I’ve been having a grand time with the Ricoh GR II. Call me a fanboy. I’m delightfully shocked by how lightweight and stealth the camera is for street photography.
And yet the gear doesn’t change my motivation.
I have no profound explanation for why I do what I do ... for why I have this addiction to use a camera to document people on the street doing what they do ... “some are mathematicians, some are carpenters’ wives, don’t know how it all got started, I don’t know what they’re doin’ with their lives.”
To say more would “pluck out the heart of my mystery.” Yet the entire experience is a dazzling reminder of a genuine connection to this human tapestry, full of stories both common and unique, stories full of hope and heartbreak, stories full of solace and souls too soon forgotten, from the streets of Barcelona-to-the streets of Varanasi.
Have camera, will travel.