Seeing Beyond the Obvious – A Conversation with Wolfgang Zurborn by Isabelle M. Coordes
Wackersdorf 1986, aus der Serie “Crowds“
Wolfgang Zurborn is a renowned German photographer known for his intricate, often ironic perspectives on contemporary life. His visual language defies conventional narratives, instead fostering a raw dialogue with the world, rooted in curiosity, ambiguity, and the act of truly seeing.
Zurborn's adventure into photography started in school, thanks to a creative art teacher and his love for the craft. Even though he didn't have the confidence to chase an artistic career initially, everything changed when he stumbled upon a darkroom during his military service. That unexpected discovery became the launchpad for his journey as a photographer.
For Zurborn, photography transcends mere image-making; it represents a distinct way of thinking. Whether he is teaching, curating, editing photobooks, or creating his work, he approaches each task as an opportunity for deeper visual communication. His seminars, such as the long-running "The Theatre of Real Life" at the Lichtblick School in Cologne, aim to empower students to trust their perceptions and embrace intuitive, non-linear storytelling.
Street photography has a special place in his heart, offering what he describes as a “theatre of emotions,”— a way to capture the hidden dramas of public life. His series and photobooks, such as Play Time, China! Which China?, and Karma Driver, reveal a fascination with media imagery, urban chaos, and the blurred boundaries between cultures and identities.
Asked about doubt and motivation, Zurborn embraces uncertainty as part of the creative process. Success, he insists, is not the goal — authenticity is. “Only when you stay true to your vision, often against expectations, can your work speak powerfully.”
Wolfgang, we currently meet once a month at your Lichtblick School in Cologne for the seminar “The Theatre of Real Life.” Recently, over lunch, you told me about the beginnings of your career. There was some twist of fate involved, wasn’t there?
My interest in photography was sparked early in childhood. I attended my first workshop at the age of ten with my father on the island of Sylt. Later, at a humanist high school, I had a progressive art teacher who included a photography course in the curriculum, further nurturing my passion for the medium. I even set up a darkroom in our bathroom and made countless prints, plastering the apartment with them. My first commission came from the school principal, who preferred my images for a multimedia school production over those from professional photographers. These affirmations gradually made me consider photography not just as a hobby but as a possible profession.
At the time, though, I lacked the confidence and courage to pursue an artistic career. So after graduating, I did a hospital internship, studied math and politics for half a semester in Heidelberg, and then spent 15 months in the military. It was during this rather depressing time that fate stepped in again—I discovered a fully equipped darkroom in the barracks, stocked with photo paper. In the remaining months of service, I used it for portraits of fellow recruits, landscapes for recreation rooms, and personal series. I even began leading workshops, and unexpectedly received praise from people I wouldn’t have imagined.
Fortunately, I was given an internship certificate, which allowed me to immediately start my studies at the Bavarian State Institute of Photography in Munich. During this challenging time, photography became essential in shaping my identity—it helped me overcome the fear that this career might not offer financial security. It paved the way for me to fully dedicate myself to becoming a professional photographer.
A phrase you often use when discussing photos in your seminars is: Listen to the photographs. When did you realise that images can “speak” to you? And what, to you, makes a good photograph?
My motto, “Listen to the photographs”, when editing photographic projects, emphasises the expressive power of images and their unique visual language. For me, the task of photographs is not to illustrate concepts or define terms, but to give direct expression to what has been seen.
Ever since I began photographing — over 50 years ago now — the experience of seeing has been the key impulse for me to go out into the world and capture moments that tell me something about my relationship to it. I don’t want to prove anything, and precisely this lack of intention allows me to access the truth behind the obvious.
In seeking out images beyond conventional motifs, I intentionally provoke chance—surprising constellations of people, objects, and spaces that I could never have imagined beforehand. The act of photographing enables a kind of immersion into the unconscious, and the resulting images can reveal deeply personal insights. You have to listen to the images to gain a deeper understanding of your own artistic stance.
In the photobook workshops I lead with Markus Schaden at the Lichtblick School, photographers often bring a book concept based on a strict chronological or geographic order — which, however, completely fails to communicate the essence of their work to the viewer. Our feedback then is: there’s good news and bad news. The images are fantastic — but they’re trapped in a logic that doesn’t convey what it’s really all about.
Often, words are missing to describe the emotional and nuanced layers of the created image world, so they remain undeveloped. The true challenge of editing is to let the images speak for themselves — without forcing them into predefined terms or concepts.
The true quality of a photographic work only becomes fully visible through the interplay of a series or body of work. For me, a project is convincing when it presents an authentic, personal view of the world — beyond all existing rules and dogmas.
Street photography is particularly close to your heart. What is it about this genre that fascinates you so much?
My first experiences with street photography began at the start of my studies at the University of Applied Sciences in Dortmund in the early 1980s. I threw myself into the Cologne street carnival, although it took some effort at first. I was actually rather wary of large crowds, but I was fascinated by being able to capture the full emotional spectrum — from euphoric exuberance to deep melancholy — in the hustle and bustle of the street. What usually remains hidden behind closed doors spills out into public life.
I was very critical of the dominant doctrine in documentary photography at the time, which demanded a neutral image of the world. The Theatre of Real Life (the title of my six-month seminar at the Lichtblick School) with all its extremes and emotions, represents for me a more truthful depiction of contemporary life than empty shopping districts photographed in neutral light with a large-format camera.
Are there particular themes or motifs that repeatedly captivate you when you're out with your camera?
In most of my photographic projects, the influence of the media world on human beings is a central theme. Street photography is the ideal genre for me to capture still images from the flow of everyday scenes in urban spaces — showing how the omnipresent visual codes of advertising intertwine with real life. I portray contemporary humans as individuals in the context of mass culture. Unlike in the works of Andreas Gursky, they don’t dissolve into the ornament of the crowd, nor are they defined solely by their profession, as in August Sander’s portraits.
Urban life in all its complexity is a recurring theme across my work. I most enjoy being a flâneur, wandering the streets of large cities to give form to the feeling of contemporary life. I deliberately avoid following pre-defined themes, instead letting myself drift with the stream of impressions around me.
The way I compile photographs in my books varies greatly, evoking different readings of the images. Broadly speaking, I’d say my photographs from Germany tend to be more enigmatic and fragmented in their framing — because the world is familiar to me, and I only find meaning in photographing it when something new happens within the image. A mere depiction wouldn’t satisfy me. In other countries, the situation is often different — the environment feels more foreign, and exploring everyday life there doesn’t seem redundant. You can clearly see this in my series China! Which China?, published in 2008 as a large-format leporello.
As a street photographer, you inevitably encounter all kinds of people. Some, but not all, respond positively to being photographed. Which encounters have particularly stayed with you?
The conditions for street photography have changed a lot over the past few decades. In the 1980s and 1990s, I could still photograph with a medium format camera and a big flash in the middle of a crowd without facing much hostility. That’s very different today, as people are much more afraid of appearing in images on social media. Sometimes, these fears even reach a neurotic level.
Although I’ve been exploring public spaces through photography for over 40 years — and have encountered many people along the way — I’ve never experienced a truly dramatic conflict. One especially fascinating moment came during my project Menschenbilder–Bildermenschen in 1986 at the “Anti-WAAhnsinns-Festival” in Wackersdorf. The media expected violent clashes with the police, so nearly all the photographers from major outlets were present. But none of them photographed in the middle of the peaceful festival crowd — because there was no journalistic story to illustrate.
Those festival-goers were highly suspicious of me at first, likely thinking I was from the secret service. I had to explain several times that I had very different interests — and that secret service agents probably wouldn’t be walking through the crowd with such conspicuous equipment, but would rather be hiding in the distance with a telephoto lens. Thankfully, I was able to dispel their fears and make images that became some of my most important work from that period, shown all over the world.
I’ve also had very positive experiences during my regular visits to the KOLGA photo festival in Tbilisi, Georgia. There, people responded with unusual friendliness when they noticed they were being photographed. Instead of asking me to delete the photo — as often happens in Germany — they would invite me for a drink as a sign of appreciation. Perception can vary so greatly between places.
You were fortunate enough to travel to India several times at the invitation of the German Research Foundation (DFG). This led to your photobook Karma Driver. What do you remember most from these trips? And what challenges did you face?
Between 2013 and 2015, I traveled to India six times at the invitation of the German Research Foundation (DFG) to lead workshops with young Indian photographers at the National Institute of Design in Gandhinagar and Kolkata. The collaboration with the participants was fantastic, and the impressive results were exhibited in New Delhi, Kolkata, Ahmedabad, and Bangalore.
I took it as a great compliment when the Indian photographers told me I had given them the confidence to visually express their own perspectives on Indian everyday life — something they hadn’t expected from a German guest.
Luckily, I was flown in for each exhibition and was able to help plan the presentations. I also had time during each trip to photograph myself. That, however, was a real challenge at first. I remember stumbling through the streets of Old Delhi, drenched in sweat and nearly on the verge of heatstroke, completely overwhelmed and with no idea of where to begin photographing. The environment felt so unfamiliar that I couldn’t find a starting point.
When I shared this with my workshop participants — that the temperature and humidity were nearly unbearable for me — they laughed and said, “It’s the same for us!” Only then did I realize that most of their photos were taken at night or indoors. None of them ventured out into the streets during the midday heat.
One workshop participant helped me greatly by inviting me to photograph together at an international trade fair — and that broke the ice. I realized then that the blending of Western and Eastern myths in everyday Indian life would become the central thread of my visual narrative about the country.
This led to my book Karma Driver, published in 2018 by edition FOTOHOF in Salzburg. It was important to me not to adopt a judgmental stance — not to apply a critical, journalistic lens to a culture that was unfamiliar to me. I didn’t want to pretend to have an overview. Instead, I expressed my wonder at a world that felt both fascinating and foreign.
In the booklet accompanying the book, I included a quote from the German Indologist Heinrich Zimmer, from his text “Eternal India,” which served as a kind of guide for my photographic approach:
"...Here, life contemplates itself. The depth of mythical thinking arises from the necessary paradox of its imagery, because the fact of life — which becomes self-aware through it — is illogical and full of contradiction..."
Many of us know the feeling: sometimes, the creative spark is missing. You feel bored by your own work, and no new project seems to be in sight. Do you experience these phases of doubt too? And if so, how do you deal with them?
I know those phases of doubt very well. I actually think they’re essential — without them, you’d easily fall into a routine, just repeating yourself over and over. Max Ernst once said he considered it a virtue that he always knew what he didn’t want, but never exactly what he did want. Otherwise, all creative energy would be lost.
For me, the key is not to get stuck in overthinking what the next topic or project should be. Photography, as a medium, offers the unique opportunity to constantly question one’s own perception through dialogue with the external world — and to transform that questioning into an open-ended process, an experiment in seeing.
Freed from any need to prove something, I understand this way of seeing the world as part of a dynamic reality — and I reflect on my own perception as just one of many possible perspectives. With this mindset, I’m able to move past moments of doubt, because I feel liberated from the constraints of rigid expectations
After your time in the army, you bravely chose a career path that demands a high level of initiative and flexibility, but also comes with uncertainty. Would you choose this path again? And what advice would you give to someone who wants to be a successful photographer?
During my time in the army, I realized that the fear of ending up in a job I didn’t enjoy — where I would lose my sense of identity — was far greater than any fear of an uncertain existence as an artist. Back then, photography felt like a lifeline for my mental well-being. So yes, I would absolutely choose this path again.
Photography quite literally opened doors to the world for me. It helped me understand myself better — and, in turn, develop a deeper understanding of other perspectives on life.
How does one become successful in photography? Probably the most important thing is that success should not be your primary goal. With that mindset, young photographers would always be looking at what kinds of images are currently in demand, what trends are popular, or what concepts are being exhibited in museums. But by doing that, they distance themselves from what they actually want to express.
You can only be truly convincing if you consistently work on your own artistic vision — often even in contrast to what others expect from you. A crucial part of this is how you handle criticism. If you accept all criticism, you’ll end up frustrated. If you reject all of it, you’ll become isolated.
Finding the right balance between exploring your inner imagery and communicating with the outside world is an important step on the path to success in photography.
www.wolfgangzurborn.de
www.lichtblick-school.com
Upcoming Exhibition:
OFF/FOTO Festival 2025 in Mannheim – Exhibition "RADIKAL"
Featuring work by 29 artists from the DFA
April 24 – May 25, 2025
Upcoming Publication:
NEUE BERLINER ILLUSTRIERTE ZEITUNG, April 2025
