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MD Saiful Amin
MD Saiful Amin
MD Saiful Amin

MD Saiful Amin

Country: Bangladesh
Birth: 1969

I’m a street and documentary photographer from Dhaka. I began taking photos in the mid-90s, but it wasn’t until 2015 that I pursued photography seriously. My profession is in private service at a construction company.

During the "Pilkhana Tragedy" on February 25, 2009, the armed border guards opened fire on civilians. I was taking pictures as they approached their gate, but suddenly, a bullet from a Chinese rifle hit me. My sciatic nerve was severely injured, and my leg was shattered into multiple pieces. From 2009 to 2011, I underwent seven major surgeries. I was bedridden for 4 ½ years. Unfortunately, during that time, my hard drive crashed, and I lost all my images from the 80s up to February 2009. It was an incredibly frustrating period for me.

When I received my first DSLR camera in 2015, I picked up photography again. Despite the constant pain in my leg, I’ve never stopped. I never leave home without my camera, even for a single day.

My work – Since 2016, I’ve focused on documenting the Bihari and Dalit communities, as well as homeless and street kids, urban slum communities, the tannery, and plastic industries, among other subjects.

Achievements – I’ve participated in about 50 national exhibitions (winning 1st prize twice), and I’ve exhibited my work in Kolkata and Romania as a solo participant. I’ve received several FIAP honorable mentions and acceptances in salons worldwide. One of my photos was published in the 2018 edition of the 'Wisden' annual cricket book, often referred to as the Bible of Cricket. My work has also been featured in numerous international photography websites and magazines.

In 2020, I won the FIAP Gold Medal and the "Photographer of the Year" trophy at the ABP Salon, a prestigious contest organized by the Bangladesh Photographic Society (BPS).

Workshops – I’ve attended both short and long photography workshops with GMB Akash, the late Anwar Hossain Anu, M. R. Hasan, Prito Reja, Chanchal Mahmud, and Rafiqul Islam.

Mentorship – I’ve also served as a judge for several national photography exhibitions between 2018 and 2019.

Life in Bihari Camp, Dhaka, Bangladesh
A young girl writes a poem in which she asks a simple yet profound question—one that no one can answer. She asks, Who am I? Her forefathers were born in India, they migrated to Pakistan, and she was born in Bangladesh. India abandoned them long ago, Bangladesh refuses to accept them as children of the land, and Pakistan won’t take them back. She says she has many names: Bihari, Maura, Muhajir, Non-Bangalee, Marwari, Urdu-speaker, Refugee, and Stranded Pakistani. But she desires only one identity: Human.

This is the reality for the 160,000 camp-based Urdu-speaking community members in Bangladesh. In Geneva Camp alone, around 50,000 Urdu-speaking people of Indian and Pakistani origin live in difficult conditions.

After the partition of India in 1947, amidst large-scale communal riots on both sides of the border, hundreds of thousands of Muslims from Bihar, Kolkata, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and as far as Hyderabad migrated to what was then East Pakistan. Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the leader of the All India Muslim League, promised them that Pakistan would be a "safe haven for all Muslims." As is typical of people migrating from a shared locality, the Biharis formed separate clusters from the Bengalis. Their communities became concentrated in areas like Mohammadpur, Mirpur, Khulna, Chittagong, and Santahar.

The new generation, born after the war, now comprises the majority of camp residents. They have no affiliations with either India or Pakistan. They were born in Bangladesh and identify as Bangladeshis. Unfortunately, the state is reluctant to accept them as such. It is a complex issue, with the majority population skeptical of their loyalty to the country they wish to call home.

The inhumane conditions in which they live and the societal effects of their marginalization make it imperative to resolve this painful issue.

365 Photography Library

This is the largest photography library in Bangladesh, with around 2,000 books on photography. It’s free for everyone, and I created it for young photographers and the next generation. I plan to leave it to them as my legacy before I die.
www.365photographylibrary.com
 

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Cyrus Cornut
France
1977
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Michael Ackerman
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1967
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Infinity Award, Young Photographer, International Center of Photography, 1998. 2014 L’intuition – A projection in collaboration with musician Vincent Courtois, curated by Christian Caujolle. Performed In la Friche Belle de Mai, Marseille, 4 Fevrier Le Lux Scene national de Valence, Festival Banlieues blues, Paris and Rencontres photographiques d’Arles SUSPENSION Noun: Suspension, Verb: suspend: “To cause to stop for a period, hold in abeyance; suspend judgment.” In Michael Ackerman's work, documentary and autobiography conspire with fiction, and all of the above dissolve into hallucination. The particular journeys of his book Half Life encompass New York, Havana, Berlin, Naples, Paris, Warsaw, and Krakow, but the locations aren’t necessarily recognizable at all. Michael has been moving towards this erasure of geographical and other distinctions in his photographs for some time. 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On these you travel but are nowhere for the duration of the trip, floating through whiteness if it’s wintertime. This nothing in which things float is echoed in his prints, though the white is sometimes heavily vignetted, as if darkness wants in. Alternately, the backgrounds can be of total blackness, and then the subject radiates like a candle. But back to the snow trains, which often run through the most ignored and beautiful parts of cities, where commercial facades drop away like forced smiles into debris and frozen mud and warehouses, which then give way to fields. Riding on one of these trains outside of Katowice, Poland en route to Paris, Michael spotted in the distance the warped row of dead train cars seen in the book. Desperate to photograph them, he guessed at their location and eventually returned. He got off at the closest stop, trudged through the snow, and found the trains, but approaching across a frozen field, camera in hand, his legs suddenly plunged through a chasm in the whiteness, a missing manhole cover. In what he referred to as a “rare case of quick thinking,” he stuck out his arms, breaking the fall, and managed to pull himself out. No one knew he was there, and if he’d perished, it would’ve been for the love of trains, and of wreckage, and of course, of pictures. * * * Many in the panel of men at the beginning of Half Life were photographed in bars. Some were found in a bar in Paris where the old and ageless proprietor became one of Michael’s favorite people, not just in the city, but in the world. Her bar was a special refuge, and though she was difficult, she truly took Michael in. This tiny bar remains a constant, a place of return, but many of the regulars he’s met over the years are now gone. For some moments however, they drew, or seemed to draw, terribly close, with alcohol as glue and pictures proof -- but of what… mutual need, eventual isolation, or the pendulum swing between the two… A bar is something like the center of an hourglass: at the top is time disappearing, and at the bottom, time spent. But to those in the place, the regulars, the middle is the only thing apparent and there time has stopped. (An interesting circumstance for others in the time-stopping business, and not just still photographers. The phenomena is beautifully understood in Daumier’s paintings of drinkers or Denis Johnson’s Jesus’ Son). It is illusory, of course; the people are held in that place where, like the proverbial cartoon character who’s gone off a cliff, they just don’t realize the ground has dropped away beneath their feet. Once again, suspension. Which also has a musical definition: The prolongation of a tone in one chord into the following chord, usually producing a temporary dissonance. This prolongation of tone, an ongoing search, gives the work continuity, as does the dissonance, which can be restlessness or loss. I won’t talk much here about the emotional drive behind the work, or the personal ramifications, but that’s my hesitation, not Michael’s. There’s a picture in Half Life of the photographer and a woman, both with shaved heads, a troubled mirroring, a last strange union. The photograph is a pact: see you now, see you later, so long... In the last few years, such goodbyes have given way to a series of welcomings, explorations of the concrete changes and dream states of immediate family, wife and child. These pictures, deeply caring but by necessity fearless, reverberate with bluntness, warmth, shock, matter of fact erotics, and of course love, which when regarded honestly, includes a steamer trunk of contradictions. So, there is fear mixed in with the fearlessness, the joy includes some trepidation, the innocence is utterly real, but tangled and fleeting. How disappointing it would be if a photographer so open to the wrenching truths of the world would suddenly pull all punches when faced with the most intimate situation of all. How unfortunate it would be, for all of us, if investigations of intimacy were left to the whitewashers and the advertisers, the puritans and the pornographers. And so, in the recent work, new tightropes are stretched and new risks are taken. But in looking back at Michael’s work as a whole, I’m reminded that one of the great challenges artists face is when to pull back from the proverbial edge - those addicted to pushing the envelope sometimes fall into a negative trap which has its own complacency. A kind or subtle or purely beautiful image might actually be the risk that they can’t seem to take. The walking of tightropes has always been integral to Michael’s work, but I don’t see him falling into that dark trap, which is why the work is thorny but never cynical, heavy but also sweet. Beyond all of that, I still don’t understand how the pictures happen, how he gets them. It certainly isn’t about the equipment, the cameras come and go, sometimes literally broken but still pressed into use. I think Michael feels that taking pictures and taking chances should be kindred enterprises. I’ve met few artists less uptight about the technology and intricacies of gear and production, though he does of course become completely intimate with what he needs in order to get at what he feels. Once I heard him suggest in a Q & A that he just doesn’t care about technique, but knowing the time and tortures he’s given over to darkroom work, I thought that was a touch disingenuous. He meant that technique and technology are never the core of the matter, and that he doesn’t like to be precious about them. And he needs accidents; they might reveal something, break something open. Sometimes they might go too far and the image itself is obliterated: again, necessary risk. I’ve seen him photograph without putting the camera to his eye, as if to confirm that what he was after wasn’t primarily even about seeing. (That too is deceptive; with time, some photographers know what the camera is getting, regardless of where it’s held). Maybe I mean that compared to many other photographers, Michael’s work isn’t so concerned with sight itself. If he could have been a writer, painter, or a musician, that might have worked too. In any case, the results speak for themselves, and the results are often kind of insane. Sadly, because of the madness of these photographs and the digital times we’ve entered, people increasingly assume that certain pictures must be computer manipulations. Michael is no purist, but that simply isn’t what is going on here. Do you see how it matters that even if these are accidents of light and the distorting lens, they are things that somehow happened, that were? They come out of the real; however unlikely or impossible, they are measurements - not constructions. They are measurements, but in the end, of the interior as much as of the world. But like I said, Michael’s not a purist, and in his impure searching, he occasionally walks a thin line between accepting pure actuality and giving it a nudge. We argue about it. I don’t know what to make of the picture where someone else’s old portrait of Anna Akhmatova is held up and rephotographed. I guess Michael wanted to invite her into that streetscape, felt she was part of his history or emotional landscape; maybe he just loved her profile and wondered, what the hell, why not? Sometimes the work is funny. The absurdly mismatched nude couple in the book aren’t funny but they are, as is the man who wears a monocle made of smoke. The Coney Island hotdog signs reading ‘Franks’ and the American flag they stutter towards comprise a whimsical tribute to one particular, beloved photographer; first name - Robert. Occasional whimsy aside though, Half Life is a rough ride through damaged places and situations. And what’s it like to be with Michael when he’s photographing such things? Well, it isn’t necessarily comfortable, or easy, or pleasant. Sometimes artists push their work, and their luck along with it. Sometimes Michael just plunges in. I was crossing the street with him on the Lower East side once when a woman suddenly appeared, coming towards us in the intersection. Something in her presence struck us instantly with force -- she might have been beautiful or she might have been mutilated -- we had no time to register anything; but he lunged and got off one picture as I stood by and winced. I doubt she noticed at all, but what if she had? (The picture is in Fiction; it appears to be of a ghost in a miniskirt, perhaps with a black eye.) Such pictures do not come out of discretion, or delicacy, or fair exchange. In many of Michael’s pictures mutual understanding simply may or may not have existed. There is a harshness to this observation; it troubles me, and yet I can say that Michael’s pictures are always, deeply made without judgment, in total acceptance. That in itself is a kind of love. And the subjects obviously extend him enormous trust. (Well... except when they don’t. Walking with Michael on a street in Krakow, he photographed another approaching woman, a middle-aged matron. She yelled angrily at him in Polish; he kept walking but yelled back, in Polish: “You’re beautiful.”) It is probably no accident then that the gesture of the embrace recurs again and again in Michael’s work. Which leads me to what may be my favorite set of pictures that Michael has taken, of the couple on the stairs: To what do we owe this strange and tender record ? And what is the record of? An older man and his young girlfriend collapsed in drunken surrender… or perhaps a father and son broken together on a subway staircase ? Who is holding who up? Was the man once a boxer? If the younger one is in fact a woman, is she his lover? The stairs are at once unyielding and rippling, bending and unbending. This couple, whatever their relationship and circumstance, are attended to then in a series of photographs, equally harsh and gentle, unwrapped over time. But what time is given - minutes, hours, or an unending day or an unending night? You can just about hear the tinny loudspeakers in the background of the train station, and thinking of stations, I am reminded that the 13th station is the descent from the cross. The actual circumstances, the truth of it, the year and the gender, hardly matter, don’t matter at all. At its best, the work speaks past such details, and even beyond photography.
Jennifer Thoreson (Hudson)
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Andrew Moore
United States
1957
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In 1997, Moore showed these photographs at Yancey Richardson Gallery in New York. Despite his change of style, the work was well-received; in a review for The New Yorker, Andrew Long noted, “The straight forward treatment is a departure for the photographer, who characteristically produces multi-image evocations of New York City. Nothing is lost however - his earlier poetic constructs now give way to broader arenas for the imagination to roam.” Cuba Moore first traveled to Cuba in 1998 to photograph Havana’s decaying theaters. The project soon expanded in scope to document the larger effects of Cuba’s permanent Revolution, which were particularly apparent during the economic depression known as the “Período especial.” Moore’s large-scale color photographs of Havana reveal an elegant but crumbling metropolis of muted pastel interiors, courtyards, and scenes of daily life. Moore returned to photograph Cuba’s architecture and environment over the next 14 years, in the process publishing two monographs Inside Havana (Chronicle Books, 2002) and Cuba (Damiani, 2012). Moore has said his work intends to show, “how contemporary history, and specifically cultures in transition, are expressed through architecture.” The photographer Julius Shulman wrote of Inside Havana, “Exhibited throughout Moore’s work is a genuine flavor of ‘presence’. He does not attempt to gloss over questionable conditions, nor does he try to contort reality. With tremendous sensitivity, Moore creates art statements of the architecture he shows us. His images are painterly and poetic.” Moore’s photographs from Cuba appeared as a cover story in the September 23, 2012 issue of New York Times Magazine. Russia While working in Cuba, Moore became interested in the island nation’s long relationship with Russia. This led him to photograph the architectural environments where Russian history and politics collide in unexpected ways. Between 2000 and 2004 Moore made 8 trips around Russia from St. Petersburg to the remotest parts of the country. The New Yorker wrote of the work, “in taking Russia - its contradictions and gorgeous ruins - at face value, he captures a country’s diversity and history.” For example, Moore photographed a “czarist church [that] was turned into a soap factory during the Soviet period, and now has been restored into a kind of youth center.” Moore remarked, “For me these kinds of subjects present a cross-section through time: they address Russia’s complex past, as well as the larger compacting and collapsing processes of contemporary history.” In 2004, Moore published the monograph Russia Beyond Utopia (Chronicle Books, 2004). Detroit In 2008 and 2009, Moore traveled to Detroit to portray in photographs “the idea that in an urban setting you could also have a landscape happening, the forces of nature intersecting with American urbanism, the process of decline also intersecting with the revival of nature.” In 2010, Moore released Detroit Disassembled (Damiani, 2010), with an introduction by Detroit-native and Poet Laureate Philip Levine, to coincide with an exhibition at the Akron Art Museum. He was originally invited to document the city by two young French photographers, Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre, who had been photographing Detroit’s abandoned spaces since 2005. While Moore’s Detroit series follows the themes of transformation and decaying space explored in previous bodies of work, his focus on the motor city generated controversy in the pages of The New Republic and the journal Guernica. The photographs were decried as “ruin porn,” which Mike Rubin defined in The New York Times as “urban decay as empty cliché, smacking of voyeurism and exploitation.” Curator Sarah Kennel writes in The Memory of Time, an exhibition catalog from the National Gallery of Art, that, “in Moore’s photographs, ruination serves more explicitly as an allegory of modernity’s failure.” Other critics argue that whether or not Moore’s Detroit photographs fit the category of “ruin porn” is a matter of academic debate. Joseph Stanhope Cialdella argues in the journal Environmental History that Moore’s work instead conveys the “aesthetic of a postindustrial sublime” which “gives nature the authority to transform the image of Detroit into a novel, yet disturbing landscape that blurs the lines between wilderness and the city.” Dora Apel writes in Beautiful Terrible Ruins that Moore’s “pictures of Detroit tend to emphasize the relationship of nature and culture, with nature in the ascendancy.” Apel ultimately argues that the “ruin porn” images and debate fail to focus on the political and economic policies that are the root causes of the ruins. Dirt Meridian From 2005 to 2014, Moore photographed the people and landscape of “great American Desert,” which roughly includes the area west of the 100th meridian to the Rocky Mountains, from Texas north to Canada. The area is one of the most sparsely populated regions in the country, “where the daily reality is often defined by drought and hardship.” To make many of the photographs, Moore collaborated with Doug Dean, the pilot of a single-engine aircraft, to create bird’s-eye perspectives revealing the vastness of the land. Rather than flying high above the plains, Moore chose perspectives that have “the sense of being within the landscape rather than above it.” For an essay accompanying Moore’s photographs in The New York Times Magazine, Inara Verzemnieks wrote, “From above, the land is like one endless, unpunctuated idea - sand, tumbleweed, turkey, bunch stem, buffalo, meadow, cow, rick of hay, creek, sunflower, sand — and only rarely did a house or a windmill or a barn suddenly appear to suspend the sense of limitlessness.” On the ground, Moore photographed the people who inhabit this unforgiving landscape and the evidence of their efforts, from active homesteads to abandoned schoolhouses. These photographs are published in Moore’s newest monograph: Dirt Meridian (Damiani, 2015).
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