Why? It’s a combination of factors.

First, the economic crisis means that business class travelers will be “trading down” to premium economy — whether that’s people flying for work whose travel policies are being tightened or upmarket leisure travelers who are feeling the pinch on their wallets but don’t fancy feeling it at their knees or elbows.

Second, frequent fliers will have miles to burn after a year of reduced traveling, and with those straitened travel policies that land business travelers in economy, we’ll likely see some of them upgrading themselves to the slightly better seats with their points. That’s alongside pent-up leisure travelers looking for a bit of a splurge, even in hard times.

Third comes the fact that, after more than a year of Covid-19, we’re just not psychologically used to being cheek-by-jowl with other people anymore. It’s going to feel very strange to think about doing that on a plane, so the extra space in premium economy will be welcome.

Emirates recently debuted its latest A380 with luxurious premium economy seats.

Courtesy Emirates

What is it?

But what is premium economy? Fundamentally, it’s a bigger seat, says Ben Orson, a designer responsible for many of the most successful seats of the past decade, and now managing director of Orson Associates.

“The most important part of what a premium economy seat offers the passenger is a significant upgrade in terms of comfort when compared to economy. Premium economy seating typically provides around 5 to 10 inches of additional leg room, a more generous recline with a leg rest and an enhanced entertainment experience with a much larger screen.”

Seats are also around two to three inches wider, and there are usually one to two seats fewer in each row: eight in a Boeing 777 or Airbus A380, for example, compared with 10 seats in most economy classes.

“This approach has paid off for airlines,” Orson says, “with both British Airways and Virgin Atlantic saying that, per square foot, premium economy is the most profitable part of the plane.”

Premium economy often comes with upgraded meal service.

Courtesy British Airways

Premium economy is found, metaphorically and on the actual aircraft, between the increasingly spacious and luxurious business classes and the increasingly less spacious and less luxurious economy classes.

Airbus calls this widening gap the “comfort canyon.”

Matt Round, chief creative officer at design studio Tangerine, explains that for airlines, it helps to fill this gap and that along with that larger seat comes some additional perks.

“Airlines tend to offer premium economy passengers access to more priority services such as free seat reservations, priority boarding and increased luggage allowance. The services that are offered vary according to the airline.”

Who flies it?

Passengers usually first approach premium economy from one of two directions: either upgrading from economy or downgrading from business.

“Pre-Covid-19, premium economy performed well for leisure passengers who wanted a slight treat or for cost-conscious large and small businesses,” Round explains. “On some routes, there was a tendency for passengers traveling on business to fly premium economy during the day and return on a fully flat bed in business class on the night flights.”

EVA Air’s premium economy cabins were among the world’s first.

EVA Air

But, where business class seats have become more spacious and economy class seats have shrunk both in legroom and elbow room, how have premium economy seats changed since their introduction nearly 30 years ago aboard Virgin Atlantic and EVA Air?

“They haven’t, not really,” says Peter Tennent, director of design house Factorydesign.

“When we designed the first British Airways’ World Traveller Plus seat in 2000, the basis for the seat customization was an aging business class platform. These conventional, yet larger recliner seats were beginning to be superseded by enhanced business class offers, so there was a fairly obvious option to downgrade them from business to a reduced offer to sit between business and economy.”

Despite many advances in inflight entertainment and connectivity features such as on-demand inflight touchscreen entertainment, power sockets, WiFi internet and more, the basic seat hasn’t changed much, Tennent says.

“There have been many new premium economy seats, some bespoke, others derivatives of existing platforms, but all still following the same principle.”

What about the future?

Premium economy, says Martin Darbyshire, chief executive officer of Tangerine, is “a life saver for me as a business traveler who runs a privately owned company, and therefore cannot justify flying business class whenever I want.

“For a day flight, especially, premium economy is a comfortable way of flying with a reasonable quality of service. The smaller cabin is also a benefit, as it creates a more private space.”

Premium economy is also very popular with senior citizens on vacation, particularly because they can usually book early for lower fares.

More legroom is a key benefit of premium economy seats.

Chris Rank/Delta Air Lines

Business travelers, on the other hand, can find it expensive at the last minute, Darbyshire notes. That said, these passengers — especially if they’re also frequent fliers — are among the first to be upgraded into business class if the premium economy cabin is getting full.

Overall, says Orson, “premium economy will continue to be attractive to the very tall, the elderly, and anybody else for whom economy class presents too much of a physical challenge.”

But, looking forward, he muses, “could it be that the approach which launched premium economy in the first instance — a considered selection of those aspects of business class that really matter to passengers today, such as a more technologically informed approach to comfort, greater privacy, enhanced connectivity or a more distanced boarding experience — might be applied again to create a new way of traveling, perfectly tailored to the ever-evolving needs of our passengers of the future?”

Whatever the future looks like, Tennent from Factorydesign notes, “Aviation is a battleground for differentiation. If one airline can offer — or claim to — something better, different or novel compared to their competitors, it provides a commercial advantage.”

Top photo from Philippine Airlines. John Walton is an international transportation and aviation journalist based in France, specializing in airlines, commercial aircraft and the passenger experience.

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Though Jordana Bermúdez isn’t a skateboarder, she found a sense of community at a skate park on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

The photographer, who relocated from Mexico City to New York City in 2019, grew up roller skating and biking. And it was in Coleman Playground, a stretch of concrete near the waterfront populated with ledges and grind rails, that she felt familiarity amid the unknowns of her new city.

“I grew up going to parks, and surrounded by these people,” Bermúdez said over video. “And I felt safer there.”

She was particularly intrigued by the number of women and non-binary skaters testing tricks and sharing laughs. Since watching Bing Liu’s “Minding the Gap,” a 2018 documentary about male friendships strengthened by skateboarding, Bermúdez had been interested in the skate culture and identity among those who don’t identify as male.

Skateboarder Sarah Seafoss at LES Coleman Playground skate park in Manhattan, New York. Credit: Jordana Bermúdez, @jbtph

Bermúdez, who moved to New York to study at the International Center of Photography, began attending meet-ups organized by two groups: GRLSWIRL, a skate community that began in Venice Beach, California, and Quell, a female-founded media, magazine and podcast brand aiming to “increase visibility for nontraditional skateboarders.” These groups both formed with the intention of providing a safe space for women and gender-nonconforming riders in a sport that is still dominated by men. Bermúdez was quickly pulled into their orbit.

“I couldn’t stop (photographing),” Bermúdez said. “I followed my intuition, and I started going four times a week.”

Her ensuing multimedia project, “Girls Can’t Skate,” was shot over the course of nearly a year and comprises still portraits, GIFs and, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic in New York, video interviews and virtual photo shoots. By shifting from in-person photographs to Zoom shoots, she could visit people’s homes in an instant, taking pictures of skaters in Arizona and California, in Brazil and Norway.

Though not a skater herself, Bermúdez has become a fixture in the scene, and is even roommates with one of her subjects.

“It’s just so natural to be part of the community,” she said. “They’re very welcoming and inclusive.”

Strength through diversity

GRLSWIRL NYC chapter leader Kristen Noelle skating in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Credit: Jordana Bermúdez, @jbtph

Though women have long been a part of skateboarding, they are not afforded the same visibility or professional opportunities as men — and the gap is even more glaring for gender-nonconforming riders.

The rosters of professional skate teams are still nearly all male, but recent years have seen a handful of firsts for professional female and non-binary skaters. In 2015, Leticia Bufoni became the first female skater to sign for the Nike SB team, and she was joined two years later by non-binary skater Leo Baker. In 2016, Nora Vasconcellos became the first woman to join the Adidas skateboarding team, and in 2017, Samarria Brevard became the first Black woman to sign with skate brand Enjoi.

Adrian Koenigsberg, director of Quell, said that she has witnessed a significant change in attitudes — even in the short time since she founded the brand in 2017.

“When I started Quell, the conversation around gender was nowhere near what it is now,” she said over email. “We were focused on women in skateboarding but now our language has shifted to focus on marginalized genders. When we support others, we make a stronger community.”

Female skateboarders have seen increased presence on screen as well, with a 2019 documentary about young Afghan skaters, “Learning to Skateboard in a Warzone (If You’re a Girl),” winning an Oscar last year, and HBO’s teen comedy “Betty,” which follows a group of girl skaters in New York City, debuting last May.

Thriving under restraints

“I think the amount of people skating since the pandemic has increased tremendously,” she said. “There are more non-male-identifying people absolutely killing skating than ever. There are so many people organizing their own events all over the city.”

Skaters Kristen Noelle, Mary Chun and Charlotte Tegen at 2nd Nature Skate Park in Peekskill, New York. Credit: Jordana Bermúdez, @jbtph

As the community continues to widen, male skaters are becoming more welcoming, according to Kristen Miller, founder of GRLSWIRL’s New York chapter. “Not too long ago, I would always be the only girl at my local skatepark. ‘Men’ would be super aggressive and snake my lines or get in my way on purpose and I would always be the one apologizing, feeling like I was always in their way,” she said over email.

“As the tides have changed this year, I’ve noticed these same men have learned to take a step back and allow their fellow skaters more space at the park (and) they apologize when they accidentally get in our way. (They) see that there are more GRLS than ever before, skating and taking up space, and are showing more respect towards us.”

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When the disgraced health entrepreneur Elizabeth Holmes was indicted on fraud charges for her lab-testing company Theranos in 2018, much of the media discussion rested not on her alleged corporate recklessness and staggering abuses of trust, but on her sartorial choices: black jackets, black slacks, and — most importantly — black turtlenecks.

Steve Jobs has long been associated with turtlenecks. Credit: Justin Sullivan/Getty Images North America/Getty Images

Trivial as it seems, that detail seemed to shed light on her character. According to one former employee, Holmes’s taste in sweaters was a conscious channeling of the late Apple supremo Steve Jobs, who was rarely pictured without one of the many black Issey Miyake turtlenecks he owned. His maverick reputation was associated with his trusty wardrobe staple, his black turtlenecks projecting a cool intellect and general unfussiness. They suggested that he was a different kind of businessman — a “visionary” who did not play by the boardroom rules. Had he dressed like Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos, would we really remember him as anything other than an uncommonly shrewd CEO?

There’s an obvious question here: How did a basic item of clothing come to accumulate such lofty signifiers? The answer lies in its very simplicity. The turtleneck’s appeal rests largely on what it is not: It makes the classic shirt-and-tie combination look priggish and the T-shirt appear formless and slobbish, hitting that otherwise inaccessible sweet spot between formality and insouciance. It is sufficiently smart to be worn under a suit jacket, yet casual and comfortable enough for repeated everyday wear.

Audrey Hepburn pictured on the terrace of the Restaurant Hammetschwand at the summit of the Bürgenstock, Switzerland. Credit: Graphic House/Archive Photos/Getty Images

Developed in the late 19th century as a practical garment for polo players (hence the British name for it: the “polo neck”), it was originally a utilitarian design largely worn by sportsmen, laborers, sailors and soldiers. But by the dawn of the 20th century, European proto-bohemians were already seeing possibilities in the garment’s elegant functionality, which chimed harmoniously with embryonic modernist design ideals.

Much of the credit for the turtleneck’s subsequent popularity can be attributed to British playwright Noël Coward, who regularly sported one for a period in his 1920s heyday. Though he said his adoption of the garment was primarily for reasons of comfort, it became a trademark that immediately suggested a disdain for convention. In any case, it caught on, in no small part due to its risqué possibilities. The tirelessly androgynous actress Marlene Dietrich relished the turtleneck, pairing one with a baggy, masculine suit and a knowing grin in an early 1930s publicity photograph. Writer Evelyn Waugh, meanwhile, believed it to be “most convenient for lechery because it dispenses with all unromantic gadgets like studs and ties.”

German actress Marlene Dietrich, pictured here in 1971, continued to wear black turtlenecks in later life. Credit: George Stroud/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

But the turtleneck’s moment of true glory did not arrive until the end of World War II, when the post-occupation cultural renaissance of Paris made it a must-have for aspirant existentialists the world over. The garment became associated with the glamorous writers, artists, musicians, and film stars associated with the city: Juliette Greco, Yves Montand, Jacques Brel and Miles Davis, to name a few. Audrey Hepburn notably co-opted the look in the Paris-set 1957 Fred Astaire vehicle “Funny Face,” and where Hepburn went, other Hollywood stars followed.

More importantly still, the French associations — moody, chic, deeply serious — earned the turtleneck an underground credibility in the US in the 1950s. Over the next two decades, everyone from Lou Reed and Joan Didion to Eldridge Cleaver and Gloria Steinem was pictured wearing one. Bob Dylan was rarely seen without one in his so-called “Electric Period” of 1965-1966. That same decade, Andy Warhol adopted the black turtleneck as his signature look, pairing it with shades and a floppy wig. It was arguably the most effective makeover in art history; his pre-fame attire consisted of preppy suits and ties.

Yet the turtleneck was always too useful, too practical, too cool, to ever be consigned to the dustbin of history. If in doubt, look at those classic monochrome photographs of the Velvet Underground, or Steve McQueen in “Bullitt” (1968), or Angela Davis in full-on radical garb circa 1969. The list could go on.

But as a devotee of the turtleneck, my favorite image of the garment will always be the earliest depiction of it I’m aware of. Painted in 1898, when he was just 26, the German artist Bernhard Pankok’s best self-portrait captures himself from just above waist-level, framed against the window of a simply decorated room. His wild hair, wispy mustache and expression of supreme confidence look backwards to the young Rembrandt, but the art-historical homage is skewed by the tight-fitting black turtleneck he sports.

In both compositional and sartorial senses, Pankok’s choice of clothing foregoes the extraneous frippery of the era’s fashions — shirt collar, jacket, necktie — and leaves us to contemplate the essentials of the painting and its subject’s features. Long before the rest of the world had caught on, oblivious to the pop-cultural connotations this singularly practical item of clothing would acquire, Pankok distilled the essence of modernity into a single image. He presents himself as a man of the 20th century before the fact and, without knowing it, one for the 21st, too.

This article was originally published in October 2019.

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When photographer David McMillan first visited the city of Pripyat in 1994, he expected his movements to be restricted. Just eight years prior, a reactor at the nearby Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant had exploded, forcing a region-wide evacuation and sending radioactive fallout billowing across Europe.

Yet, the photographer was not only free to roam the 1,000-square-mile Chernobyl Exclusion Zone — which remains largely uninhabited to this day — he was able to get within meters of the damaged reactor.

“The challenge was finding people who could get me in,” he recalled in a phone interview. “I didn’t know where to go; I was at the mercy of drivers and my interpreter.

“I had no real sense of (the danger),” he added. “People just advised me that some areas were heavily contaminated, and that I should maybe only take a minute or two to photograph there.”

McMillan’s images to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone reveal eerily abandoned buildings. Credit: Courtesy David McMillan

This initial trip resulted in a series of eerie images documenting derelict buildings, overgrown playgrounds and vehicles abandoned after the cleanup. It also sparked a curiosity that, over the next quarter-century, would bring the Canadian photographer back to the region more than 20 times.

He has since published 200 of his photos in the book, “Growth and Decay: Pripyat and the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.” They provide an astonishing look at a ghost city largely untouched since the disaster, while exploring the enduring power of nature and the inevitability of decline.

Remains of a ‘showcase’ city

“It must have been beautiful,” said McMillan, who has studied archive images of the area. “It was considered, at the time, to be one of the finest cities to live in the Soviet Union. There were lots of schools and hospitals, and facilities for sports and culture, so it was kind of a showcase city.”

These amenities now lie abandoned, having fallen victim to decay, rust and looting. Many of McMillan’s photos — whether showing empty swimming pools or deserted churches — reveal just how suddenly the city was evacuated.

McMillan shot the same spot multiple times. Credit: Courtesy David McMillan

“In the schools, it felt like it would have if the students had just left for the afternoon,” he said. “There were still teachers’ record books, textbooks, student artwork and things like that.”

The buildings thus served as time capsules, of sorts. Images showing faded portraits of Marx and Engels, or the bust of Lenin in an unkempt yard, capture a particular moment in political history.

But they also demonstrate the power of time. In some cases, McMillan photographed the same spot multiple times, over the course of many years, to highlight the deterioration of the built environment.

One of the most powerful examples is a series of images taken in a kindergarten stairwell. The first, captured in 1994, depicts brightly-colored flags of the former Soviet republics affixed to a peeling wall. By the time of the latest photograph, taken in November 2018, just one remains — and it has been damaged and discolored beyond recognition.

“If you came upon it, you wouldn’t know what it had been; you wouldn’t even see that it might have been the representation of a flag,” McMillan said. “It seemed to me symbolic of the way our own memory of the Soviet era is vanishing into history.”

Photos of playgrounds and slides also provide pertinent symbols of time’s passing. The children that once played there will now be in their thirties or forties.

“But there’s probably an unavoidable — and I’m reluctant to say this — beauty (to the decay),” he added. “I’ve found that the walls have sort of ripened.”

Nature’s return

As his book’s title, “Growth and Decay,” suggests, McMillan is concerned with both the retreat of humankind and the reappearance of nature. Landscapes in his photos, while bleak, feature blossoming plants and trees bursting through manmade structures.

“People weren’t around, and when nature wasn’t being cut back and cultivated, it just grew wild and reclaimed itself,” the photographer said. “I guess it was heartening to see this kind of regrowth, and inevitable to see culture vanishing.”

“There has been a repopulation of animals, and someone even told me that the birding (bird watching) there is among the best in Europe.”

Plants and trees have regrown in some of the buildings. Credit: Courtesy David McMillan

McMillan’s images also feature portraits of people he encountered within the Exclusion Zone, including engineers, laborers and scientists hunting wildlife to measure radiation in their organs. One image, taken in 1995, shows a woman returning to her village to clean ancestral graves.

Having met so many returnees, McMillan is relatively relaxed about the possible implications for his own health. Now in his 70s, he typically visits for a week at a time, meaning that he has spent months — cumulatively — inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

One of his original guides has contracted lymphoma since leaving Ukraine for Canada, though the photographer said it’s unclear whether radiation is to blame.

“The thing about radiation is that it’s intangible,” McMillan said. “When I did bring a dosimeter with me on one occasion, (the radiation levels) were so irregular. They weren’t the same throughout the Exclusion Zone — it’s very variable.”

The Canadian photographer has visited the region more than 20 times. Credit: Courtesy David McMillan

As contamination lessens with each passing year, so too does the risk, the photographer explained. A newly built “sarcophagus” (known as Chernobyl New Safe Confinement) now encases the reactor, replacing the temporary concrete wrapper first erected in 1986 to contain the fallout.

“There are people living in some (nearby) areas that are less contaminated, so I’ve never worried,” he said.

“Now, a more real hazard is that the buildings are collapsing. They seem delicate sometimes, (and) when you’re walking through them, you just don’t know what could happen.”

This article was originally published in April 2019. It has since been updated to reflect that the population of Pripyat was once home to around 50,000 people. The gallery was also updated to remove one of the images because it unintentionally showed graffiti with derogatory language.

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(CNN) — They’re pristine, wild and extremely hot — and not just because of the high temperature and the stunning volcanic landscape with constant little eruptions.

Stromboli and Filicudi, two beautiful islands in Sicily’s Aeolian archipelago, are believed by some to have magical, aphrodisiac powers ideal for those seeking — or desperately trying to recover — the ecstasy of passionate nights.

Which is why they’re often known as the “fertility atolls.”

Locals say the islands have have become “sex pilgrimage,” sites due to their apparent ability to raise libidos. They also claim, although it’s not clear exactly how they know, that the relaxing environment encourages couples to engage in bedroom experimentation.

The islands’ warm thermal waters, the spectacular lava flow scars, its intriguing grottoes and mysterious flowers are considered an “orgasmic” cocktail that apparently turn people on.

Newlywed couples longing to have a baby are said to flock here from all over the world, while young women hoping to find a man say silent prayers in front of odd-looking sea stacks that thrust into the air like… well, you get the idea.

Lava fireworks

Stromboli has been in almost continuous eruption for millennia.

Silvia Marchetti

Stromboli, one of the world’s most active volcanoes, is said to be the most aphrodisiac of the islands.

It can be a little unsettling, even if your mind isn’t on more carnal pursuits. There are frequent eruptions, every 15 minutes or so, with smoky cannonball blasts that make the ground rumble and hearts palpitate.

The volcano’s flanks are patchworks of yellow, red, orange, black and green sand and rocks covered in pink flowers. Former lava flows scorched huge scars on the landscape that are known as “sciare.”

The jet-black scenery contrasts with the translucent aquamarine water and the string of whitewashed houses that runs from the island’s port to its lonely beach of Piscità. There are boat tours at night that let visitors admire the lava fireworks under starry skies.

At each eruption of the Black Giant, as Stromboli is known, heat builds up beneath the ground and is released underwater through tiny air bubbles. At night, when the air temperature cools, roads and sidewalks are hot to the touch and rough stone walls radiate heat.

“It’s a very sensual place, an isle of fire and passion,” says Maria Puglisi, a local wine trader. “You can feel the constant vibrations inside of you each time the pinnacle erupts; it’s like if the volcano explodes in your body. It’s a powerful, aphrodisiac pull.”

‘Naughty boy’

Locals say people who climb the volcano often strip naked.

Silvia Marchetti

Many people who embark on an eight-hour trek up to the crater like to strip naked, she says, and lie with their bellies on the trembling soil to better feel the eruptions and vibrations run through their bodies.

“It’s an orgasmic experience, a ritual that ignites passionate sex. The heat and volcanic beat get into your blood and trigger this sexual vibe in the air. The volcano is alive, we call it “Iddu” (him), and he’s guilty of turning folks on. He’s a naughty boy.”

Stromboli’s unique nocturnal scents and pungent air are also blamed for heightening ardor.

The island is also home to an unusual plant that’s said to release a hypnotic fragrance during the night which boosts libido and is believed to help couples conceive.

“It’s called cestrum nocturnum and its greenish-white flowers bloom only when the sun sets,” says Luisa Paduano, owner of Le Terrazza di Eolo, a seafood restaurant with panoramic views over an extinct volcanic crater known as Strombolicchio. “That’s when it does its magic. We call it Lady of the Night or Beauty of the Night.

“Its fragrance is so strong, so overpowering, that it can cause a pleasant dizziness and it lingers until the first hours of the morning. Most dwellings here have this plant on the porch or in front of the main door. It makes you feel good.”

Hypnotic night plant

Cestrum nocturnum, which grows all over Stromboli, is said to be an aphrodisiac.

Silvia Marchetti

Cestrum nocturnum’s aroma apparently relaxes people, combats stress and eases daily tensions. Paduano keeps one at the entrance of her establishment.

“Ever since ancient times, cestrum nocturnum has been considered an aphrodisiac plant; it boosts romance and lovemaking,” she adds. “So many singles who meet here for holidays end up falling in love and return to celebrate their wedding or their child’s birth.”

Aristocrats and lyrical poets composed sonnets in the past hailing the erotic properties of cestrum, which dots every corner of Stromboli.

Belonging to the jasmine species, it may fool the occasional passerby. During the day it appears quite a dull plant, resembling a shrub. It is not strikingly beautiful, but when night falls it comes into its own.

Originally found in more tropical climates, legend has it that Italian explorer Christopher Columbus brought cestrum back from the New World and it found an ideal habitat in extremely hot spots like Stromboli.

But most locals say it is indigenous, a “child of the volcano,” and are proud of their plant’s powers, also said to include Viagra-like properties. They like to joke about their island being “always in heat.”

Erotic sea stacks and caves

La Canna, an 85-meter phallic projection off the coast of Filicudi, is said to bring good luck.

Silvia Marchetti

On the nearby island of Filicudi the “sexy” natural elements include phallic sea stacks and secluded grottoes said to be frequented by couples who, on the pretext of using them to shelter from the sun, often end up conceiving babies.

Sailing on sparkling green waves, local fishermen have been known to drop couples off in so-called “fertility caves.” They also offer a service taking young single ladies on a boat tour that includes touching unusually shaped rocks said to offer luck in the search for love.

Nino Terrano of I Delfini diving center says he often brings women out “to discover the ragged sea stacks that surround the isle, of the weirdest shapes and colors.”

“One such rock, shaped like male genitalia, is said to bring good luck: girls who stroke it will end up finding a guy, get married and have lots of kids.”

The main highlight on the rock-caressing boat tour is La Canna, an 85-meter volcanic protrusion that juts out of the emerald sea off Filicudi’s shore. Some say it resembles the head of a cobra or a rifle, but most see in it the representation of a huge phallus reaching for the sky. Its name means “rod” or “cane,” and you don’t need an Italian dictionary of slang to understand why.

The spot also lures rock-climbing enthusiasts and is home to a unique lizard serpent that also sparks curiosity among visitors.

Filicudi has a primeval vibe that awakens senses and pleasure, locals insist. Older village women have been known to make fertility potions.

“This is the island where you’ll find love, no matter how or where you look for it, even if it comes at a later stage and somewhere else,” says Enzo Anastasi of Hotel La Canna. “This place prepares the ground for whatever passion destiny has in store for you. After all, here’s where I met and married my wife.”

It’s a place of unspoilt nature. There’s only a fishing village, Pecorini a Mare, with pastel-colored houses, two little harbors and one single road that circles the island.

Lovers’ Cave

Lovers’ Cave is said to be popular with amorous couples.

Silvia Marchetti

Steep dusty stone paths and old donkey trails connect bright dwellings with thatched terraces covered in bougainvilleas and made of white columns and maiolica benches.

Filicudi’s cliffs are black, green and red with labyrinths of grottoes. Ruins of a prehistoric hamlet and ruined farm huts dot the shore.

Nino Terrano enjoys showing his guests fascinating rock patterns and playing with their imagination. Waves and sand layers have drawn colorful designs in the cliff side that he says resemble gods making love to women and babies being born.

The myriad of sea grottoes are popular spots among couples looking for privacy.

Among them is Lovers’ Cave, where it is said that if a man and a woman enter the cave as two people, they will inevitably succumb to lust and come out as three, with a baby just conceived.

“It’s a mystery, there’s something in that cave that drives hormones wild and blinds people with desire,” says Terrano.

To enhance the experience and further boost libido, Terrano often dives from his boat to fetch raw sea urchins — a major aphrodisiac treat — to serve pronto to his clients on a slice of grilled bruschetta bread.

As if they’d need it.

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Before the arrival of photography, the Western imagination of China was based on paintings, written travelogues and dispatches from a seemingly far-off land.

From the 1850s, however, a band of pioneering Western photographers sought to capture the country’s landscapes, cities and people, captivating audiences back home and sparking a homegrown photography movement in the process.

Among them were the Italian Felice Beato, who arrived in China in the 1850s to document Anglo-French exploits in the Second Opium War, and Scottish photographer John Thompson, whose journey up the Min River offered people in the West a rare look into the country’s remote interior.

Scottish photographer John Thompson documented his travels up the Min River, offering a rare look at remote areas of China. Credit: The Loewentheil Collection of China Photography

These are just some of the figures whose work features in a 15,000-strong photo collection amassed by New York antiquarian and collector Stephan Loewentheil. His 19th-century images span street scenes, tradespeople, rural life and architecture, showing — in unprecedented detail — everything from blind beggars to camel caravans on the Silk Road.

A rare book dealer by trade, Loewentheil has spent the last three decades acquiring the pictures from auctions and collectors, both in and outside China. They form what he claims to be the world’s largest private collection of early Chinese photography. (And given the number of artworks and artifacts lost in the country’s turbulent 20th century — during Mao’s Cultural Revolution, in particular — the claim is entirely reasonable.)

In 2018, he put 120 of the prints on display in Beijing for the first time. The exhibition’s scope ran from the 1850s, the very genesis of paper photographs in China, until the 1880s. It featured examples of the earliest forms of photography, such as albumen print, which uses egg whites to bind chemicals to paper, and the “wet plate” process, in which negatives were processed on glass plates in a portable dark room.

The 15,000-strong photo collection features everyday Chinese tradespeople from the mid-19th century, like this weaver. After being developed, some of the images were hand-colored by painters. Credit: The Loewentheil Collection of China Photography

These technological developments heralded the birth of commercial photography in China, as they allowed images to be quickly replicated and spread for the very first time.

“People wanted to bring back great images that they could sell in other places,” said Loewentheil. “People who traveled there, everyone from diplomats and businessmen to missionaries, all wanted to bring home a record of this beautiful culture of China that was so unique.

“Some of them had a market back home, but immediately they found a Chinese love for photography and they developed a strong market inside the country. Chinese photographers (then) picked up on that, and served both markets.”

Chinese pioneers

Despite the prominent role of foreigners in early Chinese photography, Loewentheil’s collection also recognizes the achievements of the country’s own practitioners.

Some purchased cameras from departing Westerners looking to sell their cumbersome equipment, while others took advantage of Chinese innovation in the field, such as mathematician Zou Boqi, who used foreign-made products to design his own glass plate camera.

An image of two actors taken by pioneering Chinese photographer Lai Afong. Photography studios spread through China in the latter half of the 19th century. Credit: The Loewentheil Collection of China Photography

Having first arrived in port cities, photography spread throughout China in the latter half of the 19th century. This led to the creation of commercial studios specializing in portraits of individuals and families, with many of the pictures later hand-colored by trained painters.

Pioneering figures, like Lai Afong, produced portraits, landscapes and cityscapes that were, in Loewentheil’s eyes, equal in quality to those of their Western contemporaries.

“There is an equality in Chinese photography, and of Chinese photographers, that is not sufficiently known in China,” the collector said. “Some of the very earliest Chinese photographers were brilliant.”

Instead of copying their foreign forebears, China’s photographers were often inspired by their own artistic traditions. Portraits, for instance, were treated more like paintings in their composition and use of light, Loewentheil said. Sitters were often pictured facing the camera, straight on and wearing little or no expression, with early portraits appearing to “simulate painted Chinese ancestor portraits.”

An unattributed portrait of a young woman dating back to around 1860. Credit: The Loewentheil Collection of China Photography

Images of architecture, meanwhile, embraced the surrounding nature rather than focusing on the buildings in isolation, another divergence from the Western tradition.

“Very often, when we have an unidentified photographer, we have a pretty good idea of whether they’re Chinese or Western,” Loewentheil added.

Preservers of history

Beyond their artistic value, Loewentheil’s images also appear to be of academic interest, with his 2018 exhibition taking place at Beijing’s Tsinghua University, one of China’s leading colleges.

The arrival of foreign technology, including cameras, during the 19th century was just one of the radical changes that would bring the imperial era to an end (China became a republic in 1912 following a four-month revolution). As such, photos from the time capture a world that would quickly disappear from sight.

Take, for instance, the work of Englishman Thomas Child, an engineer who documented the intricacies of China’s traditional architecture. His pictures of Beijing’s Summer Palace, which was subsequently burned down by English and French invaders, offer an invaluable record of its lost architecture.

Thomas Child’s pictures show architectural details of Beijing’s Old Summer Palace, which was largely destroyed by Anglo-French forces in 1860. Credit: The Loewentheil Collection of China Photography

“Photography is the greatest preserver of history,” Loewentheil said. “For many years, the written word was the way that history was transmitted. But the earliest photography preserves culture in China, and elsewhere, as it had been for many hundreds of years because it was simultaneous with the technological revolutions that were to change everything.”

And while Loewentheil has made a business of collecting, he maintains that the images have been brought together for posterity’s sake. He sees himself as the custodian of a historical archive — one that should eventually return to its birthplace — and he is currently digitizing the collection with a view to creating an online repository for historians and researchers.  

“We really want this to be an asset to the Chinese people, and we’re open to academics or intellectuals who want to study (the photos),” he said.

“My hope is that the collection will end up in China. It’s not for sale, but from a cultural, intellectually honest perspective: It’s something that doesn’t belong with me.”

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(CNN) — Imagine you’re zooming down the highway at 70 miles per hour and the car’s fuel gauge is on its way to empty.

Just up ahead there’s a tanker truck trailing a long hose attached to a basket that’s floating a couple of feet above the ground.

Approaching the tanker, a probe rises from the car’s front fender. If you deftly maneuver and properly seat the end of the probe in the basket, fuel begins to flow from the tanker truck into your gas tank.

Now move the whole process 30,000 feet into the air, at more than 300 miles per hour, in turbulence, at night, in bad weather — and where there’s simply no possibility of pulling over to the side of the road if you run out of gas.

Aerial refueling is a standard operation, but a challenging and critical one, for air forces around the world. Instead of requiring one or more landings on the way to a target, the ability to extend a military aircraft’s range and endurance while airborne has become a force multiplier — boosting range and ability — in mission planning and execution.

Yet another British invention

British military “boffins” have been the source of numerous inventions that changed the face of warfare. Those scientists, engineers and researchers came up with tanks, radar and jet engines. Aircraft carriers have catapults to fling planes into the air and angled flight decks to capture them when they land, all thanks to British innovation.

But the most important invention — certainly to a pilot running out of gas — might be air-to-air refueling.

In the early days of aviation, pioneering pilots experimented with crude methods of transferring fuel from one aircraft to another. Two slow-flying biplanes would fly in close formation, one above the other, and a fuel hose was dropped to the lower plane.

Once the flailing hose was captured by a passenger in the open cockpit and securely connected to the fuel tank, gravity did the rest of the work, with fuel flowing from the “tanker” to the “receiver.”

While these experiments worked — to a point — the first practical air-to-air refueling solution was developed by British aviation pioneer Alan Cobham in the 1930s.

Cobham first came up with the “looped hose” system, which was a fairly crude update of the earliest experiments that added a grapple mechanism — to help secure a connection — to the receiver aircraft.

In the late 1940s, the United States Air Force (USAF) was an early adopter of the looped hose system, equipping propeller-driven transports as tankers, and bombers as receivers for this early version of range-extending technology.

Probe and drogue vs. the flying boom

The limitations of the looped hose system — not least of which was the relatively slow airspeed required during operations — led Cobham’s Flight Refuelling Ltd. (FRL) to develop the first practical probe and drogue system.

Now, most any aircraft could be equipped with a long tube — the probe — which the receiver pilot would connect to a basket attached to the end of a hose — the drogue — deployed from a reel attached to the tanker aircraft.

In 1949, a Royal Air Force Meteor fighter jet stayed airborne for more than 12 hours in the first practical demonstration of the system.

While FRL continued the development of probe and drogue, across the Atlantic, the USAF was looking for an aerial refueling system that could transfer copious amounts of fuel to its large and thirsty strategic jet bombers.

To meet that requirement, Boeing developed the “flying boom” aerial refueling system. Instead of requiring the trailing pilot to complete the connection, a boom operator in the tanker controls the position of the boom, “flying” it into the refueling receptacle of the receiving aircraft, which holds position close behind.

Although the USAF used probe and drogue system on some of its early tactical fighter jets, it ultimately standardized on flying boom operations for all planes in its fleet.

But the USAF’s rival aviators in the United States Navy settled on the probe and drogue system, which continues to be used today.

Air forces around the world have a mix of the two systems, driven by the source of their aircraft. If they’re flying F-15 Eagle fighters or C-17 transports like the USAF, for example, then they need to refuel from a flying boom tanker. Most all other military aircraft connect to probe and drogue systems.

Aerial tankers

The first aerial tankers were modified World War II-vintage Boeing KB-29/KB-50 Superfortress bombers, identified with a “K” as a tanker. They were followed by the faster and larger KC-97 Stratofreighter.

But in the 1950s, these piston-powered prop planes strained to fly fast enough to safely refuel the newly minted jet fighters and bombers of the day. Fighters could be hanging in the air at low airspeeds while the tanker was at full throttle.

A fast jet-powered tanker was needed quickly, and Boeing’s KC-135 was the solution. Over 800 Stratotankers were delivered to the USAF beginning in 1957, and re-engined, updated and specialized versions of the plane are still in the fleet.

The KC-135’s sister passenger jetliner, the iconic Boeing 707, was modified as a transport/tanker by many air forces, equipped with probe and drogue systems.

In the 1980s, the USAF added the McDonnell Douglas KC-10 Extender to the fleet, a wide-body trijet based on the DC-10 passenger plane. Twin-jet Boeing 767s have also been modified as tankers for other nation’s militaries.

The newest tankers, the Airbus A330 MRTT (Multi Role Tanker Transport) and the Boeing KC-46 (based on the 767) — have been built to meet the requirements of modern air force operations.

Boeing is also working on the MQ-25 Stingray, an aircraft carrier-based unmanned aerial refueling system. The US Navy is planning to have the probe-and-drogue refueling drone integrated into a carrier air wing by 2024.

On the path to a fully autonomous flying boom operations, Airbus recently demonstrated the first fully automatic refueling between an Airbus test A330 MRTT and a Portuguese Air Force F-16 fighter. Intended to reduce the workload of the boom operator and increase safety, the system will begin certification in 2021.

Britain’s RAF VIP Voyager “Vespina” — used by UK government ministers and the royal family — carries out air-to-air refueling missions alongside its VIP role. It recently underwent a Union Jack-themed paint job but is now back in service.

The RAF VIP Voyager “Vespina” refuels two Lightning II jets on June 26, 2020.

Corporal Alex Scott/UK Ministry of Defence 2020

Poking the basket

CNN Travel spoke with the Royal Canadian Air Force’s retired Captain Mark Baird, a pilot and instructor of the RCAF’s McDonnell Douglas CF-18 Hornet fighters.

Originally designed for the US Navy, these multi-role aircraft are set up for probe and drogue refueling. The CF-18’s retractable probe sits about seven or eight feet back from the plane’s nose when extended.

“As you approach the basket, the bow wave [of air] from the Hornet actually pushes the basket away from you. You have to try and not stare at the basket. As you approach it, you do it very slowly. When you get a couple of feet back from the basket, you stop and let it stabilize,” explains Baird.

Once contact is made with the drogue, it locks into place, the receiver pilot flies forward to allow the hose reel to retract by 25 feet — and then fuel will start to flow. The pilot can disconnect at any time by reducing power and maneuvering down and away from the drogue.

“On the end of the pod holding the hose reel there’s a set of red, green and orange lights, and when the light goes to green, the fuel is flowing,” says Baird. “Depending on how much fuel you need, you could be on there from anywhere from five to 15 minutes, and you’re burning fuel as you’re refueling.”

On a long multi-“poke” deployment across the Atlantic, Baird might have refueled five to seven times, always making sure that his jet had enough fuel to fly to an airport if there were mechanical problems with the refueling system.

“If you damage your aircraft, or you can’t poke because you’re nervous or in turbulence — well, the stress levels can get really high.”

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(CNN) — Kimberly and Paul Fradale were living in Tokyo, working at international schools, when they took the leap many an American expat dreams of: buying a large country house for a song and restoring it to its former glory.

Both had been raised in the countryside: Kimberly, who is Japanese-American on her mother’s side, grew up in rural Alaska, and Paul’s childhood was spent in rural New York.

Finding the inexpensive dream home

In a country known for sky-high real estate prices, buying a large country home (or “kominka”) in Japan is still affordable.

Courtesy Paul Fradale

“You can buy a home with a modest lot for as little as $20,000 USD, depending on location. Some towns even maintain lists of free or nearly free houses, in hopes of bringing in new families, ” Paul explains.

There are no restrictions on foreigners buying land or property in the country, and no citizenship or resident visa is required. That said, without a work visa or permanent resident status, obtaining a loan can be difficult. Foreign buyers typically opt to pay cash for this reason.

“With so many houses available for so little, however, cash should not be an issue, ” Paul says.

The Fradales, who live and work in Japan year-round, waited until they achieved Permanent Residence status before they purchased their home. They didn’t want to have to leave the country every three months to renew a tourist visa, in the event of an unforeseen job loss.

They also spent a lot more money than they could have — roughly 250 thousand US dollars — but their 130-year-old home came with about three-quarters of an acre of land, a fully mature garden with a giant Japanese cherry tree, and ancillary buildings such as a “kura,” a type of earthen-walled storehouse.

Why old country houses are abandoned

The Fradales say most young Japanese people have little interest in an old house, particularly one far from the city, lacking modern conveniences.

In Japan, they say, houses are considered disposable. But they reject that mindset.

“Old, grand farmhouses like ours were built to endure, to shelter generations of families, and it shows,” Paul says.

“Houses in Japan do not gain value over time; just the opposite is true. The value of our property is solely in the amount of land. The main house is valued at a few thousand dollars, despite it being made of materials that literally cannot be bought anymore,” Paul explains.

In particular, young families are not interested in living in a”‘kominka” (literally “old house”) because while they are spacious, they offer little in terms of privacy: all doors are either paper shoji or fusuma (a cloth-covered sliding door).

“If anyone snores, for example, the whole house can hear it. If we had children, a kominka would not be an option,” says Kimberly.

They can also be cold.

“Even with the addition of a wood stove, we still have several winter mornings and evenings where we can see our breath in the house,” says Kimberly.

House hunting

Paul and Kimberly Fradale in front of their traditional “kominka.”

Courtesy Paul Fradale

Paul’s wish list:

-A river within cycling distance but not so close that flooding would be a risk

-A temple nearby so they could hear the bells

-A local produce shop/farmers’ market

-Hills or mountains nearby

-A kura (storehouse) on property

-A mature garden

-Enough land so that neighbors would be a fair distance away

-A town big enough to have a hospital, grocery stores, and a home improvement store

-A town not so big that traffic would be an issue

-A relatively flat town so cycling around it would be easy

By comparison, Kimberly’s wish list — running water, electricity and plumbing — was extremely modest.

Finding their dream kominka

“We stayed away from the coast. As much as I love and miss the ocean, the 2011 quake/tsunami put paid to that notion,” Paul says.

So instead they checked city and town hazard maps to see where there was a risk of mudslides, floods, and tornadoes.

After looking at more than 30 homes in person, they finally came across the one they would buy.

The buying process

For Paul, their future home was love at first sight.

“When we set foot on the property I fell in love with it. I could easily imagine what it would look like eventually. Kimberly was much less impressed. Her words to me as we went to meet the agent were, ‘Remember, poker face! Don’t look interested!'”

“Kim’s resignation is painfully clear,” says Paul of this photo, taken before the house was cleaned out.

Courtesy Paul Fradale

But as soon as he entered the house, Paul spotted a ‘Kaidan Tansu,’ a chest of drawers that also function as stairs, a hidden trap door in the ceiling, and sliding doors made of a single solid slab of elm. That’s when, he says, he “squealed like a little girl.”

“We were told the seller had an offer from a developer to buy the property, raze the house, and build a dozen small houses on it, but he was hoping someone would want to keep the old house,” Paul says.

One small shock for the Fradales: in Japan, the buyer, rather than the seller, typically bears all the closing costs. The owner, in turn, delivers an empty house, cleaned of its contents.

“Usually, an owner is required to thoroughly clear the house, but I could see there were many interesting antiques mixed in among the endless amount of stuff, and so we got a price cut to account for that,” Paul says.

A treasure trove (and a box of roaches)

Since the house came with all its contents, cleaning it up turned into a treasure hunt.

“For us it meant that the first year of ownership was little more than sorting through a hundred years of history, as told through one family’s possessions, ” Paul says.

One box had nothing but candy wrappers, all neatly flattened and stacked.

“One box made a suspicious noise so I took it outside to open it. It was full of nothing except hundreds of cockroaches, that spilled out like something out of an Indiana Jones movie,” Paul says.

The next box, however, contained rare old photos and postcards from WWII. Another box was filled with old jewelry, including a string of pearls. There was even an old chest of drawers with vintage kimono in them.

Of most interest to the Fradales were the historical photos, documents, and antiques, which they offered to return to the owner on more than one occasion.

“I have shared some of the newspapers and other war time artifacts with my history students. These items have helped make the events more personal and tangible,” says Kimberly.

“There are extended family members in the next town we’re contacting them to see if they would like some of the photos; we’ve curated historical photos and documents we will keep,” the Fradales explain.

They have also considered donating the artifacts to a historical society or even turning part of their home into a miniature museum featuring a history of Japan in the early 20th century, as told through one family and their home.

War memories

“We found an old clock made in Nazi Germany, complete with a swastika stamped on it; we gave that to a clock maker in a neighboring town,” Paul says.

There were also old Chinese coins, letters home, and a miniature Japanese flag to be carried by a soldier into battle for good luck, with encouraging messages on it.

They also found WWII-era newspapers featuring stories of General Tojo laughing at the numbers of dead Allied forces.

“Some of the documents are not flattering (for example, the newspapers) to Japan, so we’re aware that not everyone would be happy to see them displayed anywhere. We believe history should never be whitewashed but neither should it be rubbed in anyone’s face,” Paul says.

Holiday traditions

“Every traditional Japanese house has a ‘butsudan’ ” explains Kimberly. A ‘butsudan’ is an in-house Buddhist shrine for family members who have died.

The Fradales’ shrine came with the names, letters, and photos of those in the previous owner’s family, going back several generations.

The Fradales were told they should just get rid of it, but Kimberly couldn’t do it: “I still can’t evict them. Every major holiday I open up the doors and they hang out with us. Hopefully they approve of the attention we’ve given to the place.”

Neighborly trades

The Fradales’ neighbors in the countryside, most of whom are retirees in their 70s, have welcomed the newcomers.

“They have seen us come up every weekend and during all our holidays, working from dawn to dusk to clean up the house and yard. Like folks everywhere, the Japanese like rooting for an underdog, and seeing the two of us tackle this place … has made us the ‘welcome-if-mad’ newcomers to the neighborhood,” says Paul.

A peek at some of the traditional craftsmanship that went into the old home.

Courtesy Paul Fradale

Neighbors have donated stones and plants, including a 100-year-old fern and a bonsai tree, to help them spruce up their garden.

In turn, the Fradales give away the bamboo they tear up from the yard each year. Since bamboo is something of a seasonal delicacy in Japan, neighbors welcome the treat.

“This year, for example, we had over 50 come up, and we dig them up and take them around to all the neighbors. Invariably, later in the week various neighbors will drop off beer, coffee, cabbages or other produce, or homemade rice dishes in thanks for the shoots,” he says.

“We are so fortunate to have landed in a place where the neighbors are kind and open. In exchange we offer hours of endless entertainment,” Kimberly says.

Honoring traditional crafts

Since people worldwide are struggling to find a way to lower their impact on the environment, the Fradales believe restoring countryside homes, along with embracing traditional folk arts and crafts, represents a way Japan — and indeed the world — could move forward.

“Japan was once known in the West as a source of cheap goods that worked well. Japan has now seen first South Korea, then China, rise and then equal that claim,” says Paul.

“The values that went into building this house are the same that still go into handmade paper umbrellas, hammered copper tea pots, lacquered chopsticks, or quality tatami mats. Each item is made with care and is meant to last more than one generation if maintained; they are made with deep respect for the materials from which they come, and made with deep consideration for those who will use them,” Paul says.

Restoring the garden was “back-breaking” — albeit rewarding — work for the Fradales.

Courtesy Paul Fradale

Beauty amid the lockdown

The Fradales’ country retreat has been a welcome respite during the coronavirus.

“As the Covid crisis has us all self-isolating, this house and the property have been a source of endless comfort in the form of hope…[right now] the frogs are about to start their evening songs and the azalea are giving way to the hydrangea. There is optimism in seeing nature grow,” Kimberly says.

Paul agrees, and says buying their country home was the right decision.

“All around the world there are historic homes in need of love. I highly recommend leaving your home country, really getting involved in a new culture, and taking on a challenge like this. Make no mistake, it can be backbreaking labor, but it is very rewarding,” he says.

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Architects are — sometimes to their dismay — confined by the limits of engineering. In turn, engineers are confined by the limits of physics.

So perhaps the art world is better placed to push the boundaries of architectural imagination. Now, a new breed of digital artists is combining photography with image manipulation techniques to bend, twist and distort cities to their will.

Their illusory worlds might not be strictly possible, but they can offer new commentary on our cities, forcing us to reassess buildings and urban spaces in the process.

Making art from architecture

Spanish artist and photographer Victor Enrich began transforming architectural photos during a trip to Riga, Latvia. In what would become the first image of a series called “City Portraits,” he photographed one of the city’s road bridges before sending the structure soaring into the sky at a 90-degree angle.

Other pictures in the “City Portraits” series saw Enrich twisting tower blocks into fantastical shapes, attaching stories-high slides onto residential blocks and creating impossibly top-heavy skyscrapers that appear to stand without structural support.

Having spent more than a decade as a CG artist and visualizer for architecture firms in Barcelona, Enrich was already familiar with the 3D modeling software needed to distort his pictures.

“I thought that it was time to start using the techniques that I’d been learning, but on the streets,” he said in a phone interview. “So I quit (my job) and began to experiment with the same tools, without any specific goal other than to explore the possibilities.”

Once he has photographed a building, Enrich digitally maps the perspective and the building’s architectural lines. After bending or otherwise altering the structure, he must painstakingly apply texture, color and shading to make the changes appear as realistic as possible.

Courtesy Victor Enrich

A single image can be completed in three weeks, though his 2013 project “NHDK” — in which Enrich manipulated a single photo of Munich hotel into a series of 88 different shapes — took over eight months to finish.

“I had to model everything — not only what I was seeing, but everything that was hidden (by the building),” he said. “Imagine modeling the roof of a skyscraper that you don’t have access to, and the only thing you have is a satellite image which is blurred and pixelated.”

The tradition of architectural painting has, since its popularization during the Renaissance, focused on faithfully replicating buildings or creating idealized visions of cities. But while Enrich’s art is quintessentially modern — in both method and outcome — he sees links between his work and that of conventional artists.

“One of the things I really enjoy doing is tracing — like the Old Masters,” he said, referring to the disputed theory that Renaissance painters first traced out pictures using a lens. “They weren’t memorizing what they were seeing and then transferring it — everything was being projected onto a surface and then painted.

“I mostly do the same thing, but instead of doing it in real life, I do it in a digital environment.”

Works of ‘architectural fiction’

This type of urban digital art is rarely discussed in terms of being an explicit genre. But if it were, it might include anything from Laurent Chehere’s “flying houses” to the photomontages of Filip Dujardin, who builds impossible structures using collaged images of existing buildings.

Referring to the style as “architectural fiction,” Brussels-based artist Xavier Delory sees commonalities and differences running through all of their work.

“In recent years, there have been quite a few artists working on images of architecture using similar computer tools,” he said in an email interview.

“But with conceptual and formal approaches that can be quite different. I think these artistic approaches make architecture more popular with neophytes.”

Courtesy Victor Enrich

Unlike many of his contemporaries, Delory often focuses on the impact of urban decay on buildings. In one of his best-known series, “Pilgrimage Along Modernity,” he modified pictures of famous modernist buildings — including Le Corbusier’s iconic Villa Savoye — to appear vandalized, smashed or covered in graffiti.

“With (the) series, I question the fragility of history and the choice of societies to grant importance, or not, to the preservation of the creations from the past,” Delory said. “But also, I am fascinated by the aesthetics of ruins and their beauty. I like this state because it shifts architecture towards sculpture.”

Changing contexts

The possibilities of the genre are wide-ranging. Having spent over three years twisting and bending structures, Enrich now focuses on a process he calls “dislocating” buildings — transporting them to entirely new surroundings. The resulting photos explore how changing a structure’s context can alter our perception of it.

In 2016, he created a series of images that placed Frank Lloyd Wright’s celebrated Guggenheim building in various new locations. One sees the museum attached to the side of central London’s “Cheesegrater” skyscraper, a critique of money’s impact on art. Another transports the modernist masterpiece to a run-down part of Colombia’s capital, Bogotá, drawing attention to the differences North and South America.

Courtesy Victor Enrich

Enrich has also re-imagined the White House in solid gold and set beneath a Broadway-style sign bearing the word “Trump.” His creation was then superimposed onto a desert and enclosed by a secured perimeter fence.

But despite his increasingly provocative output, the photographer has retained the mischievousness sense of fun seen in his earlier work.

“Maybe what I’m trying to do is invite people to play with me,” Enrich said, “to invite people into my world.”

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On the Polynesian island of Tahiti, there is said to be something akin to a sixth sense — one that belongs to neither men nor women. Instead, it is the sole domain of the “mahu,” a community recognized as being outside the traditional male-female divide.

“Mahu have this other sense that men or women don’t have,” said Swiss-Guinean photographer Namsa Leuba, whose images from the island are showing at a new exhibition in London. “It is well known in (French Polynesia) that they have something special.”

In Tahiti, mahu are considered a third or “liminal” gender, born biologically male but recognized by peers as distinct, often from early in their lives. Their gender identity has been accepted on the island since time immemorial, and mahu traditionally play key social and spiritual roles, as guardians of cultural rituals and dances, or providers of care for children and elders.

Leuba’s photo series, “Illusions: The Myth of the ‘Vahine’ through Gender Dysphoria,” shows the diversity of gender identities in French Polynesia, where the photographer spends half her year.

In a telephone interview from Tahiti, Leuba said the additional power that the Mahu apparently possess is difficult to describe. It is, she explained, a mixture of empathy, intuition, generosity and creativity — all words that might be applied to Leuba’s wide-ranging photography.

Unseen identities

Since graduating from the Lausanne University of Art and Design (ECAL) in 2010, Leuba has developed an approach that mixes elements of documentary photography with the rich staging of fashion shoots. The result is something she calls “docu-fiction.”

NAMSA LEUBA

Describing herself as African-European (her mother is Guinean and her father is Swiss), Leuba said she aims to reflect, through fiction, realities made invisible when viewed through a Western colonial lens.

In 2011, she traveled to the Guinean capital, Conakry, for a project that would set the tone for her later work. Exploring animist beliefs in the city, she brought portraits of regular people — mostly strangers she met on the street — to life with elaborate poses and backdrops.

Namsa Leuba

The project, along with later work across Africa, confronted the legacy of colonialism and considered how Western perceptions have impacted present-day societies. And Leuba developed these ideas further in Tahiti.

Images from the series went on show at an all-female London gallery, Boogie Wall, last year. The exhibition aimed to show the complex gender and sexual identities that exist in Tahiti, directly attacking stereotypes that rely on exoticism and the sexualization of Polynesian women.

Namsa Leuba

Mahu’s traditional artistic roles have made them a subject of fascination for visiting artists including Paul Gauguin, whose 19th-century portraits of young Tahitians strongly influenced Western impressions of Polynesian culture while painting a controversial picture of an exotic and sexually permissive paradise.

Central to these stereotypes was the ideal of the “vahine.” The term, which translates simply as “woman,” came to be used in the West to mean submissive girls or young women, embodied in the sexualized poses in Gauguin’s paintings (indeed, he would marry a girl in her early teens during a visit to the island in 1891).

Invisible genders

The portraits are often shot in everyday surroundings, but by using bright body paint and stylized costume, Leuba aims to reassert the individuality of her subjects. Her images also include people who identify as “rae-rae,” trans women who, unlike many mahu, often pursue gender reassignment surgery.

“I already knew what I wanted to have,” said Leuba. “For me, it was very important to see (the subject’s) beauty and the power — in my pictures, it’s very strong look, a strong posture — and to (allow them to) make themselves beautiful”

Namsa Leuba

Leuba interviews her subjects for hours before photographing them. While a few were cautious at first, having previously had uncomfortable experiences with voyeuristic photographers, she said, more began coming forward after the first images appeared in magazines in New York.

Through use of elaborate staging, Leuba avoids the rawness typical of documentary photography. Instead, she said her positive, glamorous approach allows eclectic stories to shine, including histories of homelessness and conflict, along with journeys of acceptance from families and culture.

“Sometimes I would hear some really (tough) stuff that has happened to them, and it was totally not sexy or glamorous. It was difficult. And others were well-accepted by their family and their community,” Leuba said.

“All of the ‘lifecycles’ were totally different.”

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