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A profile of photographer Joel Sternfeld, whose series "Walking the High... more info A profile of photographer Joel Sternfeld, whose series "Walking the High Line" captured the High Line elevated rail structure in four seasons"

Blackboard Collaborate software solutions offer a social, interactive learning experience with virtual classrooms, online conferencing, instant messaging and more collaboration tools.

THEORY: "Lee Friedlander: Museum of Modern Art, New York" Lee Friedlander: Museum of Modern Art, New York ArtForum, Sept, 2005 by Carol Armstrong Walking with a friend through the Lee Friedlander retrospective at MOMA, I noticed that the two of us each had a different way of looking at almost every early street photograph on view: One of us saw the photograph a certain way right off the bat and couldn't easily see it otherwise, while the other noticed everything else in the photo and could only see the "hook" after having it pointed out. What in one viewing looked like Americanized pieces of Cartier-Bresson poetic doubling in another couldn't be disentangled from a set of densely stratified spatial and perceptual conundrums that at once posit the transparency of photography and question it at every level.

Jessica Dimmock dove headlong freakin' into it. There she was, in 2004, all innocent and walkin' around, playing with her fancy new digital camera, still a student... then a chance meeting with the jail bound coke dealer, the door in the floor opened and into the rabbit hole she went. Into the darkness, into the-land-of-broken-childhood-dreams, into the pain, into the dead end, into the heroin-is-god parallel universe. The 9th Floor was waiting for her... and in she jumped. The apartment in NYC, 4 W. 22nd St, the place of the pain, the upside down world of the empty shell living… dead folks walking... it would become a second home of sorts for Jessica. There she was, in the fray. This was amazing for a photographer, right? Insane to have this opportunity of chance, a chance that would turn into a VIP pass to document the drug fueled descent, to document the decay, to have free reign in the world of dashed dreams... to make it, with open arms, to be accepted into this world of the barely living... amazing, wasn't it? Well, I guess that all depends on the way that you look at it… doesn't it. Let's hold our thoughts on that for a bit and let's get back to our story.

Bruce Gilden walks up and down streets, lingers at corners, and waits for his unsuspecting subjects. Then, with camera in one hand and flash in the other, he swoops in for the shot and passersby are caught in his frame. EGG catches up with Bruce Gilden at work and in action in New York City, his home turf.

One rainy night eight years ago, in Watertown, Massachusetts, a man was taking his dog for a walk. On the curb, in front of a neighbor's house, he spotted a pile of trash: old mattresses, cardboard boxes, a few broken lamps. Amidst the garbage he caught sight of a battered suitcase. He bent down, turned the case on its side and popped the clasps. He was surprised to discover that the suitcase was full of black-and-white photographs. He was even more astonished by their subject matter: devastated buildings, twisted girders, broken bridges - snapshots from an annihilated city. He quickly closed the case and made his way back home.

The window of a Humvee rolling through Baghdad's dangerous streets is essentially a television, watched in the dark. The glass is dirty and three inches thick: everything has a hazy and muted look, like a rerun of an old seventies movie. Humvees are dim inside even on sunny days; you can see out, but Iraqis can't see in, any more than a sitcom character can see us when we watch. Even the proportions are right: the older Humvee windows have the squarish shape of an old-fashioned picture tube; the latest armor kits feature wider, more horizontal windows, like the letterbox of plasma screens. And these screens show, for the American soldier-viewers, the day-to-day life of seven million souls: Iraqi children walking to school, men lounging in chairs outside of businesses, a food seller grilling meats. Women swathed in black abayas (so rare before the invasion and so common today) shuffling through the streets. Tall concrete blast walls, everywhere.

This is an article of particular interest to the Citizen Photojournalism project. Writer Alissa Quart writes for the Columbia Journalism review amongst others, and in this article, she considers the impact of citizen photojournalism on agencies and professional photojournalism in general.

I must say that during last Sunday's riots in the Old CIty of Jerusalem the citizen journalists outnumbered those who were rioting . At least 6 photographers complained about their difficulties of capturing an image without someone sticking a cell phone or other small camera into the frame . A Palestinian man poked his head of the entrance of his home and asked me to assist a Norwegian man who ran into his home to seek safety but was too afraid to leave the area and was trapped . I helped the man make his way down the alley that separated the masked Palestinian youths who were throwing stones towards the Israeli border police at the other end and told him to stick to my side where he would be more protected by the stone building along the way . This has happened a number of times during my coverage of the Palestinian Israeli conflict and in some ways hinders a photojournalist because they leave the scene to assist someone else , can endanger them further my walking in between lines however even the seasoned professionals have opted out of situations that risked their own safety .