Culture is not static. It’s alive, breathing, laughing,

and sometimes, blowing bubbles.

I made this image high in the misty highlands of Papua New Guinea during a

sing sing, a vibrant annual cultural festival where tribes from across the region

gather in full traditional regalia to celebrate their heritage. The air was thick

with drumbeats, the smell of earth and fire, and the unmistakable energy of

pride passed from generation to generation.

I felt like I was floating in a dream, lost in the sounds, smells, and colors. Then I

saw them: two adult men flanking two young boys, all four painted head to

toe in striking yellow and white bands to resemble bumblebees. Their faces

were radiant, their torsos marked like living canvases. Around their necks

hung curved pig tusks, symbols of value and heritage worn with the weight

of meaning.

But the boys had something extra. On their faces, delicately painted, was a

bumblebee. Bright yellow and black, the little bee’s wings seemed to flutter

across their cheeks, sitting proudly between the seriousness of the ceremony

and the sparkle of childhood. It was playful, but it wasn’t a joke.

And then... the bubbles.

The two boys were chewing bubblegum. Not just chewing; they were

mid-bubble. Bright pink orbs floating in front of yellow-painted faces.

The contrast was irresistible. Ancient and modern, ceremonial and silly, all in

one frame.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and they laughed too.

There was something perfect about that moment. A reminder that tradition

doesn’t have to be solemn to be sacred. That joy, play, and identity can live

together. The elders held their pride with dignity, and the children, well, they

did too, in their own way.

Culture isn’t a relic. It’s something handed down but also shaped by every new

hand that receives it. And sometimes, that hand is sticky with bubblegum.