Adam Ferguson: The Stillness in Chaos

When first looking at Adam Ferguson’s photograph, something becomes apparent immediately. It is a rare type of photography; it’s the type of photography that brings clarity to places of chaos. Fergusons work brings humanity to places that are often stripped of it. Much of Ferguson’s work is of places in social unrest and in places of war, however, Ferguson doesn’t attempt to dramatize conflict. Instead, his portraits offer a somewhat quiet confrontation instead of those loud war images we are so often used to seeing. His images aren’t asking us to look away, but they are asking us to look closer.

 

Carlos Soyos, 34, and his son Enderson, 8, Guatemalans, Good Samaritan migrant shelter, Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, 2021. Photograph by Carlos Soyos and Adam Ferguson

One of the things that makes Ferguson stand out to me personally is his innate ability to find stillness in the middle of disorder and chaos. We see it so often today where photographs chase the action, not Ferguson; he centers his work around the people. Whether it is a displaced civilian, a young soldier in Afghanistan, or someone who is trying to endure the aftermath of trauma, Ferguson is showing these people not as victims or statistics. He shows them how they truly are, people who are complex, dignified, and grounded where they are in their environment.

Lima Company, 3rd Battalion 6th Marines, Combat Operations Post Coutu, Marja District, Helmand Province, Afghanistan, 2010.

 

Ferguson is truly an expert when it comes to composing these portraits. The posture, the lighting, and especially the eye contact, it all feel deeply connected to each other, almost like a painter would have painted the scene. He has a series of portraits named What Remains, it is a series of ISIS survivors in Iraq, and these were taken on a large-format camera with the subject often posed against a neutral backdrop in their own environment. This method of photography slows down the photographic process, and through slowing down the photographic process, he is removing the sensationalism of normal war photography, and it is letting the photo do the talking.

Musaab is 12. His 18-year-old brother has his back turned. Their father is in jail on suspicion of terrorism. Iraq, 2019. 

Coming from my own personal background, where I am surrounded by data, models, and scientific images, Ferguson’s work reminds me of the importance of narrative. A face is powerful, but a face with a history surrounding it becomes so much more. The history surrounding it is what gives the face context. This parallels scientific writing and scientific image generation. For example, a graph is wonderful, but a graph with a description and a legend gives context to what we are actually trying to communicate. 

Personally, Ferguson’s work inspires me to think more about the ethics of the visual storytelling that I am doing. How do we make images with someone, rather than of someone? Or, what does it mean to photograph someone whose life is nothing like your own? These types of questions are things that will linger long after those images fade from view, and it's these types of questions I get inspired to ask after looking at Ferguson's work.