I was a traveler long before I was a photographer. I lived in West Germany on an American Army Base until I was 5. My mother traveled the Schengen states extensively with my sister and I. I returned to pre-Euro Europe after my freshman year in high school as an exchange student in France and numerous times since, amounting to more than a year, maybe two.Israel & Palestine in 1999 were my first adventure beyond Europe. A Red Sea road trip along the Egyptian Border with my Tel Avivian boyfriend included a chance encounter with soldiers from both sides of the chain link fence who, like all races, religions and creeds, shared a love of Bob Marley.After 8 years, 3 trips to Europe, all of the lower 48 states, Mexico and a 24 hour flight to my Kiwi Boyfriend’s native islands, I finally made it to the seat of civilization. That experience, more than any other, ignited my passion for travel, despite having been, briefly, kidnapped in Cairo. 18 months after my escape, I was off to Sri Lanka to teach Yoga in a recently tsunami’d southwest surf town while the 25 year Civil War raged in the northeast city of Jaffna. My students were journalists, NGO Contractors, Foreign Diplomats & British Cricket Fans. Following my 2 month contract, I traveled through India, Myanmar, Cambodia and Thailand for 4 months, earning my Thai Massage Certification along the way.Upon my return to NYC, I opened a 9 bed guest house in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, so I could write off travel expenses as Research & Development. Goodpoint incubated Goodyoga, which was, when I retired from brick and mortar in May of 2023, Brooklyn’s Oldest Studio with 10 total locations over 16 years.During the best period, pre-pandemic, I was able to travel 18 months out of 24including:* a 4 month overland itinerary from Argentina to Mexico* 6 months traversing a counterclockwise sorta circle around Europe from Malta to Iceland* a month in Castro's Cuba* a 4 week overland round trip circumnavigation of Hispaniola from Port Au Prince* a month teaching on the Big Island of Hawaii from which I traveled directly to* Rwanda to meet the Gorillas then overland to Tanzania to host a Kilimanjaro summit hike and Zanzibar recovery.​It was during this period that I became a photographer in earnest. Having followed my Instagrammed iPhone Album, my dear friend and notable photographer, Merri Cyr, insisted that I buy her 2007 Canon 5D Mark 2. Most of the photos published in the 1st Edition were taken with that camera or the lighter 6D I quickly upgraded to.There were a few from a 2001 early Olympus digital I carried in Egypt and my first trip to Asia. It produced great shots, but most of it's full size files have been misplaced. Archiving was a gargantuan task that produced hundreds of contenders from over 10,000 images. That said, the final selection are from only a handful of places because I simply didn't have the right tool for the job until 2015.I've recently traded in my bulky Canon body, with her suite of 3 prime lenses and a Flash, for a petite, powerful used Fujifilm X100F. At 2 pounds lighter and 2” smaller all around with a 4.3 MP advantage, she’s a better daily street rig than the Canon. A rangefinder, I’m restricted to it’s built in 35mm lens, but I’m a traveling portraitist. That’s all I need. It took me 150 countries, but I finally found my aesthetic.Armed with little else, as little as possible, in fact, I intend to visit every Country, Colony, Territory, Exclave and Enclave. I’ve made it to 150, so far…If I’m blessed with the health to visit the remaining 180, I’d love to return to many that I’ve already explored, to create a cohesive collection of 330 portraits to represent each. If I can accomplish that, why not continue? Can I collect every culture and ethnicity?Of course, this entails a life of perpetual travel. I live out of my carry on and personal item, stuffed with more gear than clothing. I’ve sold, donated or gifted everything I own, except for my personal archive. It’s a monastic existence that I’ll share in detail at www.flanneryfoster.com, where you can purchase your own print of any image that might move you as you flip forward. Thank you for allowing me the time to introduce the people I’ve met on the road. I hope we’ll meet along the way, as well.Though goodness is FREE, even unpaid subscriptions get additional benefits. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.flanneryfoster.com/subscribe

I had traveled by train to the nothing town of Agartala to cross the border into Bangladesh, but the border was closed for 3 days because of Gandhi’s birthday, so I made a swift exit 24 hours later. The little travelled Northeast States of India don’t have many amenities. My hotel was lit by a flickering fluorescent tube and smelled like the mold climbing the walls. Death is public here. It’s everywhere. Open air cremation is the number one attraction in Varanasi, one of India’s most visited cities. I didn’t want to see this, let alone take a picture, but someone had to. I didn’t need a photo to remember this moment. Who’d WANT to remember this moment? I needed a photo to bear witness. I needed evidence. The blur reveals my discomfort. One shot.A Dalit woman, an “untouchable,” dead in the train station, her face covered with a shawl, her feet dusted with bright red abir…a little dignity afforded her by some unknown angel.I boarded the westbound train. I couldn’t even consider a visit to Nagaland because I wasn’t traveling with a husband or male family member. I’m told that’s no longer the case, but I’m in no rush to find out. India’s no place for young women.For privacy, my most intimate Goodflan posts are shared only with paid subscribers. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.flanneryfoster.com/subscribe

December 6th, 2024. His arms are raised defiantly. It's almost... He's surrendering, but... He's surrendering to the forces. He's surrendering to death. Complete acceptance. But the look in his eyes tore me up and is still doing so. It's... impossible for me to not see the poignance of that portrait. When I look at his face, I see the Gazans. I was sitting there on the bench in front of the portrait, seated with tears in my eyes, visibly moved, trying not to be, trying to, you know, be discreet. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.flanneryfoster.com/subscribe