"frowns"

#12873579

18 October 2025

Yuki Tsunoda frowns while speaking to the press after Sprint Qualifying ahead of the Formula 1 MSC Cruises United States Grand Prix at Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas, U.S.A., on October 17, 2025.

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#12873580

18 October 2025

Yuki Tsunoda frowns while speaking to the press after Sprint Qualifying ahead of the Formula 1 MSC Cruises United States Grand Prix at Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas, U.S.A., on October 17, 2025.

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#10046918

15 May 2023

The handmaiden moth (Syntomoides imaon) is a moth of the subfamily day-flying members of the Arctiidae or Tiger moth family, subtribe Ctenuchina distributed in India, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Bangladesh, Nepal, Hong Kong, and Viet Nam. They mimic wasps in their body and coloration. The moth has a wingspan of 34 mm. The frons and collar are yellow with the metathorax having a yellow streak. A handmaiden moth was sitting on a leaf in a forest at Tehatta, West Bengal; India on 15/05/2023.

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#7094678

19 September 2021

09/09/2021 Tokyo, Japan. Smoking area in Ginza, Outdoor smoking is frowned upon on public streets, and local governments have generally created small areas where it is allowed. The Covid emergency in japan continues. However, although coronavirus cases are progressively declining, the government is trying to decide on the extension of the COVID-19 state of emergency in Tokyo and other metropolitan areas where hospitals remain under pressure.

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#5982488

8 September 2020

John Cook of USA, frown face 18th hall play finish during the PGA Tour Songdo IBD championship final round at Jack Nicklaus golf club in Incheon on Sep 18, 2011.

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#3552946

12 December 2018

A laptop screen with an angry emoji face displayed is seen in this photo illustration on October 15, 2018 in Warsaw, Poland.

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#394437

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394439

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394441

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394442

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394443

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394444

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394445

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394446

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394447

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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#394449

15 January 2015

In Cambodia, if you’re a man, being present at the birth of your children is widely frowned upon. As both the prospective father, and a camera wielding photo-journalist, attending and documenting the birth of my son was a challenge to say the least. On 26th December 2014 at 8.00pm my partner of nearly nine years alerted me that her waters had broken. She started to have her first contractions, but we were advised to stay home, get some food and rest, and wait it out till night changed into morning. By 7.00am, after a sleepless night, the intensity of Madeline’s contractions reached a peak every 10 minutes; it was time to leave. Descending 7 flights of stairs, from our apartment in Phnom Penh, we hailed a remork (tuk tuk) to take us across the city, on a journey that would change our lives forever. As is common in the capital city, the driver said yes he knew where to go, (which meant no, I don’t, please tell me), so with the limited Khmer that I knew, and 10 minutes trying to explain where the clinic was, we came to an agreement and departed. For 20 minutes, in a rickety wooden carriage towed by a 125cc motorcycle, on substandard roads, we careered through early morning city traffic on with Madeline panting heavily all the way to the clinic. On arrival, Doctors and midwives monitored the baby’s heartbeat, and then lead us to the room that we had pre booked, ready for Madeline to start the first stages of labour. For the next 4 hours, the intensity in the room increased tenfold; I watched as the midwives coached Madeline with every technique in the book to ease her pain and mental state. Encouraging deep breathing and keeping her calm was part of my support role .When the staff decided she was ready, my partner told me to grab my camera. She was screaming as they wheeled her upstairs to the delivery room, and I realized I was about to begin documenting the birth of my son. From a photographer’s point of view, taking photographs of my woman giving birth was not easy.

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