The Periphery and the Slice of History

Pressing the shutter is often seen as a reflex. To outsiders, it might seem like instinct, luck, or just timing. But for the photojournalist, the moment of exposure results from a layered process—an alchemy of emotional intuition, critical judgment, and deliberate restraint. It’s not just about seeing; it’s about capturing a fleeting piece of history that reveals more than the eye can perceive.

I call this working at the periphery. The periphery isn't a fixed place; it's not always at the edge of a crowd or away from the scene’s center. It can just as easily be at the heart of the action or quietly moving between both extremes. The periphery is a relationship: between attachment and separation, empathy and objectivity, and the photographer and the unfolding reality. It’s a dynamic position that allows you to feel without being overwhelmed, observe without becoming detached.

This balance is crucial. Lean too far into attachment, and the scene overtakes you. Clarity is lost amid the intensity of your own emotion. Lean too far into detachment, and the photograph becomes cold, devoid of the humanity that gives it significance. The periphery is the narrow edge where these forces converge, where a story gains both heartbeat and perspective.

Within this space, the photojournalist searches—not for the obvious, but for the moment that reveals itself. It is rarely the loudest instant or the most dramatic. More often, it is subtle: a gesture, a glance, a stillness amid chaos. The photograph becomes a vessel that carries more than just appearance; it carries resonance. It asks the viewer not only to see but to feel, to reckon, to understand.

This is why pressing the shutter is never just casual; it’s an act of responsibility. Every frame is a choice to witness, to honor reality as it exists, and to influence how it will be remembered. The photojournalist isn’t neutral, even when aiming for truth. Intention is embedded in the frame: where we stand, what we include, what we omit, and the exact moment we select as *the* moment.

The periphery, then, is both craft and philosophy. It is the convergence of perception, empathy, and purpose that makes the slice of history visible. And when that shutter clicks, it is not by chance.

Every photograph taken from this place is more than just evidence. It is a piece of history deliberately carved and shaped by relationships, alive with the tension of its creation.

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