Candombe by Eduardo Storch

As I have already commented in a previous publication, the Uruguayan carnival is a very important part of popular culture and has its own, extremely typical characteristics centered on the “candombe”.“Candombe” was the most important and significant dance and musical-religious expression of the Afro collective, and continues to be one of the most eloquent musical expressions, having spread in such a way to the entire society, that it is one of the cultural elements that identifies the country.

The slaves who were brought to the country, as well as their descendants, maintained the traditions of Africa, with their dances and drums that, over time, have merged with different musical styles until acquiring the current rhythm.

Although “candombe” is played all year round in the Montevideo neighborhoods and also in other cities in the country, the epicenter is especially in the “Sur neighborhood” and the “Palermo neighborhood” of the capital, where during the 19th and 20th centuries there were many groups of African descendant families.

“Candombe” has become synonymous with Uruguay, to such an extent that it has been declared an “Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity” by UNESCO, and on December 3, it is especially celebrated with various cultural and musical events.

People go out to dance in “comparsas”, which are groups made up of a large group of drums, preceded by dancers and typical characters from the time of slavery, such as the old mama, the healer or sorcerer and the broomstick, accompanied of banners and flags.

With the beating of the drums, people of all ages celebrate and dance to this happy and contagious rhythm that resonates very loudly inside the chest, in a very exciting and stimulating way.

As National Candombe Day is something very local, there are few tourists, there are no barriers or boxes for spectators and one can mingle in the middle of the troupes, walk alongside them in the parade, get very close to the people, which It allows me to take very close portraits and even to those of us who take a lot of street photos, come to recognize people from previous shows, with whom we can talk and share photos.

For me, the audience is a very important part of the show, as well as those who offer drinks

Eduardo Storch

Close-up by Eduardo Storch

Recently, I have been striving to improve my ability to establish closer connections with people. As a part of this endeavor, I have started experimenting with taking close-up street portraits. Here are some of the portraits that I captured during the last pride parade in Montevideo.

Eduardo Storch

Orange by Rene Geensen

Why do the Dutch wear orange? The answer is simple: Orange is the color of the Dutch Royal Family, which hails from the House of Orange (Huis van Oranje) and has thus become the national color.

But how did orange become the national color of the Netherlands? It all started with Willem of Orange, who was born as Willem of Nassau-Dillenburg in 1533. At the age of 11, he inherited the Principality of Orange located in the south of France, which made him a sovereign monarch. After leading the Dutch revolt against Spain, Willem of Orange-Nassau became known as Willem of Orange. When he successfully captured the city of Den Briel from Spain, people began using orange as a symbolic color for the first time. Today, he is considered the Father of the Fatherland, and Dutch people wear orange as a symbol of national unity and pride.

King's Day is one of the most celebrated parties in the Netherlands as the Dutch people love a good party. It's a national holiday that commemorates King Willem-Alexander's birthday with music, dancing, fun fairs, and flea markets. It's a tradition to dress up in orange during this festive occasion. If you're in the Netherlands, King's Day is a must-attend event that you wouldn't want to miss out on!

Before the Dutch monarchy was passed down to King Willem-Alexander, Queen Beatrix was the head of state and Queen's Day was celebrated on 30 April. However, since 2014, the holiday has been renamed King's Day to reflect the new monarch's gender and is now celebrated on 27 April by everyone in the Netherlands, including the royal family.

Every year, it is a tradition for the Dutch King and his family to visit a different municipality in the Netherlands. This allows the locals to showcase their city and the surrounding areas in their unique and festive way. In recent years, cities like Eindhoven, Maastricht, and Amersfoort have been chosen to be the backdrop for this joyous day of celebration. Most spectators dress in orange from head to toe and proudly wave Dutch flags or paint the small tricolour on their cheeks.

King's Day is celebrated across the country with great enthusiasm, offering visitors of all ages a multitude of events and activities to enjoy. One of the most popular traditions is visiting flea markets, where you can score great second-hand items and sample homemade delicacies sold by residents at very reasonable prices. These markets can be found in most cities and towns. If you want to experience this for yourself, why not visit the flea market in Utrecht and take a stroll along the canals to observe the festively decorated boats? There are also numerous parties and performances in the city's squares, such as Domplein, Lucasbolwerk, Mariaplaats, Neude, and Janskerkhof. Regardless of which city you choose to visit on April 27th, you are sure to have a blast. Fun fairs are held throughout the country, and you can partake in traditional Dutch games such as bite-the-cake and throwing toilet bowls, among others. Celebrations in the Netherlands are not just limited to King's Day. We highly recommend being there during the so-called King's Night as well, which takes place on the night before King's Day. In many cities across the country, King's Night is celebrated with great enthusiasm. You can enjoy live music in pubs and on the streets, and DJs play in restaurants or clubs. It is a fun and friendly evening for dancing and celebrating together ahead of the King's birthday. There are also numerous free festivals you can visit during King's Night, such as The Life I Live-festival in the royal city of The Hague, the Deventer King's festival in Deventer, the Royal Dutch in Eindhoven, and the Foute Oranjefeest in Arnhem. If festivals aren’t your thing, you can have a great time at the many pubs, bars, and squares where you can enjoy a fun night out.

Rene Geensen

Fresh Eyes in Nottingham England by Eric Davidove

After spending 17 days in Iceland, my domestic partner and I went to Nottingham to spend time with her sister and two nieces who recently relocated from Hong Kong. Nottingham is located 110 miles (180 km) north-west of London, and is the legendary home of Robin Hood and to the lace-making, bicycle and tobacco industries.

I lived in London for a certain period, until 2009 and visited many cities in the UK, but never made it to Nottingham. We planned to spend time in London before heading back to our home in California USA. Going to London was an exciting idea because it’s a well known location for Street Photography. Unfortunately, I was not a Street Photographer when I lived in London and have had a strong desire to return with my camera. Nottingham, on the other hand, was not a location where I was expecting to get very good street photos and I arrived with extremely low enthusiasm.

To my great surprise, Nottingham turned out to be an excellent Street Photography location for me. The city is not too large, had plenty of sunshine, provided interesting backgrounds and architecture, attracted a relatively good amount of foot traffic, has gathering points where people sit and stand still, was not too touristy, and the city centre is a safe place to walk around with a camera. The main challenge was being discrete and taking photos without upsetting people. I saw only one other person using a camera in the city centre during my two week visit. I stood out like a sore thumb. My brightly colored winter puffy jacket didn’t help in this regard!

Using my camera in an unfamiliar city was very helpful. You see, I tend to explore the same locations over and over again when using my camera and searching for street scenes in San Francisco (the place where I usually take street photos). I tend to go to the locations where I had previously taken good street photos, hoping to repeat that success again. At times, I get bored of shooting in San Francisco and this prevents me from seeing the city with fresh eyes. In San Francisco, because I go there so often, my occasional lack of enthusiasm is counter productive, and my self-restricted route tends to block my artistic flow.

Nottingham opened my eyes, provided a fresh and unique opportunity, and taught me a very important lesson. When using my camera in familiar locations, I will try to act and feel as if it’s my first time in the locations. In addition, I will endeavor to expand my photography territory, explore new streets, rather than taking photos on only the streets where I had some prior success.

Here are some of my favorite street photos from Nottingham during my stay in October 2023.

Eric Davidove

Tattoo artists and tattooed people by Alberto M. Melis

Body art enthusiasts maintain that tattoos represent today, in the Western world, the ideal symbiosis between archaism and modernity. That is, the perfect contamination between flesh and technology, between skin and ink, between magical symbols and steel needles. A suspended bridge between past and future that everyone is free to cross, each with their own ideas and motivations.

Some people just follow what has become an almost unstoppable trend over the years, some with the illusion of standing out from the crowd, some as an individual act of rebellion and some to emphasize their own identity or invent a new one.

A universe that is found every year in Festivals or Conventions dedicated to the art of tattooing, showcases and meeting opportunities for an increasingly wider segment of the population. There are at least 9 million people tattooed in Italy, 60 million in Europe, more than one hundred million between the United States and Canada. A vast community which, after the dark years of Covid19, had the opportunity to meet again.

The Tattoo Convention which took place in September in Cagliari, Sardinia (the thirteenth edition, 150 artists from all over the world), is the one where I took these photos. Searching in the intimacy of the individual workshops for the key to better understanding the relationship between the artist, the tattoo artist, and the person who entrusts the canvas of his body into his hands, the tattooed person, in a relationship that is always particularly intimate.

The relationship between a tattoo artist and the tattooed person is never one-way. The tattoo artist is not just the artist who imprints signs and colours on the human canvas and the tattooed person is not the passive recipient of the work imprinted on the skin, whatever style, size and artistic value it may have. Complicity and sharing exist between the two, first in the choice of the tattoo and its location on the body, and then throughout the time necessary to achieve the final objective. This extraordinary empathy between tattoo artist and tattooed person is preserved in the silence that usually accompanies the artist's work. A silence in which every slightest pressure of the needle on the skin is accompanied by the silent sensations of the person lying on the bed, which often shine through on their face.

It is said that getting tattooed, especially in the case of large tattoos, means entrusting yourself completely to the man or woman holding the needle in their hand. And together it means pain, gratification, sometimes intense pleasure, sometimes rushes of endorphins and adrenaline. Just as, sometimes, photographic images also bear witness.

Alberto M. Melis

"La Noche de la Nostalgia" by Eduardo Storch

This time I want to share a sociocultural event that greatly defines the profile of Uruguayans who, unlike what happens with people from many countries, are quite nostalgic.

In this small country with less than 3.5 million inhabitants, more than 600,000 people of all ages usually go out to celebrate the "Night of Nostalgia" every year on August 24.

In 1978, on the eve of the non-working holiday of August 25, the date of the country's Declaration of Independence, a businessman, director and radio DJ organized a party called "Old Music Hits", aimed to remember and dance with the musical hits of past years, which he called "La Noche de la Nostalgia" (The night of Nostalgia)

In this country, with the oldest population in Latin America, where people do not usually dress as colorfully as in other places, and where even the lyrics of tangos are usually sad and sentimental, nostalgia is celebrated, surpassing the movement of the end of the year festivities and, since 2004, even the Ministry of Tourism promotes it as a tourist attraction abroad.

On that date, a large number of parties are organized in discotheques, nightclubs and tents to dance with the music of the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s, and over the years, various businessmen from the entertainment sector, as well as friends or relatives, began to celebrate “nostalgia parties”.

Over time, what was originally only a celebration with "old musical hits", has become an event that ranges from parties for different audiences and dinner shows, being a business opportunity in the field of entertainment, restaurants, nightclubs, security services, transportation, hotels and others. The use of taxis or rental cars increases by 80% compared to normal days.

On that night, the work in women's hairdressers stands out, as well as the sale of women's underwear and other lingerie products, because over time, this festivity has become strikingly eroticized, being this fact the central motive of this story, in which I want to show how the windows of the stores are decorated for that event with special offers for that day's purchases.

The large lingerie houses, whether foreign or national brands, are in the big shopping centers, where taking pictures is not allowed. In any case I have obtained a few, but I have concentrated on the stores distributed in different parts of the city, and has allowed me to stay on the street, which is my environment par excellence.

This year, the celebration was very reduced, due to the fact that the non-working holiday of August 25, was on Friday, and thousands of people traveled to Buenos Aires, due to the tremendous exchange difference with our neighbors.

In any case, many of those who remained here went out to dance and many like to wear costumes. People often drink more than usual, some consume drugs, and despite the warnings from the authorities and the reinforced police controls in the streets and on the roads, some of the festivities at that night turn into tragedies at dawn…

Eduardo Storch

In the villages encircling Kolkata, I found myself immersed in a world where tradition is etched into the very fabric of existence. Families, bound by a lineage of clay tea cup craftsmanship, poured their hearts and sweat into every delicate creation. Their hands, skilled from years of practice, sculpted the cups with a connection that spanned generations.

Yet, what struck me as profoundly unsettling was the irony that unfolded. Despite the painstaking process, the cups' destiny was fleeting and unceremonious.

Once tea was sold and enjoyed at bustling street stalls, these cups, touched by so much human dedication, met the same fate as disposable ones – discarded without a second thought.

This absurdity gnawed at my conscience, echoing the wider dissonance between tradition and modern convenience. The cups, far from mere vessels, carried the essence of familial continuity and an intricate bond with the land. They symbolized the unbroken thread of heritage that connected past and present.

As I left those villages, the image of families shaping clay tea cups lingered, leaving me haunted by the impermanence of their creations.

The cups may have vanished from sight, but their story lingers as a poignant reminder of the fragile dance between preserving tradition and succumbing to the throwaway culture of today.

367419917_6927457500654413_833476625293546530_n (1).jpg

Shimi Choen

THE IRON QUEST - Part II by João Coelho

**The Titanic Gang**

**by João Coelho**

The section of the bay where the oldest wrecks lie, now mere rusty skeletons that are hardly reminiscent of the ships that proudly sailed the oceans in the past, is known by the locals as Titanic Beach. The group of young men who work here, using only their hands, arm strength and courage to pull large pieces of iron out of the water to sell by weight, quickly became known as the Titanic gang.

The gang arrives at the beach early, with the sun still peeking over the horizon. They have to take advantage of the low tide, which exposes the wreckage and allows them to reach it by walking along the muddy bottom of the bay. Perched on top of their motorcycles, they stop at the place where they usually leave their work equipment hidden under the beach's undergrowth and the garbage that the tides deposit every day. Tattered pants, thick socks and a pair of old sneakers are all they have to protect themselves from cuts on the edges of rusty irons. The more experienced ones, the "professionals" as they like to be called, proudly wear gloves, although they are already torn on the fingers and worn out by the seawater. Despite trying to protect themselves, they have all dealt with wounds that took months to heal. Some have lost fingers, cut off while working or amputated because the wounds gangrened. The lack of adequate medical care and the continuous exposure to the polluted water of the bay prolong the time of the infections, which can spread to other parts of the body.

While the groups of older, more organized men work with blowtorches to cut the iron plates, the Titanic gang has to improvise. They dive endlessly, blindly groping the bottom of the bay with their hands, trying to find pieces of iron corroded by rust that have come off the hulls of the ships. It's impossible to see anything underwater; the slow agony of the iron giants has released sediments and oils that have turned the waters of the bay dark and pasty.

The gang knows the wreckage on the surface like the back of their hands, but the bottom of the bay is still an unknown world to them. They've already salvaged everything to take from the nearest parts of the beach, but now they have to venture further and further out, where the waves crash violently against the wreckage and create dangerous currents. Others explore the deepest recesses of the wreck where no one has yet ventured, passing through holes where they barely fit and which quickly submerge at high tide, potentially leaving them trapped in the ships' closed compartments. The need to find unexplored areas fuels courage and daring.

When they come across a heavy part or one that needs to be detached from the hull using force, they get together in a team where everyone seems to know their role. Sometimes they use steel cables or old ropes that they also salvage from the wreckage, but what counts in the end is the strength and experience acquired over years of working in the bowels of these sleeping monsters.

Copper and bronze are the equivalent of gold in this bizarre aquatic mine. While iron is paid for at around 120 dollars a ton, a kilogram of copper yields 3.5 dollars and bronze is about 2 dollars a kilogram. Unfortunately, copper and bronze are already in short supply, so the gang has to be happy with iron mined with rust that takes away much of its original weight.

After finding loose parts or detaching boards from the wreckage in fights that take hours, they still have to overcome the hundreds of meters separating them from the beach. Sometimes the effort is all done underwater because the tide fills up quickly and the waves and currents pull them out to sea.

Often, after an intense struggle to reach the beach with the heavy pieces of iron, they throw themselves on the sand exhausted and shivering with cold. But they can't afford to lie down for long, even though their bodies are begging for rest.

Reaching the beach with the heavy pieces after battling the waves and the shallows littered with sharp irons and pieces of metal is not the last effort. Despite being exhausted, the men still have to put the day's booty on the back of the motorcycles. It's the final test of strength and endurance before they leave the beach.

Perched on top of the iron plates, they take the motorcycles to another part of the beach about 2 km from where they work, where the iron is weighed, and finally get the money they've been waiting for. However, the reward for an intense and exhausting day's work, in which they have taken many risks, is meagre. On average, a day's work on the Titanic beach earns the gang around 300 to 500 kilos of iron, distributing around 60 dollars to everyone. That's why there's always a tomorrow for the Titanic gang, until there are no more iron skeletons in the bay.

The Iron Quest part 1

João Coelho

Jump Up - It’s Caribana by Richard Keshen

Toronto is recognized by the United Nations as the most multi-cultural city in the world, and over half of the city’s residents were born outside of Canada. Every summer, we can expect various street festivals representing many of the cultures that make up the people of the town. In the short span of two months, July and August, you could experience the cultures of Portugal, Italy, India, Africa, China, Korea and Vietnam just to name a few. But there’s one festival that’s widely anticipated which brings in more visitors , almost a million and a half. That’s the Toronto Caribbean Carnival. Formerly called, and still known by most, as Caribana. According to a recent census Toronto is home to more than 346,000 people of Caribbean descent. That’s a higher population than most individual Caribbean countries.

Carnival is celebrated in many of the Caribbean countries at different times of the year with Trinidad thought to be the birthplace of the festival. The Carnival represents the celebration of rebellion against enslavement. You see this rebellious spirit in the skimpiness of the costumes worn by the revelers and their fusion of colours. Usually the first Saturday of August usually sees the Grand Caribana Parade on our city’s fair ground. It then extends to one of our main streets leading into the downtown core that has been closed down for the parade. Mas bands, short for masquerader bands, parade through the street with each band having themes and colourful costumes. As the revellers parade through the street large flatbed trucks carry sound systems blasting out reggae beats that have the onlookers and revellers jump up. Jump up means to dance and dancing, celebration, freedom, music, food and drink is what Caribana is all about.

Richard Keshen

The 110th anniversary celebrations

**The 110th-anniversary**

**by Eduardo Storch**

San Javier, founded by Russian immigrants in July 1913 - part 2

On July 29, while almost 13,000 km away, the war unleashed a year and a half ago between Russia and Ukraine continues; in the department of Río Negro (Uruguay), it was held the 110th anniversary of the founding of the colony of San Javier.

San Javier is 367 kilometres from Montevideo and is known as the "national capital of the sunflower" since Russian immigrants introduced its cultivation and began its industrialization in Uruguay.

From what I was able to find out. However, the first immigration was fundamentally Russian; there were also other Slavic nationalities and, according to what I was told, at that time, they spoke a "Russian mix from San Javier", in which the Russian, Ukrainian and Polish languages were mixed with Spanish.

Some time ago, I posted an article and photos about the Russians of San Javier on the “Progressive Street Photography” page on Facebook, the link to which is attached at the end of this article.

On this occasion, I want to share some photos from the 110th-anniversary celebrations.

The town was filled with visitors from all parts of the country, many of them grandchildren or great-grandchildren of the founders, who, over the years, have incorporated local customs while maintaining, although somewhat diluted, some traditions of their grandparents.

On Saturday, July 29, there were commemorative acts and a great popular dance in the town square. On Sunday, the day I arrived with some friends, in addition to the protocol acts with the local authorities. There was a cavalry parade, traditional activities and others that rescued the historical aspects of the area.

After the parade, various artistic shows were displayed in the town square, including the participation of a group of Russian dances from Argentina and also a craft and gastronomic fair.

At the "Maximo Gorki Cultural Center", a massive lunch was he”, which is already traditional on these dates, followed by a varied Russian folk art show.

Before returning to the capital, we walk among the visitors, taking the opportunity to take pictures and enjoy the kindness that characterizes the people of the country's interior.

part 1

Eduardo Storch

Muharram by Deepbrata Dutta

Muharram is the first month of the Islamic calendar and is significant for Muslims worldwide. It is a time of reflection, mourning, and remembrance, particularly for the martyrdom of Imam Hussain, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad. During this month, Muslims gather in mosques and processions to commemorate the tragic events of Karbala, where Imam Hussain and his companions were brutally martyred. The atmosphere is filled with grief and sorrow as believers express their love and devotion for the Ahlulbayt (the family of the Prophet). Muharram pictures capture the essence of this solemn occasion, depicting scenes of mourning, prayer, and devotion. These images remind Imam Hussain and his followers of the sacrifices, inspiring believers to uphold the values of justice, compassion, and righteousness in their own lives.

Learn more

Muharram (or Muharrum) is a gazetted holiday in India, marking the start of the Islamic year. It is a day off for many workers in India.

Deepbrata Dutta

Fires stand in Sardinia by Alberto M. Melis

Fires are common in Sardinia, the island of my birth and home. They are as prevalent as grasshoppers in several African countries. This is an ancient scourge, as evidenced by the 1300 collection of laws known as the Carta de Logu, which prescribed death by burning at the stake for arsonists. Even today, hundreds of fires break out during the summer, fueled by the mighty mistral wind, and almost always caused intentionally. The motives range from revenge to real estate interests, from creating new pastures for livestock to sheer madness. In the face of such devastation, heroes emerge, often destined to remain anonymous: the firefighters who bravely battle to contain the flames and protect lives and property.

Alberto M. Melis

"Street WIthout Joy" by B.D.Colen

A while back, B.D. Colen was invited to write a piece - on any photography-related subject for the monthly "Digital Companion" available to subscribers of Frames, a quarterly printed photo magazine.

The folks at Frames agreed to his making the piece available on Progressive, so here it is.

He titled it "Street WIthout Joy" and it's his take on the current state of street photography.

Frames july 2023

B.d. Colen

Carnwath Agricultural Show 2023

**Carnwath**
Agricultural Show

**by Cameron Scott**

It’s the last Saturday in July and time once again for the local Carnwath Agricultural Society Show, which is held within ten minutes’ drive from my home in South Lanarkshire, Scotland. This is a traditional country fair, with livestock judging, craft fair, dog show, a foot race and much more. I’ve written about last year’s event elsewhere in Progressive Street, so I won’t go into too much background detail again. I tend to concentrate on the sheep judging, although this year I spent some time around the horse trailers where the owners were busy preparing their beautiful animals for the day ahead. In fact, I spent a considerable time chatting to an old man who was sitting in the back of a trailer. It transpired that we had a lot in common, and once the world was put to rights, I bid him good day and headed down the field to my usual spot at the side of the sheep judging pens.

Nothing about the event itself had changed – same layout, same weather, same people and possibly even the same livestock. However, as I was kneeling on the damp grass waiting for the fun to begin, I began to reflect on the changes that I have been through in those past twelve months.

On that day last summer, I had no idea what was about to unfold for me in the months ahead. At that time, I had already started photographing some industrial action protests that had taken place in Glasgow, and as autumn changed to winter this developed into a full-on project which culminated in an exhibition and a feature in Progressive Street zine. Oh, and I joined the best gang of photographers in the world!

Time to get back to reality as pretty soon the first sheep entered the pen, and it was business as usual, get in close and wide. The rest of the morning was spent looking at the world through the viewfinder, which is strangely comforting. On the way home I began to think of the old man in the trailer and smiled as I remembered how he used his walking stick to emphasise key points in his stories. Little did he know that Neil Young was singing about him in the background.

Cameron Scott

THE IRON QUEST - Part I by João Coelho

**The men**
**and**
**the sea**

**by João Coelho**

It could be a beach like any other, but this one seems to be haunted as dozens of iron skeletons lie there. It's a ship graveyard. Giants eroded by the wind and sea saltpetre rest asleep in this beach's shallows that stretch for more than 2 kilometres. It looks like the setting of a post-apocalyptic movie where the sea waters have receded and left all the ships lying on the ocean floor.

There's a sense of desolation and sadness in the air as you admire these behemoths that once braved countless gales on the open sea and now lie, silent and helpless, on this deserted beach. You can just hear the waves licking sweetly at the cove, but at times you seem to hear wails coming from the huge iron carcasses, like pleas for help. It's the wind blowing through the gutted hulls and the small holes opened by the rust that slowly digests the iron.

The true story about the origin of this graveyard is uncertain and depends on who tells it. The fishermen, who are the only ones who retain the collective memory of this place, are divided in their explanations. Some say the ships were towed to this bay because they were abandoned in the entrance channel to the port of Luanda after the companies that owned them went bankrupt. Others claim that it was the sea currents that dragged them to these sandbanks and the cost of removing them discouraged shipowners from recovering them. Still others claim that some of these ships were deliberately run aground by their crews at night to unload weapons for the civil war that raged in the country between 1975 and 2002.

Whatever the true story of this place and of each of its ghosts, over dozens of years the carcasses of these sleeping giants have been battered by winds and rains and the corrosion of seawater. Powerless to defend themselves, they succumbed to the rust in a slow agony, which undermined their hulls and opened up huge holes that let you see their insides and exposed the huge engines, now inert and silent. Some have broken in half, opening the way for armies of crabs that quickly invade their corners in search of food brought by the tides. Their fate is sealed. Slowly and inexorably, these monsters are diluting in the calm waters of the bay, releasing the iron oxide as if it were the last shred of blood still running through their veins.

As an act of mercy, the slow agony of these giants has been abruptly halted and their final death will come sooner than expected. A few years ago, the fishermen who prowl the bay and dare to challenge the submerged wrecks that often break their fishing nets, remembered to collect loose pieces of iron and started selling them to metal-collecting companies for recycling. A lucrative business has sprung up selling pieces of iron stripped from stranded ships. The news reached the ears of the Chinese, who quickly seized the areas of the bay where the most desirable carcasses lay, leaving the most dilapidated and half-sunk wrecks for the fishermen who had meanwhile been seduced by this sort of iron fever.

The crabs, which were the only life that used to frequent these rusty metal carcasses, are forced to retreat early in the morning, when the beach buzzes with a frenzy of men and machines preparing for a feast of sorts. As if they were predators devouring the carcasses of dead animals, they painstakingly shred the hulls of stranded ships to harvest the coveted metal.

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the bay, where only half-dead carcasses remain, a dozen men on small motorcycles with a trailer arrive on the beach from the nearest village. Unlike the Chinese, these men work using only their bare hands and arm strength. It is not about making a profit from the iron business, but about their survival and that of their families. They have no cranes or tractors and constantly have to improvise ingenious solutions to get the large iron plates out of the bowels of the ships, while battling the waves that invade the hulls when the tide rises. A heavy hammer and a blowtorch, carried to the wreck on a raft made of pieces of styrofoam covered with a fishing net, is all they need. The fragile raft also serves to transport those who can't swim, but who have to overcome their fear of venturing out to sea every day in order to get to work.

Everyone who works here has well-defined roles, like a finely tuned orchestra, and helps each other. The work of cutting the iron on the ship's carcasses is dangerous and requires a lot of skill and courage. Years of slow corrosion of metals in this bay have turned its waters dark and created a thick silt bottom that hides sharp pieces of iron. It's easy to get cuts and wounds from the submerged debris and the edges of the hulls that can result in tetanus or infections which take months to clear up. Nevertheless, the youngest work barefoot and do not use any hand protection.

Once the iron plates weighing hundreds of kilos have been separated from the ship's skeleton by the men who specialize in cutting, they are thrown into the water to be carried to the beach. In the water waits another team, the one that will take the pieces to the beach. They all dive at the same time to lift one end of the plates and turn it until it falls back to the bottom of the sea. They repeat this movement as many times as necessary to overcome the approximately 100 meters that separate them from the beach. Once they reach the beach, the group, already tired from the effort made in the water, still has to lift the heavy pieces by force of arms and place them on the small motorcycles that carry the pieces to the warehouse.

The end of the day is eagerly awaited by all. It has been another day of intense and exhausting work in the bay, shredding pieces of the giants and diving endlessly to lift the heavy pieces of their flesh. It seems the sea has become an ally of the iron skeletons and is not willing to give them up easily. Exhausted, the men abandon the beach, which slowly reclaims the silence of the approaching night, as if responding to a final call of truce from the sleeping giants.

João Coelho

Biggar Country Show 2023 by Cameron Scott

**Biggar Country Show**

**by Cameron Scott**

Biggar is a small market town in South Lanarkshire, Scotland. Surrounded by the rolling green hills of the Southern Uplands and situated between the rivers Clyde and Tweed, it is bisected by the main route leading from Edinburgh to Carlisle and England in the south, thus it has long held a value of strategic importance. This is hill farming country, and in common with many such rural market towns holds an annual country fayre consisting of livestock shows, horse riding competitions, agricultural machinery displays ranging from vintage tractors to the latest GPS and Internet connected monstrosities, and of course dancing, food and the customary beer tent.

It was overcast and smirring when I left home. Smir is that fine rain that can lead the unwary into a false sense of security, it hangs in the air yet still manages to soak everything by stealth just as much as the heaviest downpour. After a short drive the car was parked, and I was in the fields on the edge of town where the event was taking place. I was greeted by organised chaos – farming vehicles of all shapes and sizes manoeuvring around the stalls and pens to offload their cargo of sheep and cattle. The first judgings were scheduled to start at 09:30, there was no way that was going to happen. However, someone knew what they were doing and as the deadline approached the vehicles all dispersed in an organised manner, livestock safely unloaded. Until then I had plenty of time to wander around and watch as the animals were prepared for the day ahead. A last-minute brush of the hair, bottoms washed and scrubbed, and a substantial amount of hay thrown around for feed and bedding.

At these events I usually like to concentrate on the Texel sheep. These are stocky, powerful beasts with a mind of their own, and occasionally drag their handlers around the judging pen which makes for great photography. However today I had to spready myself thinly, there were simply too many simultaneous judgings taking place over the dozen or so pens and rings. Various breeds of sheep and cattle, either as single specimens or family units (mum, dad and junior) all herded in similar fashion, then poked and examined until the judge indicates their chosen rosette recipient with a tap of the crook. Very few words are spoken here, most communication is done through a nod of the head and a tap with a crook.

Although the programme of events was scheduled to last late into the night, the livestock competitions were over by lunchtime, and that was the end of the day for me. Constant kneeling, bending, and running had taken its toll on both me and my clothes and it was time to go home. Hopefully the weather will be better the following weekend when we do it all again at the Carnwath show.

Cameron Scott

Biggar

Freedom to be by Mario Barrela

I've been doing photography for a while, we could call it street photography (I personally don't like borders), but I realized that in order to evolve or improve I need to do projects.

In this first project of mine, I wanted to show you not the demonstration or the parade, but the pride party/camp.

This festival takes place a week after the parade and serves to celebrate the freedom of being able to be whoever we want. It was quite fun, I took pictures at will without ever being asked what I was doing (unlike other parties).

I noticed that joy of someone who wants to be what makes sense and not what society almost forces them to be. Lots of music, lots of smiles, some drinks 😊, beautiful, friendly people, no complexes and friends, yes I made some.

What I bring with me as a message is above all: Freedom to be!

Freedom to be as we want, Freedom to think as we want, Freedom to wear what we want... and above all... Freedom to be happy.

Mario Barrela

Glasgow Pride 2023 by Cameron Scott

This years’ annual Pride event took place on Saturday 15th July and followed a meandering route from Glasgow Green, through the city where it ended at George Square.

I’ve photographed this event many times in the past but have always been more interested the interactions that arise rather than the main procession, interactions between the participants themselves and bystanders, particularly the small groups of evangelists and street preachers who demonstrate in opposition to all that Pride embodies.

I was also in town to visit a workers’ demonstration at a restaurant nearby, so after spending some time there it was a short walk to the Pride start at Glasgow green.

The event was already well underway when I got there, and it wasn’t long before the deafening jeers and whistles led me to the first roadside confrontation. By the time I fought my way through the crowd the Police had already intervened and were moving the small group of evangelists away, however I managed to get some images. Rather than follow the procession in its entirety, I made my own way back to George Square, catching it at a few key locations on the way.

What turned out to be the biggest ever Glasgow Pride with around 50000 participants had brought the city and itself to a standstill, with huge crowds lining the streets to watch the colourful and very noisy spectacle. However, not everyone was having just as much fun. Back at George Square, as the first of the marchers arrived, a full blown ‘fire and brimstone’ evangelical sermon was underway, amplified to a level that only served as an attraction.

The police formed a line of separation and as more marchers arrived tensions were beginning to rise, however this was eventually diffused by the arrival of groups of revellers and dancers armed with ghetto blasters and a great collection of 70’s disco music, and eventually the square was engulfed in the huge carnival atmosphere that we’ve come to expect from Pride.

Cameron Scott

Pride parade, Tel Aviv 2023 by Shimi Cohen

**Pride Parade 2023**

**by Shimi Cohen**

One of my favourite events to photograph is the Pride parade. Every year, I join thousands of LGBTQ+ people and allies in the streets to march for our rights and celebrate. It's always a colourful, vibrant, and festive occasion that fills me with hope and happiness.

I love capturing the diversity of the LGBTQ+ community in my photos. And see people of different ages, races, genders, sexualities, and backgrounds coming together in solidarity and harmony. Also, how people express themselves freely and creatively with their outfits, their signs, and their flags. I see people smiling, dancing, hugging, and kissing. And love capturing the spirit of LGBTQ+ pride. People who are proud of who they are and who they love. Not afraid to stand up for themselves and for others. I see people who are making a difference in the world with their courage and their compassion.

I was lucky enough to get a backstage pass to WIGSTOCK 2023, the legendary drag festival that returned to TEL-AVIV.

I had always dreamed of seeing the fabulous queens up close and personal, and I was not disappointed. Here's what I witnessed behind the curtains of the most glamorous show on earth. As soon as I entered the backstage area, I was greeted by a flurry of activity. There were dozens of drag queens getting ready for their performances, each with their own station of wigs, costumes, makeup and accessories. The air was filled with glitter, hairspray and laughter. I felt like I had stepped into a fairy tale.I decided to walk around and chat with some of the queens, who were more than happy to share their stories and secrets with me.

I also met ERICA, who was preparing for her act with her signature bald head and dramatic eyebrows. She said she wanted to create a visual spectacle that would celebrate the diversity and beauty of drag. She also gave me a sneak peek of her outfit, which was a stunning red gown with a long train and a crown of roses.

I was amazed by the creativity and talent of all the queens I met. They were not only performers, but also artists, activists, and role models. They had overcome many challenges and prejudices to express themselves and entertain others. They were also very supportive and friendly with each other, forming a tight-knit community.

I felt honoured and privileged to witness their transformations and preparations. I laughed at their jokes, gasped at their reveals, and cheered at their routines. I also learned a lot about drag history, culture, and lingo. It was an unforgettable experience.

WIGSTOCK 2023 was more than just a show. It was a celebration of life, love and drag. It was a reminder that we can all be whoever we want to be, and that we should always have fun and be fabulous.

I love flags. They are colourful, symbolic, and meaningful. They represent the identity, history, and culture of a group of people. They can also be used to express solidarity, support, and pride.
This year, however, I was a little disappointed by the parade. It was not as happy as usual, in my eyes. Whatever the reason, I felt like something was missing from the parade. It was not as vibrant, as joyful, as hopeful as I expected.
So I decided to take a photo from another perspective. I saw flags, but they looked dull and lifeless to me. They did not seem to reflect the spirit of the people who carried them. They did not seem to tell a story of struggle and triumph, of love and acceptance, of courage and resilience.
I snapped a photo anyway, hoping that maybe later I would see something different in it. Maybe I would see some hidden details, some subtle nuances, some sparks of life that I missed in the moment. Maybe I would see what I wanted to see.

But when I looked at the photo later, I felt nothing.

Shimi Cohen

Passion & Tradition by Pablo Abreu

Palma de Mallorca, April 23rd, 4:40 PM, although it could very well be another place, another day, or another time, the emotions that football awakens in people is something common to fans all over the world, and it's something that, unfortunately, is being lost in favor of the money that floods football clubs, increasingly favoring the elites and distancing itself from the people for whom it was created.

However, despite everything, there still exists a sort of romanticism, a sense of belonging in people that gives a glimmer of optimism that not everything is lost, even though the paths society is taking are precisely the opposite of rejoicing in victory or grieving over defeat, of wanting the common good for your people, your community, your colors, your team. The common good is evolving rapidly towards an increasingly dominant individualism in our society, and this is something that is reflected in all aspects of life, and of course, in football as well. And it is here where the sense of belonging appears as a glimmer, as something utopian that makes us think that not everything is lost yet.

For a true fan of a team, it's not all about winning or losing. There are things that money and victories can't buy, but rather the feeling of being part of something, of being part of a community with shared values, an idiosyncrasy of a sense of belonging that is passed down from parents to children, like a kind of initiation ceremony that takes place from the first day you enter through the doors of the stadium, the cathedral of fans. It's not just football, it's much more than that. How else can we explain that something seemingly simple can influence people's moods?

And what about the pre-match gatherings, sharing a beer, where friendships and bonds are forged and reinforced, where feelings are shared? The more experienced fans pass on their experiences and past memories to the younger ones, who in the future will pass on their own to the new generations to come. Dreams, that even in defeats, and especially in those moments, we are together and we will rise together, stronger.

And what can be said about the receptions where flares symbolize passion and raise the temperature, creating an almost magical atmosphere, where flags and scarves represent the choreography and chants become the soundtrack? Football belongs to the people, to the fans, to those who feel something that can't be explained for colours and a football shield, or at least it should be that way, even though it seems increasingly utopian.

Pablo Abreu