Method Notes No. 11: A place for photography, or - a welcome to Wetzlar

There are events that function well and are well-organized.
And there are events that feel like a place.

Yesterday I was invited to the Leica Experience Days and had the opportunity to give a presentation about my photography. Although "presentation" isn't quite the right word. It was more of a mix of reading, a journey through my thoughts, and a personal insight into what inspires me about images. Why I photograph. Why I write about photography. What creates intimacy and atmosphere, and so on.

Besides me, those days were all about psychology, travel, Morocco, technology, composition, and encounters. Things were tested, discussed, and tried out. Cameras changed hands, and people struck up conversations. Many of them had never met before.

And somewhere in between all of that, the whole thing felt less like a classic event and more like a family reunion.

That's remarkable for someone like me.

Because although I often appear confident on the outside, I also have a certain shyness around large groups of people. Especially when you've become visible through your work. That feeling of being recognized, but not actually wanting to be the center of attention. The difficulty of approaching strangers. Making small talk. Just "falling in" somewhere.

Things like that often cost me significantly more energy than many would probably think.

That's why such days usually begin for me days in advance with a certain nervousness. With this inner pressure to function. To be social. To be present.

But here it was different.

What I experienced yesterday was an atmosphere where all of that suddenly didn't matter. Almost as if the normal background noise of everyday life stayed outside the door. That pressure. That uncertainty. That constant feeling of speed and being ready to perform.

The Leica team isn't just organizing an event there.
They're creating something that feels like a welcome.

And I mean that quite literally.

Not that professional "Welcome" you usually say at events. But genuine care. A sincere interest in making people feel comfortable. In making them feel at home. In making them feel like part of it.

"Do you have everything you need?"
"Do you know where you need to go?"
"It's great that you're here."

They are small sentences. But they change everything.

Added to that was the palpable enthusiasm everywhere. An enthusiasm that was no longer solely about technology. Of course, the cameras and lenses played a role. No question about it. But the crucial thing happened between the people.

This open approach to one another.
"What do you photograph?"
"Where are you from?"
"I know your pictures."
"I've been following you for years."

And suddenly, one moment follows another. Conversations follow one another. You meet people who feel similarly, observe similarly, are similarly enthusiastic about things that often hardly interest anyone outside such places.

I think that's exactly what makes days like these so special.

They remind us that photography is not just about pictures. It's about encounters. About exchange. About the feeling of not being alone with something.

And although I've never really seen myself as a big "community person", yesterday was the first time I truly felt like I was a part of it.

Completely relaxed, in fact.

Then came my presentation.

It was called "More".

And then one day I was standing there in Wetzlar, in those hallowed halls, talking about things that had occupied me for years. About images. About atmosphere. About people. About what happens between technology and emotion.

And while I stood there having fun, I suddenly felt like I was 14 again.
Traveling somewhere on an Interrail trip with a small compact camera.

Then, in my mid-twenties, on a motorcycle, capturing memories.
Then, somewhere in the mountains, climbing and photographing mountain ranges.
Then, my first conscious portraits.

All these versions of oneself suddenly run alongside oneself at such moments.

And one would so love to briefly step into a time machine, travel back in time, and tell one's younger self:

"Just keep going. It'll be really beautiful."

Thank you, Leica.

And thank you to all the people who make such days possible.

For the atmosphere.
For the conversations.
And for that rare feeling of being exactly where you belong.