Paul Choy

Documentary Photographer • Writer • Goodwill Ambassador for IOM, the UN Migration Agency

08/09/2026

Watching the sun rise over the rounded incline of Sugar Loaf Mountain, it is impossible not to get swept up in the atmosphere of Rio de Jeniero.

Home to around 6,000,000 people, Rio is definitely not somewhere to get away from the crowd. Isolation is an impossible dream with so many people crammed into a single city. But there is something about the vibe of the city which makes everyone your friend.

Even in the dark, sat on top of a desolate mountain top waiting for the sun to make its appearance so l could take this photograph, I was soon joined by the small group of people passing by for a morning walk.

Sharing their coffee with me, we soon found ourselves in such an engaging conversation. I very nearly missed the shot I had been waiting for.

That was my experience all over Rio de Jeniero, where the carnival spirit lives on as much in the hearts of the people as on the streets of the city.

Rio de Janeiro (2017)

//

17/08/2026

When does graffiti become art? A wall with one-week-old graffiti gets wiped clean. A wall with 1,000-year-old graffiti gains World Heritage status.

At the Leake Street Arches in London, artists have been legally leaving their mark for years. Today it draws people from all over the world. It is where I met Max, visiting from Berlin with his sister Maria.

He was mid-creation when he told me, "I guess this is my peaceful rebellion." As he stepped back to gauge his progress, he explained that there were no rules, but if you paint over someone else's art, what you leave has to be better.

So when does graffiti become art? Perhaps only when someone else decides it's allowed to stay. It seems even peaceful rebellion requires validation.

London, England (2022)

//

11/08/2026

11 August 2020: On this day in 2020, I was taking an early morning walk along the coastline of Rodrigues. I have been to Rodrigues many times, and every time reminds me why.

Rodrigues (2020)

//

19/07/2026

19 July 2017: On this day, nine years ago, I found myself in a remote region of Vietnam, running after two older women who had agreed to show me the way. They set a surprising pace, hauling baskets on a bamboo pole that bent under the weight, and I struggled to keep up.

In the paddy fields, figures bowed low over young rice, hats shielding faces from the grey, heavy sky, hands working with decades of certainty. In the villages, people carried on with unhurried purpose. Everywhere my camera led me, life moved at the pace it moved, and nobody seemed to mind.

Tho Ha, Vietnam (2017)

//

09/07/2026

Which version of tomorrow are we actually building today?

Dubai (2026)

//

07/07/2026

7 July 2020: Six years ago today, I was a week into walking the entire coastline of Mauritius, over three hundred kilometres, enjoying the freedom that came with the end of the COVID lockdown. Everyone I met had a story about the months just gone, as the whole world began to emerge from isolation. These are a few of the photographs from that day.

Mauritius (2020)

//

01/06/2026

I am so over flying in Europe; trains are simply better.

There is something about arriving at a train station that an airport will never replicate. You walk in, you find your platform, and in a few minutes, you are moving. No one has weighed your bag. No one has asked you to arrive three hours early. The city you left is still visible from the window when the train clears the station.

The flight, by contrast, begins long before you board. There is the journey to the airport, which is rarely in the city it pretends to be. There is the queue, the belt, the tray, the wait. Only after all of that is there a seat, barely wide enough to settle into. And then the landing, and the wait begins again: bags that may or may not appear on a carousel, a long journey from an airport that is rarely near the city you actually want to reach. What was sold as an hour of travel is, if you count honestly, five or six.

In Europe, the train is more than a preference; it is just the better choice.

Paris to Geneva (2026)

//

15/05/2026

15 May 2022

Four years ago today, I found myself on one of the many sandbank islands scattered along the Meghna River, just outside Dhaka. Known as Nol Choi by locals, the tiny island was lined with sandbags in an attempt to delay the inevitable erosion that was a constant threat to the fifty or so people who called it home.

Hasan was one of those people. He was washing his clothes when I met him, in the way he had always washed his clothes, bent over the fabric with a small brush, working carefully. He told me he was ninety years old and he had lived on these islands his entire life. “I used to live on the next island,” he told me, without particular drama, “but the river took it away. So I moved here. That was forty years ago.”

There was something very matter-of-fact in the way he said it. The island where he was born was lost, so he moved to the next one and started again. I have spent years meeting people who live with change as an everyday part of life. Hasan is among the quietest examples of that. No urgency in his voice, no self-pity. Just his clothes to be washed, knowing the ground he sits on today may not be there tomorrow.

Dhaka, Bangladesh (2022)

//

22/04/2026

“I hate these nets,” M***a exclaimed as much to himself as to me.

He had been sitting so still in the sand that I almost walked past him. He was just another part of the landscape, a scene of boats, water, and waiting. But his hands never stopped moving.

He has been mending this net, or one very like it, for most of his living life. “My father taught me as a child,” he said, without looking up. “It feels like I have been repairing it ever since. I fish; I repair. That is my life.”

The water of Lake Malawi behind him barely moved. Wooden boats sat beached on the far bank like exhausted animals.

Somewhere across the water, the distant shore dissolved into haze. But M***a’s world was smaller than that. It was the length of his net, the width of the shore, and the familiar fishing spots that he said he knew better than anyone else in the world.

He had witnessed many things change over these years. Malawi had modernised, but some things are still the same. Nets tear, fish run, and the hands that fix one will always need to find the other.

“I wouldn’t ever change it,” he added, almost as an afterthought, as he turned back to his work. I believed him.

Chipole, Malawi (2025)

//

09/04/2026

I am honoured to share that I have been appointed IOM Goodwill Ambassador for East, Horn and Southern Africa, a region of 634 million people across 25 countries.

I have spent much of my working life among communities for whom migration is not an abstract concept but a daily reality. As Goodwill Ambassador, I am committed to ensuring that those communities are not simply the subject of the conversation about migration but are part of it.

I have always believed that we have a shared responsibility to give back to our community. Through this role, I look forward to playing my part. It is a privilege and a responsibility I take seriously.

IOM - UN Migration

Address

Dubai

Website

https://www.bypaulchoy.com/

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Paul Choy posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Business

Send a message to Paul Choy:

Name:

Email:

Message:

Want your business to be the top-listed photography service in Dubai?