Enora Le Moal (age 16)

United Arab Emirates

We can change our perspectives to see our planet as one home by observing animals. In an ecosystem, there are thousands of organisms which rely on each other. They work together. Unfortunately, humans tend to forget about the importance of collaboration. We are so busy thinking about our own problems that we forget how important the people around us are. With global warming, pollution, and deforestation, it is time for us to work together to make this planet a home. By seeing each other as one family, we become more aware of our actions and become more careful towards our surroundings. We need to stop putting people in boxes because we are all humans in the end.

In the film Earthrise, the Earth is described as a “blue marble.” I created this image by using a telescope from Al Wathba Wetland Reserve in Abu Dhabi, or United Arab Emirates (UAE). The black color of the telescope surrounding the image represents the infinite darkness of the universe while the lake and flamingos represent our Earth. The Earth in the Earthrise photograph is also observed from afar, which is shown in my photograph through the use of a telescope. I wanted to convey that we should admire the beauty of nature instead of trying to control it and interfere.

The UAE is important to me as a European citizen. It allows me to become more open-minded by discovering new traditions, cultures, and religions. Interacting with different people has enabled me to view the world from different angles. I want the UAE to be remembered as a country that is multicultural, and which has shown that perseverance and cooperation is the best route to success. People of diverse religions, cultures, and nationalities live in the UAE. It is a country that embraces this idea of being ‘one.’ It takes in people from all around the world and it doesn’t judge them. It accepts people no matter who they are.“The Abrahamic Family House project” (where a synagogue, church, and mosque will be built in the same location in Abu Dhabi) is a perfect example of respect and harmony between people from all backgrounds, beliefs, and nationalities.

Iñaki Ramos (age 16)

Mexico City, Mexico

Due to the pandemic, the thought of death has become more present in our lives. Humanity has faced several challenges throughout the year of 2020, and most of us have lost someone we care about. I asked myself: how can an artifact connect us as a society? I realized that the concept of death, and death itself, has been more present than ever throughout the year. Because of the spread of COVID-19, we haven't been able to properly grieve.

I decided to document a typical altar for The Day of the Dead as my artifact. In Mexico, we have a celebration called The Day of the Dead where we show respect and appreciation for the people who are no longer with us. Every year on November 1st and 2nd, families across South America put up an altar to commemorate their lost ones. The Day of the Dead is considered one of the most beautiful traditions because it represents death from a completely different point of view. No one is really dead unless they are forgotten, so this day is dedicated to remembering all the people that we love and who are no longer with us.

This tradition has existed for more than 3,000 years and it has been passed down from generation to generation. An altar has different objects and each one of them has a meaning. It is formed by cempasuchil flowers, traditional food, candles, pictures, and personal belongings. The cempasuchil flowers are a bridge that connects the world of the living with the world of the dead. The candles illuminate the path home and the food and pictures welcome the dead to the world of the living. There is only a picture of my grandfather on the altar because it is not allowed to put a picture of a living person. Otherwise, you will get bad luck. Throughout my childhood my family has gathered to celebrate The Day of the Dead. I never felt the honor to celebrate it until six years ago when my grandfather passed away. It was special for me to set up an altar to honor him.

Since then, The Day of the Dead has been an important tradition in my life. The year 2020 has been difficult for many families across the world and most of us have been in constant pain. When I was putting up my altar this year, I realized that it helped me heal and have closure around my losses. It also helped me appreciate the values that I have learned from each person that is on my altar. The Day of the Dead is a tradition that connects us all in our most painful times when we lose someone we love. It also allows us to appreciate life.

Leela Khatri (age 16)

Ohio, U.S.

The celebration of Diwali has always held great importance to my family. I remember each celebration throughout my childhood as a blissful reflection of each year and the projection of hope for the future. For as long as I can remember, goddess Lakshmi’s framed picture has been around for our annual celebrations. To me, Lakshmi represents much more than the goddess of prosperity and good fortune. She holds the promise of happiness and is representative of eternal hope. I do not consider myself a religious person, yet the memories I have attached to Diwali will forever be priceless. A specific attachment I have with Diwali is the joy my grandfather had during that time of year. Every Diwali, he would take us shopping for new clothes to celebrate the new year and his beaming, radiant energy was contagious. Ultimately, I decided to take this photograph because I believe it captures the symbolism of Diwali.

To celebrate, a simple mandir and a short prayer may suffice. Diwali is a perfect time for reflection. I love spending time with my family and recognizing how grateful I am for the support I receive every day. I believe that capturing this scene projects the warmth and invitation of Diwali, a celebration that represents new beginnings and the hope for a better future. The candles and prayer items that I decided to represent as my artifact connect to our common humanity in several ways. The first is a symbol of faith, an item that one may turn to when feeling discouraged or lost, and any artifact can provide that same solace. The second is the symbol of hope, which contains the strength and value of resilience. I find that sharing individual stories is a great way of projecting happiness and motivation to the world. I chose this artifact because it is something that truly projects joy in my life and allows me to keep moving forward even through tough times.

Gianna Leung (age 16)

Mississauga, Canada

While I was looking for an artifact to photograph, I realized the immense sacrifice my immigrant parents gave to start a life here in Canada. This small clay teapot has always been an important part of the home. Growing up, I would often watch my parents brew tea after dinner and talk for hours about everything from the cooking time of ginseng soup to a close friend’s funeral in their home country they could not attend. I wondered why it was always accompanied by tea.

This small teapot was the only connection that remained for them as a reminder of their home. It gave them a reason to converse in the comfort of each other and allowed them to stay rooted in the foundation of their culture, even as their children forgot their mother tongue. In the Chinese tradition, the youngest family member serves elders. Often, the interactions that are possible between parents and children become limited as the world continues to evolve. This photograph conveys the idea that despite the development of technology and assimilation to another culture, families remain connected through small interactions made possible from objects of the past. Artifacts are a physical manifestation of the stories of our roots and are symbols we can see, hold, and experience for ourselves.

Iñaki Ramos (age 15)

Mexico City, Mexico

Paseo de la Reforma

Coming from a city with more than 8.8 million people makes it hard to see our planet as home. The streets are filled with trash, people are scared of each other, and the community is not safe. Every time you go outside you can only hear car horns and people cursing at each other. My passion for photography tries to show how any part of our planet is a beautiful place. Since we have been on lockdown, the streets of Mexico have been empty. I decided to go out and take pictures from the busiest avenue in Mexico City. Not seeing any cars was amazing. I have passed through that avenue more than a thousand times in my life, and this was the first time I realized that there is a jacaranda tree in the middle of plenty of green trees. I was so amazed that I stood in the middle of the street for more than twenty minutes taking pictures. I hope that with this photo, people can realize how colorful the streets are in Mexico and how at the end of the day, these are not only streets but our home.

The film Earthrise made me realize that from another point of view, humanity is insignificant compared to the planet Earth. I wanted to take a picture showing humanity’s connection to nature.

This avenue is an important place for me because I have experienced many stages of my life there. It is also important for millions of Mexicans because this avenue, Paseo de la Reforma, is the largest avenue in Mexico City. It helps you get from any place across the city and normally it is traversed by millions of people in their cars. People don't appreciate how it is connected to nature. I would like Paseo de la Reforma to be remembered by the world as the avenue of life because of its connection to trees, human-made bodies of water, museums, a zoo, and a castle. You can truly see human progress through this avenue.

María Fernanda Ortega Cuevas (age 18)

Mexico City, Mexico

To me, food means family. As a Mexican, I can tell you that food is union and caring. Food is how you demonstrate love. My passion for photography aims to show how one can find beauty even in the most ordinary places or objects. Almost every Mexican household in central Mexico owns most of the objects portrayed and uses or consumes them on a daily basis. The only element that might not be in every Mexican home are churros. They symbolize the importance of food in our culture and all the sweet and comforting memories that pan dulce (sweet bread) brings to every Mexican. I remember that as a child, one of the best things about the weekend was when we would go to Coyoacán, a historically rich neighborhood in Mexico City, where I would have breakfast with my family and walk around to visit beautifully vivid and colorful sites. The most awaited moment of the day was when we would go to our favorite churrería (churro shop) and buy a few while drinking hot chocolate.

The cempasúchil flowers and the candle represent our most internationally recognized festivity, The Day of the Dead, which has a beautiful and culturally rich historical meaning throughout Mexico. On a personal level, it has a very deep and profound significance. I believe this holiday makes people appreciate and realize how beautiful life is, not only because of the feelings, people, and experiences it brings us but how fragile and temporary all of it is. Yet, nothing makes us feel more alive and loved than sitting around a table with friends and family, basking in the sweet yet deep aroma of warm hot chocolate, while tasting the divine sweetness of a sugary-sweet churro. It does not end there though. The texture of a handmade plate with its cold to-the-touch ceramic slickness and a gently lit candle flame with the scent of serene lavender lights the dimly lit night sky filled with stars and cool wind. This lights the senses of everyone present and makes every moment of one’s encounter with this tradition even more memorable.

Riya Garg (age 17)

Florida, U.S.

This artifact, a special candle and flowers placed on a tray, is part of a ritual in my culture called Arti. The goal of Arti is to cleanse the air of any darkness and to give thanks to our gods. The candle, called a deepak, is lit and placed in the middle of the tray, representing the deity’s power. While everyone sings a song to praise the deity, the tray circles around the figure of our deity. It passes through each family so everyone can give their respects. One cups one’s hand over the flame and brings it to the forehead, and passes the blessing of the god to each person. The deepak is special in this time of year because of the holiday Diwali, the festival of lights, where we light deepaks and place them all over our house, representing purity in the home. Usually on Diwali a huge celebration occurs, where you can see deepaks everywhere since it's the main symbol of Diwali. I captured this photograph during Arti when my parents were doing a ritual with the priest to give blessings and ensure good luck.

Miguel Ángel Vargas Sosa (age 17)

Mexico City, Mexico

The Ring and the Skull

This photograph portrays a history of several generations. My great-grandfather lived in Mexico and he had a very complicated life. When he was a child, his family had no money. They were quite poor. He had to start working at a very young age to help his family, but he managed to continue studying and fulfilled his dream of becoming a doctor. At that time, students were allowed to have a real human skull for study and he had one. My great-grandfather began to work and with his first payment he bought the ring with his initials. This ring is more than 100-years-old. Many years passed and my grandfather was born. When he grew up, he followed his father's steps, becoming a doctor. The skull was passed on to him. Just like his father, he used the skull to study, and when my great-grandfather passed away he gave the ring to my grandfather. Many years later my father was born, and he decided that he would also become a doctor like his father. My grandfather gave him the skull. When my grandfather got sick, just days before he passed away at the age of 76, he gave the ring to my father and told him the story of where the ring came from and how important it was, just like his father once did.

Today, my brother continues the tradition. He is studying medicine accompanied by the skull and when the time comes, the ring will pass into his hands. For me, the ring is the most important artifact because it's a symbol of the effort and progress made by my family to get to where we are. The ring is a memory of those who had it in their hands, it represents the passion and sacrifice of moving forward. It also reflects change and progress. The ring is a memory of who we were, a reminder of who we are, and represents who we will be.

Maja Szpunar (age 15)

Hawaii, U.S.

This strój Krakowski has been passed down in my family as a tradition for generations. It is a traditional Polish folk costume from the town of Kraków and is worn on holidays. I feel connected with the people in my life through this object because, although I was born in Hawai’i, a piece of Poland is close. It helps me to remember where I am from and it connects me to our tradition. More than thirty years ago, my auntie Marlena was the original owner of this strój Krakowski. When she was young, she wore the vest with its flower crown and ditsy skirt on Easter celebrations, an important Polish tradition. Just as my aunt once did, I wore this outfit as a young child while I played with traditional Polish decorated wooden Easter eggs. I remember observing the detailed patterns at the age of two, feeling the texture along the vests’ beaded surface and lacing up the back with its silk string.

This artifact offers a glimpse of how times have changed, as I imagine the strój Krakowski sewn and embroidered by hand in a small Polish village. This contrasts with today’s culture where everything is mass-produced in distant factories and sold in corporate department stores. I am still part of this culture today, even though I live far away. My dad was born in Poland where his family dates back for generations. I live in Maui and many people are considered and treated like family. Yet, I have always felt like something was missing. I learned about Poland, Polish traditions, and about my family in this other country, but I have never experienced it for myself. This artifact gives me hope for the future. I hope to visit Poland and experience the stories I have been told. No matter what your background is, the human element of tradition is a way for all of us to connect with our culture and ancestors. It allows us to pass on the history of our ancestors and the lessons they learned to future generations. One day, I hope to pass this artifact and its story to a future generation.

Carina Pepene (age 16)

Brasov, Romania

My photo depicts the beauty of the painstaking work behind the creation of the traditional Romanian costume. Worn and woven by women living in the rural area, the traditional Romanian costume is more than a piece of clothing; it connects generations and hundreds of years of history. Each region of Romania has its own particularities. Transylvania (especially Bran) is known for the simplistic white and black, occasionally red, pattern on the traditional blouse, also called the “ie.” Over the ie there is a vest embroidered with colorful beads that often form floral patterns and a thick belt called “brâu.” The woman looking out of the window is my grandma, wearing a 100-year-old ie, complete with other accessories that she got from her mother as a dowry. On her lap she is holding another ie she made when she was younger. “I might have been your age,” she nostalgically told me. My grandma never had a daughter to teach the mastery behind the traditional costume; it used to be one of the most valuable lessons passed down from mother to daughter. The traditional costume reflected the social status, the region, and the event. The ie was often made during sewing bees where locals would interact with each other, turning a simple gathering into a significant social event. When making parts of the national costume, such as the ie, the brâu, and the vest, women were weaving the destinies of future generations.

Aidan Hoidal-Bui (age 15)

Massachusetts, U.S.

My Place On This Planet

In April 1975, just as the Vietnam War was nearing its end, my one-year-old mother, her two older brothers, and my grandparents fled Vietnam on one of the last planes to America just before the airport was bombed by the North. We were fortunate that my mom’s uncle was the general of the South Vietnamese police and head of South Vietnam’s CIA. His high rank is the only reason they were allowed to flee by air rather than by sea in wooden boats.

In humanitarian crises, one must flee without possessions. However, there are some artifacts too critical to communities to be left behind. At the start of this photography project, I searched for hours to find a family artifact in our home. My mom shared with me that my grandparents did not have the luxury of packing and preserving family heirlooms; I was devastated. What they did bring was themselves, the clothes on their bodies, and several cherished photographs of my great-great-grandparents. I had such a narrow idea of what an artifact should look like that I didn’t think about the obvious solution to my problem. I realized that my great-great-grandparents’ fragile photographs were my family artifacts, even if they are the only ones we have.

My grandparents’ primary goal was survival, and they brought only the necessities: their children who were alive and photographs of their elders who had passed. Respect for one’s ancestral history is embedded in the DNA of Vietnamese people. At the heart of every Vietnamese household sits an altar framed by ancestors and elders who have passed away. Bowls of fruit and rice are placed in front of the loved ones as offerings of respect and remembrance. The altar table is an essential part of our lives as it connects us to our roots, ensures we never forget where we came from, and honors those who came before us who made our lives possible. This customary arrangement symbolizes and ties together these essential values of Vietnamese culture. I hope to one day preserve this tradition and pass on these artifacts so that future generations will never forget where they came from and who came before them.

I chose to make the smoldering incense the main focus of my photograph because its smokey scent is forever ingrained in my mind. I know I am entering a Vietnamese home when I walk through the door and the first thing I smell is burning incense, indicating that a prayer has just taken place. To be honest, it is not exactly a pleasant smell. It burns my eyes and even makes me choke. But when I smell that distinctive smoke, I am brought back to my childhood and all the times that we traveled to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit our family for Tết, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year. I chose to focus on the incense because no matter where I am, when I inhale that strong scent, I think of my great-grandparents on that altar and I am reminded of a country that has deeply shaped who I am today.

Student Gallery

Using the Student Gallery in the Classroom