Leland Bobbe/Getty Images

(Or at least the Getty Images website?)

If you’re reading this, you probably use the Getty Images website. Read on to find out how you can shape it (and get paid for your thoughts).

We’re talking about customer research. We conduct all sorts: online surveys, usability studies at our offices and visits to your workplace. Nothing we do is too demanding on you and it leads directly to improvements that our customers (you) want.

What do I need to do? Sign up for our customer research panel. Tell us you’re interested by filling out this brief form as accurately as possible.

What will happen? In general, we run 1-2 usability studies a month and we’re always looking for participants. If we find a study that matches your profile, we will contact you.

What about the money? If you participate in a study, you can expect a generous gift certificate for your time.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

The Green Zone is an unlikely place for a performance of Rossini. After years now as a besieged fortress, the seat of American power in Iraq is all but a wasteland: four square miles of empty boulevards riven with internal checkpoints and imposing mazes of adhoc concrete walls. Crumbling buildings and shelling damage linger unrepaired, and blowing trash scrapes along the shell-cracked sidewalks like tumbleweeds.

In the middle of it all is the former Iraqi Convention Center, which under the Saddam government was simply that, host to all manner of mundane gatherings typical of any medium-sized country– business expos, government announcements, and art exhibitions. Those kinds of events of course ended once the Saddam government was toppled. The US Army used the building briefly as the seat of its media operations, but soon after the elections of 2005 the building was given over to host the Iraqi government’s new legislative assembly, and they’ve been holding parliament there ever since. Oddly, despite this new reality even members of the government still call the place the convention center.

So, during my recent trip to Iraq, when I saw a communiqué from the US embassy inviting the press to cover a performance of the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra in this convention center, I made my way over to the Green Zone to attend. Tales of endless security checks are cliché to anyone covering Iraq, but the security before the show was heavy even by Iraq’s standards–in addition to the three or four body checks just to get into the Green Zone at all, metal detectors and body-searches were set up outside (and then again inside) the convention center itself. Just before the performance, the hall was cleared and explosive-sniffing dogs were led around by trainers, methodically checking row-by-row for planted bombs.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

Finally, the crowd was allowed to enter and began to take their seats in the hall. The audience milling about and chatting was an invitation-only group: mostly Iraqi government members, American Green Zone bureaucrats, and a few uniformed US military officers. The auditorium was about half-full: a number of the members of the Iraqi Parliament from Islamic parties boycotted the performance on religious grounds.

I was backstage with the performers, as they warmed up. I’m a classical music enthusiast and have hung around many musicians before recitals, and can confidently report that the members of the Iraqi Symphony act like classical performers do anywhere before a concert: the usual mélange of hair primping, reed soaking, bow-tie adjustments and much laughter.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

Woodwinds players idly belted out their upcoming passages, booming tonic-and-dominant chords sounding spare out of context. Violinists warmed up with fragments of Bach, apparently universal around the world. The mood was light, and the men and women of the orchestra mixed and chatted with an ease that’s rare in the new, more Islamic Iraq since 2003 under American occupation. Indeed, a number of the musicians told me they have to carry their instruments around town in black garbage bags, lest Islamic militants, who usually consider music to be sacrilegious, discover their profession.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

Before the performance there was an endless round of speeches, politicians and bureaucrats extolling the importance of music and reminding the audience that afternoon was being held in celebration of something called “World Day for Cultural Diversity for Dialogue and Development” by the United Nations. The power went out during one of the addresses, plunging the hall into darkness. The speaker gamely continued, shouting out his words until the lights came back few minutes later. Finally the musicians entered the hall in two files and took to the stage.

Guest conducting was British maestro Oliver Gilmour, whose brother happens to work for the United Nations mission in Iraq, and flew in via military transport for the performance.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

With a twitch of his baton he started the orchestra in the first number of the afternoon, Rossini’s Overture to The Barber of Seville. The opening chords resounded through the hall, and several toes tapped when the famous main melody came around. The orchestra was capable but (quite understandably) not well-rehearsed; the level of playing was perhaps similar to that a local community orchestra in the States.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

This held true through the other works on the program, the first movement of the Dvorak Cello Concerto (with the orchestra’s usual Iraqi conductor playing solo cello) and the rousing Night on Bald Mountain by Mussorgsky. Later the Iraqi conductor took up the baton to conduct some rhythmic works written by local composers. As the final notes died down the audience leapt to their feet with applause.

Chris Hondros/Getty Images

The performance, it seemed to me, was more about Iraq’s past than about its future. In the orchestra’s tuxedoed men and uncovered women lies a tantalizing snapshot of the Iraq that was; an authoritarian state that nonetheless was secular and Western-looking. Indeed, the Iraqi National Symphony was once one of the best in the Middle East, and called the convention center’s auditorium their home for many years–before the US invasion. Now, the orchestra is homeless, and plays furtive gigs at secret locations around Baghdad lest they all get car-bombed in mid-performance by militants. It’s a melancholy reminder of how far the Iraqi tapestry has come unglued from its former self, and how different the society that eventually rises from these ashes is likely to be.

Picture by Chris Scott

The deadline is here - today is the day of the kids digital story screening. With the narratives finalized, photos taken and sound effects recorded, it is now time to put it all together. We (my fellow volunteers and I) have been busy putting on the finishing touches while taking frequent breaks to warm up by the fire (it’s surprisingly hard to type with blocks of ice for hands).

While sorting through the photos the kids have taken, I am surprised by what they have achieved in such a short amount of time. Apart from the many technical aspects they have picked up and demonstrated, they have managed to capture a huge amount of emotion and depth in every frame. The speed in which they have learned these techniques, and the quality of the pictures they have taken, has shown me how powerful imagery can be when communicating across language barriers. Considering my limited Spanish skills, I found this particularly enlightening.

Some pictures created by the students:

Picture by Johan Anthony Quispe

Picture by Ryker Labbee

Many times throughout this experience I found myself looking (unsuccessfully) for the right Spanish words to get my point across. I depended heavily on exaggerated gestures and a lot of demonstrations to communicate.

If all else failed, the kids and I turned to the universal language of football. This turned out to be pure comedy to the kids as I was terribly unfit. I still maintain it was the altitude’s effect on my respiratory system, and they just laughed as they danced around me like fireflies.

We finished the videos in the nick of time and everything was ready for the screening. There was a large turnout of pupils, parents and teachers who were all very eager to see what we’d been up to. The kids proudly presented their pieces to the audience who warmly received them. Even the kids that had been quiet and shy throughout the workshops said their bit, clearly and eloquently.

More pictures from the students:

Picture by Sally Sefami

Picture by Nathaly Rebeca Cacer

Picture by Karen Doolittle

It was a great night which quickly became very sad when we realized it had all come to an end. But with regards to Bridges to Understanding, this is just the beginning. Now the school is up and running making digital stories, they have access to all other schools around the world, and hopefully, the discourse will go from strength to strength.

On the last night (very, very late), I found myself racing through the streets of Lima. I have minutes to make my flight home and the traffic conditions are the usual chaotic sprawl of weaving cars and blaring horns. As I gaze out the taxi window, it feels like just yesterday that I landed in Peru. I can’t believe how quickly it has all gone. However, if you think about all the people that I met and everything we have achieved through Bridges, if feels a lot more tenable.

Suddenly I am thrust back into reality and literally into the airport check-in desk. Before I knew it I was running to catch my flight and on the plane headed home…

 

Chris Jackson/Getty Images 

Prince Harry is rapidly becoming my favourite member of the Royal Family to photograph.  It all started a few weeks ago during a trip the young Royal made to Cardiff – the first full day of official engagements he has made.  His natural manner and ‘court jester’ approach certainly wooed the Welsh crowd and made for a great set of pictures.

So, it was with a sense of excitement I set off on my first trip to Lesotho to photograph two days of the Prince working with his charity Sentebale (meaning ‘Forget-me-not’) in some of the more deprived areas of the mountainous African principality.  Sentebale was founded by Prince Seeiso from the Lesotho Royal family and Harry in response to the plight of the neediest of Lesotho’s people - its orphans and vulnerable children.  

Lesotho is a country in desperate need of help, many of the adults have been wiped out by HIV/AIDS leaving a generation of over 380,000 orphans struggling to fend for themselves. With only a couple of days work and no pools there was a fairly relaxed approach to this trip. However this didn’t last very long as many of the press realised that there was no wireless in the hotel and none in the nearby town.  With no way to send pictures, a trip across the border to

South Africa would be the only was of getting their images out (a good hour away after taking into account the busy border crossing).  Luckily this would be one of the first occasions my satellite phone would actually not just be a dead weight in my bag and I could file from location giving me a head start on some of the other photographers!

During the first night’s briefing, Harry sat at the back listening intently to the head of Sentebale, Harper Brown, explain the ethos behind the charity to a group of jetlagged journalists and photographers.  Afterwards, in the hotel bar, it was a relaxed evening with a beer, talking about the up-coming couple of days. 

The next couple of days were fairly chaotic – we photographed Harry helping build a school for physically and mentally disabled children as well as taking part in a football match with the charity ‘Kick for Life’ run by an inspirational character called Pete Fleming. The charity runs HIV testing days using football as a means to communicate and bring children to the testing centres.  The story of Kick for Life and the history behind the charity was fascinating and it amazed me that someone with such obvious entrepreneurial skills would dedicate himself solely to such selfless work.  

A few weeks before I was due to leave for Lesotho I got in contact with Sentebale and arranged for them to take me around a few of the projects the charity was working on – I figured it would be a good opportunity to go into a bit more depth on the story with some images that would compliment the set I would take of Harry.

Harper Brown was kind enough to try and organise a trip for me up into the mountains to see some of the more affected children (unfortunately the helicopter had to turn around due to bad weather) as well as a trip to visit an orphanage of 124 children run by an awe inspiring woman, Sister Giselle.  Sister Giselle gave me a tour of the orphanage which Sentebale helps support.  A bakery and chicken coop help make it a project that works towards sustaining itself and the classrooms ensure the children receive the best possible education, it was a great example of the work the charity is doing. I also visited street children who rely on the help of projects Sentebale supports, the sub zero temperatures at night make Lesotho an inhospitable place for the homeless.  Using the images I photographed and audio of some of the orphans singing I was able to record material for a multimedia piece which the Getty Images Multimedia team have subsequently put together.

Despite a 24-hour delay getting home and the inevitable African bug, the trip produced some memorable images and certainly showed the passion Prince Harry feels for his work in this tiny African country.  With his recent tour of duty in Afghanistan and the professionalism and flair he has adopted towards his royal duties he certainly seems to be shaking off the image of the ‘Playboy Prince’.

Photo by Chris Scott

It’s 4 AM, humid and dark in the town of Aguas Calientes at the foot of Machu Picchu, the hidden city of the Incas. The small town is nested in the narrow, cloudy forest valley for the sole purpose of tourism for Machu Picchu, which gives it an odd, unreal quality for a town.

We took a train to get here that hugged the Urubamba River until we were surrounded on all sides by towering mountains. It’s very claustrophobic being enclosed like this and I’m excited to escape in the only direction we can go - up.

We take a bus up the mountain, zig-zagging extremely close to the unguarded edge and a perilous plunge. It’s still very early and my half closed eyes allow me to ignore the obvious danger.

Photo by Chris Scott

The sun has not climbed high enough to peek over the surrounding peaks but the sky is lightening and I catch my first glimpse of Machu Picchu. It is everything the books and stories promised. A city on top of the world, beautifully reconstructed and awe-inspiring with respect to it’s conception. To think such architectural, astronomical and agricultural feats were accomplished in the first place is incredible but when you marvel at the location, it is truly wonderful.

Photo by Chris Scott

When the sun finally rises over the mountain, it is a dramatic moment. You can understand why the Incas worshipped the sun and based much of their religion and life around its movements. It’s stunning to see the first rays illuminate the high peaks of Machu Piccu and then slowly rise to reveal the remaining ruins.

There have been many photographs of Machu Picchu over the years, and I wasn’t going to be the only one not to take the ubiquitous shot of the ruins and the peak of Wayna Picchu looming in the background. It was then that I heard you could climb this mountain. It looked impossible, but at closer inspection the Incas had built steep winding steps and paths winding their way up the rock. The climb was strenuous and dangerous at point. Most paths were on the very edge of a thousand foot drops. The lack of barriers and lack of legal protection in case of an injury, caused me to climb very slowly.

Photo by Chris Scott

We realized the actual danger of the climb when we came across a lucky hiker. She fell about 20 ft, stopping her fall by grabbing some branches. Had she fallen any further she would have plunged all the way to the valley floor. She walked away okay, just scratched and shaken. After we talked with her, I embraced the mountain with every bit of energy I could. I hugged each rock like we were the best of friends, surely the mountain couldn’t expel such a devotee.

At the summit the view was spectacular. You could see the entire city of Machu Picchu. Wayna Picchu was the last stronghold of Machu Picchu and would be used in case of attack. It has verticle cliff faces that would make it impossible for an invading army to climb. What I found even more amazing was that there were structures crowning this mountain. There were terraces for farming, houses and temples that were actually built on the cliffs. I could barely carry my camera bag, let alone construction equipment. How did they do that?

Photo by Chris Scott

We left Machu Picchu on foot, leaving the buses and walking down the path to the valley floor. On the way down we befriended a stray dog, something that I have discovered Peru is not short on. This one was friendly and joined us for the descent. I named him Picchu. Eventually we reached the bottom and walked along a dusty road used by buses. I was alarmed at the way Picchu would wait until the last minute to leap out of the way of oncoming buses. He would barely miss getting squashed by inches, much to his annoyance. He would chase the giant metal beast, barking like a wild animal. Luckily, the bus could outrun the animal (I would hate to see what happened if Picchu actually caught up). Picchu returned to our side, proud and placid as ever, as if nothing had happened.

We continued walking along the road (with Picchu walking in the middle). We could hear another bus coming and sure enough, the same scene played out. Picchu almost was hit and he rebounded by barking, growling and chasing the evil bus down the street. This happened several more times until we made it home. I can only imagine how exhausted Picchu was after that 30 minute walk, protecting the tourists from the evil metal beasts.

Photo by Chris Scott 

Although Cusco is unique city with many incredible sights and people, the presence of tourism makes some interactions awkward. The women and children that wear traditional dress and lead llamas through the street are very eager to pose for photographs, but ask for a fee to do so. This seems like a perfectly fair exchange, but reduces the feeling of authenticity. Tourism has become big business in Cusco so it is understandable that people aggressively sell handicrafts, food and photos to you at every occasion. The worst case is when the children are very small and are doing this instead of going to school.

To see another side of Peru we drove through the mountains out to a small village community called Chinchero. On arrival we were warmly welcomed into the house of Paulino and Vilma. He runs a runs a local orphanage for girls and also supports the local trade of weaving, giving demonstrations of the incredibly skilled process of making their fabric.

Photo by Chris Scott 

I walked around the village square where locals sit with their spreads of brightly colored blankets, scarf’s and hats. The first thing I noticed was that there were many small children, who climb, roll, fight and run their way around the market.

Paulino gave a demonstration of the traditional weaving process. It began with the use of a detergent to clean the discolored wool. He grated a white root into water and mixed it up. After submerging the wool and scrubbing it for a few minutes the wool comes out bright white.

Every step of the process uses natural products , from leaves , flowers , corn and beetles. It’s incredible the amount of different colors that can be made from these ingredients.

This was a great opportunity for the kids to record audio and take pictures. My buddy Rey was recording ambient sound of the many processes. He went up to the women weaving and thrust his microphone towards the weaving loom. Her hands silently whipped back and forth, not making a sound. This was not a problem for Rey who decided to pick up a piece of wood and knock it against her loom to create his desired sound, if not quite the accurate sound of weaving.

Photo by Chris Scott 

We then drove further out to a very small village that rarely experienced tourists. The contrast to Cusco was dramatic and felt very honest. Women and men went about their work ignoring our presence unless we spoke to them. It was sunset and they were bringing back the harvest of grasses from the fields. From a distance it looked like the grass had spouted legs and was walking it’s self back to the village. The huge bundles of grass completely engulfed the men as they leisurely ambled along followed by donkeys and cows. We gathered in the square and chatted to the local women. They enjoyed speaking to us about their homes and family as their tiny kids ran about mischievously in the kicked up dusty haze.

Photo by Chris Scott

Photo by Chris Scott

Living at 10,000 feet is proving difficult but it is these challenges and quirks which are making the experience so unique.

It’s winter here in Cusco, the ancient capital of the Incas. Each morning I emerge from my alpaca blanket cocoon and the bitter cold hits me. My breath is clearly visible, the sun is out but the mountains are still shading me from its warmth. The sky is pure blue and there is not a cloud in the sky. In the shade it remains bitterly cold during the day but in direct sunlight it is unforgiving, my lobster red face can contest to this.

Apart from the extreme temperatures, altitude is a constant consideration. Until my body finally adapted to the low oxygen levels, I really had to take it easy. Walking is much harder, especially up hill. I was even finding myself out of breath towel drying my hair.

Apart from hindering my ascent to the many mountainous locations, which includes my hotel, you can become very ill. Already two members of our group have suffered acute altitude sickness. Symptoms include: headaches, vomiting, disorientation and if you don’t descend - death. I have managed to avoid most of these symptoms so far but sadly one of our members has had to fly back to Lima.

Photo by Chris Scott

Between surviving, we have been working with a local school. We are helping the students tell personal stories about their culture using digital media. We met the students for the first time today. It’s a real mixed group of ages, backgrounds and personalities. One small boy called Darwin impresses everyone in the first few minutes by reciting all 30 peoples names and favorite fruit as part of a name game. I proved less adept when it came to my turn. My memory is bad at the best of times, but reciting the whole thing in Spanish proved extra difficult as I’m still mastering hello and goodbye. There is no better way to learn a language than being thrown in at the deep end so I’m hoping to be at least fluent by the end. Until then, me and my assigned student Rey, are communicating through exaggerated gestures and a lot of pointing. The funny thing is, it’s working.

We began with a portrait lesson to get the students used to the cameras and principles of photography. We were taken to a historical Incan site of Sacsayhouman. Up on the mountain overlooking Cusco are the formidable Incan walls. The size and constructions is awe-inspiring, especially considering they have withstood centauries of earthquakes where the newer Spanish architecture has crumbled.

Photo by Chris Scott

If you want to break the ice with a new group of people and everyone is a little shy, simply introduce a slide. Nearby a natural formation of rocks that were perfectly smooth provided the perfect way to loosen up and a fantastic photo opportunity.

Photo by Chris Scott

When we finally dragged ourselves away to peruse the remaining ruins, we’re all friends and the photos being produced are amazing. The students demonstrated an amazing grasp of all the lessons and tips we gave them on lighting, angles and composition to produce some fantastic images, and that’s just in one morning’s work.

Click here to access a multimedia presentation created by Alex Wong of Getty Images.

It was 4:45 am in the morning when my alarm clock woke me. I opened my eyes while still lying in bed and I thought of Tim. I knew things were not going to be the same from then on. He has left us and has returned to heaven.

“If it’s Sunday, it’s MEET THE PRESS.” Tim Russert ended each show with this statement for the last 17 years, as moderator of Meet the Press.

I heard the news of Tim’s death from my assignment editor, Pierce Wright, while I was at the LOOK3 Festival of the Photograph in Charlottesville, Virginia. It was a big shock to me. I have been fortunate enough to be Tim’s photographer, to document him and his show every Sunday for the past eight years. I drove back to Washington the same evening hoping to see whether I could help with anything and I wanted to be in the studio on Sunday no matter what, to remember Tim.

The next day, I went to the studio hoping to see everybody on the crew. When I saw the executive producer, Betsy Fischer, I gave her a hug. “Tim loved to see you every Sunday,” she said.

WASHINGTON - APRIL 01: Betsy Fischer (L), Executive Producer of ‘Meet the Press,’ talks to moderator Tim Russert (R) prior to a taping of the show at the NBC Studios. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images for Meet the Press)

A message was written on a white dry-erase board, similar to Tim’s famous “Florida! Florida! Florida!” white-board from the 2000 election, that was left by an NBC employee at an impromptu shrine put up at the front entrance of NBC’s Washington bureau, telling people how much Tim was respected and beloved:

“Tim,

Our fearless leader.

Our hearts are broken.

Who will look after us now?

Who will help us get through this?

Will miss you.

Sarah”

WASHINGTON - JANUARY 28: Moderator Tim Russert (R) poses with Vice President Dick Cheney (L) as he holds up a white board with the words ‘Florida! Florida! Florida!’ after a taping of Meet the Press. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images for Meet the Press)

Tim treated the whole crew at Meet the Press like family. He would tell me to bring my family to see the show. He loved children. One time, when my family visited the studio after a taping, he held up my son Ian, who was one and a half years old at the time, and flew him everywhere in his arms like a plane in the studio. Ian, of course, enjoyed that very much.

My son Ian with Tim Russert (Alex Wong/Getty Images)

The show usually hosted an audience of journalism students, members of young leadership programs, scholars or friends and families of Tim and the crew, to the studio to watch the taping. Most of the time, Tim would have a photo taken with visitors in front of the Meet the Press wall panel. He would also speak to them, tell a few stories about Washington politics and take questions.

We did the show on that Sunday morning for the first time without Tim. His chair was left empty on the set. A few of Tim’s very good friends, Tom Brokaw, Betsy Fischer, Mike Barnicle, James Carville, Mary Matalin, Doris Kearns Goodwin and Gwen Ifill, were on the show paying a tribute to him. It was very emotional and when a slide show of Tim played at the end of the show, it seemed that everyone in the studio had tears in their eyes.

After the taping, I walked away from the set to take my blimps off my cameras as NBC employees flooded into the studio to pay their respect to Tim and offer condolences to his family. After I returned to the crowd, one of the employees pointed to the far side of the studio. I saw Tim’s son, Luke, holding the cushion Tim used on the set. He walked around the set as he mourned his dad, and then, he walked back up to the platform by the table, extended his hand to touch Tim’s chair. I pressed the shutter and captured that very moment, a powerful scene I would never forget.

WASHINGTON - JUNE 15: Luke Russert, son of the late moderator of ‘Meet the Press’ Tim Russert, touches the empty chair that was left behind by his father on the set of the show after a taping June 15, 2008 at the NBC studios. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images for Meet the Press)

A few NBC employees saw me filing images from the studio on that Sunday. They burst into tears when they saw the picture of Luke touching Tim’s empty chair. I knew that would be a powerful picture when I first shot it, but people’s responses were more emotional than what I expected. I’ve never seen people so moved by my images.

Tim was well loved. In the days after Tim passed away, many people who knew that I had been shooting for the show offered condolences to me, as if I had lost a family member. I have also received e-mails from people who thanked me for taking pictures of them with Tim when they were audience members on the set from years ago. The fact that so many photos of Tim exist with so many different people shows the impact of his work and the connection that so many people felt to him.

Taking photos of Tim on Meet the Press was part of my assignment as a Getty Images photographer, and so I could detach myself to do my job. Yet, if I were to pause for a moment to think again of Tim, I would miss his face, his voice, his kindness, his objective analysis on politics, and miss the example he set for me of what it means to be a father. I am honored that I have had the opportunity to document Tim’s work through images and also helped create a visual memory for all who knew and loved him.

Tim, you have been the biggest inspiration to me and have taught me how to be a good father. Thank you for writing your two books Big Russ and Me and Wisdom of Our Fathers. From reading your books, it reminded me of how important the role of a father is in the upbringing of his children. You said it best when you described our father’s generation, “They shaped our destiny. We stand on their shoulders.” I know I have to do my best to build a strong bond with my children and to do my best to raise them up well.

Thanks for being such a great role model. We will see each other again in heaven. I’ll miss you!

WASHINGTON - OCTOBER 21: Moderator Tim Russert listens during a taping of ‘Meet the Press’ at the NBC studios. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images for Meet the Press)