Projects

Croke Villas in Ballybough once stood as a tight-knit community on the north side of Dublin — a cluster of flats where neighbours knew each other’s stories and the playground was the heart of daily life. Before the blocks were demolished, I spent time photographing the children who brought energy to those concrete courtyards: kids skipping in groups, racing around on battered bicycles, and sliding down the old playground structures that had served generations. What stayed with me was their sense of freedom. In a place often spoken about in terms of hardship or regeneration plans, the photographs show something different — friendship, play, and the small rituals that bind a community together. These images are not about the buildings that have now disappeared, but about the people who animated them, and the last echoes of a neighbourhood that has changed forever.

Eric Luke is an award-winning Irish photographer with over 45 years’ experience, including a long career at The Irish Times. His work has been exhibited nationally and internationally, with venues ranging from IMMA and The National Gallery of Ireland to World Press Photo Amsterdam and the United Nations in New York. He has photographed major global events — including five Olympic Games and two World Cups — and worked on assignments across Europe, the United States, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. Now focused on long-term personal projects, Luke works primarily with black-and-white film, documenting everyday life in Ireland and building an archive that spans five decades. Here is his website for more of his work https://ericluke.com/

Older people stood along the pavement trying on second-hand shoes, lifting pairs from cardboard boxes and testing the fit right there in the street. Others bent to pick through clothes and household items spread out on the ground, looking for something useful or affordable. Children drifted between adults, stopping to watch, while neighbours paused to talk at doorways and shopfronts. Cumberland Street at that time had a lived-in feel — modest homes, a close community, and the everyday rhythm of people making the most of what was available. These moments now form a record of a Dublin that has changed almost beyond recognition.

In 1991, I often wandered around Beaubourg — the Centre Pompidou and the square that surrounded it. It was one of those rare places in Paris where everyone seemed to belong: street performers, sketch artists, jugglers, breakdancers, and the endless flow of people who stopped to watch. I would spend hours photographing the faces in the crowd — the laughter, curiosity, and fleeting moments between performer and spectator. It was a living theatre, open to all, and I loved its energy. Now, as Beaubourg prepares to close for five years of renovation, I think back to those afternoons with my camera and remember a Paris that felt both raw and spontaneous — a city performing for itself.

Frédéric Caron is a French photographer whose work explores the limits of both human endurance and photographic technique. Trained in traditional film photography since 1986, he built his career capturing the intensity of extreme environments—from mountain climbing and aerial sports to operational work with firefighters. Today, his latest challenge is photographing the fleeting landscapes seen from a moving train between Valence and Avignon, a daily exercise in precision and patience that reflects his belief that photography exists for its own sake — an art of persistence, observation, and wonder. Link to Fred’s work https://www.instagram.com/fredcaronphotographe/?hl=en

In 1991, I spent weekends wandering through Les Puces de Clignancourt, Paris’s vast flea market on the northern edge of the city. It was a maze of narrow alleys, brimming with old clothes, furniture, records, and faces full of stories. Vendors called out to passersby, bargaining and joking in a mix of French, Arabic, and African dialects. I was drawn to the rhythm of the place—the layers of life, history, and survival all playing out in one sprawling market. My camera followed the movement, the gestures, the laughter, and the quiet exchanges that defined a working Paris few tourists ever saw.

Kirsty Greenland is a street photographer based in Perth, Western Australia. Her work explores the randomness and beauty of unposed moments, with a focus on colour, movement, and the play of light and shadow. Inspired by Perth’s beaches and the city’s vibrant parades and festivals, her photography reflects a search for connection with place. Originally from Melbourne, she spent many years living overseas before settling in Perth, where all of the photographs in this collection were taken. Her work has been exhibited and published in both Australian and international outlets.

This series was photographed in Newport, Wales. The work looks at everyday life in the city during a period of change and uncertainty. Children played in abandoned buildings left behind by redevelopment. In church halls, ballet lessons and drawing classes carried on, giving structure and creativity to young people’s lives. At the same time, older residents kept up their routines, swimming together and holding on to traditions of community. The photographs record ordinary moments in Newport—play, learning, and leisure—set against the backdrop of a city in transition.