In the Space Between

Published on by Otto von Münchow3 Comments

It’s been fun to be Norwegian these past couple of weeks. The 2026 Winter Olympics wrapped up today, and guess which nation came out on top? Yes—little Norway. We won the most gold medals and the most medals overall. In fact, it was our most successful Winter Olympics ever. And what makes it all the more satisfying is that we are a country of fewer than six million people.

Enough patriotic splatter—it’s already history.

However, while I’ve enjoyed watching fellow Norwegians excel in Italy, my friend and colleague Morten Golimo and I have been busy with something far less athletic, but no less competitive in its own way: refining our shared exhibition, which we hope to show somewhere here in Norway.

The working title has been Individuals. We’ve gone full circle through a number of alternatives, but it seems we’re returning to where we started. Sometimes the first instinct is the right one.

We’ve now arrived at a final selection of images. Much of our recent work together has focused on the titles of each paired set. We’ve searched for wordplay that is both precise and open—titles that invite interpretation rather than dictate it. Two of the pairs are shown here, though unfortunately the Norwegian titles don’t translate particularly well into English.

I wrote about this collaboration in the post A Step in the Right Direction. As I mentioned there, we have paired our photographs across very different approaches, methods, and subject matter. My work is rooted in street photography, Morten’s emerges from close observations in nature. Despite these differences, both bodies of work circle the same question: what does it mean to be an individual?

The pairs are not meant to explain each other, but to enter into dialogue. When these two visual worlds are placed side by side, something third emerges. A human gaze meets nature’s gaze. An urban space encounters a natural habitat. It is in this space between the images that the exhibition finds its voice. Here, categories begin to loosen. The boundaries between human and nature, between type and individual, grow less distinct.

In Also sprach Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche writes about human types—not as rigid classifications, but as stages, forces, and ways of being in the world. Our exhibition draws loosely on this idea: that humans, animals, and even plants can be seen as carriers of will, character, and individuality—not as representatives of something general, but as singular beings.

With this exhibition, we invite viewers to read the images together—to let them mirror and challenge one another—and perhaps to reconsider what truly separates us from what we so easily call nature.

This Week’s Book Read

Only Barely Still – On Women and Wilderness by Catherine Lemblé is one of those photobooks that lingers with me after I’ve put it down. It quietly challenges the traditionally masculine narrative of Arctic exploration—without ever raising its voice.

Rather than repeating the familiar story of conquest and heroic endurance, Lemblé turns her attention to the lives of women in Svalbard. Through intimate portraits, landscapes, and archival photographs, she constructs a counter-narrative rooted in coexistence rather than domination.

Svalbard is often imagined as a harsh, mythic outpost where only the toughest men survive. In the visual history shaped by early exploration, women are largely absent. At the same time, the polar landscape itself has been described in feminised terms—“virgin,” “barren”—as something to be conquered or protected. Lemblé’s work unsettles these inherited metaphors.

What I appreciate most is the book’s restraint. It does not replace one heroic myth with another. Instead, it centres female presence as steady and matter-of-fact. The endurance depicted here is not spectacle, but lived experience. The inclusion of historical photographs of women in Svalbard quietly reclaims a forgotten visual archive.

An essay by Abi Andrews, drawing on ecofeminist thought and Ursula K. Le Guin, deepens the reflection by asking what heroism might look like if defined by presence rather than conquest. That idea stayed with me.

This book is not only about Svalbard. It is about how we tell stories—about landscapes, about gender, about belonging. And it gently invites us to reconsider those stories.

Find Only Barely Still – On Women and Wilderness here.

Can a Room Be a Face?

Published on by Otto von Münchow11 Comments

Crossing time zones is never easy—especially eastward. You would think that after doing it often enough, the body would learn. Mine hasn’t. Last week I moved myself from Seattle to Bergen, jumping nine time zones in one long stretch. It takes about a week before both body and mind settle properly.

What has changed, though, is my reaction to it. I no longer fight it. If I wake up at five in the morning, I get up. I make coffee. I begin the day. There’s no point in lying there, irritated at something biology will sort out on its own.

Apart from losing what effectively felt like two days in transit, my main focus this week has been to keep pushing my work outward. There was a deadline for a major annual portfolio prize for Nordic photographers. It’s a significant opportunity—the winner and those shortlisted not only receive recognition, but are included in a major exhibition in Oslo this autumn, all expenses covered.

In all modesty, I believe I put together a strong application. That guarantees nothing. It never does. I’ve learned not to expect anything. But I also know that if I don’t try, nothing will happen. All I can demand of myself is that I present the work as well as I possibly can. I did that.

The portfolio I submitted is a project I’ve been working on for some years: Traces of You and Me.

In this project, I visit people in their homes. I don’t photograph them. I photograph what they leave behind.

We all leave traces of ourselves—not only in the memories of others, but in the rooms we inhabit. In the books we keep within reach. In the chairs worn down by our habits. In the clutter we don’t bother to tidy before someone visits. I’ve become increasingly fascinated by how these traces can reveal who we are, even when we’re absent.

In Blink, Malcolm Gladwell writes about psychologist Samuel Gosling’s research into personality and personal spaces. Strangers were asked to assess students’ personalities simply by observing their dorm rooms—and often they were just as accurate as close friends. The rooms contained what Gosling called “behavioural residues”: small, unconscious choices that quietly expose us.

That idea stayed with me. It became a practical question: Can I make a portrait without the person being present? Can a room function as a face?

I’ve shown some of these photographs here before. Here are a few newer images from the project.

Holding the Line

Published on by Otto von Münchow7 Comments

My profession is endangered. Photojournalism may soon join professions like switchboard operators, chimney sweepers, and typesetters—jobs that have disappeared due to automation, technological advancements, changing societal needs, pressure, and profit maximization.

There are still quite a few photojournalists out there, but the numbers are shrinking almost by the day. Most recently, as you may have read, all photographers at The Washington Post were laid off, along with a third of the paper’s reporters.

This saddens me deeply. More than ever, we need independent reporters and photojournalists who can provide factual, first-hand accounts of what is happening in the world. Without them, what remains are social media platforms and their rabbit holes of misinformation and falsified propaganda. How are we supposed to understand the world if we no longer know what is true—or even how to tell the difference between fact and fiction?

On a personal level, the fall of The Washington Post does not affect me directly. It’s not a paper I read regularly, nor one I work for. Still, it has long been an important voice in defending democracy and holding those in power to account. Its decline is a loss—not just for journalism, but for the world at large.

Enough lamenting. Let me add that, personally, I am fortunately still in a good place professionally. I continue to receive assignments from publishers I’ve worked with for many years. As an extra safeguard, I am also less dependent on them than I once was—partly because I am financially in a good place, and partly because I have spent years diversifying my work.

That diversification increasingly includes teaching, workshops, and other outlets for my photography. In fact, this past week I’ve been working on a business plan for a new collaborative venture.

My friend and colleague Sven Creutzmann (left) and I on top of Reichstag in Berlin.

For many years, I’ve taught workshops together with my good friend and colleague Sven Creutzmann. This year alone, we’ll be teaching one in Naples in September. Now, however, we’re in the process of expanding our collaboration. We want to develop online workshops, books, videos, prints, tours—you name it. The business plan I’ve been working on is part of making that vision concrete.

We already have a fairly clear idea of the direction we’re heading. Still, I would very much appreciate your input—those of you who read this blog and might want to be inspired, learn something new, or simply have more fun with photography.

Would you be willing to answer two questions for me (or rather, for us)? As a thank-you, I will send you my eBook Photographically Seeing for free. The normal price is 20 USD / 18 EUR. More information can be found here.

You’re welcome to share your thoughts in a comment below, but if you would like to receive the eBook, please send me an email so I know where to send it.

Here are the two questions:
1. If you want to grow as a photographer, expand your practice, or simply find new inspiration—what do you feel you need most right now?

2. What is the biggest challenge you are currently facing in your photography?

Please send your answers to ottovon@online. If you’re not interested in the eBook, feel free to reply in the comments instead. Thank you so much.

One Step Back

Published on by Otto von Münchow14 Comments

In my post A Step in the Right Direction a couple of weeks ago, I wrote about finally making progress toward my goal of getting my photographic work exhibited. Not that anything was going up on walls just yet, but that week I did take a concrete step forward by applying for exhibition space at a major gallery in Bergen, Norway.

I was clear with myself at the time that I didn’t necessarily expect to be selected. It’s a high-end venue for artists of all kinds, and the competition among applicants is, naturally, fierce.

So here I am now, having received the verdict a couple of days ago. The email landed in my inbox almost inconspicuously. When I finally opened it, I was close to trembling with anticipation. And then—briefly—the world came crashing down. Because, as expected, my application was turned down.

Even when you’ve anticipated the outcome and prepared yourself for it, rejection still feels like a slap in the face. It’s hard not to be disappointed, no matter how rational you try to be. But I wasn’t going to allow myself to sink.

Instead of sulking for days, I sat down at my computer almost immediately. I rewrote the application that had failed me, made what I believe are major improvements, and sent it off to another gallery in Bergen.

That’s going to be my modus operandi this year. No matter how many refusals I receive, I will not lie down. I will keep pushing until this project finds its way out into the world. I will not give in.

The photographs will be exhibited. End of discussion.

This Week’s Book Read

One of last year’s book releases that truly touched me is Daily Self-Portraits 1972–1973 by Melissa Shook. The title clearly signals what the book is about, but it hardly prepares you for how personal, revealing, and moving the images are. In many ways, they feel like the antithesis of the relentless bad news we were flooded with last year—a kind of haven.

Over the course of nearly a year, Melissa Shook photographed herself almost daily in her Lower East Side tenement apartment. A single mother with an eight-year-old daughter, she made this work as a form of proof of existence. Through light, shadow, and an unfiltered gaze, Shook transforms the ordinary domestic space into something quietly profound.

These are not curated moments of beauty or aspiration. They are the texture of everyday life itself. Her poses move effortlessly from the classical to the raw and expressionistic, without hierarchy or judgment. Each day is given the same calm attention, the same devotion.

The viewer is invited into the artist’s most intimate domain, where the mundanity of daily existence takes center stage: nursing an ailing toe on the couch, sitting at the kitchen table with a friend, hair wrapped in a towel after a shower, dancing with her daughter. In their simplicity, the images resonate deeply—and linger.

Get Daily Self-Portraits 1972–1973 on Amazon

For your information: If you decide to buy the book [through this Amazon link], I’ll receive a small commission. It doesn’t cost you anything extra, but it helps support the blog.

Notes from a Thin Winter

Published on by Otto von Münchow8 Comments

The snow wasn’t the best. What there was, was scarce and hard. On top of that, it was cold—not bitterly so, but cold enough to make you look forward to getting indoors by the end of the day.

Still, spending the past week in Park City, Utah, was great. It was a time for recuperation. My friends and I went skiing every day despite the meagre conditions. The black groomers were still fun, even if we couldn’t venture into the terrain or go off-piste, as we say in Europe.

Now I’m back in Seattle, ready to continue pushing toward exhibitions, books, and planning new adventures. There isn’t much to write about this week, so I’ll leave you with a photo from Park City—and a promise to return with a more inspiring post next week.

A Step in the Right Direction

Published on by Otto von Münchow22 Comments

As much as I was hard on myself in last week’s post for not having done enough to move my plans forward—getting my work exhibited and my photographs published in book form—this week felt like a step in the right direction. I intend it to be a test of my commitment going forward.

Early in the week, I submitted an application to be considered for an exhibition at a major gallery in Bergen, Norway sometime next year. The work I applied with is a project I have been developing over many years, with photographs made in a valley just outside the city. The working title is The Valley Beyond.

The photographs are presented as triptychs, a form I chose because my experience of the valley is fragmented and complex. No single view, no single ruin or remnant of a farm, can contain its full character. In the triptychs, images from different times, places, and moods are brought together into open narratives, allowing the valley to unfold rather than be explained.

In all modesty, I believe I put together a strong application. That said, I have no expectations. Competition will be fierce—this is one of the most important galleries in town. Of course, I hope for the best, but if nothing comes of it, I know I did what I could. Some of the images from this project were shown in a post years ago, A Project Long Time in Coming.

Two good friends and colleagues: Morten Golimo and Otto von Münchow

In parallel, a friend and colleague of mine and I have, since December, been working to initiate a shared exhibition. This would be a meeting between two photographers with very different perspectives, methods, and subject matter, yet both bodies of work revolve around the same question: what does it mean to be an individual?

In this duo exhibition, photographs by Morten Golimo and myself are paired—one image from each of us. My photographs are black-and-white street images; his are close studies of details in nature. The images are not meant to explain one another, but to enter into conversation. In these pairings, unplanned connections emerge—similarities, tensions, and contradictions that open new ways of seeing both people and landscape.

After submitting the gallery application, I turned my attention to writing the artist statement for this duo exhibition. Once again, I found myself genuinely pleased with the writing. Does that mean, I could suddenly be getting too high on myself?.. Anyway, the next step will be the hardest one: finding a space willing to show the work.

Still, for once, I didn’t have to make excuses this week.

This Week’s Book Read

Artist and writer Austin Kleon has written three stimulating, funny, generous, and indispensable little books. They are must-reads for anyone in need of creative oxygen. Are you running on empty? Searching for new ideas? Stuck in a rut? Then pick up Steal Like an Artist, Show Your Work, and Keep Going.

Unsurprisingly, I’ve read all three—and I can’t recommend them highly enough. No matter your field, if you consider yourself a creative person, these books deserve a place on your shelf.

Steal Like an Artist, the New York Times bestseller, lays out ten things nobody ever told you about being creative. Show Your Work focuses on the often-daunting next step in a creative life: putting your work out there, getting known, and finding your people. Keep Going addresses the long haul, offering timeless, practical, and ethical principles for sustaining a meaningful and productive creative life.

Together, these books have pushed me off the creativity cliff more than once—in the best possible way. They are relatable, generous, and quietly heartening. Reading them made me feel understood as a creative person. They helped me accept that it’s okay to take a different path, and to move at a different pace. They reminded me that, eventually, the dots do connect.

Kleon both encourages and gently admonishes, always writing from the same place the rest of us inhabit. Pick up these books for easy, generous reading that might also give you the kick you need to start, to share something you’ve made, and to keep going. And you know what? A fourth book, Don’t Call It Art, is on the way later this year. I can’t wait.

Get Steal Like an Artist on Amazon
Get Show Your Work on Amazon
Get Keep Going on Amazon

For your information: If you decide to buy the book [through this Amazon link], I’ll receive a small commission. It doesn’t cost you anything extra, but it helps support the blog.

No More Excuses

Published on by Otto von Münchow18 Comments

Almost exactly a year has passed since I relaunched this blog. In the post A New Path, I promised to share both failures and successes as I transitioned from photojournalism and documentary photography toward a more artistic approach—what could be call fine art photography.

The impulse behind the blog remake was perhaps less about photographing itself, since that shift had already been underway for some time, and more about writing openly about the struggle I expected to face; getting my work shown in galleries and finding publishers willing to produce my photo books. In that world, I am a complete beginner. A greenhorn facing a steep uphill climb toward a first exhibition, a first book—toward anything, really.

Looking back at the past year, it’s clear that I haven’t written much about either of those pursuits. The simple reason is that I haven’t truly pursued them. And if you don’t do the work, there’s not much to report.

What did happen was that early in the spring, a publishing house accepted my idea for a book about Cuba. Not a photo book, but a text-based, nonfiction book. Writing that book took up most of the year and left little room for actively pursuing my path as a fine art photographer.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: the writing also became a very convenient excuse not to try. We all know how difficult it is to step onto a new path. We procrastinate. We convince ourselves that other tasks are more urgent, that the timing isn’t right, that we’re not ready, or that we simply don’t have enough time. All of which of course is bullshit.

So here I am, with a book about Cuba still being worked on by an editor at the publishing house—but with no gallery shows and no photo books to point to. It wasn’t a wasted year, but it was a year in which I didn’t use my time as fully or as courageously as I should have.

It’s a new year now. And if I’m serious about this pursuit, I need to act accordingly. No more procrastination. No more hiding behind work that feels safer or more familiar. No more fooling myself.

I’ll end this post with a quote from Austin Kleon—an artist and writer whose thinking about creativity I deeply admire. In my next post, and its This Week’s Book Read, I’ll write more about his books. For now, here’s a passage that feels particularly relevant:

“Go easy on yourself and take your time. Worry less about getting things done. Worry about things worth doing. Worry less about being a great artist. Worry more about being a good human being who makes art. Worry less about making a mark. Worry more about leaving things better than you found them.”

Looking Back, Moving Forward

Published on by Otto von Münchow21 Comments

We’re coming to the close of the year—the first year of this rebuilt version of my blog. When I relaunched it in January with its “new” look, my goal was to post every week, as I used to many years ago. This time, though, the focus was meant to be clearer: to write about my path toward a more artistic approach to photography, rather than freely wandering reflections on creativity. With the renewed blog, I wanted to share the ups and downs of trying to get my work exhibited and published in one form or another.

I would say I succeeded with the first part. Even if I didn’t post every single week, I was close. The “new” blog has given me fresh motivation to keep writing, after having lost momentum for many years.

The second part, however, has been less successful. Not because I haven’t written about my photographic process or my work, but because I haven’t really pushed for exhibitions or books. Photo books, that is—because I’ve spent a large part of this year writing a book about Cuba, something I’ve mentioned here on the blog several times.

That is one of the main reasons I haven’t pursued exhibitions or photo books more actively: simply a lack of time. On top of that, I’ve been involved in several other projects, which has made this a busy year overall.

So even though I don’t have an exhibition or a photo book to show for this year, I’m content with my photography. And above all, I’m incredibly happy about the Cuba book. It’s not published yet, but it’s currently being edited at the publishing house—and that feels like a significant milestone.

This will be my last post of the year. I’m going to take a couple of weeks off, but I’ll be back again next year—hopefully with renewed energy and with my sights set more firmly on an exhibition and/or a photo book.

I wish you all happy holidays.

This Week’s Book Read

Anyone who follows the photography world will know that we recently lost the eminent British photographer Martin Parr. His body of work stands as a monument in contemporary photography. Utterly Lazy and Inattentive, published shortly before his death, is both an excellent introduction for those new to his work and a must-have for any serious photobook collector. The book is witty and revealing, pairing autobiographical anecdotes with Parr’s photographs—always respectful, yet incisive—of people at leisure, mainly in England.

The title comes from a dismissive school report written when Parr was fourteen, describing him as “utterly lazy and inattentive.” From that assessment, he went on to become one of photography’s most distinctive observers of modern life. In this autobiography, Parr turns the camera inward, guiding the reader through his career with more than 150 images and candid reflections, shaped in collaboration with writer Wendy Jones.

Rather than a polished career retrospective, the book feels personal and uneven in the best sense. Early suburban photographs sit alongside the saturated, often eccentric images from series such as The Last Resort, Small World, and Chew Stoke. Together, they form a visual memoir grounded in Parr’s sharp humour, irony, and deep fascination with the everyday rituals that quietly shape culture

Find Utterly Lazy and Inattentive on Amazon

For your information: If you decide to buy the book [through this Amazon link], I’ll receive a small commission. It doesn’t cost you anything extra, but it helps support the blog.

Back behind the Camera Again

Published on by Otto von Münchow10 Comments

I’m finally back photographing again. As I mentioned last week, the weeks before were pretty meagre in terms of image-making. Photography, just like any skill, needs practice and repetition. If you want to stay sharp, you have to keep practising—ideally every day—so you don’t lose your touch.

Of course, you never completely forget it—in the same way you never forget how to ride a bicycle once you’ve learned it. But if you haven’t been on a bike for a while, you’ll feel a bit shaky at first, and definitely less graceful than when you ride every day. It’s exactly the same with a camera.

This week, I’ve started a bigger assignment that will likely take up the rest of the week. I’ll be following one person, day in and day out, documenting her everyday life. The first images were made today, and I already know this is going to be interesting. She’s a real character—which makes all the difference when you’re hoping to capture something honest, spontaneous, maybe even a bit moving.

To make sure I was up to the task—and not fumbling around with the controls—I started practising again last week. Even more important is being on, in order to be able to capture telling and touching images on the fly when the person I photograph, is in activity and moving around.

First, I went out and did some street photography. Nothing trains your reactions better than photographing the unpredictable—and nothing is more unpredictable than the street. After that, I returned to a personal project I’ve been working on, on and off, for the past couple of years.

The idea behind the project is to “portrait” someone without actually photographing the person. Instead, I look for traces of them in their homes. We all surround ourselves with objects, details, and personal paraphernalia that reflect who we are—consciously or not. That’s what I’m hunting for. I visit people in their space and photograph anything that feels closely connected to them—the items that speak on their behalf.

The working title for the project is “Traces of You and Me”. In this post, I’m sharing a handful of those images—quiet visual portraits made through the things people leave behind, use, cherish, or simply live with.

I photographed almost every day last week, and it felt good. It grounded me again. And now, stepping into this new assignment, I feel ready—present, alert, and curious for what the next images will reveal.

This Week’s Book Read

Father by Diana Markosian presents the photographer’s journey back to another place and another time, as she attempts to piece together an image of a familiar stranger—her long-lost father. Through a compelling blend of documentary photographs, family snapshots, and archival material, she shapes a narrative that is both intimate and universally resonant.

The particular strength of the book lies in its ability to merge documentary realism with poetic storytelling. The result is a quiet, complex meditation on memory, loss, and identity. Markosian explores her father’s absence, her tentative reconciliation with him, and the shared emptiness created by their long estrangement. The photographs—made over the course of a decade in her father’s home in Armenia—probe the fifteen years of separation that began in her childhood.

In this voyage of self-discovery, Markosian touchingly renders her longing for connection with a man she barely remembers, a man who greets her, poignantly, with the question: “Why did it take you so long?” Her images are tender, personal, and deeply felt—quiet observations that speak loudly.

The book itself reinforces this intimacy. Wrapped in a red velvet cover, it feels both personal and elegant from the moment you hold it. The endpapers carry a pattern often found in Soviet-era wallpaper, subtly evoking the settings of the artist’s early life. Photographs are interwoven with short texts by Markosian, guiding the reader gently through the narrative.

With Father, Markosian translates deeply personal experiences into themes that resonate far beyond her own family. The book becomes not only a portrait of a lost relationship, but also an exploration of the universal human longing for connection, reconciliation, and understanding.

The book is published by Aperture.

Find Father on Amazon

For your information: If you decide to buy the book [through this Amazon link], I’ll receive a small commission. It doesn’t cost you anything extra, but it helps support the blog.

Echoes from a Different Gaza

Published on by Otto von Münchow16 Comments

The last couple of weeks have been meagre in terms of photographing. I’ve hardly touched a camera, let alone captured anything worthwhile. It’s okay. I’m not worried, even though I know how important it is to keep at it. Anything you want to be good at needs steady practice, preferably every day.

But there will always be periods of less activity, less focus, and less dedication. And I also know that the urge will return. It always does, when it’s something you care deeply about.

These past weeks, I’ve mostly been editing and processing photos I hadn’t yet found time for. I’ve also been scanning old slides for various projects—a time-consuming task. Each scan takes around ten minutes, and the processing another ten. That means three, maybe four, finished images per hour. In other words; not even a couple hundred in a full week’s worth of work.

But it was something I needed to do. And now, finally, it’s done.

One of the projects I was scanning images for was from a trip I made to Palestine. This was back in 1996, when I visited both the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Back then, Gaza was a functioning city. The conflict was ongoing, of course, but nothing like today. On the West Bank, the number of Israeli settlers was relatively small compared to now neither places, and there wasn’t a full-scale war going on—only “regular” violent clashes.

When I compare those photographs with what we see in the news today, especially from Gaza, it’s incomprehensible. Nothing but ruins. Lives wasted and destroyed.

I think about the boys I met back then. They would be around 40 years old today. But do they still live? And if they do, how are they doing? How is their life? How are they coping? It’s shattering just to think those thoughts. And almost unimaginable to imagine answers that make any sense.

At least the old men I met back then didn’t have to witness today’s devastation. But they surely have families living today—children, grandchildren, a next generation. How are they doing? It’s heartbreaking. These atrocities need to stop. Now.

On a different note; sorry for not having posted in three weeks. Furthermore, I will get back to the comments you have written very soon.