Tribut to Daido, Anders and Jacob

I walk through photography as one ventures into an unfamiliar city—without a map, without a plan, just with the desire to get lost and see what emerges. Three names accompany me, like beacons in the fog: Daido Moriyama, Jacob Aue Sobol, and Anders Petersen. They don’t guide me exactly, but their shadows drift through my work, pushing me to go further, always deeper.

Moriyama was the first slap in the face. His grainy, brutal images hit me like a black rainstorm. Through him, I understood that I needed to let go, to abandon the idea of the perfect shot. I began wandering cities with a camera in hand, searching for chaos, for accidents, for a poetry that scratches and unsettles. The grain, the imperfection—that’s where the truth lies. Moriyama taught me not to fear what scars.

Sobol showed me something different: proximity. An intensity so close it’s almost suffocating, a breath you can feel on the back of your neck. Through him, I learned to get closer, to step into the intimacy of my subjects, to capture raw, unfiltered emotion. His images reminded me that photography is, above all, an encounter—a shared moment where anything can happen. In my most personal series, I strive for that vibration, that unvarnished sincerity.

And then there’s Petersen. Anders is the poet of the margins, the one who sees beauty where others look away. He taught me to slow down, not to turn away from what seems fragile, unsteady, or lost. His images speak to me of tenderness, of a battered yet dignified humanity. I find this spirit in projects like Leaving Home or Twelve Hours, where I look for those moments of suspension—between day and night, between loss and hope.

Moriyama, Sobol, Petersen… They are not models to follow. They are voices in the wind, signposts in my own journey. They gave me the courage to dive in, but it’s up to me to carve my own path—alone, with my doubts, my wounds, and my vision.

If I had to give one piece of advice to a young photographer, it would be this: don’t try to imitate them. Look at their work, understand why it moves you, and then forget them. Go and find what burns inside you, what obsesses you, what keeps you awake at night. That’s where the image is—in that chaos, and nowhere else.