Exposed at Paris Photo
Last Thursday I visited Paris Photo — the world’s largest photographic art fair. It’s held in the Grand Palais in Paris, a building so monumental it makes you feel both impressed and slightly ridiculous at the same time. I can highly recommend a visit to anyone interested in photographic art. This isn’t a review, though. It’s more a reflection — on what I saw, and maybe more on what it did to me.
Before the fair, I had a shoot with Claire on Tuesday morning. It was one of those rare sessions where everything just worked. Honestly, that shoot alone made the whole trip to Paris worth it. The fair was just a bonus.
When you enter the main hall, it’s a bit overwhelming — a sea of people, each with their own mission. Gallery owners, collectors, dealers, artists, art enthusiasts… all wandering through endless white booths, pretending to know exactly where they’re going.
I’m there completely anonymous (or so I think), drifting around, and soon realise I’m almost as interested in the people as in the art on the walls. Once I notice that, I also notice that I don’t know anyone — while everyone else seems to know everyone. Hugs, kisses, laughter, fake smiles… it’s a social performance, both fascinating and slightly absurd.
At one point, I run into Casper Faassen, whose work actually hangs on my wall at home. We chat for a bit — he’s friendly, open — and suddenly I’m no longer invisible. For a short moment, I’m part of the fair, part of the scene, instead of just orbiting around it.
Then, between all the noise and the endless stream of images, one photograph stops me: Bill Brandt’s Elbow Nude, 1952. That, to me, is what artistic nude photography truly is. High contrast, strong form, simplicity that still carries emotion. It feels both distant and intimate — loneliness wrapped in light. I stand there longer than I probably should, not analysing, just feeling. It’s beautiful, and it also reminds me how much I still have to explore.
Some of the work at the fair is incredible. Even when I don’t care for the subject, I admire the craft, the ideas, the courage. It makes me want to go home and start shooting again. Other works, however… well, let’s just say they test my patience. I look at them and think, “Really? This made it in?” Then comes the jealousy. Why is this artist here and I’m not?
But then it hits me: it’s all so damn subjective. Whatever this artist did right to be here, it clearly resonated with someone.
By the end of the day, I’ve seen as many emotions as photographs. The fair throws you around — admiration, doubt, envy, inspiration. It’s exhausting.
Later that night, I realised I’d spent an entire day judging art, mine included. I need to be freer in my creativity, stop listening to myself when I think I’m making crap, and remember that it’s all very subjective anyway. Maybe that’s the point. Less judging, more doing. And if I ever doubt again, I’ll just remind myself: even the ugly stuff got a booth at Paris Photo.
Enjoy your weekend!
