Documerica was a simple concept. In the 1970s, a newly created Environmental Protection Agency hired a bunch of freelancers to document environmental issues around the country. It wasn’t the first time the government had subsidized photography. A few decades prior, the Farm Security Administration sponsored a similar program to catalog the Great Depression.

But in some ways, it was unprecedented. For one, enthusiasm within the environmental movement, which catalyzed the creation of the EPA, was at its height — which meant interest in (and support for) this kind of program was more palpable than ever.

Plus, Gifford Hampshire, the man who created Documerica, basically gave photographers free rein to shoot whatever they wanted. (Imagine, photographers: Getting paid to hit the road and capture America in your own, personal way.)

Do We Need A New Documerica?

Photo Credit: U.S. National Archives

“Be a human first and a journalist second,” Donna De Cesare once told me.

Even before she became my professor at the University of Texas, Austin, I had been well aware of De Cesare’s work and the recognition it had earned her — like a Fulbright fellowship and the Dorothea Lange prize from Duke University — so I was pretty daunted by the time I enrolled.

As a photojournalist, De Cesare has spent decades documenting the effects of war and gang violence on youth in Central America, from former child soldiers to imprisoned gang members, as well as the war-related diaspora in Los Angeles.

“We don’t think about the long-term effect war has on people, especially children,” she says on the phone. “Once a war ends, we are thinking about the next war.”

Donna De Cesare’s Lens On Central America, Children And Civil War

Photo Credit: Donna De Cesare/University of Texas Press

Try to put him in a box and he’ll find his way out. Still working at nearly 85 years old, William Klein has gone rogue in at least four different fields: abstract painting, photography, filmmaking and commercial copy writing.

Klein now lives in Paris but I caught up with him in New York City — the place where he was born, but no longer has much affinity for. He’s just here to promote a new book, William Klein ABC.

When I ask him what he thinks about the city, he says:

“One thing that annoys me is the talk. I went into Starbucks, and I wanted tea — and there was a cookie. ‘Starbuck’s outrageous oatmeal cookie.’ What do you mean outrageous? Everybody says, ‘Have a nice day.’ There’s a lot of bull- - - - in the talk.”

“People don’t do that in Paris?” I ask.

“They don’t do that,” he replies. “They’re much cooler.”

You Can’t Put A Headline On William Klein

Photo Credit: William Klein/’William Klein ABC’/Abrams

How A Female Photographer Sees Her Afghanistan

As a new season of Major League Baseball begins, one photographer focuses on baseballs past — that is, baseballs that have lain dormant well after their last pitch.

For years, photographer Don Hamerman walked his dog near an old baseball diamond in Stamford, Conn. And in all different seasons, in all kinds of weather, Hamerman picked up old baseballs.

He brought them back to his studio, where they sat around for years until he finally decided to start photographing them in 2005.

Hamerman, who hasn’t been to a ballgame in 10 years, admits that he cares more about aesthetics than history. He says he doesn’t even know what baseballs are made of — he just loves the way they look.

Finding Beauty In A Baseball, After The Last Pitch

Photo Credit: Don Hamerman

North Korea Caught Photoshopping ... Again (Do We Care?)

In 1997, Kazakhstan, recently freed from the Soviet Union, packed up its border-location capital, and moved it to the inhospitable steppe, smack in the middle of the country. That’s where the country’s president, Nursultan Nazarbayev, thought it should be. It was named “Astana,” which translates to … “capital.”

“Rich in oil and other mineral resources,” reads a National Geographic article, “Kazakhstan has lavished billions on the new capital,” inviting notable planners and architects from around the world to build a city from scratch.

It’s one of the youngest capital cities in the world. And many have marveled at what has emerged. It’s been described by National Geographic as “brash and grandiose,” The Guardianas “the space station in the steppes.”

Photographer Fabrice Fouillet was watching a documentary about architect Norman Foster when he first caught sight of Astana — and the structure Foster designed: the Khan Shatyr Entertainment Center, basically the world’s biggest tent.

Under Construction: Kazakhstan’s Space-Age Capital

Photo Credit: Fabrice Fouillet

The term “Photoshopping” has these days become synonymous with photo manipulation. But the practice is much older than the computer software — about as old as photography itself.

An exhibition now on display at Washington, D.C.’s National Gallery of Art is exploring just that: The collaging, cutting, pasting and coloring that preceded digital photography.

“You know, we don’t necessarily believe that every photograph … is truthful,” says Curator Diane Waggoner, explaining how digital tools have changed the way we see photography. “So this seemed a very timely exhibition, to go back and explore that throughout the history of the medium.”

But in a sense, people have always kind of known that photography isn’t entirely truthful. In the earliest days, some manipulation was certainly tolerated, if not preferred.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It: What Came Before Photoshop

Photo Credit: Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art

Big Bend National Park lies in West Texas, surrounded by mountains and the Chihuahuan Desert. It’s one of the least-visited national parks in the country, according to the National Parks Service.

For those simply passing through, it can be hard to capture the spirit of the place — which is why photographer James H. Evans moved there in 1988, and has never left.

“The big difference of living out here is that in the city the stars are on the ground, and here the stars are in the sky,” Evans says on the phone.

After camping in the area a few times, Evans moved to Marathon, a small town of fewer than 500 people near the outskirts of the park. As much as the landscape moved him, he said he was mostly inspired by the people — ranchers, Kickapoo Native Americans, and the large Hispanic population who call West Texas home.

Documenting West Texas And Big Bend National Park

Photo Credit: James H. Evans

In 2002, photographer Lisa Ross found herself far away from home — in the remote Taklamakan Desert of western China, in what is known as the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region.

“I was looking for something,” she says, but “I didn’t know what I was looking for.”

She had been visiting a friend in Beijing but ventured out to the desert on her own. That’s where she first encountered mazars: handmade holy sites in Sufi Islam, built to commemorate saints who are buried there.

Several trips to China and about a decade later, Ross now has a book out — as well as a show at the Rubin Museum of Art in New York City: Living Shrines of Uyghur China.

The Uighurs (also spelled Uyghurs) are Muslims who live in this remote part of China. And these sites are tributes to saints, who in their lifetime were deemed to have healing power that they carried to the grave.

The shrines are located sporadically throughout the sprawling region and are often unmarked. Some of them, Ross says, are easily 500 years old. The sites serve as destinations for pilgrims — who leave offerings in exchange for healing.

The Spirit of China’s Sufi Shrines

Media Credit: Lisa Ross