Emily is a freelance writer and creative producer from London. Her work focuses on the topics of fashion, photography and visual culture - in particular where they intersect with identity politics. 

Emily Lucas

Photos provided by Carl Van Der Linde, Alexandra Leese, Natela Grigalashvili, Alex de Mora, Kemka Ajoku and Bettina Pittaluga

Over the past many months, with much of the world in uncertainty and seclusion, the grandeur of travelling seemed like something of a distant memory. As the world begins to open up once more, and with many of us eager to venture further out, we celebrate the power of photography by taking a look at images from around the world. Photographing abroad, as with any form of photography, demands a level of compassion and respect that can vary depending on the situation. In this spirit, we ask six photographers from around the world to share a few words on their take on what photographing ethically and consciously means to each one of them.

London-based fashion and portraiture photographer Alexandra Leese’s photographs demonstrate her unique sensibility for capturing warmth and intimacy in her subjects. In particular, her photographs taken in Hong Kong, where Alexandra spent the first 11 years of her life, are celebrated for its defining expression of diversity in Asian masculinity.

For Alexandra, ethical photography is as simple as being empathetic and compassionate – “Often the power dynamic and control is tipped in the photographer's favour, but when you listen to, or observe and are sensitive to your surroundings and who you are shooting, it becomes a safe space of mutual respect”

Natela Grigalashvili is a documentary photographer based in Georgia. Having spent her life growing up in the mountainous landscape of rural village Tbilisi, Grigalashvili has an affinity for documenting the rural areas of her country where she connects closely to the people and landscapes over bigger, urban spaces. Her ongoing project documenting the life of Georgian Nomads aims to educate viewers on the traditions and socioeconomic situation of Adjara.

“I always try to get to know the place and people before I start photographing. Becoming close to people, learning what makes them happy or sad is extremely important to me and this helps with the process. I want people to understand that for me it's not only about photography, but about being with them and enjoying spending time with them. Respecting their dignity is crucial and the reasons why people don't want to be photographed are different. I can happily say that after they get to know me, most of the time they grow to accept me and give me permission to photograph them - after some time, they don't even notice the camera."

London-based photographer and director Alex de Mora travelled to Mongolia in 2019 to document Ulaanbaatar and its undiscovered hip-hop scene in his short film 

. Tying Alex’s love for music with photography, the project explores the influence of Western music and hip-hop culture in Mongolia in the aftermath of the dissolution of Mongolian Communist State in 1992.

For Alex, documenting locals in this way requires extensive research and building a rapport with the community. “When photographing abroad, it's important to research and be respectful of the culture you are immersing yourself into”.

North-London based portrait photographer Kemka Ajoku captures Lagos locals in his series “We’re All Workers”. His project was carried out before a national lockdown ensued in Nigeria in March 2020 and highlights the importance of work and craftsmanship in their daily lives.

For Kemka, using his own craft is a great way to connect with locals. He stresses the importance of being able to effectively communicate with his subjects, ensuring transparency along the way. To him, this means “a brief discussion before the photoshoot, understanding the boundaries set by the subject and respecting them, whatever they may be. And the same applies for image usage, it is important that you discuss beforehand what an image is to be used for and where it is going”. Without transparent communication, Kemka explains that photojournalism can quickly transcend from authentic documentation to exploitation: “A lot of the time, photographers travel to third-world countries, looking to capture the poverty and hardship present in that nation, much of which is for their financial benefit and without the full consent of the locals. I believe with the right code of ethics things would change within the photography community”.

Bettina Pittaluga is a French-Uruguayan photographer with a background in sociology and reportage. Her focus on documenting raw, natural and intimate moments is born out of desire to challenge themes of objectification that often presents itself in photography and the wider media. Her take on ethical photography is to take photographs from a place where there is only “trust, respect and kindness”.

Carl van der Linde is a South African photographer whose transportive photographs captures the vibrancy and vitality of the places he documents. His project, “A day is short in Africa”, explores what it means to be a young mang in Zanzibar and observes diversity in their cultural, religious and ideological identities.

For Carl, understanding his position as a traveller is crucial - “Whenever I'm travelling; pursuing stories, approaching subjects, or simply knocking back a few with locals, I believe one should tread as lightly as possible. These aren't your streets or neighbourhoods, be respectful and leave them as you found them. You're simply a visitor peering through a lens at the daily lives of people who call these places home, so be sincere and humble in your approach. Be mindful of your surroundings - feel the energy, history, culture and allow this feeling to draw you closer to what you're searching for. Approach subjects confidently, be straight to the point and be honest about your intentions. It takes only one "yes" out of ten "no's" to create a stunning image. Leave only when you've learned something new; either about the subject, or about yourself”.

Through the Lens: 6 Photographers on What Ethical Photography Means to Them

, Mexico, 2021 Sony World Photography Awards

After studying to become a film director at Universidad Nacional Autónama de México and later going on to work as a photographer’s assistant to Manuel Álvarez Bravo, Graciela Iturbide has grown to become one of the most iconic photographers to emerge out of modern Mexico. 

Her photography focuses predominantly on ethnological explorations of Indigenous Mexican communities, considering also ethical issues of Indigenous Othering, the woman’s position in society, and the deconstruction of gender binaries. Photographing exclusively in black and white, Iturbide’s photography often includes motifs of spirituality, religious and ritualistic symbolism. In particular, her photographs of Juchitán de Zaragoza, where she spent a decade residing in the Indigenous Zapotec village in the state of Oaxaca, are celebrated for its defining contribution to the community’s visual identity. In light of her nomination for Outstanding Contribution to Photography at the Sony World Photography Awards 2021, we take a look at photographs of Mexico from Iturbide’s oeuvre.

Perhaps one of Iturbide’s most famous works from her series in Juchitán is 

 (1979), which has been reproduced in the form of sculptures, road signs, posters, and murals around the world. Adding to the allure of these photographs is the story behind the matriarchal social structures that characterizes Juchitán de Zaragoza. Defying the “

” culture of masculine dominance and pride, women in the town of Juchitán often control elements of family affairs ranging from finances to deciding whether their husbands are allowed to buy cigarettes or go out drinking. Although men continue to be the breadwinners and maintain their space in farms or factories, they are often socialized to hand their earnings over to women. To this effect, men provide the raw materials whilst women run and oversee the selling of products in the market, where men are forbidden to enter. It was exactly here in the 

, where Iturbide was working, when she encountered Zobeida, the vendor of iguanas who is pictured in 

 Iturbide manages to reflect this notion of female empowerment in her delicately crafted balance of portraying Zobeida as humanized yet strong. Iturbide’s upward gaze establishes a sense of dominance in her subject, whilst the medusa-like crown of the iguanas allows for Zobeida’s majestic qualities to come to light.

In 1980, Iturbide was comissioned by the Ethnographic Archive of the National Indigenous Institute of Mexico as part of a project documenting the lifestyle of Mexican Seri people, a formerly nomadic Indigenous community. Residing in Punta Chueca in the Mexican state of Sonora, Iturbide spent a month and a half living with the Seri people in their homes to develop a close relationship with her subjects and establish her presence as the community photographer. During her time in Punta Chueca, Itburbide observed the Seri’s traditional way of life and the Western influence that capitalism has had within their community. “

” (1980) depicts an almost mythical female figure wearing traditional Seri clothing as she walks through Mexico’s Sonoran desert, carrying a tape recorder. The Seri’s would exchange artisanal crafts such as baskets and carvings for tape recorders with Americans so that they could listen to Mexican music. Iturbide recalls that the Seri’s were able to assimilate to elements of American culture without losing their autonomy and traditions.

Iturbide’s gaze is not one that imposes a dimension of Self and Otherness and her work is based heavily on complicity. In part, this is a reflection of the relationship that Iturbide forms over getting to know her subjects intimately, but more importantly it mirrors Iturbide’s honest intentions of portraying a society that she resonates with, and one that allows her to discover facets of her own Mexican nationality. Iturbide shows that by taking the time to live within these communities and understand their culture, her photography has become a reflection of her own experiences - she explains that she views photography as “a regard within a regard - between the gaze of the photographer and the gaze of the subject, the image becomes a reflection of the person taking the picture”. As both Juchitán and Punta Chueca are one of the few areas in Mexico that have preserved their traditional customs, it enables Iturbide to unadulteratedly improve her understanding of her Mexican heritage. One of the reasons she became a photographer “was to get to know [her] country and its diverse cultures", and her imagery certainly gazes upon her subjects with a fervent sense of national pride.

An Exploration of Mexico Through the Lens of Graciela Iturbide

Photography by Michael Magers, Horace Bristol, Ronin de Goede and Chloé Jafé

The history of tattooing in Japan is long and complex, and until recently, Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare ruled that tattoos were only considered legal where it constituted a medical procedure, making it almost impossible to be tattooed for aesthetic purposes. Things started to shift in 2020 when Japan’s Supreme Court ruled that tattoo artists no longer had to obtain a medical licence to practise their art. Today, tattooing exists in what is best described as a legal grey area, and the tattooed still face discrimination; in many public places – including onsens (public baths), gyms, public beaches, and ryokans (traditional Japanese inns) – tattoos continue to be prohibited. While there has been some noticeable acceptance in recent years, Japan is yet to reach full acceptance in its attitudes towards tattoos, both legally and socially. A survey by J

 demonstrated that out of over 3,000 establishments, 56% would refuse entry to those with tattoos, with 13% allowing visitors if they have concealed their body art. For the tattooed traveller, a visit to Japan requires extra cultural sensitivity, research and understanding. In this Deep Dive, we look to history to examine why there has been an enduring complexity and controversy when it comes to tattoos in Japan.

Deriving from the Samoan word Tatau, the provenance of tattooing dates back to many thousands of years across several different cultures, each of which have defined their own approach to the art form. Evidence of tattoos in Japan traces back to as early as the Jōmon period, in clay figurines known as Dogu, with later sightings having been found amongst the Indigenous Ainu People of Japan, who are thought to have descended from the Jōmon people. Ainu communities commonly incorporated tattoos as part of their cultural and ritualistic traditions; women would be tattooed along their arms and on their lips, a practice that would be repeated throughout their lives until their wedding day. The tattoo would start as a singular cut across each side of the lip and coloured with birch charcoal, extending every year until the final upturned cut, made by the groom on their wedding day, would turn the tattoo into an elongated smile.

Despite being deeply intertwined in the culture of early Ainu populations, tattoos gradually began to associate with more nefarious connotations during the Edo Period, when they were introduced as symbols of criminal punishment. Depending on the region in which they were imprisoned, or the type of crime they had perpetrated, criminals would be branded with various markings, outcasting them from society. In Chikuzen and Hiroshima, three strikes of a punishment resulted in a the kanji for dog (犬), in Bizen (modern day Okayama) a cross (X), in Edo (modern day Tokyo), the kanji for evil (悪) and in Higo (modern day Kumamoto) different markings would distinguish between a crime related to fighting or stealing. Although once intended to cast out these felons, decorative tattoos gradually became more commonplace as criminals took the practice into their own hands, covering up markings with decorative embellishments. These types of decorative tattoos were quickly appropriated by Japanese organised crime members known as the Yakuza, who sought these methods of body modification as a painful part of the initiation process to prove their courage and commitment. Body art continued to grow in popularity amongst criminals and lower classes until it was eventually outlawed at the end of the Edo Period in 1868. Under the Meiji Restoration, the new government, who did not want to be regarded as primitive by Western visitors, banished tattooing for its strong association to lower classes and criminals as they opened their borders to foreigners in an effort to industrialise and modernise the nation. The ban was subsequently lifted much later in 1948 after World War II, but the stigma and ties to criminality have remained in Japan since.

The traditional practice of decorative Japanese tattooing is known as Irezumi (入れ墨), meaning “to insert ink”, and differs from modern day conventional tattoo practices in that it is carried out by hand-trained artists known as Horishi who use a metal or bamboo rod to carve and insert ink into the skin in a process called Tebori. Perhaps a source of influence for the stick and poke technique we see today, Tebori is essentially a traditional form of hand poking; motifs etched out using traditional methods of Irezumi can take much longer than conventional electronic devices. Designs are often inspired by nature, folklore, or mystical and religious symbols which nod to traditional Japanese ukiyo-e, an artistic movement which flourished in the 17th through to the 19th centuries. In modern times, Irezumi continues to be an art form expropriated by Yakuza and tattoo artist Nissaco, who Trippin interviewed for their series on Tattoos & Travelling, he explains the first time he came across tattoos in Japan was on a member of the Yakuza: “As a child, seeing Yakuza in the Japanese baths covered in tattoos amazed me”. This certainly isn't uncommon in Japan, as tattoos are rarely seen aside from on Yakuza members or foreigners.

When French photographer Chloé Jafé moved to Japan in 2014, she was acquainted with a member of the Yakuza, leading her to document the lives of Yakuza members, their wives, mistresses and bodyguards in a project titled “I give you my life”. The title of the series is a translation of the song Inochi Azukemasu by Fuji Keiko and encompasses the topic of dedication, as she observes the relationships between women and their men, and men and their bosses. One of the photographs seen below depicts a group of Yakuza men at the Sanja Matsuri, one of the only occasions where Yakuza members are allowed to show their tattoo. What’s particularly interesting about the other photographs is the observations of Yakuza women with their tattoos, Chloé explains that women would often be tattooed at the request of their husbands, either with their husband’s name, or with a design their spouse had chosen. Across both genders, Irezumi were typically seen as a display of strength and endurance, with tattoos in Japanese culture intended never to be shown or seen, rather acting as veiled spiritual armour to provide protection.

Although tattoos have become more commonplace in Japan in recent years, the practice continues to be viewed as somewhat taboo and the tattooed still face discrimination due to historical ties to criminality and organised crime. If you plan to visit Japan, there are a number of precautions you can take in order to be reverent to their culture. Consider covering tattoos up in advance or booking private locations if you wish to visit places where tattoos are typically banned. Also, remember that some religious and spiritual sites may require further cultural sensitivity that is inferred rather than explicitly discussed. There are plenty of resources such as 

 – which includes a list of places where tattoos are openly accepted, as well as further research and reading on the subject – which can be used when planning your trip to Japan.