“Burning Man is a week-long annual event held in the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada, in the United States. The event starts on the Monday before the American Labor Day holiday, and ends on the holiday itself. It takes its name from the ritual burning of a large wooden effigy on Saturday evening. The event is described by many participants as an experiment in community, radical self-expression, and radical self-reliance”. – Wikipedia

Photo: A fireball billows up from a 52-foot tall wooden man as it goes up in flames September 2, 2000 during the15th annual Burning Man festival in the Black Rock Desert near Gerlach, Nevada. Despite high winds, dust storms, and a bit of rain, some 27,000 people camped out on a remote desert playa, or dry lake, for the week-long counter-cultural celebration of art and “radical self-expression”. (Photo by David McNew/Newsmakers)

Young girls take ballet lessons at the New Dreams dance studio in the Luz neighborhood known to locals as Cracolandia (Crackland) in Sao Paulo, Brazil, August 14, 2015. For the young girls learning to jump and plie, the dance studio provides a way forward and out of the difficult environment they have grown up in. Brazil is one of the world's highest consuming countries of crack cocaine, and Cracolandia, or “Crack Land”, located in the outskirts of Sao Paulo, is one of the most intense and brutal hubs. (Photo by Nacho Doce/Reuters)

Wim Delvoye is a notorious tattoo artist, who became famous when he started tattooing live pigs. He first began in 1997 and after animal rights activists found out about what he was doing, he had to move to China to continue his business. There is nothing special about the tattoos that Wim Delvoye creates, they look mediocre at best, and the only reason why he’s famous is his acts of animal cruelty. Nevertheless, Wim states that the pigs feel just fine and are well fed and taken care off. Full anesthesia is used to ensure that the pig doesn’t feel pain during the course of the whole procedure. During this time three tattoo artists work on the tattoo simultaneously to complete it as quickly as possible. Skins of those pigs are then sold for as much as £50k a piece.

Larissa Neto, a muse of the Unidos da Tijuca Samba School, poses as she wears a carnival dress in Sao Goncalo near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, February 3, 2016. Rio de Janeiro's carnival parades are known the world over for the glitz and glamour, high-tech allegorical floats and shimmering bodies, which battle it out each year for the championship title. Each school is fronted by the Queen of the Drums, who dances alongside the raging percussion, and her court of sparkling, sculpted dancers known as “muses”. (Photo by Ricardo Moraes/Reuters)

The Perth-based photographer and journalist Frances Andrijich has travelled the Western Australian coast since the early 90s, capturing clotheslines in all their glory. In her images they take the roles of play equipment, Christmas trees and, in the summer, a homemaker’s dream. Andrijich admits she is hopelessly hung up on clotheslines; her latest book celebrates them under the spotlight of the Australian sun. Here: Vera Germanis hangs out underwear in Frances Andrijich’s grandparents’ backyard. This was the photographer’s first clothesline shot, taken in Midland Junction in 1991. (Photo by Frances Andrijich)

There isn’t exactly a college out there for face painting so Elsa Rhae Pageler‘s talent is as raw as it comes. Perhaps what’s even more amazing is that the video editor and producer from Kansas City graduated with a degree in Film and Media Studies and only does face painting and airbrushing as a side job. An application may take anywhere from 1 to 3 hours and apart from outside gigs, she features video tutorials on her YouTube channel showing how she paints herself to recreate video game and fictional characters. Photo: “Face Palm”. (Photo by Elsa Rhae Pageler)

The brutalist war memorials found throughout the former Yugoslavia were weird enough when they were built in the 1960s and 70s. Today, separated by the end of an architectural movement and the disintegration of the country, they seem almost alien. Belgian photographer Jan Kempenaers treats them purely as artistic objects in his book, “Spomenik”, named for the Serb-Croat word for monument. Known for photographing geographical oddities, Kempenaers was captivated by the spomenik after seeing them in an art encyclopedia. After hearing that many had been destroyed or abandoned, he set out to record what was left. (Photo by Jan Kempenaers)

While communism, collectivism, worms, dry rot and casual looting failed to destroy the majestic wooden churches of Russia, it may be ordinary neglect that finally does them in. Dwindled now to several hundred remaining examples, these glories of vernacular architecture lie scattered amid the vastness of the world’s largest country. Just over a decade ago, Richard Davies, a British architectural photographer, struck out on a mission to record the fragile and poetic structures. Austerely beautiful and haunting, “Wooden Churches: Traveling in the Russian North” (White Sea Publishing; $132) is the result. Covering thousands of miles, Mr. Davies described how he and the writer Matilda Moreton tracked down the survivors from among the thousands of onion-domed structures built after Prince Vladimir converted to Christianity in 988.