The Shot That Got Me Beaten: A Photographer's Story of Perseverance and Purpose
In 1993, I took a photograph of a bus driver in Luxor, Egypt that caught the eye of the judges, winning me a prize that included money, a high-end camera, and a return ticket to anywhere in the world. I chose Chile, and soon found myself on a train ride up to the Bolivian Altiplano plateau, where I was on assignment for the Financial Times to capture images from financial areas of South American cities.
As I wandered through the streets of La Paz, camera in hand, I stumbled upon a scene that would capture my attention - a group of people queueing outside their homes with papers, awaiting some unknown outcome. The tension in the air was palpable, and I knew I had to get it on film. But as I snapped away, I attracted unwanted attention from plainclothes police officers who bundled me into a car and drove me to the local station.
The questioning that followed was grueling - they wanted to know what I was doing there and why I took the pictures I did. I explained I was just a tourist taking photographs for myself, but they wouldn't let it go. It was clear they saw my camera as a threat, not an instrument of art. In a bizarre twist, they even tried to take my film - a desperate attempt to silence me.
On the way out, I was met with a line of police officers who took turns to punch and kick me all the way to the door. The warning was clear: stay away from them. But I didn't need any more encouragement. This image, taken in the midst of uncertainty and turmoil, would become one of my most memorable photographs.
Looking back, it's clear that this incident had a profound impact on my approach to photography. I realized that the best images are those that evoke questions rather than answers - that spark curiosity and intrigue. My work has always been driven by a sense of wonder and excitement, captured in black-and-white filmic images that seem to transcend time.
The photograph that got me beaten is now part of a series called "Still Films," which explores the interplay between cinema and photography. It's a testament to the power of still images to tell stories that go beyond the frame. And as I continue to wander through the world, camera in hand, I'm reminded that even the most unexpected moments can become some of our greatest works of art.
For me, photography is not just about capturing reality - it's about collecting and communicating stories that need to be told. And sometimes, it means taking risks and pushing boundaries to get what you want on film. The shot that got me beaten taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes, the best pictures come from the most unexpected places - and with a willingness to face uncertainty head-on.
In 1993, I took a photograph of a bus driver in Luxor, Egypt that caught the eye of the judges, winning me a prize that included money, a high-end camera, and a return ticket to anywhere in the world. I chose Chile, and soon found myself on a train ride up to the Bolivian Altiplano plateau, where I was on assignment for the Financial Times to capture images from financial areas of South American cities.
As I wandered through the streets of La Paz, camera in hand, I stumbled upon a scene that would capture my attention - a group of people queueing outside their homes with papers, awaiting some unknown outcome. The tension in the air was palpable, and I knew I had to get it on film. But as I snapped away, I attracted unwanted attention from plainclothes police officers who bundled me into a car and drove me to the local station.
The questioning that followed was grueling - they wanted to know what I was doing there and why I took the pictures I did. I explained I was just a tourist taking photographs for myself, but they wouldn't let it go. It was clear they saw my camera as a threat, not an instrument of art. In a bizarre twist, they even tried to take my film - a desperate attempt to silence me.
On the way out, I was met with a line of police officers who took turns to punch and kick me all the way to the door. The warning was clear: stay away from them. But I didn't need any more encouragement. This image, taken in the midst of uncertainty and turmoil, would become one of my most memorable photographs.
Looking back, it's clear that this incident had a profound impact on my approach to photography. I realized that the best images are those that evoke questions rather than answers - that spark curiosity and intrigue. My work has always been driven by a sense of wonder and excitement, captured in black-and-white filmic images that seem to transcend time.
The photograph that got me beaten is now part of a series called "Still Films," which explores the interplay between cinema and photography. It's a testament to the power of still images to tell stories that go beyond the frame. And as I continue to wander through the world, camera in hand, I'm reminded that even the most unexpected moments can become some of our greatest works of art.
For me, photography is not just about capturing reality - it's about collecting and communicating stories that need to be told. And sometimes, it means taking risks and pushing boundaries to get what you want on film. The shot that got me beaten taught me a valuable lesson: sometimes, the best pictures come from the most unexpected places - and with a willingness to face uncertainty head-on.
I'm not sure why this photographer is making such a big deal about getting beat up for taking pics in La Paz. Like, yeah, it was intense, but how many people get detained by police while on assignment? The whole thing just seems like a bit of a drama fest 
. Still, I guess the takeaway is that sometimes the best shots come from unexpected places... like when you're getting your butt kicked 
. But seriously, can't we all just enjoy the photos without dwelling on the drama behind them? It's 2025, and we've got better things to do than wallow in self-pity 