Leonard Reyes Photographer

Mae Bouakham, one of the few remaining master weavers in Laos, prepares a new piece made from silk. Depending on the complexity of the design, it can take up to 2 months to complete one. A child of farmers in Xiengkhouang in Northern Laos, Bua grew up surrounded by weavers in her family and community. At 6 years old, Bua secretly started learning to use the loom while her parents were away in the fields, leaving her to take care of her younger sibling. Her mother eventually mentored her on the craft and she has practically been weaving her whole life.

Weaving as a livelihood is on the wane in Laos, as often, unscrupulous middlemen buy the products at a very low price, only to resell it to upscale markets and foreign buyers, making it increasingly untenable as source of income.

Content Warning: Images contain graphic depictions of ritual self-flagellation and blood.

(Guimba, Nueva Ecija) During Semana Santa (Holy Week) in the Philippines, penitents engage in extreme acts of devotion rooted in local Catholicism and folk tradition, believing that physical sacrifice allows them to share in the suffering of Jesus Christ. Hooded and often dressed in red or white, devotees strike their backs with bamboo sticks or leather whips—sometimes cutting their skin to draw blood. Despite discouragement from church authorities, crucifixion reenactments in San Pedro Cutud, Pampanga, attract tourists. Other acts of devotion include walking barefoot through communities, carrying heavy crosses over long distances, or crawling on knees and stomachs across hot, rough pavement; however, the Catholic Church in the Philippines opposes these practices of self-harm, emphasizing that true repentance should be expressed through charity and prayer rather than extreme physical pain.

Content Warning: Images contain graphic depictions of ritual self-flagellation and blood. Spending the holy week holiday in my hometown (a farming municipality 3 hours north of the capital), I set out to document the annual "penitensya", extreme acts of devotion rooted in local Catholicism and folk tradition. This ritual acts of devotion are performed in the belief that physical sacrifice allows them to share in the suffering of Jesus Christ. Not knowing where to begin, I drove around town and was lucky enough to spot the tell-tale crowds awaiting the passing of penitents in the town streets. The air was electric with anticipation; perhaps part of it was morbid fascination of watching blood drawn from bare, lacerated flesh with whips fashioned from bamboo sticks, applied to one's back with an almost trance-like vigor. Sure enough, the penitensya arrived on the intersection not long after. A dozen or so already bloodied, hooded and shirtless men, wearing symbolic crowns and belts of thorns, led by the "Kristo", the designated penitent carrying a roughly hewn wooden cross. They walk barefoot on the hot pavements, stopping at designated stations of the cross and then lie on their stomachs on the street in the scorching heat; more lacerations are made on their backs with razor blades. This is repeated across several stations. The practice is centuries old, a fusion of colonial Catholicism and local belief that physical suffering can mirror Christ’s passion. The Philippine Catholic Church has repeatedly condemned it. True repentance, the bishops insist, belongs to prayer and mercy, not to public mortification. But doctrine rarely reaches the street. Here, under the merciless summer sun, the men keep their vows. They do not perform for the crowd. They simply bear it. (Part 1 of 2). #DocumentaryPhotography #FaithAndDevotion #SemanaSantaPH #HolyWeekPhilippines #GuimbaNuevaEcija

Spent the last week navigating the dusty, forgotten arteries of Laos, far removed from the tourist veneer of Luang Prabang. I’m deep in the field for a long-form documentary, tracking the creeping impact of dam development on the Mekong’s fragile ecosystem and the people who depend on it.

Amidst the hunt for vanishing riverside villages, you’re forced to pause. The raw beauty of the landscape is arresting, a lush silence that feels almost heavy. It’s a haunting paradox: a paradise of mist and jungle that still sits atop the legacy of the world’s most intense bombing campaign, the soil here forever enriched with the shrapnel of American history.

Spent the last week navigating the dusty, forgotten arteries of Laos, far removed from the tourist veneer of Luang Prabang. I’m deep in the field for a long-form documentary, tracking the creeping impact of dam development on the Mekong’s fragile ecosystem and the people who depend on it. Amidst the hunt for vanishing riverside villages, you’re forced to pause. The raw beauty of the landscape is arresting, a lush silence that feels almost heavy. It’s a haunting paradox: a paradise of mist and jungle that still sits atop the legacy of the world’s most intense bombing campaign, the soil here forever enriched with the shrapnel of American history. #Laos #MekongRiver #Documentary #SoutheastAsia #RuralLaos #HiddenLaos #TravelLaos #SoutheastAsiaTravel #EnvironmentalStorytelling #MekongRegion

Met this fisherman earlier that morning and I saw that he came back empty handed, no fish from his traps laid out the night before. I called a friend to translate if he could take me around the Mekong to photograph other fishers. A small sum was agreed upon, and we headed out not long after. He is one of a few fishers still trying to make a livelihood from the Mekong river, in Thadeua Village, upstream from Laos’ Xayaburi Dam—the first mainstream Mekong hydropower project (operational 2019). Fishing communities are adapting to altered fish migration and changing river flows that have reshaped traditional livelihoods in the region.

A farmer harvests cassava in a field cleared for the crop’s boom. Workers earn less than 100,000 kip per ton, while the harvest is sold to Chinese factories for 1.8 million kip per ton for export.

Reading the news about the Nueva Vizcaya protest on mining, came upon these in the archives and thought about the link between climate resilience and healthy ecosystems, and community rights to ensure both for the greater good.

An elderly resident of Dinagat Island gleans for edible molluscs on the shoreline in the aftermath of Typhoon Odette (Rai), an unusually powerful, deadly, and extremely destructive late-season tropical cyclone which severely affected the Philippines in mid-December 2021, becoming the second-costliest typhoon in the country's history behind Typhoon Haiyan in 2013. With relief goods in short supply due to the challenges of logistics, residents rely on nature to tide them over. Climate crises like these underscore the key role of healthy ecosystems in promoting community resilience and self-reliance. #ClimateResilience #ClimateCrisis #ClimateJustice #ClimateAdaptation #EnvironmentalJournalism #ImpactReporting

Rush hour, Vientiane, Laos.

A woman fishing at dusk. Vientiane, Laos.

Vientiane, I will miss you.

Lao youth culture and fashion reflect a dynamic blend of traditional heritage and contemporary global influences, shaped by rapid urbanization, digital connectivity, and a growing sense of national identity among young people in Laos. (read more in the link)

Lao youth culture and fashion reflect a dynamic blend of traditional heritage and contemporary global influences, shaped by rapid urbanization, digital connectivity, and a growing sense of national identity among young people in Laos. Tattoos among Lao youth are more than body art—they’re quiet acts of self-expression in a society where tradition and community spirit often speaks louder than individuality. While older generations associate tattoos with sak yant—sacred geometric or animal motifs blessed by monks for protection—young Lao are redefining what ink means today. Yet tattoos remain a delicate statement. In conservative circles, visible ink can still carry stigma—seen as rebellious or “too Western.” Many young Lao navigate this tension carefully: covering tattoos for family gatherings, job interviews, or temple visits, while proudly showing them among friends or online. For this generation, tattooing is both rebellion and reverence—a way to carry culture forward on their own skin. #LaoTattoos #InkInLaos #SakYantLegacy #YouthAndTradition #BodyAsCanvas #LaoIdentity #ModernLao #SoutheastAsianInk #TattooCulture #VientianeStories #SacredAndStreet #GenZLaos #DocumentaryStyle #CulturalShift #WearYourStory