The other day, I looked in the mirror and was terribly startled. Not because I looked particularly bad — no, because I looked completely normal. No flawless porcelain-like skin. No eyes gleaming like hand-polished marbles. And, God forbid, even a few wrinkles that testified to the fact that I had laughed once or twice in my life.
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We photographers are all somewhat vain, aren't we? Actually, I think people in general long for recognition. For being seen. And so I'm always delighted when there's a publication of mine in a magazine or my images appear somewhere else.
As a photographer, you experience all sorts of things in front of the lens. But the latest posing trend is pushing even experienced professionals to their limits. A story about stretched necks, dominant chins, and the eternal search for the perfect shot.
Last Monday, I found myself once again at my computer, engaged in an epic battle with Adobe's artificial intelligence. You probably know the drill: you just want to quickly edit a photo for your blog, but the AI has decided to play moral guardian for the day.
As a nude photographer, I know censorship all too well. Not from totalitarian states or distant regimes — no, I'm talking about censorship right here in the supposedly free Western world. The same West that's supposedly the land of unlimited possibilities.
There is this magical moment between Paris and Frankfurt on the TGV, when the Champagne region passes by like an impressionist painting. 320 kilometers per hour of pure inspiration. While other passengers watch Netflix or stare into their laptops, tomorrow's images form in my mind. Not technical details or simple poses. It's something different.
A garage sale? Well, not exactly. "Lingerie closet sale" sounds a bit odd too. But I had to call it something, this thing that's been going on these past few days…
In the photography scene, they're more common than velvet boxes at wedding photographers: self-proclaimed masters who consider their work priceless — but prefer to pay with "exposure" rather than euros.
So I was standing with my camera in the allotment garden again. The model was sitting on this white plastic chair, you know the one, the one that's everywhere. While looking through the viewfinder, I had one of those realizations that make you pause for a moment: This chair is following me. It's always there. On every balcony in Mallorca, in every small garden plot in Munich-Moosach, even in cafés in Marseille.
Recently, I was sitting at the hairdresser's. A new one, just three minutes from my home. He cuts well, no question about that. But while I sit there staring into the mirror as he works meticulously on my hair, this strange feeling creeps over me: I simply don't know what to talk about with him.
In today's art and photography scene, we're experiencing a veritable cult of minimalism and rapid production. While our grandparents treasured family photos like national treasures, today we feed our social media profiles with images faster than a hungry teenager. Quick content is the new cash cow.
What grandmother once dismissed as a character flaw is now revealing itself as a special gift: sensitivity. Join me on a journey of discovery into the world of heightened senses, and learn why we urgently need to stop using sensitive soul as an insult.
As I sit here tweaking my website, I realize something: many of the improvements I make behind the scenes aren't immediately noticeable. Yet there's constantly something new happening! High time for a little update.
Recently, during my evening wanderings through the TV landscape, I got stuck watching First Dates — a show that celebrates the magic of first impressions like no other. Amused, I observed how the protagonists, when asked about their first impressions, performed the same dance over and over like in a well-orchestrated ballet: Those eyes...
Recently at a photo shoot, a model asked me if I knew what Male Gaze meant. Of course I didn't know. I'm only a photographer with twenty years of experience. But apparently, in recent years, an entirely new language has developed to describe the world's injustices. So here's a little guide through the jungle of modern terminology.
Just another evening at the Crazy Horse? Not quite! There I am, sitting in the front row of the legendary Parisian cabaret, watching the dancers glide past me on a conveyor belt. Being a photographer, I naturally pay attention to details. And suddenly something catches my eye that makes me suspicious.
Recently, I was at a photo shoot with Alina when she told me a story so bizarre that it could only have come from the internet. You know, that place where people spend their days trying to redefine the boundaries of good taste.
Let me tell you about my recent digital tragicomedy. My website — my digital showcase, my virtual self — suddenly started behaving like a stubborn teenager. "HTTP/2 error server refused stream," it whispered to me. What a melodramatic exit for my images.
The book trade is currently experiencing a remarkable transformation. However, not for the better. While social media overflow with edited body images, artistic nude photography books are quietly disappearing from the shelves.
As we are dominated by filters and flawlessly retouched Instagram feeds, I find myself pondering a curious question: Why are we often more drawn to small imperfections, unexpected moments, and imperfect images? This theme has been following me for quite some time, making me wonder why I actually prefer imperfection.
Of course, social media connects us all in some way. A heart here, a comment there, sometimes even a longer message. But do you know that feeling? That quiet sense that something gets lost between all the clicks and likes? The real encounter, the direct conversation, the shared laughter over a story that you really can't tell digitally?
Last night, somewhere between dream and wake, I scribbled a thought for a blog post on a piece of paper: "The mountain doesn't wait for the climber." When I read what my drowsy brain had served up this morning, it made me smile. And it got me thinking about the transience in my profession.
In our fast-paced, digitalized world, boredom seems to be a relic from times past. Yet what we perceive as annoying could actually be the key to our creativity.
Taking a technically perfect photo is no great feat anymore. Modern camera technology makes it possible: sophisticated autofocus systems, precise exposure metering, and high-quality sensors ensure that almost every image is technically flawless. But worlds separate a technically correct photo from an image that touches people and tells stories.
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