Photo Books Archives

Streetwise and Me: A Snapper’s Delight with Magnum’s Leica Masters

I nabbed Magnum Streetwise off a shelf in Beijing’s Sanlitun Page One, back when it was hot off the press, like a fresh baozi nobody else had sniffed yet. Street photography’s my jam—I’d stalk a shadow or a stray cat for hours just to catch it blinking—so this book slid into my life like a perfect frame. Two years later, the Chinese version popped up, and I grabbed that too, because who says you can’t double-dip on genius? It’s not just a book; it’s the ceiling of street shooting, a parade of moments that hit you like a pigeon landing on your lens.

The pages are a circus—Cartier-Bresson sneaking around corners, Erwitt winking at dogs, Gilden flashing faces like he’s daring them to blink. It’s chaos and poetry, all mashed together with a shutter’s click. I flip through it and grin, because this is what the street’s about: not posing, not planning, just snatching life as it trips over itself. My copy’s worn now, edges curling like it’s been dragged through alleys with me. Good. That’s where it belongs.

What did it teach me? First, patience is a predator—wait long enough, and the shot pounces. Second, gear’s just a sidekick; it’s the eye that calls the shots. Third, humor’s the secret sauce—find the absurd, and the frame sings. I’m still chasing that ceiling, but this book’s my map.

Magnum’s crew wielded some classics: Cartier-Bresson with a Leica M3, stalking silence; Erwitt too, Leica in pocket, sniffing out laughs; Gilden, a Leica M6 with a flash like a punch; Parr, maybe a Mamiya 7, coloring the mundane loud; Koudelka, Leica or a Pentax 67, brewing drama in black. Old school, mostly, but sharp as ever.

Picasso Through the Lens: A Lucky Find with Leica and Nikon Masters

I spotted it in a bookstore, this hefty slab called Ichundichundich. Picasso im Fotoporträt, lounging on the shelf like it owned the place. Cracked it open, and there they were—Picasso’s familiar mugs, the ones I’d seen in grainy mags years back. David Douglas Duncan’s shots jumped out first—Picasso in shorts, paintbrush waving, smirking like he’d just outsmarted the sun. Then came Cartier-Bresson’s brooding shadows, Man Ray’s odd tilts, Capa’s raw edges. A lineup of masters, all crammed into one book.

I’ve got a soft spot for Leica and Nikon, the kind of soul who’d rather fiddle with a shutter than a screen, so this was gold. These legends didn’t just snap Picasso—they pinned him down with gear I’d trade an arm for. Duncan, probably with a Leica, catching the old man mid-cackle; Cartier-Bresson stalking light like it owed him. In China, this book’s scarcer than a quiet corner in Beijing, so I forked over the cash and hauled it home. It’s a keeper.

It’s more than photos. It’s what happens when Picasso—wild enough to paint the wind—meets shooters who live by f-stops and split seconds. Sparks fly, and you get this: a striped-shirt joker mugging for the lens, or a hunched figure squeezing a canvas dry. Flip through it, and you think, hell, this is why cameras exist—not for selfies, but for moments that cling like burrs. Makes me itch to grab my Leica and hunt something half as alive.

This book rolls out a red carpet of shooters: David Douglas Duncan, likely with his trusty Leica, snagging Picasso’s candid chaos; Henri Cartier-Bresson, Nikon or Leica in hand, framing the master in timeless black-and-white; Lee Miller, maybe with a Rolleiflex, catching sharp slices of life; Robert Capa, armed with a Contax, chasing raw energy; and Man Ray, tweaking a large-format rig for his surreal spins. Gear and genius, all in one stack.

“Rising Among Ruins, Dancing amid Bullets”——Reflections on Maryam’s Photographic Elegy

The Gravity of Ash

Maryam’s monochrome world first arrests you with its textures—the cracked concrete resembling elephant hide, children’s laughter frozen into charcoal smudges, laundry lines strung between bullet-riddled walls like musical notations. These are not war photographs; they are postscripts to apocalypse, where survival wears the face of mundane ritual. A man sips tea in a room missing two walls. A girl leaps over rubble as if it were hopscotch squares. The genius lies not in documenting destruction, but in revealing how life molds itself around absence—like ivy claiming a bombed-out cathedral.

What I learn from Think Like a Street Photographer

It is impossible not to shoot, but it is equally futile to shoot without studying. Flipping through photo books isn’t about mining for answers – it’s about letting your mind tango with the streets. Quantity breeds quality; street photography thrives on the pendulum swing between relentless shooting and voracious viewing. As the volume swells, epiphanies drip like developer in a darkroom.

“Snapping” oversimplifies the craft, but its complexity dissolves when you carry a dog-eared notebook in your pocket. Flip it like a DJ scratches vinyl-not to imitate the masters, but to let each frame hum like a melody. Every photo is a song waiting to be remixed. Borrow the chorus, riff on the bridge, but always hum your own tune. After all, even cover bands stumble upon new grooves when the streetlights flicker to life.

Master Photographer Frank Horvat and leica

You will fall in love with his work just by looking at it

Looking at Frank Horvat’s work always gives one a relaxed and spontaneous feeling. Whether it is commercial work or street work, it exudes a spirit of euphoria and optimism. And this spirit is not built by relying on clean backgrounds and telling circumstances, but rather capturing a moment when the characters shine. He does not shoot surprisingly like other photographers, nor does he shoot seriously like some photographers, simply put, you will fall in love with his work at first glance.

I think it is difficult to introduce Frank Horvat in a sentence or two, or in an article, because he is a fashion photographer who is also very good in the field of street photography and is also famous for photographing club girls. Sometimes photographers don’t know how to be themselves.

Frank Horvat has taken a lot of black and white photos, but also a lot of color photos. But from his black and white photos I see more or “open”, no excessive sense of obstinacy, are naturally emitting a kind of optimistic calmness. This is perhaps the secret of his longevity. You can see that he was a very cheerful man.