Photographer Bradley Scott takes pictures of sex workers. Sometimes it's for his own work and sometimes it's for their own promotional websites. Not surprisingly the images are heavy on sex, nudity, and general adult themes. When I first viewed his shots they suggested another Terry Richardson wannabe. But maybe that's kind of the point. Richardson makes expensive coffee table books that dudes jerk off to. His pictures are the product of a bare fantasy—sex that is as removed from gentle copulation as you can get. It’s about separating the body from the brain. Bradley Scott, whether by accident or design, bypasses the bit where he transforms the model into the subject. By photographing sex workers he addresses the fantasy directly. People try and explain away the role sex plays in art, but are we really just holding out to see tits? Bradley thinks so, and he skips all the faux-intellectualism to get there.
As a 19-year-old in 1963, Ritchie Yorke locked himself in the studio of a Toowoomba radio station and played Little Stevie Wonder's "Fingertips Pt 2" eight times in a row. The on-air protest was an answer to the program manager's threat that he stop playing “nigger music” on his Saturday night rock ‘n’ roll show or face the sack, and had station staff not beaten down the door, Ritchie would have repeated the track indefinitely. At the time, no one realised that he would go on to become on of the world's most respected music journalists, making Editor of Rolling Stone, rubbing shoulders with Jimi Hendrix and Aretha Franklin, becoming friends with John and Yoko, and going on tour with Led Zeppelin. In fact, he still has Jimi's hat after being given it as a gift for appearing as a character witness for the guitarist in a Toronto courtroom, the city he moved to after the unsavory incident on regional Australian radio.
David Dare Parker has made a name for himself photographing some of the most dangerous places on Earth. The Perth native has travelled through the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, Iraq and the multitude of military coups and street protests that plague South East Asia.
In between taking photos in the scariest places on earth he still manages to find time for his side projects at home. He’s a founding member of the °South, the Reportage Photo Festival as well as serving as an Australian Ambassador for Nikon.
Tim Page is a photojournalist of the old school. He arrived in Saigon, South Vietnam, in 1965, when he was 20 years old. Over the next few years, Tim saw enough Agent Orange and Viet Cong to last anyone a lifetime, but he didn't stop going to dangerous places and taking incredible photos.
After Vietnam, Tim freelanced for Rolling Stone while travelling the world, with stopovers in Laos, Cambodia, Bosnia, and elsewhere. In 2009 he was a UN Photographic Peace Ambassador in Afghanistan. He has set up charity organizations like the Indochina Media Memorial Foundation, which honors the legacy of journalists who died covering wars in that region through workshops and tutoring programs, and mentored young photographers throughout Southeast Asia. Oh, and he’s the author of nine books, including the widely acclaimed Requiem, a collection of pictures from photographers who died in the Vietnam War.
I recently got the chance to share a joint with Tim and talk about his time in the Vietnam War, his time in the world since then, and the impending doom of photojournalism.
Stephen Dupont is one of Australia's most widely acclaimed photojournalists. He's a winner of esteemed prizes such as the Robert Capa Citation, the World Press Photo Award, the W. Eugene Smith Grant, as well as the Robert Gardner Fellowship from Harvard—honours that head a list totalling over 50 awards in the last 20 years. VICE recently took a trip down to his studio in Austinmer, in coastal NSW, to talk about some of the hairy moments on the road to becoming one of the most influential photographers in the world. From his first assignment in 1989 for Playboy, to his first time under fire in the jungles of Sri Lanka, to Afghanistan, where in 2008 he was in the middle of a suicide bomb blast.