Yizhen Zhang

This year, I was honored to receive multiple awards across different categories. One of the winning series, Life in Transit, is a collection of moments captured around the world—fragments of humanity unfolding in public spaces. I’ve always believed that great photography lies in its ability to freeze a second that speaks volumes, where multiple narratives unfold within a single frame. That’s why my subjects often aren’t centered—they inhabit every corner of the image, just like in life. Another awarded project, Win or Lose, is a long-term documentary series that has received over a dozen international honors. It’s a multimedia body of work that weaves together photography, film, and photobook into a single narrative. Through it, I aim to portray the struggles and quiet resilience of a new generation of Chinese immigrants in the U.S.—a story deeply personal yet universally resonant. Winning this award affirms the value of these stories and strengthens my commitment to telling them with honesty and depth.

To me, my projects aren’t ranked by which is “better” or “worse”—they simply reflect different environments, stories, and themes. I tend to submit based on the competition’s specific focus or requirements, rather than favoring one series over another. Ultimately, my goal is to share these images with a broader audience. I want the work to be seen, to resonate, and to spark connection wherever possible.

It was the moment I realized the world is filled with fleeting beauty—little scenes, quiet light, human gestures—that I couldn’t hold onto with just my eyes. A camera became my way of pausing time, of preserving something honest and unrepeatable. I wanted to remember, and photography gave me that power.

Documentary photography has always been my favorite. I’m drawn to its emotional depth and storytelling power. In a time when many photographers chase the fast pace and high returns of commercial work, I find value in slowing down—spending more time with my subjects and letting the camera gently uncover the human stories beneath the surface. There’s a warmth and honesty in that process that keeps me grounded as an artist.

I only use one camera—a Canon R5 that my uncle gifted me. I’ve never seen myself as a gearhead, but rather as a photographer. To me, great photography isn’t about having the most expensive equipment; it’s about the eyes behind the viewfinder. What matters is the ability to see, feel, and capture a moment with honesty and intent.

I hope they can feel the warmth in my images—that there's something being said beyond the frozen frame. My photos aren’t just visual documentation; they carry emotions, stories, and human connection.

Approaching someone you don’t know is always the hardest part. Building trust with a stranger isn’t something you can script or control. Pressing the shutter is just the final moment of a human connection that’s been earned—and that’s what makes it meaningful.

Not really. I’m driven by the desire to explore places I haven’t been. Every unfamiliar street, every new environment brings the possibility of discovery—and that’s what inspires me.

My mentors in grad school, Alex Webb and Rebecca Norris Webb, have had a major impact on me. They’re incredible photographers, and my understanding of color and light was deeply shaped by studying their work. That said, I believe every photographer must eventually find their own voice—developing authorship means knowing when to break the rules, and I see them more as my compass than my destination.

Don’t focus on winning. Focus on making better work. If you’re truly proud of what you’ve created, that in itself is already a reward.

Learn the fundamental rules of photography—then figure out how to break them with intention. That’s how you start to develop your own language behind the lens.

In documentary photography, editing plays a subtle but important role. I avoid heavy post-processing because my goal is to preserve the authenticity and narrative integrity of each frame. I focus on subtle adjustments that enhance clarity while remaining true to the original moment.

AI is reshaping parts of photography—particularly in genres like minimalism or commercial work where background generation and scene reconstruction can save time. But in people-centered, emotion-driven photography, I believe human connection and instinct remain irreplaceable. The soul of documentary work can’t be generated by an algorithm.

War Photography