Joy Rides: In cities wrapped in exhaust and urgency, these riders glide by, on scooters, tricycles, mobility chairs, like punchlines with purpose. What begins as personal convenience becomes a choreography of care: one ride less polluting, one gesture more possible. Between absurdity and affection, these portraits trace a vernacular of climate action born not of slogans, but of wit, style, and spontaneity. This is how green futures sneak up on us, not with grand declarations, but with a smile and a motor. /Todd Visser

Forms of Being: Forms of Being is a visual celebration of human expression in all its diversity, cultural, emotional, and personal. From traditional dances to intimate public moments, these images highlight how people show up in the world, through movement, dress, ritual, and joy. In placing these distinct scenes side by side, the series affirms a simple truth: the right to be visible, expressive, and included belongs to everyone. Across identities, generations, and geographies, we all seek belonging, and the freedom to be seen as we are. This work is a quiet call for equity, not through grand gestures, but through the everyday forms of being human. /Danny Jackson

The Right to Shine: In cities around the world, public space becomes a stage for freedom, pride, and joy. This series celebrates the right of every person, regardless of gender, identity, or background, to be seen, to express, and to belong. These moments of flamboyant defiance and unfiltered joy remind us: equity is not just about access, but about visibility. /Gwen Julia

The Weather We Live In: In an age when climate discourse is dominated by statistics and catastrophe, The Weather We Live In offers a quieter, more intimate register. These images were captured in fleeting moments, rain on glass, vapor on café windows, artificial light reflected through condensation. They speak not of disaster, but of atmosphere: the unseen air we share, the shifting weather that binds strangers in public space. Through shadow, color, and texture, the series reflects on how climate is not only a global emergency but a personal and sensory reality, etched into daily urban life. These images ask: what does it mean to feel the climate, to live with it, through it, within it? /Laurent Niddam

Tide of Us: Tide of Us is a portrait of daily life at the water's edge, joyful, tender, mundane. Across generations and bodies, these images trace how people gather, rest, kiss, tan, and age in the sunlit proximity of the ocean. Yet behind the playfulness lies quiet unease: foamed shorelines, overexposed skin, a popcorn cart marooned in the tide. The sea is present, but not pristine, it is lived in, leaned on, and increasingly strained. This series does not dramatize catastrophe; instead, it reflects on how the ocean has become a stage for both celebration and silent transformation. In observing leisure, we witness dependency. In photographing comfort, we hint at fragility. These moments remind us: the ocean is not a backdrop, it is a breathing presence, shaping the rhythms of life, and asking in return to be protected. /Daniela Spina

What Holds Us Together: What Holds Us Together is a visual study in coexistence. Across ten images, Linda Svensson captures the choreography of civic life: a confrontation with police, an elderly embrace, a dancer mid-performance, a quiet hug on the street. These moments form a collective portrait of how public space becomes a site of emotional negotiation. Peace here is not utopia, but friction managed, difference tolerated, humanity sustained. Through a consistent visual language and grounded empathy, the series reveals that justice is not an ideal, it's a lived practice, held together by the ordinary, everyday acts that keep us from falling apart. /Linda Svensson

Everybody Gets to Be Somebody Here: A girl grips balloons like armor. A boy fights summer with a hydrant. A bouquet waits for someone who may never come. Mike Merino's camera doesn't chase headlines, it listens to the street. These are moments of presence, but aren't moments of power, that's everything. Because equity doesn't always march. Sometimes it flirts. Dances. Leans. Laughs. Or just stands there. This city doesn't speak one language. It hums, snaps, flinches, explodes, pauses. And Mike captures all of it. No hierarchy. No permission needed. /Mike Merino