DirkB

It began with my dad’s Zeiss Contaflex—a camera so gloriously over-engineered it made me feel like a proper photographer before I even knew what an f-stop was. At 12, armed with a Nikon FG, I set my sights on becoming a motorsport photographer: Nürburgring, Spa, the scent of burning rubber... thankfully not captured on film.

Then I discovered black and white. My first home-developed roll was flatter than a British pancake, but I was hooked. A Nikon F3, a brave classmate, and a copy of Mrs. David Bailey led to my first nude portrait—somehow we both survived with reputations intact.

Influences? Dahmane, Jonvelle, Sieff, Frederick Evans, and a deep dive into Ansel Adams' zone system. I spent 20 years in large format with a Sinar F2—because clearly, lugging around a camera the size of a small car builds character.

I fell hard for Polaroid 55, shot it endlessly until it disappeared, like all good things (see also: Concorde and decent summer weather).

These days, I shoot both large format on silver gelatin and digitally with a Nikon Z7 II—because sometimes you want soul, and sometimes you want speed. At 59, I’m still chasing light, still searching. Because photography isn’t a destination—it’s a journey.

And if you ever stumble upon a forgotten fridge full of Polaroid 55—do let me know, I’ll bring the wine.