Note: This is the second part of the VII Masterclass 2022/2023 article series, originally published in December 2024 in the 256th issue (PDF) of the Périodique du Photo-Club Esch. The photos in this post differ slightly from those published in the magazine.
Setting the stage: a return to Arles and the final chapter of the Masterclass
As with my previous two trips to Arles, this one began early in the morning—with Enya, our dog, sprawled across the stairs, determined to block my way downstairs. This time, however, I opted for a different mode of travel: driving by car. My parents decided to accompany me for the final session, a thoughtful and heartwarming gesture on their part.
The journey, however, came with a twist. Union strikes had disrupted fuel production across France, particularly in the north and south, creating concerns about shortages. At one point, my parents were so unsettled by the uncertainty that they considered not making the trip at all. To reassure them, I preemptively filled two jerry cans with fuel, ensuring we would have enough to make it home if necessary. With preparations in place and my parents reassured, we set off in the dead of night, driving into the sunrise along the Autoroute du Soleil, heading south.
After arriving in Arles, I began by settling into the flat, establishing my base for the week, while my parents did the same in their hotel room. Once unpacked, we went out for lunch, then spent the afternoon wandering the city. It was a special moment for the three of us, as we had visited Arles together years ago, albeit briefly, during a summer holiday in the south of France. I remember that visit vividly, though back then, as a young adult, I never could have imagined that I would one day return to Arles to pursue an education in documentary photography and photojournalism with such renowned professionals and dedicated participants.
Impression of Arles.
As always, my camera were with me, and the streets of Arles provided endless opportunities for impromtu street photography. For this trip, traveling by car gave me the freedom to bring my Fujifilm GFX 50R with the 50mm f/3.5 lens—a medium-format camera I’ve grown to treasure. Compact for its sensor type, the 50R is deliberate and reflective, with its slow shooting pace (a maximum of three frames per second) and lack of subject tracking. It suited the mood of this final session perfectly: thoughtful, calm, and introspective.
Impression of Arles, capturing the unique blend of history, light, and atmosphere that defines this iconic city.
On my previous trips, I had brought the Fujifilm X-PRO3, a digital classic that feels like a love letter to photography itself. Both cameras hold a special place in my heart. I’ve owned many cameras over the years, from entry-level models to high-end systems, but I doubt I’ll ever part with the 50R or X-PRO3. At most, I might one day gift them to someone who could truly appreciate their unique qualities. They teach you to slow down, to be present, to observe. But enough about the technicalities.
Our wanderings took us to the must-see sights in Arles. We followed the Van Gogh Walk, revisiting scenes that had inspired the artist, and spent time at the Librairie Actes Sud, a beloved bookshop. There, I picked up a photography book for myself and another for Máire, our new family member, whom we eagerly expected to join us in June, while my parents bought a few children’s books for her.
The session in Arles began unofficially with a dinner for all the participants at our regular restaurant, L’Entrevue. It was a wonderfully familiar and comforting experience to see everyone again. We picked up our conversations right where we had left off, much of it continuing from the Signal group chat we had started back in September 2022, which remains active to this day. It was clear that even after this final session of the Masterclass, we would remain connected. In fact, we now meet online every few weeks to discuss our projects and catch up on one another’s lives.
The tone for the days ahead was set: this was the final session of the Masterclass. A bittersweet feeling settled in my chest as I thought about it—melancholic but not heavy. I realised that while this chapter was coming to an end, it marked the beginning of a much larger journey for me.
(Never) meet your heroes
The masterclass was scheduled to begin at 2 PM, which left me with ample time in the morning to visit a museum with my parents, take a few more strolls through the city, and—of course—join a left-wing demonstration in support of the working class in France. It felt like a fitting continuation of the social moments I had experienced during my first visit in September, when I had participated in a similar demonstration, adding a sense of continuity to the journey.
The workshop began with a lecture by Eric Bouvet, a key figure in my decision to attend the masterclass. I had long admired his work and followed his career, recetnly also in his role as a Fujifilm ambassador. His use of the medium-format GFX system during the early days of Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine had left a lasting impression on me. His ability to capture powerful images under such demanding conditions highlighted the GFX system’s potential not only in documentary photography, but also in photojournalism. Although I never intended to venture into war zones myself, the thought had crossed my mind at one point—though it was quickly dismissed for various reasons.
Eric Bouvet gave an unconventional yet authentic lecture about his work, seamlessly blending his passion for the craft with a deep respect for the classics in photography. His authenticity as both a photographer and a human being was truly inspiring.
Sitting in the same room as Eric for five days felt surreal. Eric’s work is deeply authentic and honourable, yet his experiences as a war photographer—witnessing and documenting some of humanity’s most harrowing moments—had undoubtedly shaped his perspective. His lessons were invaluable, rooted in respect and humility: “Be respectful,” “Take care of people,” and “Your photos might end up in history books—respect the people.”
Another poignant takeaway came during one of his discussions: “For you, a photograph might feel powerful because of the emotions you felt while taking it. The viewer, who wasn’t there, won’t have that connection. You need to communicate those feelings within the picture. Good luck with that.”
The personal editing session I had with Eric was humbling. He reviewed my initial project ideas and, without hesitation, deemed them to be the work of a beginner. He wasn’t wrong. My first project lacked depth, and while the second showed some improvement, it still wasn’t suitable for a long-term documentary. I had overreached, selecting subjects that demanded complex authorizations and extensive time commitments—luxuries I didn’t have, especially with my full-time job and the upcoming responsibilities of fatherhood.
Eric’s critique was tough but necessary. His approach—breaking me down before building me back up—provided the clarity I needed. His advice shifted my focus towards a more grounded approach to storytelling, one that was achievable within the constraints of my life. These moments of critique and encouragement continue to resonate deeply with me, standing as some of the most impactful in my career.
The adage of “never meet your heroes” is not ture in this case. It was different of what I expected it to be, but exactly what I needed.
Whenever Linda spoke, everyone gathered around, eager to absorb as much knowledge as possible about editing documentary stories. She approached each participant’s project with the same passion as if it were her own, offering critique, feedback, and guidance as she worked through them.
The following day, Linda Bournane Engelberth took the stage. Linda is a skilled documentary photographer and educator known for her detailed and human-centric approach. She has worked on various projects that focus on social issues and marginalized communities, with a keen eye for visual storytelling. Linda’s work emphasizes the importance of being selective in what stories are told, and she is respected for her thorough and methodical approach to editing and photo curation.
Her approach to photography was entirely different from Eric’s, yet impactful. What stood out most was her ability to challenge even Eric, their contrasting perspectives enriching the workshop. Linda’s strictness, meticulousness, and vast experience commanded respect among the participants. Her stubborness on different of her projects was inspring and leading, as for the personal projects all of us were working on. One of her invaluable lessons was: not to publish too much, and to be selective.
During my editing session with Linda, she highlighted the strengths in my projects and encouraged me to fill in the gaps. She recommended to get inspirred by Andrei Tarkovsky and his Nostalghia, as it depicts how composition can be used to convey stories, she emphasied that less is more, and to get inspired by Andrea Gjestvang book Atlantic Cowboy. Her constructive feedback provided helped me reshape the future of my various projects further. It was a different feedback I received from Eric, and yet some elements resonated or were formulated in another form, advancing me nontheless.
On the third day, we literally connected with Espen Rasmussen, a celebrated Norwegian photographer and editor known for his photojournalistic work in both Europe and Africa. With an emphasis on human rights and social issues, his photography captures the emotional and narrative depth of the stories he tells. Rasmussen advocates for the tactile experience of printing and physically editing photographs, encouraging a more intuitive and connected approach to the craft.
After presenting his own work and experiences, which were greatly appreciated by the entire class, we transitioned into an editing session for our own projects. This time, however, the feedback was given in front of the entire group. The process felt a bit old-school: each participant had to approach the desk near the TV at the front of the room to receive feedback. Since we had uploaded our projects in advance to a shared Dropbox and Espen Rasmussen was joining us via Zoom on the big screen, this setup was the most practical option.
Despite the old-school format, the feedback session proved invaluable for everyone. Espen encouraged me to trust my instincts and feel the story rather than rigidly adhering to a predefined process and set of ideas in my head. He emphasised the importance of being present online with a curated body of work, but also underscored the need to present it attractively. He reminded us that accompanying texts are as important as the photographs themselves, shaping how the audience engages with the story.
[1] Espen Rasmussen connected via Zoom for a video call, giving a lecture about his work and sharing insights from his extensive experience as a photographer and photo editor. [2] My parents and I in front of Philip Blenkinsop’s latest exhibition at the VII Academy, shortly before the project projections on the evening before the final day of the masterclass.
Espen also revealed an often-overlooked truth: plenty of documentary photographers and photojournalists don’t work alone. Many operate in pairs—a photographer and a writer—highlighting the collaborative nature of storytelling. He advised us not to underestimate the power of video, suggesting we switch to video when the right moment arises, as footage can always be repurposed for future projects.
Another critical takeaway was his advice on story length. Make a story as long as it needs to be—no longer, was the take-away, pointing to the fact that today’s audience values depth and emotional resonance over fleeting clicks. Focus on revealing what few dare to show. True authenticity carries weight.
This session, conducted over video, turned out to be one of the most insightful and valuable moments of the masterclass. Espen’s thoughtful and nuanced feedback left a lasting impression on all of us.
Final curtain
The evening of 25th March 2023 marked our final gathering as a masterclass. It was sentimental, yet the atmosphere remained warm and celebratory. In a cosy and jolly setting, Maciek addressed the class and the guests, which included Mathieu Asselin—present at the first session in September—and my parents, among others. Maciek was different that evening. While he had always shown deep sentiment when discussing the stories of his protagonists, this time, he allowed his emotions to shine through in a more personal way.
Stefano, ever true to his Italian roots, was unapologetically expressive. For him, wearing his heart on his sleeve seemed second nature. The highlight of the evening was a slideshow video curated by Maciek, featuring photos from all participants, showcasing both ongoing and previously discussed projects. It was a visual feast, underscoring the significance of each story. Every project told a tale of untold voices, offering glimpses into narratives that had yet to receive the attention they deserved. The slideshow also highlighted the progress and evolution of each participant’s craft, reflecting the transformative journey we had undertaken together.
Though my photos were among the more dispersed, given I had yet to complete a project, the evening served as a bridge. It gave my parents an intimate glimpse into the world of documentary photography and photojournalism that I had immersed myself in over the past months. A year later, this connection deepened profoundly when I photographed my first international group project—with my mother as the protagonist.
[1] Maciek Nabrdalik sat attentively during the group session, his focus unwavering as he listened intently to the participants’ feedback. His demeanour reflected genuine interest and respect for each person’s perspective, fostering an environment of collaboration and mutual learning. [2] Stefano de Luigi, his figure silhouetted against the light, leaned casually out of the window, puffing thoughtfully on his electronic cigarette. It was a quiet moment amidst the whirlwind of the masterclass, offering a glimpse into his reflective nature. [3] On my left sat Evelyn Runge, her insights sharp and thought-provoking, while on my right was Eric Bouvet, his presence as commanding as his legendary work. Together, we engaged in a lively group discussion, exchanging feedback and ideas. The session was a dynamic blend of perspectives, fuelled by a shared passion for storytelling and an eagerness to learn from one another.
The fourth and final day was rich with philosophical, economic, societal, technical, and practical discussions on the essence of documentary photography and photojournalism. We were encouraged to know ourselves deeply—to recognise when a story wasn’t ours to tell and be okay with stepping away.
We were also urged to embrace a distinctly European sensibility in our work, distancing ourselves from overly Americanised approaches. “Slow seeing” became a mantra—taking time to let stories unfold naturally rather than forcing a narrative. The discussions reminded us that a documentary project could easily span years, but it’s essential to recognise when to stop.
Before embarking on any story, we must determine whether its core is visually strong enough to be represented through images. If not, we should explore other mediums.
[1] With my backpacks slung over my shoulders and a large flower pot for Kelly carefully balanced in my arms, I made my way back to the car, ready to hit the road back to Luxembourg. [2] Katarzyna, known as Kate, and I stood together in the parking lot of Lyon Airport, sharing a heartfelt goodbye before parting ways – my parents and I heading back to Luxembourg, and her returning to where my heart resides: Ireland. [3] 222 days later, on the day we departed from Lyon, Kelly, Máire, and I visited Kate and her lovely family in Co. Cavan, Ireland. The connections made in Arles enabled lasting friendships, stretching across thousands of kilometers.
Mary Gelman’s work on intimate, personal narratives, such as her profile on VII’s website, was cited as a benchmark for meaningful storytelling. We were encouraged to let stories happen naturally. Meeting people and letting them tell their stories without preconceived notions was key. The importance of studying the classics was another recurring theme. Building a library of photo books and engaging with them deeply was highlighted as essential. Eric even shared exercises to help us understand the masters better.
Finally, we were reminded of the power of framing and technical storytelling in other mediums, such as video. The film Who Is Afraid of the Black Man was recommended as a masterclass in framing, using lenses, and capturing stories that resonate deeply with audiences.
This day wasn’t just about photography—it was about reshaping how we see, feel, and connect with the world through our work.
I won’t back down
The masterclass changed me. It may sound clichéd, but it’s true. I gained invaluable lessons, forged connections with extraordinary people, and became part of a global network of peers. Shortly after the VII Masterclass, I enrolled in the International Center of Photography’s Intensive Programme in Visual Storytelling. In the years since, I’ve immersed myself in books, podcasts, projects, and furthered my education through documentary photography and photojournalism courses.
Someday, I want to look back on a meaningful archive of photo stories—stories that have influenced politics, society, and the environment for the better. Stories that sparked real change.
As for where I focus my efforts in the world, I’ve decided to embrace my father’s approach: “There’s more to see and endeavor, and enough to explore in Europe for a lifetime.” Environmental protection is at the core of my practice. I intentionally limit my travel outside Europe, concentrating on local and regional stories to reduce my environmental impact. I only travel beyond the European continent (including its islands) when I feel my perspective can add something unique to the narrative. This approach reflects my belief in responsible storytelling that aligns with sustainability.
I could go on for pages about why I’ve chosen this course of action, and the deeper motivations behind my merging of documentary photography and photojournalism. I certainly will, in an article dedicated to this topic. But for now, I’d like to conclude with an invaluable lesson I was taught by a fictional journalist named Emmet Bergman (Stargate SG-1, S7.E18):
“You know I, uh…I once did a piece on this war photographer. His name was Martin Krystovski. For about six months, he was with a unit in Vietnam, and…the day before he was scheduled to leave, the day before. He’s out with a unit, and it was just a routine patrol. Or so they thought. But suddenly, the lieutenant pulled him down…and Krystovski…he hadn’t intended to take a picture at that moment, but his hands were on the camera, and he hit the ground so hard that it just went off. And the picture captured…the lieutenant getting shot in the head. And Krystovski said to me—he said: ‘That bullet would have hit me—should’ve hit me.’ And he never showed that picture to anyone. Not for twenty-five years. But twenty-five years later, he got up one morning, and he looked at that picture. And he saw something that wasn’t horrific. And he decided to tell the story because he realized that he hadn’t accidentally taken a picture of a man dying. It was of a man saving his life.”
To put it in the wise words of social documentary photographer Lewis W. Hine: “I want to show the things that have to be corrected, I want to show the things that have to be appreciated.”
The story described by Bergman speaks to this very notion. Both of these memorable quotes fuel my daily, insatiable desire to go beyond—to walk the extra mile—and, at the very least, attempt to improve socio-political and environmental realities.
I owe this transformative experience to the continued support of my wife, my parents, my grandparents, Salomé, Zoé, and now Máire, as they are the future generations shaping our societies and becoming full-fledged citizens of our European community and the world. I am determined to do whatever I can, with my skills and resources, to help create positive change.
So, in the wise words of Douglas Adams: “So long, and thanks for all the fish, beloved VII Masterclass 2022/2023!”
