“I simply enjoy being on the street.”
Photographer Gil Kreslavsky is a nomad: a quiet observer who has spent the better part of two decades travelling the world, and turning fleeting, everyday moments into compelling compositions, underpinned by instinct, curiosity, and an innate sensitivity.
Photography has long been part of his life, though, as he explains, it wasn’t always so focused. “I was always the guy with the camera, taking pictures of something,” he recalls.
But around 15 years ago, after leaving his native Israel and travelling more extensively, something shifted. He became fascinated by other cultures, not just in passing, but through real immersion, spending long periods in unfamiliar places, observing, learning and connecting.
“At first, I became fascinated by people from different cultures and traditions. Later, I found myself enjoying the process of really immersing deeper into their worlds. My direction became even clearer when I widened my framing and started blending travel photography with street photography concepts.”
Over the years, that path has taken him from Africa to Asia — four years in the former, the rest in the latter — and it’s in Asia where he feels most at home, photographically. “I’m always inspired there and never get bored,” he explains. Myanmar and India, in particular, hold special significance: Myanmar, for its “heart-melting” interactions; India, for its constant surprises and “unlimited opportunities for photography.”
Kreslavsky’s images are layered and observant, the result of a creative process that balances intuition with intent. “I let my instincts guide me to the moment,” he says. “But once I encounter something interesting, I become very intentional in how I present it”. There is a patience to his work — a willingness to wait, to wander, to return — that speaks to years of experience and a deep commitment to the craft.
He cites a wide range of influences from the world of street, travel and photojournalism, heavyweights like Steve McCurry, Bruno Barbey, and Michael Yamashita, Bruce Gilden, Martin Parr, Joel Meyerowitz, and Alex Webb. Rather than emulate, he draws from each, studying how they compose, how they see.
“Looking at photographs develops your visual literacy,” he reflects. “Each of them — and many others — has shaped how I read a scene and how I compose.”
Street photography, particularly when working in cultures far from one’s own, can come with its own set of challenges, ethically, personally and creatively. For Kreslavsky, the key to overcoming such obstacles lies in humility.
“A lot of it comes down to your attitude on the street. I’ve learned to blend in and avoid drawing too much attention to myself. The other part is simply being nice to people — a smile and a humble attitude go a long way. Ninety-five percent of people who respond negatively simply don’t understand what you’re doing. If you take the time to explain, it usually diffuses the situation.”
This generous, open approach extends into his teaching. Having led workshops around the world, he sees it as a way of giving back, as well as looking inward, and analysing his own process.
“Teaching is the other side of the coin. When you photograph, you do it for yourself; when you teach, you share your passion, knowledge, and perspective on this beautiful thing we have in our lives. It’s incredibly fulfilling — I’m just as excited and happy when my student takes a great photograph as if I had taken it myself.”
It was his captivating image, depicting a quiet moment of humans and animals coexisting on the banks of the Ganges, that first brought him to our attention, earning 3rd Prize in our Street Photography Award in September last year.
It is an image that embodies his approach: beautiful, sensitive, and atmospheric. He was also a finalist in our Black & White Award last month, further recognition of his talent, dedication and perhaps most importantly, the profound passion he has for his craft.
“I enjoy what I do. But since everything has a tendency to change…who knows what might be waiting for me around the corner?”
All images © Gil Kreslavsky