Turgay Uzer

I grew up in Turkey, a country uniquely positioned between Europe and Asia yet distinct from both. Thanks to my father's passion for photography, my childhood was thoroughly documented. Those were the golden days of black-and-white film, where every photograph was carefully admired before being lovingly pasted into heavy, bound albums that served as the centerpiece of our living room. In the early 1960s, my father’s university sent him to Germany for training, where he purchased a classic Rolleiflex—the iconic twin-lens camera you look down into from the chest. He taught me every step of operating it, from loading the film to dialing in the settings. I still have that camera today, and it works flawlessly; the only real challenge is finding a lab to develop the rolls!

It was also during this era that I discovered television, a black-and-white luxury the Turkish government deemed too expensive for our country at the time. I voraciously consumed German broadcasts, deeply captivated by wildlife documentaries. The work of zoologist Bernhard Grzimek and his son Michael in East Africa stood out above the rest. Their monumental film, The Serengeti Must Not Die, remains a beautiful yet melancholy record of a vanished era. Sixty years later, lion populations have plummeted, elephants are highly endangered, and rhinos have largely disappeared. As a child watching those screens, I had no idea that later in life, I would dedicate myself to photographing what remains of that nearly lost world.

I constantly find myself returning to close-up, intimate portraits of animals. My ultimate goal is always to capture the true essence of a creature through the way it looks back at me.

This focus evolved gradually. It began during my first visit to Kenya's Maasai Mara Conservancy. At first, I was just taking digital snapshots to record memories. My 'eureka' moment happened when I learned how to recover a badly underexposed elephant photo in post-processing. Watching the software reveal the intricate folds of the elephant's skin was like cleaning a dirty window to expose a beautiful, hidden landscape. As I squeezed more trips to Africa into my university teaching schedule, my eye naturally gravitated toward these intimate, revealing close-ups.

The emotion that drives me to return to this subject is a deep sense of urgency. Initially, I was simply recording memories where time stood still. But I soon realized that just as the Africa I saw in childhood documentaries has vanished, our current world is disappearing under the weight of habitat destruction. What is here today may be gone tomorrow. I now realize I am archiving a fading world, and I focus on capturing the soulful gaze of these animals in hopes that it will inspire viewers to conserve the little that remains.

My photographs are defined by chiaroscuro—the dramatic interplay between dark and light. I draw heavy inspiration from painters like Caravaggio, Rembrandt, and Goya, who used selective lighting not just to illuminate a subject, but to strip away distractions and dictate the mood. I gravitated toward this style unconsciously for years, only realizing it was my defining visual signature when a prominent photographer pointed it out to me.

This approach—using deep shadows to isolate the essence of an animal—is perfectly captured in my a favorite image of mine. Taken in Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park with the help of my brilliant guide, Jacob Shawa, the photograph shows a single leopard’s eye peering through a tiny gap in a dense thicket. The cat was hiding, gazing intently up at a kill stashed in a tree branch. Shrouded in shadow, the eye appears almost disembodied, creating an image that is both hyper-real and highly abstract.I later realized the emotional root of this creative choice during a visit to Madrid’s Prado Museum. Standing before Goya’s El Perro (The Dog)—a haunting painting where a dog's head gazes upwards, its body entirely swallowed by a dark, heavy mass—it clicked. Unconsciously, I had been channeling Goya’s Black Paintings in the wild. By letting the shadows swallow the clutter, I ensure the subject's gaze becomes the sole anchor of the image.

There are too many to count, but the single biggest source of inspiration for me has been the BBC Natural History unit. And Jane Goodall!

Preparation in wildlife photography is an exercise in pre-visualization; I always try to see the final image in my mind as a scene unfolds. But the reality of the wild rarely cooperates. The discipline mostly involves long, dull stretches where absolutely nothing happens, completely shattered by moments of sheer panic when everything happens at once.When that chaos erupts, technical knowledge and intuition have to merge instantly. A split-second observation determines whether I am shooting an intimate portrait, capturing the animal in its broader habitat, or tracking sudden action. Every decision—from lens selection to reading the light and finding a clean background—must be executed on pure instinct and technical muscle memory. You must be fiercely vigilant, because the wild always introduces a spoiler; even if you are photographing in the Sahara, you can guarantee a stray stalk of grass will somehow block the animal's face.Ultimately, navigating these unpredictable variables transforms wildlife photography into the ultimate practice in mindfulness. To succeed, your technical preparation has to become second nature so that your conscious mind can be fully present in the here and now. In that fraction of a second, there is just you and your subject. Nothing else matters—not until the moment is gone.

The subject of my photo is an African Forest Elephant, an elusive cousin of the African savanna elephant. These critically endangered animals inhabit the dense rainforests of west and central Africa. Their last strongholds are in Gabon (where my image was taken) and the Republic of Congo. They are smaller than their savanna cousins and look quite distinct: Their ears are more oval-shaped and their tusks are straighter and point downward (the tusks of savanna elephants curve outwards). Their ivory is denser than that of savanna elephants and is therefore highly prized by poachers. Other adaptations to forest life are lighter-colored irises and the occasional absence of eyelashes which are not needed in the dust-free rainforest. Forest elephants are cursed with a much slower reproductive rate than savanna elephants, so they cannot bounce back from population declines as quickly at the same rate.

In terms of behaviour, they are much more aggressive than their savanna cousins, especially outside their forest homes where they are downright hostile. I experienced their hostility first hand in Gabon. In the fading daylight I had been busy photographing another local species, the rosy bee eater, when I noticed some forest elephants venturing out of the forest to graze (the grazing outside is more nutritious than in the forest). They saw us as soon as we saw them, and immediately ran back into the forest. Assuming that the sighting was over, I had started to pack away my camera gear, when one of them galloped out of the forest, and headed directly at my vehicle with murder in its beady eyes! My driver was justly concerned, and started to whisk us away as quickly as he could. I was seated in the back row and managed to take a few shots with the only camera I was holding, and with no chance to change my settings. Suddenly, the elephant decided that its message had been received, abandoned the mock charge, turned around and galloped back into the safety of its forest home.

I have always regarded Forest Elephants as dim-light creatures, and this frame captures their secretive, aggressive nature perfectly. The fading daylight highlights their intense agitation at being exposed outside the rainforest. In this very dark photo, the elephant's eyes are the only bright spots—locking you directly into the hostility of the mock charge. If this had been shot in bright sunlight, that raw tension would be lost, and it would be just another elephant shot.

The timing of the encounter dictated the most essential creative choices for this image. Since the mock charge occurred in the fading daylight of the Gabonese rainforest, the raw frame was naturally dark and already carried the exact ominous atmosphere I wanted to portray. I chose to embrace this low-light environment rather than trying to artificially lift the shadows. Consequently, I had to alter very little in post-processing. My editing consisted only of minimal selective dodging and burning, leaning much more heavily into burning. By further darkening the surface oif the ears and peripheral shadows, I directed the viewer's focus squarely onto the charging elephant and its intense gaze. The natural light provided the perfect foundation, requiring only these subtle refinements to preserve the raw tension of the moment.

I want viewers to walk away with a profound sense of the Forest Elephant's inherently secretive nature, amplified by a very justified fear of humanity. These are naturally elusive creatures of the dense rainforest, yet the hostility and agitation captured in this frame go beyond their native disposition; it is a direct response to the relentless ivory poaching that has driven them to the brink of extinction. When someone looks at the elephant's intense, shadowed gaze during this mock charge, I hope they don't simply see a wild, aggressive animal. Instead, I want them to recognize a critically endangered species making a desperate stand to defend its shrinking existence. The title "Warning Delivered" isn't just about the physical charge at my vehicle—it is a broader warning to us about the fragility of their survival. I hope this image leaves people with a lasting sense of empathy for their plight and an urgent realization of the damage we inflict on the natural world.

My photography has fundamentally changed my perspective by showing me firsthand how theatened our natural world is. Through my lens, I have come to realize that wild places and wild things are actively under siege. Documenting these remote habitats is no longer just about taking beautiful images; it is a race against time. I believe that anyone who is lucky enough to witness these disappearing ecosystems has a responsibility to become an ambassador for what remains. Photography has transformed me into a dedicated conservationist, because sharing these visual stories is the most powerful way I can advocate for the survival of the subjects I photograph. We all need to become voices for the voiceless.

Jane Goodall often cites the 'resilience of nature' as one of her greatest reasons for hope, noting that 'environments that we have destroyed can be restored, and species that are on the brink of extinction can be given a second chance.' We are witnessing this second chance right now. In mid-August 2026, a remarkable photo showing two giant sable antelopes—one of Africa’s most magnificent animals—began circulating on social media. Around the same time, Angola Tourism reported: 'On 9 August 2026, Cangandala National Park in Malanje Province witnessed an extraordinary sight: more than 200 giant sable antelopes gathered in a single location! The giant sable antelope is endemic to Angola and, for decades, faced an uncertain future with the species reaching critically low numbers. So, seeing more than 200 giant sable antelopes roaming freely in their natural sanctuary is far more than a remarkable wildlife encounter; it represents a remarkable conservation success story.' This is staggering when you consider the number of pure-blooded giant sables had dropped to fewer than twenty at the beginning of this century. In the early 1970s, just before the outbreak of Angola’s 27-year civil war severely affected the giant sable’s habitat, the population was estimated at around 2,000 individuals. Their return is a testament to Goodall's belief that 'nature is amazingly resilient. If we work hard to restore places we have destroyed, nature comes rushing back.'

Similar comeback stories have been reported for tigers (both Bengal and Siberian), mountain gorillas, and the Amur leopard. Given a chance, nature will come back, and come back spectacularly. This has been the case with Mozambique’s Gorongosa National Park, which rivalled South Africa’s Kruger before the country’s civil war, and it is the same story with Chad’s Zakouma National Park.

I have not been to any of these places yet, so how am I finding out about these success stories? Through photographs, of course. Goodall says, 'What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.' I would encourage everyone with a serious interest in wildlife to photograph and share such success stories. By doing so, we show the world that the battle for wildlife is not lost as long as we give nature a chance!

I was delighted because I saw it as a new opportunity to advertise the plight of Forest Elephants which receive comparatively little press. The expert jury of Africa Geographic had recognized this image as Highly Commended in their 2025 competition, but thanks to 12Awards, a wider public will see image.

African forest elephants were officially classified as Critically Endangered by the IUCN in 2021, when they were finally recognized as a distinct species from savanna elephants. Their population has suffered a catastrophic collapse, driven by extensive habitat loss and relentless poaching for their dense, hard ivory. Between the late 1980s and the late 2010s, the forest elephant population plummeted by over 86%. Over the past century, their numbers have dropped by an estimated 95%. Mass poaching: In just one 12-year window (roughly 2002 to 2014), poachers slaughtered an estimated 65% of the world’s remaining forest elephants. The most recent IUCN African Elephant Status Report (published in 2024/2025) estimates that only 135,000 to 145,000 forest elephants remain in the wild today.

Gabon—where this image was taken—is the species' absolute most vital stronghold. Despite covering only a fraction of Central Africa's rainforests, Gabon currently holds roughly 50% of the surviving global population (an estimated 95,000 elephants). Because forest elephants have a significantly slower reproductive rate than savanna elephants, they cannot quickly bounce back from these massive population losses, making the protection of their remaining habitats in places like Gabon critical to avoiding total extinction.

I find myself increasingly intrigued by modern ways of probing animal behavior that were almost impossible just a few years ago—namely, through drones and camera traps. These technologies are rapidly pushing the boundaries of wildlife photography. The greatest challenge we face in the field is that our mere presence inevitably alters an animal's natural behavior. By utilizing remote tools, we can finally observe and photograph subjects without causing them any distress or disturbance. Looking forward, I want my artistic journey to explore these new frontiers more deeply. I am eager to use these non-invasive methods to capture the pure, candid essence of wildlife that is virtually impossible to witness in person.

If there is one final thought I would leave with, it is that my photographic style—chiaroscuro, the dramatic interplay of deep shadow and light—is also a perfect metaphor for the state of our natural world today. We are undoubtedly in a dark period of habitat destruction and species decline, where animals like the forest elephant are fighting for survival in the shadows. But there are still bright, undeniable points of light, like the miraculous return of the giant sable antelope in Angola. We have the immense privilege of standing in front of these magnificent creatures, camera in hand, acting as their witness and ambassador. The wild is actively under siege, but it is also astonishingly resilient. Every photograph we take is a chance to freeze time—not just to mourn what we are losing, but to fight fiercely for what we can still save. Our job is to navigate the darkness, illuminate those resilient points of light, and prove that as long as there is light, there is hope.