Who we are is what we spend our life doing

Kiliii Yuyan Uncategorized 0 Comments

I remember standing in the bright midday, hiding between a giant tin roof and an open concrete slab, sweating profusely into the humid air. My assistant Citlali and I were taking a moment of downtime on assignment for National Geographic, in a Indigenous village in the Amazon basin, where we were on the barest edge of reception to the world outside the rainforest.

As I paced, swiping on my phone to the metallic slinky sounds of oropendula birds, an email came in from Kaitlin Yarnall, Director of Storytelling at National Geographic. I was surprised enough to pull my mind away from the forest, where I’d been for the past month. I was to receive the Eliza Scidmore award, a gargantuan honor from National Geographic, whose past winners include Lynsey Addario, Erika Larsen, and Lynn Johnson. They are all heroines of mine, whose works I have spent my entire photographic life drawing divine influence from. Thus I was immediately dumbfounded and at once struck by strange despair- why on earth would I deserve an award like this?

My gut reaction was a self-denial of sorts. I had only just published my first feature story for National Geographic, while my inspirations had been known for their lifetimes of achievement.

I stewed under that hot tin roof for some time, then finally thought perhaps I would confide in Citlali and get out of my own head.

Citlali was a brilliant therapist. A few days earlier I had been talking with her about impostor syndrome, the idea that we don’t see ourselves the way we see our heroes. It’s an unconscious bias that we can only get away from through acknowledgement and healthy belief in our own value.

She turned that idea back on me, obviously, and I had to admit, given my long interest in cognitive psychology, that there was some possibility she was right. I was feeling like an impostor.

So I did a second, more detailed mental review of my creative life. It made me remember that while I’ve shot just a single magazine feature story, I’ve done six other stories for National Geographic. Making those stories required working for months in extreme environments from the Arctic to the Amazon, and I returning with stories that laid bare the lives of people in remote communities; I’ve been telling stories from a different perspective than the historical norm in journalism. Even so, there’s a battle in my moral consciousness that reminds me this is just routine work for a committed photojournalist.

Thinking on it now I can see that my discomfort with receiving the Eliza Scidmore award is to some extent conflating awards with egotism. But that’s an association just in my head. It’s just as easy to redefine:

An award is an acknowledgement of trust– that someone trusts you enough to keep doing work that they value.

People say work is just a living, but it’s more personal for me. My work heals me, connects me with my ancestry and with the land. Like many artists, I don’t just choose to do my work. I am compelled to it. Documentary photography has made me broader and deeper as a human being, and what a gift that is.

It will surprise nobody who knows me that I am happiest when I am with a subsistence community fishing, or making photos on the land. While some say that journalists make measurable differences in peoples’ lives, I know quite clearly that I always get the better end of the deal– my spirit is made whole when I have the privilege of photographing and living in these remote communities on the land. I suppose I’m giving away this open secret within the art world.

The greatest thing– the only thing – to sustain an artist, is the work itself.

Ultimately, our values should guide what we do with accolades. Especially as I get older, my values point me to the creation of a greater good in peoples’ lives. Accolades are a way to keep doing the work that I feel is important, while championing the values of the people who have trusted me to take their pictures.

But, I hear you say, what is this abstract ‘greater good’? One real-world idea for the Eliza Scidmore award ceremony (at National Geographic headquarters during the weeklong Storytelling Summit), was to bring an elder from one of my recent stories to speak. The Mohawk community possesses an amazing spoken ceremony (or technology, if you prefer) known as the Thanksgiving Address. It’s a long recitation and expression of gratitude to the natural world and to all the other beings in life; this includes animals and plants, ancestors, and next generations.

My elder of choice, Tom Cook of the Akwesasne Mohawk, can’t make the summit, as he’s due to be in Hawaii, and I can’t blame him. But he did put me up to a different idea, which I won’t spoil because you may experience it at the Storytelling Summit in just a few weeks. But if you’re curious, let’s say that it’s a way to decolonize a conference that can be, at times, buried in the egos of famous creatives.

At last, I hope that, if you’re reading this, you might come away just one idea that I’ve paraphrased from writer Annie Dillard.

Who we are, is what we spend our life doing.

Annie Dillard

If you’re a creative, then the greatest gift is to be able to do creative work and have it leave behind a greater good.

Indigenous Fire wins Zeke Award for Systemic Change

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Excited and honored to announce that my story Indigenous Fire, on cultural burning as used by the Yurok and Karuk Nations of Northern California, has taken 1st place in the Zeke Award for Systemic Change. This year’s theme is Climate Change, and I really appreciate the prize was focused on solutions rather than just highlighting problems.

Each summer, headlines around the world shout about the seemingly apocalyptic wildfires raging across the American West. Despite the intense focus on the problem itself, scant attention is paid to solutions- including one particularly pragmatic solution to climate-change exacerbated wildfire. It’s at first non-intuitive– fire-lighting rather than fire-fighting– but it has proven to be an exceptional weapon against a seemingly impossible opponent on a landscape-level scale.

It’s known as cultural fire. People like Margo Robbins and Elizabeth Azzuz of the Indigenous Peoples’ Burn Network are training others in an ancient technique of ecological restoration, which is to safely light low-intensity fires in wet seasons that remove the small fuels on the forest floor. Not only does it effectively prevent wildfires from spreading, but it also performs a 13,000 year old function- the restoration of health of the forests of Northern California, the most diverse coniferous forests on earth.

from Indigenous Fire

The other awardees had terrific stories highlighting different solutions to climate, from underwater agriculture to sea turtle rescue. You can find the full list here.

Frequently asked Questions

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How do I become a photographer for National Geographic?

This is the most common question that any photographer for National Geographic gets, and I think it’s because the myriad paths to becoming a successful documentary photographer are rarely spoken about. Every single photographer making photos for the Geographic goes through a complicated journey in their life and career, and it’s unique to every person. What is certain is that there is no straightforward way to get there. Most photographers at NatGeo began having expertise in other fields, such as in marine biology, environmental justice, or medicine. Many are accomplished with specialized technical skills, such as cave diving, fluency in languages like Arabic, or macro studio lighting. Other have unique abilities to deeply access worlds that the rest of us do not, such as inside the military, Arctic Indigenous communities, or the homeless. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that every photographer at the Geographic can do something that no-one else in the world can do, and present it from a unique perspective that noone else can offer.

My best advice to an aspiring National Geographic photographer is this:

• Become an expert in something that truly speaks to you, and do not just focus on photography.
• Create photographic stories/projects, not just single images, that noone else has ever seen before. That does not mean it has never been covered, but that the images show us something we have never seen.
• Expect to be a working photographer for at least several years before working for National Geographic.
• Master less common technical skills, such as strobe lighting, astrophotography, or aerial work.
• Do work that you love, and build entire photographic stories even if you have to do it on your dime. It’s very difficult to get hired to do work that you haven’t done before.

What is it like working for National Geographic?

Being a photographer for National Geographic is a dream job for many. But that doesn’t mean it is nearly as glamorous in reality as it seems, and it is not a life that suits everyone. Here are some of the less amazing things that are part of the lifestyle.

• I often have so little time on assignment or am in such remote places to eat that I end up eating terrible food. I often have to live on fast food, Spam and crackers, or on the opposite end, on whale blubber and frozen whitefish (which I love but is not for everyone).
• It is hard to stay in shape. I often do not get a chance to workout at all during assignments, and staying in shape is critical for the job. At the same time I often have to do physically demanding tasks when I’m in less good shape, such as steep hiking in 100 degree heat carrying 40# of gear, or freediving in freezing glacial lakes when I don’t have the proper wetsuit for the temperature. We also don’t get enough sleep.
• The pressure to create excellent work can be exhausting. Our editors care deeply about us, but ultimately we have to come home with amazing work every single time, regardless of the excuses.
• We rarely see home or have much of a personal life. In many years I am only home about 90 combined days in a year, and this is common among NatGeo photographers, especially early career. This can make it difficult or impossible to have a family, to keep relationships healthy, and keep your mental health in good shape.
• I don’t make that much money. The days of enormous budgets and sponsorships by Rolex are long gone. Today top working photojournalists make enough money to survive, but here in Seattle, my income is in just the 50th percentile. A big part of our payment is the enjoyment of the work we do.
• We are all freelancers. Every photographer for the Geographic is a contract freelancer. That means each assignment is potentially our last, so there’s not the sense of stability that salaried jobs can give. We buy our own health insurance and have to manage our businesses and do our own taxes. It’s not for everyone.

Here’s some of the wonderful parts of being of the job.

• I experience and see things that I never would have without being a photographer. For example, I never would have started diving, and now I routinely spend time in the kelp forest and occasionally get to play with seals underwater.
• I meet amazing people that give me deep insights into culture and life that I never would have otherwise.
• I get to educate people about issues that I care deeply about. In my case, the issues and stories of Indigenous communities, Asian American communities, the Arctic and wildlife are things that I feel a level of responsibility for, and am so happy when I can tell the stories properly. Sometimes our stories even result in policy change, and that is deeply satisfying.
• I get to go on adventures and travel regularly. This is, of course, the main thing that most people think of when they think of photography for National Geographic, and it’s true. But if it’s your only goal, there are much easier and simpler ways to go about doing it.

I love my work, and in many ways, it is what makes me who I am. But the sacrifices are real, and although we can mitigate them to some degree, they will always be there. Would I change it given the opportunity? Not a chance.

Shortlist for Leica Oskar Barnard Award

Kiliii Yuyan Uncategorized 1 Comment

I am excited to announce my fine-art documentary series, Rumors of Arctic Belonging, has been shortlisted for the Leica Oskar Barnard Award!

The Arctic is changing radically. In his impressive series, the American photographer Kiliii Yüyan (born 1979) offers insight into the fascinating imagery of the North. Both the icebergs and the local population are disappearing; within a couple of decades a future Arctic awaits – not cold and unchanging, but living, dying and being reborn.

Leica Oskar Barnard Award, 2021

The award has been around for a long time and is one of the more prestigious awards in photography, covering documentary of all types. Entrants are only nominated by photo editors and curators.

You can see the entire series on my website here. It was on exhibition at Portland’s Blue Sky Gallery, but due to the pandemic, had few visitors, so I’m happy to see that it’s getting some viewers now. The topic of who the Arctic belongs to, and who belongs to it – is seemingly innocuous – but an enormously deep topic that’s worth talking about in this era of reckoning with colonization worldwide.

On polar bears & fireflies with Outside, Creative Live Podcasts

Kiliii Yuyan Uncategorized 2 Comments

It’s been a busy month for me, revving into 2021 with a bevy of podcast appearances. First up is Outside Magazine’s excellent podcast, where I get into the details of a polar bear attack and what it’s like to experience that as a photographer in a new environment (the sea ice) for the first time. There’s an excerpt above, and you can listen to the entire episode here.

Next up is my talk with Creative Live’s We are Photographers podcast, which is an excellent survey of professional photographers and what they are dealing with in the world. I spoke with Kenna about the importance of bearing around different cultures, and how cultural bias can poison your photography and journalism. I also got into some talk about animism, or how fireflies are actually fairies. The video above has an excerpt about that. You can find the entire podcast here.

Art in the Plague Year

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This was a big year for mind-expanding group exhibitions, and I was honored to be included among three exhibitions, 2 virtual and 1 in person (Taiwan, although I couldn’t be there myself).

The current one is Art in the Plague Year, at the California Museum of Art, which just opened. I thought this was such an interesting idea- what new ideas have we been thinking about during the pandemic, that doesn’t literally picture COVID or its impacts?

We are now engaged with history. In a fog of uncertainty, this alone is clear: history tells us pandemics trigger periods of change. They lay bare social inequities, racial rifts, and economic injustices. They contain the seeds of new futures.

Personally, I had a a powerful moment where I understood the need to branch out beyond my regular work and dive further into animism, the spiritual framework behind my Nanai and Chinese ancestries. And since animism is about relationship to land, it’s a perfect candidate for landscape work.

But the big question was: how to turn something so abstract and beyond normal perception into photography? I didn’t want to stage images, and setup lighting or otherwise manipulate the scene, as I find it too difficult to balance different photographic personalities. I am distinctly a documentary photographer and believe in the power of the journalistic still image.

As soon as I asked the question, the answer appeared in front of me, as the forest I was hiking through transformed into a river of floating orange spirit lights, dancing above my head and on the trunks of the fir trees. I had never seen anything like it before, but I knew that the moment and the particular place had given me insight into how I would approach the idea of animism, now my ongoing project titled, Thin Places.

The first bit of it is online with other impressive perspectives at the California Museum of Photography’s online exhibition.

Feature in FotoNostrum, a Spanish art magazine

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There are certain moments when we are caught off-guard, looking at ourselves from another time, another place. Finding myself in FotoNostrum, a Spanish fine-art magazine feature, with a retrospective of Steve McCurry’s work is one of those.

It’s a perfect juxtaposition of the times. McCurry’s work, which remains powerful and iconic to this day, is no longer the paragon of photographic virtue. Instead, magazines like National Geographic (whose cover was graced by McCurry’s work) and the journalism industry have come to recognize the inherent colonialism in having a white photographer be the primary visual painter of India and the Middle East for America. As an industry, and as a society, we are reckoning with the notion of who tells the stories of the marginalized, particularly in the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests against the brutal murder of George Floyd.

And yet I find it strange to be in the same magazine as a photographic giant like McCurry. Part of this is probably the feeling of someone who’s been taught to keep their head down and follow mainstream culture rather than rise above with one’s own vision. It’s the impostor syndrome, the self shrinking at the magnitude of inhabiting an influential role. I am sure legendary Black photographer Gordon Parks felt this on the daily when he was working at Life Magazine in the 1960s. I certainly don’t feel like a trailblazer.

But I suppose that also brings me to other feelings, which is to wonder why, in the light of 2020, we are featuring Steve McCurry on the cover of a cutting-edge art magazine! The current mood across the world is one of upheaval, one of social change as marginalized peoples in every country are rising up to demand their place at the table. Is it tokenizing to have my work featured here, as if to check the boxes of ‘Indigenous’ and ‘Asian-Pacific Islander’?

Personally I don’t believe the choice to have the portrait Sharbat Gula, the famous ‘Afghan Girl’, on the cover, was one done with a particular agenda in mind. But it does speak to the notion that decisions like this are accompanied by unconscious assumptions. I for one am in a place where I am reckoning with my own hidden biases– I hope that many across journalism and art are doing the same, and embedding revised practices into their organizations.

In any case, I thought FotoNostrum put together the feature well, editing my words to achieve something applicable to a wide photographic audience. I’m not even sure that I said it in a single sentence, “Words reach peoples’ minds– photographs reach people’s hearts,” but I am keeping that quote now. Regardless of the era, the power of photography remains the same– to move people.

British Museum Arctic Exhibition

Kiliii Yuyan Uncategorized 21 Comments

The British Museum has opened a new exhibition in London, Arctic: Culture and Climate. I’m excited to be a part of this new exhibition in a significant way, having contributed the primary exhibition photographs and my short film Anaiyyun: Prayer for the Whale.

Much of the public perception of the Arctic is based on outdated and colonial ideas of an unexplored and desolate land. That’s certainly not the case, as the Arctic is full of life and community. I spoke with curator Peter Loovers of the exhibition at length and was impressed by his team’s deep understanding of the complex issues involved in the modern Arctic. The exhibition itself is an introduction to the Arctic, and they have done a great article with the basics.

If you find yourself in between April and August, I recommend stopping in to take it in! There’s a lot to see, ranging from the usual museum artifacts to all kinds of multimedia and experiences that will take you closer to this amazing region that is so dear to my heart.

Interview with Story Untold Podcast

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I had a long and extensive interview with expert interviewer Martin Bauman in his podcast Story Untold. We covered a lot of ground, so much, in fact, that it is actually two episodes (epic Hollywood blockbuster-style). We cover a lot of pretty deep ground from shamanism to journalism. Check it out in the embedded player below, or in your own podcast player.

In photographer Kiliii Yüyan’s work, he has drawn on both wilderness survival skills and empathy — qualities he deems “critical” for the projects he embarks on in extreme environments and cultures outside his own.

“Human cultures are the most complicated things to understand,” he says. “Human culture is so rich. There’s so much to it.”

He talks about animism, searching for meaning in his late teens and early twenties, and the importance of representation in journalism.

“In the past, journalists have been known to do a lot of things where they just kind of parachute into a place. There’s a lot of this sort of old-school journalism … like, ‘If I’m a good journalist, I should be able to drop into any place in the world and make a story out of it,’” says Yüyan. “[I think] a good journalist goes in with an openness and an understanding that you don’t know everything — far from it.”

Martin Bauman, Story Untold podcast

Part 1

Part 2