Though photography is a silent medium, some images have the power to evoke sound
What do you hear when you look at a photograph? Do you notice the roar of a cascading wave or the wailing escaping from parted lips? Do you pick up on the buzz of sound that lies between the shades of colour?
This year, the world has experienced extreme highs and lows as political turbulence, natural disasters, and never-ending conflicts rock the planet. In the heat of it all, photojournalists capture images that provide viewers with extended sight, and perhaps even sound.
Noah Berger and the Lilac Fire
The two men might as well be on Mars. The slinky black line of a fire hose connects them, and Joshua Cari stands in front, a sloping stream of water bending out from the hose and into the searing air. Everything is painted in shades of red, orange, and yellow.
The firefighters are battling the Lilac Fire not far from San Diego in January 2025. They advance toward the crackling light burst that is the heart of the fire like a torched comet in the night sky. It laps hungrily against a shadowy tree line. They are in the midst of a cascade of whizzing sparks set against them, pushed by heavy, sizzling wind.
Noah Berger is a California-based photographer who first began documenting wildfires 13 years ago, truly becoming immersed in the work during the massive 2013 Rim Fire near Yosemite National Park that lasted nearly 10 weeks.
Berger understands that to photograph a wildfire is to be out of your element, in an environment that can change for the worse within a matter of minutes, like the Carr Fire of 2018, where a fire tornado formed with winds over 140mph.
“No matter how prepared and knowledgeable you are about working in wildfires, a situation like that will leave you completely exposed and helpless,” he says.
In moments like these, he finds that the scariest noise is that of a ‘widowmaker’, scorched trees and branches that crash to the ground without warning.
André Coelho and the Botafogo Champions
Bodies plant against bodies within Rio de Janeiro’s Nilton Santos stadium in November. Grasping hands and raised arms are positioned in celebration. 50,000 people strong, the arena thunders and booms with victory.
In the background of the image, two couples embrace. To the left, a man drops to a knee to kiss the exposed and protruding pregnant belly of his wife as she beams down at him. This is the first championship he has seen his team win. The other couple, newly together, embraces tightly, the woman’s smile aimed up to the sky. Although she doesn’t support the same team, she accompanied him to the stadium to support him.
In the foreground, two men embrace passionately. They are complete strangers, yet Cadu, who attended the match alone, sobs into Breno’s chest, the scar running down the side of his temple standing in stark contrast to the softness of their hug. Breno holds the back of Cadu’s head like a father would hold a child.
Botafogo, one of Brazil’s biggest football clubs, had never won a Confederación Sudamericana de Fútbol (CONMEBOL) Libertadores cup. The tension in the stadium was palpable in the lead-up to the 3-1 victory.
André Coelho’s years of training in stressful situations like protests and riots prepared him to block out the distractions of a roaring crowd. Within a stadium full of fans, watching on giant screens as their team played 2,600 kilometres away in Buenos Aires, he captured the moment when redemption was granted, and the crowd erupted into elated victory.
Jehad Alshrafi and the Children of Gaza
Four children flee through a street in the southern Gaza Strip. Their faces are stricken with fear, grief, helplessness — emotions that no one that young should have to experience, yet for months, they have burdened.
Two children clasp their hands to their ears, an attempt to shut out the howling noise that chases them through the streets. Dust clings to their faces, hair, and clothes. Beneath the dust are the normal signs of childhood: chipped fingernail polish, a red The Incredibles t-shirt, a blush pink backpack slung over one shoulder.
In the stark sunlight, they squint and squeeze their eyes shut. Midday shadows cling to their heels as blue sky pokes through the corner of the image. The eldest of the children plants her hand onto the youngest’s shoulder in protection, her face contorting into a silent cry.
They survived this airstrike, a series of bombardments that targeted the tents of displaced families in the Al-Mawasi area of Khan Younis. However, the onslaught of noise doesn’t cease in Gaza. Sirens, explosions, fires, and the cries of injured and mourning people tirelessly punctuate the air.
23-year-old Jehad Alshrafi describes the unrelenting and deafening pounding of the explosions as a sound of terror. Alshrafi began his career in the humanitarian field as a photographer and transitioned into journalism at the age of 20. Now, after nearly 600 days of the ongoing genocide and mercilessly persisting noise, he can’t help but wonder what impact his work is having.
Featured image: courtesy of Noah Berger.