lou lesko

Let’s say you’re a photojournalist in a war zone. You come upon a bombed out home with a charred teddy bear in front of it. To visually tell the story well, you have to move the stuffed animal so it's situated in the foreground of your shot. But, if you do, you’ve altered the scene. Does your photograph lose its journalistic integrity as a result of your tampering? I don’t think it does. Moving the teddy bear doesn’t change the story, it allows it to be told.

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My exposure to Banksy’s work has always been via the screen. A few weeks ago I got a step closer at the Banksy Museum in Brussels. Recreations of Banksy’s works in recreations of the locations they appeared in Bristol, Paris, the West Bank barrier in Ramallah, etc.

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New project in the works. A collection of interviews with amazing people from the photo and film worlds.

This started as request to write new edition of a book about the industry I wrote in 2007. But the creative space has changed so significantly in the last fifteen years I felt like a new edition is kind of bullshit. New World is more like it.

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At the height of my photography career, when most of my social interactions were with people in the fashion and entertainment industries, I'd get calls about three times a year that started with the phrase, “I've quit drinking, we need to talk.”

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One day in the mid 2000s I got an ambitious notion to co-write an article with Christy Turlington about how photographers could safely and respectfully approach young women who had the potential to be a model. My magazine editor at the time thought my chances of connecting with the supermodel were zero.

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The current blogging renaissance is fascinating to watch because it’s fueled by a desire for editorial freedom. The exact same desire that ignited blogging into existence twenty-five years ago. Back then it was the writer’s versus the periodicals, today, it’s the writer’s versus the platforms.

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It’s 9 a.m. at Charles de Gaulle airport. A man in his early thirties has just extinguished the butt of his sixth cigarette. He’s a driver for Success Model Management, sent to pick up a model flying in from America. Her flight arrived at 8 a.m., but she’s nowhere to be found. It’s Sunday; there’s no one at the agency he can contact. He resigns himself to wait another hour.

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