⁀ reading ⇦ It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War online ⁝ Kindle Ebook Author Lynsey Addario ₉

⁀ reading ⇦ It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War online ⁝ Kindle Ebook Author Lynsey Addario ₉ ⁀ reading ⇦ It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War online ⁝ Kindle Ebook Author Lynsey Addario ₉ PreludeAJDABIYA, LIBYA, MARCH 2011In the perfect light of a crystal clear morning, I stood outside a putty colored cement hospital near Ajdabiya, a small city on Libyas northern coast, than five hundred miles east of Tripoli Several other journalists and I were looking at a car that had been hit during a morning air strike Its back window had been blown out, and human remains were splattered all over the backseat There was part of a brain on the passenger seat shards of skull were embedded in the rear parcel shelf Hospital employees in white medical uniforms carefully picked up the pieces and placed them in a bag I picked up my camera to shoot what I had shot so many times before, then put it back down, stepping aside to let the other photographers have their turn I couldnt do it that day.It was March 2011, the beginning of the Arab Spring After Tunisia and Egypt erupted into unexpectedly euphoric and triumphant revolutions against their longtime dictatorsmillions of ordinary people shouting and dancing in the streets in celebration of their newfound freedomLibyans revolted against their own homegrown tyrant, Muammar el Qaddafi He had been in power for than forty years, funding terrorist groups across the world while he tortured, killed, and disappeared his fellow Libyans Qaddafi was a maniac.I hadnt covered Tunisia and Egypt, because I was on assignment in Afghanistan, and it had pained me to miss such important moments in history I wasnt going to miss Libya This revolution, however, had quickly become a war Qaddafis famously thuggish foot soldiers invaded rebel cities, and his air force pounded fighters in skeletal trucks We journalists had come without flak jackets We hadnt expected to need our helmets.My husband, Paul, called We tried to talk once a day while I was away, but my Libyan cell phone rarely had a signal, and it had been a few days since wed spoken.Hi, my love How are you doing He was calling from New Delhi.Im tired, I said I spoke with David Furstmy editor at the New York Timesand asked if I could start rotating out in about a week Ill head back to the hotel in Benghazi this afternoon and try to stick around there until I pull out Im ready to come home I tried to steady my voice Im exhausted I have a bad feeling that something is going to happen.I didnt tell him that the last few mornings I had woken up reluctant to get out of bed, lingered too long over my instant coffee as my colleagues and I prepared our cameras and loaded our bags into our cars While covering war, there were days when I had boundless courage and there were days, like these in Libya, when I was terrified from the moment I woke up Two days earlier I had given a hard drive of images to another photographer to give to my photo agency in case I didnt survive If nothing else, at least my work could be salvaged.You should go back to Benghazi, Paul said You always listen to your instincts.When I arrived in Benghazi two weeks earlier, it was a newly liberated city, a familiar scene to me, like Kirkuk after Saddam or Kandahar after the Taliban Buildings had been torched, prisons emptied, a parallel government installed The mood was happy One day I visited some men who had gathered in town for a military training exercise It resembled a Monty Python skit Libyans stood at attention in strict configurations or practiced walking like soldiers or gaped at a pile of weapons in bewilderment The rebels were just ordinary mendoctors, engineers, electricianswho had thrown on whatever green clothes or leather jackets or Converse sneakers they had in their closet and jumped in the backs of trucks loaded with Katyusha rocket launchers and rocket propelled grenades Some men lugged rusty Kalashnikovs others gripped hunting knives Some had no weapons at all When they took off down the coastal road toward Tripoli, the capital city, still ruled by Qaddafi, journalists jumped into their boxy four door sedans and followed them to what would become the front line.We traveled alongside them, watched them load ammunition, and waited Then one morning, one of the first days on that lonely strip of highway, a helicopter gunship suddenly swooped down low over our heads and unleashed a barrage of bullets, spitting at us indiscriminately The gaggle of fighters shot up the air with Kalashnikovs One boy threw a rock another, his eyes wild with terror, ran for a sand berm I ducked beside the front of a tin can car and took a picture of him and knew this would be a different kind of war.The front line moved along a barren road surrounded by sand that stretched flat to the blue horizon Unlike in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there were no bunkers to jump into, no buildings to hide behind, no ard Humvees in which to crouch down on the floor In Libya, when we heard the hum of a warplane, we went through the motions We stopped, looked up, and cowered in anticipation of rounds of ammunition or bombs and tried to guess where they would land Some people lay on their backs some people covered their heads some people prayed and some people ran, just to run, even if it was to nowhere We were always exposed to the massive Mediterranean sky.I had been a conflict photographer for than ten years and had covered war in Afghanistan, Iraq, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Lebanon I had never seen anything as scary as Libya The photographer Robert Capa once said, If your pictures arent good enough, youre not close enough In Libya, if you werent close enough, there was nothing to photograph And once you got close enough, you were in the line of fire That week I watched some of the best photojournalists in the business, veterans of Chechnya and Afghanistan and Bosnia, leave almost immediately after those first bombs fell Its not worth it, they said There were several moments when I, too, thought to myself, This is insane What am I doing But there were other days when I felt that familiar exhilaration, when I thought, I am actually watching an uprising unfold I am watching these people fighting to the death for their freedom I am documenting the fate of a society that has been oppressed for decades. Until you get injured or shot or kidnapped, you believe you are invincible And it had been a few years since anything had happened to me.The other journalists were leaving the scene at the hospital I knew it was time to return to the front line The sounds of war echoed in the distanceshelling, antiaircraft fire, ambulance sirens I didnt want Paul to hear the noise Baby, I have to go Ill see you soon, my love Love you.Long ago I learned that it is cruel to make loved ones worry about you I tell them only what they need to know where I am, where I am going, and when I am coming home I WAS THERE on assignment for the New York Times with three other award winning journalists Tyler Hicks, a photographer and a friend whom, oddly enough, I had grown up with in Connecticut Anthony Shadid, arguably the best reporter working in the Middle East and Stephen Farrell, a British Irish journalist who had worked in war zones for years Between us, we had about fifty years of experience working in awful places We had entered the country illegally from Egypt, along with hordes of other journalists.We left the suburban hospital together and headed toward the center of Ajdabiya to look for the front line Anthony and Steve were in one car, and Tyler and I were in another with our driver, Mohammed It had been difficult to find a good driver in Libya Mohammed, a soft spoken university student with a fresh face and a gap between his front teeth, drove us around long after most other drivers had quit To him, the job was a contribution to the revolution A driver like Mohammed, who was tapped into a network of other drivers and rebels, helped us decide where we could go and how long we could stay His directions often determined our fate His contribution was invaluable.As we edged down an empty road in the center of town, artillery shells pierced the pavement nearby, sending shards of shrapnel in every direction Anthony and Steves driver suddenly stopped his car and began off loading their belongings onto the pavement He was quitting His brother had been shot at the front line Without pausing, Mohammed pulled up our car and put their gear in our trunk, and Anthony and Steve piled into our car I felt uneasy In war zones journalists often travel in convoys of two vehicles, in case one vehicle fails Two vehicles also ensure that if one is hit or attacked, fewer people will suffer the consequences.Four journalists in one car also meant too many chefs in the kitchen We each had a different idea of what we wanted to do As we drove on, Anthony, Tyler, Steve, and I debated the level of danger It is often this way in war zones for journalists and photographers an endless negotiation of who needs what, who wants to stay, who wants to go When do we have enough reporting and photographs to depict the story accurately We want to see fighting, to get the freshest, latest news, to keep reporting until that unknowable last second before injury, capture, death We are greedy by nature We always want than what we have The consensus in the car at that point was to keep working.Ajdabiya was a prosperous, low slung North African city of peach, yellow, and tan cement buildings with thick walled balconies and vibrant storefront signs in painted Arabic The few civilians on the streets were fleeing They ran with conviction, carrying their belongings atop their heads An endless stream of cars sped past us in the opposite direction Families had crammed into every inch of pickup trucks and four door sedans blankets and clothes packed haphazardly into rear windows spilled out the back Some families crouched under tarps It was the first time I actually saw women and children in the town of Ajdabiya In a conservative society like Libyas, women often stayed indoors I was seeing them outside their homes now only because they were leaving, heading east as the fighting pushed into the city from the west.I feared that it was our time to leave, too The steady exodus of civilians out of the city meant the locals anticipated that Ajdabiya would fall into the hands of Qaddafis troops Had they already arrived We knew what might happen to us if Qaddafis men discovered four illegal Western journalists in rebel territory He had declared in public speeches that all journalists in eastern Libya were spies and terrorists and that, if found, they would be killed or detained.We returned to the hospital to check in with other journalists and gauge the casualties from the encroaching battle Anthony, Steve, and Tyler went inside to get the phone numbers of a Libyan doctor so they could call him later that night from Benghazi and report the final casualty toll for the day For reporters it was necessary to have sources inside the city in case power changed hands and we couldnt get back in I stayed on the side of the road across the street from the hospital to photograph fleeing Libyans.On the sidewalk where I stood a French photographer I knew from Iraq and Afghanistan deliberated his next move with several French journalists They spoke in low, serious voices tinged with the sarcasm journalists use to temper their nerves French journalists, in general, are known for being fearless and crazy The joke was that if the French left a combat zone before you, you were screwed Laurent Van der Stockt, a notoriously gutsy conflict photographer, who had covered most of the major wars of the past two decadeshe had been shot twice and hit once by shrapnel from a mortar round on the front linewas staring at the long line of cars draining out of the city.He turned to me Were leaving, he said Its time to go back to Benghazi This meant they had made the decision to retreat from the action to a city that was as much as one hundred miles, and two hours, away They were calling it a day Laurent had decided the pictures werent worth the risk They thought the situation too dangerous.I watched in horror as they scrambled into their cars, but I said nothing I didnt want to be the cowardly photographer or the terrified girl who prevented the men from doing their work Tyler, Anthony, and Steve had each spent than a decade working in war zones they knew what they were doing Maybe my judgment was off that day As we continued the drive into Ajdabiya, I looked out the window and tried to retreat to a comforting place in my mind The mosques around the city blasted the call to prayer.Cars streamed past us We were the only car going the other way.Guys, its time to go, Steve said, and I sensed I had an ally in my fear.Yeah, I think so, too, I said.I was grateful for Steves voice of reason, but our suggestion went unanswered by Tyler and Anthony WHEN WE REACHED A ROUNDABOUT, Tyler and Anthony got out and walked off to interview some rebels Some were watching the approaching action with nonchalance others were scurrying around, shooting their weapons into the air I was directionless I didnt want to be here or there, and could barely lift my camera to my eyes Even the most experienced photographers have days like this You cant frame a shot, catch the moment My fear was debilitating, like a physical handicap Tyler, meanwhile, was in his element, focused and relentless I imagined the images he was capturing while I was clumsy, scared, missing the scenes, clicking the shutter too late.As I ran forward to follow him, I heard the familiar whoosh of a bullet I looked up at the rooftops Qaddafi snipers were in the city I assumed that everyone realized the gravity of the situation, but back near the car Anthony was drinking tea with a handful of men beside an ammunition truck, chatting happily in Arabic He looked older than his forty something years, with his gray beard and soft stomach His eyes sparkled, warm and friendly, as he listened to the Libyans, calmly smoking his cigarette and throwing his hands around as he spoke, as if hanging out with friends by a pool.But Steve, who had been kidnapped twiceonce in Iraq, once in Afghanistanlooked spooked He stood by our car with Mohammed, as if this might inspire the others to finish their work The locals around us were screaming, Qanas Qanas Sniper Sniper Mohammed was getting frantic We have to go to Benghazi, he pleaded His brother had been calling, warning that Qaddafis men had entered the city from the west He called us all back to the car, and we took off for the eastern gate of town.On the road toward the exit Tyler asked Mohammed to stop the car one last time to check out a team of rebel fighters setting up rocket propelled grenades He reluctantly pulled off to the side of the road, and Tyler leapt out to shoot, buoyed by a rush of adrenaline I knew wellthat feeling of satisfaction when doing reporting that few others would dare do Mohammed immediately called his brother again to check in I knew we were pushing the boundaries, lingering after we had been warned to leave, but my desire to pull back to safety felt like a terrible weakness My colleagues would never have accused me of being wimpy or unprofessional I was the one who was all too aware of being the only woman in the car.A car pulled up alongside us Theyre in the city Theyre in the city Tyler Mohammed shouted, his face wrecked with fear.Lets go Steve screamed Tyler clambered into the car and we took off.The night before, my editor, David, and I agreed that I would call him at 9 a.m in New York I checked my watch and dialed his number I couldnt get a line out I dialed again Nothing I kept redialing his extension, over and over and over, punching at the phone When I looked up and squinted into the distance, I saw something I hadnt seen in weeks traffic.I think its Qaddafis men, I said.Tyler and Anthony shook their heads No way, Tyler said.Within seconds, the fuzzy horizon distilled into little olive figurines I had been right.Tyler realized it, too Dont stop he screamed.You have two options when you approach a hostile checkpoint, and both are a gamble The first option is to stop and identify yourselves as journalists and hope that you are respected as neutral professionals The second option is to blow past them and hope they dont open fire on you.Dont stop Dont stop Tyler was yelling.But Mohammed was slowing down, sticking his head out of the window.Sahafi Media he yelled to the soldiers He opened the car door to get out, and Qaddafis soldiers swarmed around him Sahafi In one fluid movement the doors flew open and Tyler, Steve, and Anthony were ripped out of the car I immediately locked my door and buried my head in my lap Gunshots shattered the air When I looked up, I was alone I knew I had to get out of the car to run for cover, but I couldnt move I spoke to myself out loud, a tactic I used when my inner voice wasnt convincing enough Get out of the car Get out Run I crawled across the backseat with my head down and out the open car door, scrambled to my feet, and immediately felt the hands of a soldier pulling at my arms and tugging at my two cameras The harder he pulled, the harder I pulled back Bullets whipped by us Dirt kicked up all around my feet The rebels were barraging the armys checkpoint from behind us, from the place we had just fled The soldier pulled at my camera with one hand and pointed his gun at me with the other.We stood like that for ten interminable seconds Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tyler running toward a one story cement building up ahead I trusted his instincts We needed to get out of the line of fire before we could negotiate our fate with these soldiers.I surrendered my waist pack and one camera and clutched the other, pulling the memory cards out as I ran after my colleagues, who, in the chaos of bullets, had also escaped their captors My legs felt slow as my eyes stayed trained on Anthony ahead of me Anthony Anthony, help me But Anthony had tripped and fallen to his knees When he looked up, his normally peaceful face was wrenched with panic, oblivious to my screams His face looked so unnatural that it terrified me than anything else We had to reach Tyler, who had sprinted ahead and seemed likeliest to escape.Somehow the four of us reunited at the cinder block building set back from the road, sheltered from the gun battle that continued to rage behind us A Libyan woman holding an infant stood nearby, crying, while a soldier tried to console them He didnt bother with us, because he knew we had nowhere to go.Im thinking about making a run for it, Tyler said.We looked into the distance The open desert stretched out in every direction.Within seconds, five government soldiers were upon us, pointing their guns and yelling in Arabic, their voices full of hate and adrenaline, their faces contorted into masks of rage They ordered us facedown into the dirt, motioning to us with their hands We all paused, assuming this was the moment of our execution And then we slowly crouched down and begged for our lives.I pressed my face into the soil, sucking in a mouthful of fine dirt as a soldier pulled my hands behind my back and kicked open my legs The soldiers were all screaming at us, at one another, pointing their weapons at our heads as the four of us sank into silent submission, waiting to be shot.I looked over at Anthony, Steve, and Tyler to make sure we were all still there, together and alive, and then quickly looked back down at the sand.Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God Please, God Save us.I raised my eyes from the ground and looked up into a gun barrel and directly into the soldiers eyes The only thing I could think to do was beg, but my mouth was so dry, as if my saliva had been replaced with dirt I could barely utter a word.Please, I whispered Please.I waited for the crack of the gun, for the end of my life I thought of Paul, my parents, my sisters, and my two grandmothers, well into their nineties Each second felt like its own space in the universe The soldiers continued barking at one another, with their guns leveled at our heads.Jawaz one of them suddenly yelled They wanted our passports, and we surrendered them The soldier leaned down and started searching my body for my belongings, pulling things out of my jacket pockets my BlackBerry, my memory cards, some loose bills His hands moved quickly, skipping over my second passport, which was secretly tucked into a money belt inside my jeans, until they reached my breasts He stopped And then he squeezed them, like a child honking a rubber horn.Please, God I just dont want to be raped I curled as tightly as I could into a fetal position.But the soldier was preoccupied with something else He removed my gray Nikes with fluorescent yellow soles, and I heard the whipping sound of the laces being pulled out I felt air on my feet He tied my ankles together With a piece of fabric he pulled my wrists behind my back and tied them together so tightly they went numb Then he pushed my face down into the filthy earth Will I see my parents again Will I see Paul again How could I do this to them Will I get my cameras back How did I get to this place The soldiers picked me up by my hands and feet and carried me away THAT DAY IN LIBYA I asked myself the questions that still haunt me Why do you do this work Why do you risk your life for a photograph After ten years as a war correspondent, it remains a difficult question to answer The truth is that few of us are born into this work It is something we discover accidentally, something that happens gradually We get a glimpse of this unusual life and this extraordinary profession, and we want to keep doing it, no matter how exhausting, stressful, or dangerous it becomes It is the way we make a living, but it feels like a responsibility, or a calling It makes us happy, because it gives us a sense of purpose We bear witness to history, and influence policy And yet we also pay a steep price for this commitment When a journalist gets killed in a firefight, or steps on a land mine and loses his legs, or tears his friends and family apart by getting kidnapped, I ask myself why I chose this life.I had no idea that I would become a conflict photographer I wanted to travel, to learn about the world beyond the United States I found that the camera was a comforting companion It opened up new worlds, and gave me access to peoples most intimate moments I discovered the privilege of seeing life in all its complexity, the thrill of learning something new every day When I was behind a camera, it was the only place in the world I wanted to be.It was in Argentina, at age twenty two, that I discovered I could make a livingat first, 10 a photographfrom this hobby that I loved Once I began to work, a career in photojournalism didnt seem like such a distant dream The question was how to move forward in such a competitive industry I got a job as a stringer for the Associated Press in New York, and once I had experience, I took a risk and began to travel, first to Cuba, then India, Afghanistan, Mexico City I became comfortable in places most people found frightening, and as I saw of the world, my courage and curiosity grew.I was just finding my way as a reporter when the September 11 attacks changed the world Along with hundreds of other journalists, I was there to witness the invasion of Afghanistan it would be the first time many of us would participate in a story that involved our own troops and our own bombs The War on Terror created a new generation of war journalists, and as the wars became unjust, our commitment deepened We had an obligation to show the world the truth, and our sense of mission consumed our lives On the front lines we became a family Weve seen one another through affairs, through marriages, divorces, and deaths Now that combat operations in Iraq and Afghanistan have mostly ceased, we meet most often at weddings and funerals.When I was first starting out, I raced to cover the biggest stories, but over time my choices have become personal I see images in newspapers, magazines, on the Internetrefugee camps in Darfur, women in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, wounded veteransand my heart leaps I am suddenly overcome with this quiet angsta restlessness that means I know I will go The work takes on a rhythm all its own I may spend two weeks photographing women dying of breast cancer in Uganda, and on the plane home I am already sketching out my next assignment, on the Maoist rebels in the jungles of India When I return home to Londonto my husband, Paul, and my son, LukasIll edit some eight thousand Uganda photos, break to take Lukas to the park, and perhaps discuss with an editor a future assignment in southern Turkey When people ask me why I go to these places, they are asking the wrong question For me, the conundrum is never whether or not to go to Egypt or Iraq or Afghanistan the problem is that I cant be in two of those places at once.With my subjectsthe thousands of people I have photographedI have shared the joy of survival, the courage to resist oppression, the anguish of loss, the resilience of the oppressed, the brutality of the worst of men and the tenderness of the best I maintain relationships with drivers and fixers, the trusted locals I relied on for setting up meetings, translating interviews, and navigating a foreign culture, for years An interpreter I worked with thirteen years ago in Afghanistan can unexpectedly pop up in a meeting at a United Nations office today They are as much a part of my circle of humanity as anyone else, and when a new tragedy is visited upon their country, I feel a sense of responsibility to see how it is affecting them Often they write to me, Are you coming, Miss Lynsey Of course, there are dangers, and I have been lucky I have been kidnapped twice I have gotten in one serious car accident Two of my drivers have died while working for metwo tragedies that I will always feel responsible for I have missed the births of my sisters children, the weddings of friends, the funerals of loved ones I have disappeared on countless boyfriends and had just as many disappear on me I put off, for years, marriage and children Somehow, though, I am healthy I have maintained warm and wonderful relationships I even found a husband who puts up with it all Like many women, once I started a family, I had to make tough choices I struggle to find the imperfect balance between my role as a mother and my role as a photojournalist But I have faith, as Ive always had, that if I work hard enough, care enough, and love enough in all areas of my life, I can create and enjoy a full life Photography has shaped the way I look at the world it has taught me to look beyond myself and capture the world outside Its also taught me to cherish the life I return to when I put the camera down My work makes me better able to love my family and laugh with my friends.Journalists can sound grandiose when they talk about their profession Some of us are adrenaline junkies some of us are escapists some of us do wreck our personal lives and hurt those who love us most This work can destroy people I have seen so many friends and colleagues become unrecognizable from trauma short tempered, sleepless, and alienated from friends But after years of witnessing so much suffering in the world, we find it hard to acknowledge that lucky, free, prosperous people like us might be suffering, too We feel comfortable in the darkest places than we do back home, where life seems too simple and too easy We dont listen to that inner voice that says it is time to take a break from documenting other peoples lives and start building our own.Under it all, however, are the things that sustain us and bring us together the privilege of witnessing things that others do not an idealistic belief that a photograph might affect peoples souls the thrill of creating art and contributing to the worlds database of knowledge When I return home and rationally consider the risks, the choices are difficult But when I am doing my work, I am alive and I am me Its what I do I am sure there are other versions of happiness, but this one is mine. Boston Globe Beautifully written and vividly illustrated with her images which are stunningly cinematic, often strange, always evocative the book helps us understand not only what would lead a young woman to pursue such a dangerous and difficult profession, but why she is so good at it Lens to her eye, Addario is an artist of empathy, a witness not to grand ideas about human sacrifice and suffering, but to human beings, simply being Entertainment Weekly The opening scene of Lynsey Addarios memoir sucker punches you like a cold hard fist.She illuminates the daily frustrations of working within the confines of what the host culture expects from a member of her sexandher constant fight for respect from her male journalist peers and American soldiers Always she leads with her chin, whether shes on the ground in hostile territory or discussing politics Los Angeles Times A richly illustrated memoir Addario conveys well her unstated mission to stir the emotions of people like herself, born into relative security and prosperity, nudging them out of their comfort zones with visual evidence of horrors they might do something about It is a diary of an empathetic young woman who makes understanding the wider world around her a professional calling San Francisco Chronicle Addarios narrative about growing up as one of four daughters born to hairdressers in Los Angeles and working her way up to being one of the worlds most accomplished photojournalists, male or female, is riveting She thoughtfully shows how exhilarating and demanding it is to cover the most difficult assignments in the world.Addario is a shining example of someone who has been able to have it all, but she has worked hard and absolutely suffered to get where she is My hope is that she continues to live the life less traveled with her family, as I will be waiting for her next book with great anticipation Washington Post An unflinching memoir Addarios book, woven through with images from her travels, offers insight into international events and the challenges faced by the journalists who capture them Associated Press Addarios ability to capture vulnerability in her subjects, often in extreme circumstances, has propelled Addario to the top of her competitive field Dallas Morning News A rare gift an intimate look into the personal and professional life of a war correspondent a powerful read This memoir packs a punch because of Addarios personal risks But some of the power in this book comes from the humanity she holds on to despite the horrors she witnesses Its What I Do should be read, processed and mulled over in its entirety.in Addarios words and photos, readers will see that war isnt simply a matter of black and white, of whos right and whos wrong There are as many shades of gray as there are sides to every story Kirkus starred review A remarkable journalistic achievement from a Pulitzer Prize and MacArthur Fellowship winner that crystalizes the last 10 years of global war and strife while candidly portraying the intimate life of a female photojournalist Told with unflinching candor, the award winning photographer brings an incredible sense of humanity to all the battlefields of her life Especially affecting is the way in which Addario conveys the role of gender and how being a woman has impacted every aspect of her personal and professional lives Whether dealing with ultrareligious zealots or overly demanding editors, being a woman with a camera has never been an easy task A brutally real and unrelentingly raw memoir that is as inspiring as it is horrific Publishers Weekly A highly readable and thoroughly engaging memoir Addarios memoir brilliantly succeeds not only as a personal and professional narrative but also as an illuminating homage to photojournalisms role in documenting suffering and injustice, and its potential to influence public opinion and official policy Booklist Addario has written a page turner of a memoir describing her war coverage and why and how she fell intoand stayed insuch a dangerous job This extraordinary professionthough exhilarating and frightening, it feels like a commitment, a responsibility, a callingis what she does, and the many photographs scattered throughout this riveting book prove that she does it magnificently.Tim Weiner, author of Legacy of Ashes and Enemies Its What I Do is as brilliant as Addarios picturesand shes the greatest photographer of our war torn time Shes been kidnapped, nearly killed, while capturing truth and beauty in the worlds worst places Shes a miracle So is this book.Dexter Filkins, author of The Forever War Lynsey Addarios book is like her life big, beautiful, and utterly singular With the whole world as her backdrop, Addario embarks on an extraordinary adventure whose overriding effect is to remind of us what unites us all.Jon Lee Anderson, staff writer for The New Yorker and author of The Fall of Baghdad A gifted chronicler of her life and times, Lynsey Addario stands at the forefront of her generation of photojournalists, young men and women who have come of age during the brutal years of endless war since 9 11 A uniquely driven and courageous woman, Addario is also possessed of great quantities of humor and humanity Its What I Do is the riveting, unforgettable account of an extraordinary life lived at the very edge.John Prendergast, founding director of the Enough Project A life as a war photographer has few parallels in terms of risk and reward, fear and courage, pain and promise Lynsey Addario has seen, experienced, and photographed things that most of us cannot imagine The brain and heart behind her extraordinary photographic eye pulls us inexorably closer to the center of each story she pursues, no matter what the cost or danger. It s a Wonderful Life IMDb An angel is sent from Heaven to help desperately frustrated businessman by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed ItsYourTurn Play online games chess, checkers What You don t userid yet That OK, you can create new userid, and start playing right now Go ahead, it FREE The Online Books Page The Page Listing over million free books on the Web Updated Friday, December , Google Moon Link this view View Moon with Google Earth About Loading Maps Feminist Myths Will Not Die TIME Jun Christina Hoff Sommers resident scholar at American Enterprise Institute author of several books, including War Against Boys Auction Sniper eBay Bidding snipe, bid Auction ebay sniper that automates process placing your auction closing Place bidding snipe automatically Ready for Vacation It Panama Beach Time These beautiful properties combine value convenience are just steps beach pool With fully equipped kitchens, washer dryer in condo, dedicated wireless internet, ll enjoy conveniences home option cook save Resident Nixle Nixle keeps up date relevant information local public safety departments schools Neongirl Free Pornstar, Babe Centerfold Galleries erotic galleries past years here find them many Have fun NeoNGiRL QuiCKSaND Ashley Tisdale Official Tumblr Ashley Tumblr Get fashion outfit breakdowns, beauty musings, Blondie Girl Productions updates, actress herself Bestival Bestival an award winning four day boutique music festival set Lulworth Estate, Dorset August nd th, Scary Spider Game OneMotion Realistic spider simulation Feed overcome arachnophobia St Louis Park Class Luckiest Generation, St This official web site Generation She hosts Learn language games, humorous chatbots native speaker videosIt I Do A Photographer Love unflinching memoir offers insight into international events challenges faced journalists who capture Washington Post photographer Lynsey Addario story how relentless pursuit truth, virtually every major theater war twenty first century, has shaped her Photojournalist On Her Relentless Pursuit Photojournalist Truth Women Eye Story Week reported Laurie McAndish King Blood Diamonds Photograph TIME Congolese miners working one thousands artisanal mines cover country Inside Democratic Republic Congo Diamond Mines was assignment DRC girlgaze How Girls See World Amanda de Cadenet girlgaze Cadenet, Addario, Inez van Lamsweerde, Sam Taylor Johnson shipping qualifying mission close gender gap creating visibility tangible jobs girls behind lens timely book Reportage Getty Images Legacy Ukraine Space Age Glory Photos Text Misha Friedman To Maintain Supply Sex Slaves, ISIS Pushes Birth Mar DOHUK, Iraq Locked inside room where only furniture bed, year old learned fear sunset, because nightfall started countdown next rape During she Photography Ideas Inspiration Nikon Finding photography inspiration step taking quality pictures Connect creative ideas Nikon project Roy Thomson Hall Roy Hall, located heart theatre district, opened Its curvilinear exterior design sloping glass canopy, which reflective transparent night, made concert hall Toronto landmark Female Lead Showing women shape worldKILA world campaign showcase inspirational female role models across Leads Schools Nuns, Monopoly, Marx Sassy Daughter Winter Sometimes truth really stranger than fiction Whether re mood read about sex scandal th century convent, awful things lurking our food supply, or grow funeral home, we ve got covered winter Public Events Museum Science, Boston Science variety throughout year, covering topics ranging archaeology paleontology astronomy nanotechnology Jennifer Lawrence Source JenLawrence continuing without agency representation Jennifer no longer CAA, Hollywood Reporter Sources tell THR departure amicable Nikon Ambassadors Contemporary Photographers Artists some most versatile, ambitious influential photographers today They represent vast array backgrounds shooting disciplines, but binds all commitment move imaging industry forward through knowledge sharing, guidance since global effort ban conflict diamonds began But still tainted misery Aryn Baker Tshikapa Photographs In Congo, almost diamond mining done hand labor intensive requires hauling away layers dirt rock, sometimes feet deep, Sympathy Devil m exactly as appear No, isn Rolling Stones Instead, volume Michael Mewshaw account friendship famed writer intellectual Gore VidalVidal impossible overlook culture He written everything novels essays plays big screen stage Welcome Jenatics, source Oscar Lawrence, fanYou might know Bone, won for, Silver Linings Playbook, Hunger Games trilogy, Katniss Everdeen, Raven Mystique rebooted X men series Bad Blood Directed Adam McKay Entrepreneur Elizabeth Holmes creates bio tech company skyrockets fame estimated billions When federal agencies begin investigating company, integrity called doubt It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War


    • It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War
    • 1.2
    • 32
    • Format Kindle
    • 159420537X
    • Lynsey Addario
    • Anglais
    • 04 April 2017

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