A Failed Attempt to Photograph Reality

"I tend to photograph my own family, the space in front of my door, or my workplace itself. I have to take a lot of images. It is mostly about trying something, and failing, a lot. The core element in my work is transience; an emotional look at the impermanent existence of a state, a moment or a person.", says German-Dutch photographer, whose recent body of work takes cues from Duane Michals, while responding to claims by Susan Sontag.

Photo: Jošt Dolinšek

C-P: The title of your recent exhibition at Bladr in Copenhagen stressed a great paradox around photography as a medium; A Failed Attempt to Photograph Reality. You refer to a compelling text by Duane Michals that also further serves the point by way of the words: "To photograph reality is to photograph nothing". It's said that Michals when he was developing his signature images, had a desire to capture with his lens the intangible notion of desire itself. And as such had to work around the medium's limitation with his intentions and in his pursuit. You more explicitly share an interest to capture your own attention. Let's start there; what prompts this intriguing objective?

J.S: What photography can’t do is exactly what fascinates me. The inability to fully keep what it promises, causes both failure and beauty. This also makes me want to continue making images. The idea of trying to photograph reality feels absurd, because reality is messy, shifting, and mostly invisible. So I try instead to capture moments when something pulls at my attention. The simplicity of a 50mm lens and a black and white film really makes these images very pure and cherishing of a certain tone. I take images without immediate intent, allowing them to rest, to accumulate, before returning to them with fresh eyes.

Installation view, A failed attempt to photograph reality, Bladr, Copenhagen, Denmark, 2025

C-P: Another point of reference is Susan Sontag who famously wrote On Photography. It appears that you strive to distance your making in this project from her claim that photography begins/ends in the outside world, and instead linking photography to something internal as writing, and you as a photographer as a writer. A photograph appears almost the equivalent for you of an entry in a notebook or a diary. Something that is the start of a thought or reflection. I understand this is a leap in a new or different direction for you?

J.S: The photographs definitely are a starting point for my own writing now, which I have not been courageous enough in the past to actually see worthwhile publishing or even keeping. But writing and photographing are both ways of notation. Both acts are provisional, partial and delayed. For the exhibition at Bladr I presented 65 gelatin silver prints. They were merely sketches, almost like test strips, sometimes completely overexposed, or having ripped edges. I really enjoy their matte surfaces. They remind me of vocabulary training cards.

Julian Slagman,  A failed attempt to photograph reality, catalogoue, 2025

C-P: What's one image in the exhibition that on this note has given you the most to think about in the aftermath of its taking? That one image that has been a hard nut to crack or the image that has engaged you endlessly in pensive mode, or just served your writing?

J.S: I took a photo of a poppy in Sparta last year, which needed for me quite some time to unfold and be appreciated. I enjoyed that image more with time. Many visitors weren’t quite sure what they were seeing, which also happened with several other works. That kind of ambiguity is something I’m drawn to, how a photograph can still show something recognizable, but at the same time shift how we usually look at it, moving closer to something more open and abstract.

Julian Slagman, Sparta, Gelatin Silver Print, 130x90mm, Edition of 1+1 AP

C-P: What common denominator do you find in retrospect of what things tend to catch your attention with your lens?

J.S I think that I am mostly curious about how something ordinary looks like being photographed. Often it has to do with how a specific surface shapes the image. It could be a couple of sailing boats on the ocean surface, looked at from far, or the light shining through a leaf, looked at up-close. I also enjoy using the camera falsely, to look at a spiderweb up-close, but having it focused to infinity. I do not have a specific theme, although I tend to photograph my own family, the space in front of my door, or my workplace itself. I have to take a lot of images. It is mostly about trying something, and failing, a lot. The core element in my work is transience; an emotional look at the impermanent existence of a state, a moment or a person.

Julian Slagman, The First Sun in Years, Gelatin Silver Print, 130x90mm, Edition of 1+1 AP

C-P: What generally interests you in contemporary photography in the present, from a more global point of view as a photographer and lens-based artist?

J.S: I’m interested in photography that questions its own assumptions. Artists who are not just showing but thinking through the medium, and who allow ambiguity and don’t rush to a message. Also, I’m drawn to work that feels patient, that gives space for the viewer to wander without forcing a conclusion. There’s a lot of noise in images today, so the ones that slow you down feel increasingly important.

Julian Slagman, Frost Formation, Gelatin Silver Print, 130x90mm, Edition of 1+1 AP

C-P: What's next for you with plans in terms of making and presenting?

J.S: I live and work between Malmö and Hamburg, so I am spending a lot of time on ferries and trains, currently I am just collecting images. I am also interested in trying to print very large analogue prints from small negatives, but it is not so easy finding labs that can handle dimensions from 70x100 cm upwards. I am also publishing small catalogues and ephemera on an ongoing basis and at irregular intervals.

Ashik Zaman