Rediscovering the Joy of Photography - A Personal Journey

Joakim Möller Workshop

It had been years since I’d immersed myself in the vibrant community of photographers. The camaraderie, the shared passion for capturing the world through a lens - it was a time I’d cherished. Yet, life had taken its twists and turns, and I found myself drifting away from the art I once loved.

Returning to Europe, I felt a disconnect from the reality I’d once sought to capture. The world seemed mundane, devoid of the magic I’d once seen through the lens of my camera. I found myself in a state of creative stagnation, lost in a grey zone of uncertainty.

Despite the challenges, I persisted. I continued to learn new techniques, experiment with different styles, and develop my own unique vision. But the solitary pursuit of photography was a lonely one. I missed the energy and inspiration that came from being part of a community.

Then, I met Miro. A fellow photography enthusiast, his passion was inspiring. His approach was dynamic and clean, a stark contrast to my reflective and clouded style. Together, we embarked on a collaborative project, publishing a photobook that challenged our assumptions and pushed our creative boundaries.

Inspired by his fresh perspective, I began to question my own approach. I experimented with digital photography, embracing the possibilities it offered. Yet, a part of me yearned for the tactile experience of analog photography. I rediscovered the joy of developing my own films, the anticipation of seeing the images emerge from the chemicals. However, the resurgence of analog photography came with its own challenges. The availability of films and developing supplies was limited, and the process was time-consuming. With less chances to buy and develop films, came longer waits, less momentum. I was again at some dead end.

A month ago, Miro found some post about the workshop of this Swedish photographer - Joakim Moller, and gifted it to me. I was bewildered by his imaginative compositions and nostalgic tone. I agonised over the time of the year and month the workshop would be, thinking about the weather (especially a week after disastrous floods), thinking about how to approach it. I felt something again, as if this event would bring me back to how I started. It would give me new energy and maybe a new start. I was eager to know his views and techniques and if it was something feasible for the average, non professional photographer. His photos looked so homely, so ill-fated. Yet they were also completely different.

I found it extremely uncomfortable joining the workshop on such a beautiful and warm sunny day. I expected to attend a master class where we would receive wisdom and philosophy, and learn the mystery of something that nobody else had done before. My expectations were not met. There was a total rejection of any philosophy, posture, deeper meaning or outstanding technique.

We were led through some assignments that exposed our weaknesses. Some people didn’t even try, and those who did ended up disappointed. One of us took a great photo, while the rest of us fell somewhere between decent and miserable. The group was very varied, and we had a great time together, regardless of the quality of our work.

As time passed, it became clear that Joakim’s approach was anything but conventional. He had no visual rules, followed people from up close, and didn’t adhere to the authority of photography masters. Use your eye as a continuation of the camera. Use your mobile or digital lens. There are no artefacts, no thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking and look.

“Use your mobile or digital lens.
There are no artefacts, no thinking.
Stop thinking and look.”

Just think about how powerful that is. That’s not how I do things.

I heavily edited my photos today. They are still bad, but I salvaged one shot with that amazing little Ricoh. But I owe Joakim that I never once got as physically close as someone would normally do. I never once cropped as much as possible, I never once forgot about lines, and I never ever stopped thinking about my surroundings and if people would notice, and if I had any right to do what I was doing. For a few hours there, I felt like another person altogether, and I enjoyed it. I would try it again.

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