2013, a home photoshoot with Monika. She stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the usual props of everyday life. On the countertop lay matches — harmless little wooden sticks with red heads that suddenly caught my attention. And then came this flash of inspiration: What if she lit one and held it between her lips?
Monika, would you like to try something dangerous?
She looked at me with that typical expression models have when their photographer has one of those ideas again. Half curious, half skeptical. But Monika was always game for creative experiments.
No sooner said than done. We lit the match, she held it between her lips, I pressed the shutter — and then everything happened surprisingly quickly. A short "Ouch!", the smell of burnt hair, and Monika stood laughing in front of me, with a few singed eyelashes less than before. "It was worth it," she said, and immediately wanted to try a second attempt.
The photo turned out pretty good. It created an element of surprise in my photo series. That moment between control and danger, the flame so close to her face, an image full of tension. I was satisfied.
The accusation hit me like a punch to the gut. Plagiarism? Me? The one who prided himself on always pursuing his own ideas? Hastily I clicked on the link and indeed saw an image with a burning match. In the mouth of a model. But in a completely different staging, with different lighting, different mood. Similar yet entirely different.
Have you ever wondered how original your thoughts really are? In a world where millions of images are created daily, where we are permanently exposed to visual input?
I began to ponder. Had I encountered this image at some point? Had it lodged itself in my subconscious, only to resurface years later as a supposedly original idea? Or was it simply a case of creative convergence? Two people independently coming up with a similar idea?
A burning match between the lips. How original is that anyway? Matches have existed for over 150 years. People put the strangest things in their mouths. The combination is obvious. Almost inevitable.
I've thought a lot about originality in recent years. About the question of where inspiration ends and copying begins. And the longer I photograph, the more I come to believe: True originality lies not in the idea itself, but in its execution. In the personal touch. In the artist's signature style.
This doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for originality. Only that perhaps we should be a bit more generous with others and with ourselves. Because sometimes you light a match without knowing that someone else has already kindled a similar fire.
And what do you think? Where do you draw the line between inspiration and copying? Between accidental similarity and deliberate plagiarism?