At the start of the month, I had the pleasure of participating in the 100th episode of Prova de Contacto, a Portuguese photography podcast I’ve been following since it first aired.
I originally tuned in because one of the hosts, Ruben, is a longtime friend — we first bonded over street photography sessions and that still holds strong. Every time I visit the motherland, we make sure to hit the streets together with our cameras. The other host, João Paulo, was just as easy to connect with. He’s an incredibly gentle soul with a voice that was practically made for radio.
A few moons ago, I even had the chance to flip the script and host an episode myself — interviewing the two of them and making them the focus for a change.
For all you international friends, I should mention: the podcast is entirely in good old Portuguese!
I Forgot - 2014 finally sees the light of day. This project had been on the back burner for way too long, and it feels great to finally release it. As I’ve mentioned before, I would’ve loved to see it on a gallery wall, but between being a hobbyist and today’s economy, that just wasn’t in the cards for now. Still, if a gallery ever wants to give it a home, I’m all ears.
This project also comes with a physical release a hands-on, crafty effort that had its fair share of ups and downs, but in the end, I’m really happy with how it turned out.
Our project Summer in the City is still riding warm winds into the season. And here’s some exciting news just for you lovely people: Athenaeum - for you Amsterdamers a store that needs no introduction - is going to carry a few copies of our zine in their indie publishers section!
We heard this from Hugo, the RISO wizard who printed the zine for us. He told us that Marc, who manages that section at Athenaeum, would be enthusiastic about the project. Hugo also sells a few copies at his own shop, and to our surprise, complete strangers — not just our friends — have been picking it up! That might not sound like a big deal, but when most of our audience is our inner circle of friends, hearing that someone with no personal connection to us thought the work was worth their money… that’s a heartwarming thing :)
For those who reserved a copy: hang tight! The second edition is coming your way soon. And it looks like a third print run might be on the horizon too. More updates on that front very soon, as well as more news in the near future too. So stay tuned!
Now that a few big things are out the door, I’ve shifted gears a little.
I wrapped up editing some shots for the Spotlight project.
I’ve started digging into my backlog of unscanned and undeveloped film from 2024 and 2025.
Also doing some long-overdue tech maintenance. I am upgrading my NAS setup and migrating everything to new bigger drives. Housekeeping might not be glamorous, but it’s essential. ✨
Book corner
Sebastião Salgado - Genesis & his other work
It should come as no surprise that this edition’s Book Corner is dedicated to Sebastião Salgado. With his recent passing, his work has — rightfully — come back into the spotlight. But not just his images. His interviews, his initiatives, his voice, his stories… all of it is surfacing again. And what shines through most of all is the man himself — the joy, the conviction, the compassion.
Salgado’s Genesis was the first photobook I ever owned. It was the beginning of what has become a full-blown addiction — one that continues to this day, much to the detriment of my wallet and every time I need to move house. But I digress…
I remember it so clearly: my friend Agata was staying with me and my girlfriend at the time, and she invited me to swing by the Taschen bookshop — they were having a sale. I’d never heard of Taschen before, but that visit left a mark on me. If you’ve ever been, you know: their photobooks are gorgeous objects. Big, heavy, tactile. They cover a lot more than photography too — art, architecture, travel, film history — but on that first visit, it was the photography section that pulled me in. One name in particular jumped out: Sebastião Salgado.
The book was enormous — practically the size of an A3 sheet, with dozens of pages, some of them even folding out like mini murals. And by pure coincidence, I had just watched his Ted Talk a few weeks earlier. That talk made me fall for the man himself. His warmth, his honesty, the way he spoke about the world, about people, about the land — it all stuck with me. If you haven’t seen it yet, I strongly encourage you to watch it.
So there I was, standing in front of this massive, beautiful book by the very person I’d just discovered, and it was half price 🤩. Sold. I also picked up a Helmut Newton Polaroids book. I was in the honeymoon phase with my SX-70 at the time and Helmut Newton's work was also new to me, but Genesis was the real prize.
Back home, diving into Genesis was an experience in itself. The book documents a 10-year journey across over 30 countries — from the Arctic to the Amazon, from African deserts to Indonesian rainforests, all photographed in stunning black and white. It was Salgado’s attempt to reconnect with the raw, untouched parts of our planet. Not just nature, but a kind of primal beauty — the Earth as it was before industry and urban sprawl.
And it’s not just the images. The physicality of the book, the weight of it, the grain of the paper, the texture of the ink, made it feel like I was reading Braille for the first time. It was immersive in the truest sense. The pictures are deeply layered and finely printed, almost like etchings. You feel them, not just see them.
What I’ve always admired about Salgado is how he married aesthetics with ethics. Many people call what he does Misery Porn, but that comes out of ignorance for not knowing the man himself. He literary peed blood for falling so much into the misery he was capturing. He was so empathic that he started to die himself…
He believed photography could be a tool for awareness, for empathy, for change. Whether documenting famine, the plight of workers in Workers, or the displaced people of Migrations, he always carried a sense of responsibility. With Genesis, that same compassion turned toward the planet itself.
A few years latter the 200+ giant collection of prints came to Rotterdam and I was able to fall in love with the work again. The Netherlands Fotomuseum is a museum with a lot of space and made and sits side by side to a big warehouse which was perfect to host the biggest photo exhibition that I ever saw in my life. Everything about this project is grandiose! Fortunately this years long journey is also met with a documentary, that speaks about the man, his past work, and the journey to create Genesis. It is aptly named: The Salt of the Earth. Also a very recommended watch.
Now, with him gone, the images feel even more sacred — like echoes from a man who truly saw the world, in all its pain and beauty. I can safely say his photos were the first ones that truly touch me on a deep level and fundamentally changed me. From his farm transformation into Instituto Terra reforestation project.
To the violently beautiful Fires of Kuwait.
all copyrights to Sebastião Salgado.
Rest in peace, Salgado. Thank you for helping us see world through your eyes!
Inspiration
Rick Rubin's - The Creative Act
Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act is full of small anecdotes, helpful tips, and thoughtful aphorisms. As I mentioned during the Prova de Contacto podcast episode — and for those who haven’t listened or don’t speak Portuguese — it’s one of the few books I’ve felt compelled to underline. Line after line, I keep marking the passages that resonate with me. The book isn’t structured like a traditional read, it’s more like an open-ended manual for creativity. You can pick it up, flip to any page, and find a small push in the right direction. something to shake things loose or spark an idea. You can also use it's theme index, when you are struggling with a particular problem. It's brilliant!
One of the tips that really stuck with me, and that helped push me forward this past month is simple: “Do it once a day. As small as it is, do it.”
For me, that “it” has been editing. Just one photo a day. At first it felt a little silly — all that effort just to turn on the computer and edit a single image? But I did it anyway. And what happened surprised me: I never stopped at just one photo. Once I got going, the friction disappeared. The rhythm returned. I ended up editing more than I planned, and, most importantly I found myself enjoying the process again.
So for now, that’s the mantra I’m holding onto. One photo a day is better than none. It’s enough to keep the wheels turning, the eye tuned, the practice alive.
That’s it for this month.
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Copyright (C) 2025 Nuno Cruz. All rights reserved.
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