We sat down with this legend of Berlin nightlife to talk about disturbing beauty, 35 years of reunification, gherkins and Sundays spent at the club door.
The title of your latest exhibition was Disturbing Beauty. What is your understanding of disturbing beauty?
For me, beauty is a moment of irritation, something that is different from the standard beauty norm. This norm has been moulded over decades through advertisements and fashion, even though, luckily, a lot has changed over the years. There’s more diversity. That’s why, for me, ‘disturbing beauty’ is the moment that doesn’t appear striking at first, but makes you pause. It makes you wonder, ‘Why is this affecting me?’ And it is precisely this question that brings about a unique fascination.
Even as a punk in the DDR, you didn’t conform to prevailing ideals of beauty.
Yes, that’s been a recurring theme throughout my life, including my life as a photographer. It started in East Berlin with punk and new wave counterculture and subculture in the early 80s. I think club culture is a continuation of that time – to have self-determination and be free.
I’m amazed that there was room for freedom in the repressive DDR. People would be arrested for one wrong sentence, yet there were punks.
Absolutely. It was possible to exit a building in Prenzlauer Berg, on Wichertstraße, and you would be shoved into a car to check your identity. But we were of course provoking that.
How so?
We never went out without dark eye makeup and a bottle of hairspray in our hair. We could have blended in, but we didn’t want to.
Were you aware of the risks back then?
It was careless and defiant at the same time. A student recently asked me how I managed to avoid joining the military. I actually had myself committed to a psychiatric ward. That was risky. There was a possibility that you couldn’t get out of there. But what could you have done? I was certain: I do not want to join the military, I am not going. Yes, a few people disappeared behind bars, but at the same time, there was a punk band in the backyard.
The 35th anniversary of reunification has just passed. What does this day mean to you?
I am part of the last generation of adults in East Germany after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Even though coming to terms with the past and the reuniting of Germany took much more time and effort than anyone had anticipated, for me, even after 35 years, this day remains a special day in my – in our lives. It is the best thing that could have happened.
In the beginning, when you were invited to show your work, people often said, “That’s the Berghain bouncer who also takes pictures.” How is it now?
It’s still the bouncer who also takes pictures.
But your photography is much more prominent now. It’s still being somewhat overshadowed?
Yes, it is being overshadowed. But a lot of positives have come out of it. Of course, sometimes it’s tedious – everyone knows the club is famous worldwide, and the media is more interested in Berghain than in my story – rightly so. Photography is my foundation, but both are a part of me. Titles are exhausting. But that’s an editorial decision, because you need clicks.
I actually had myself committed to a psychiatric ward. That was risky.
Have you sought to step out of this shadow?
I didn’t really work my way up with photography and exhibitions. It always happened in parallel. For 12 years, I photographed musicians for Ostgut booking agency. They sent me around the world with those pictures, so I was a part of it, and because of that it’s all fine.
You work with personalities from the club, music and fashion scenes. What interests you about a person when you take photographs?
The personality. For instance, when shooting musicians whose music I know or whom I follow on Instagram, there’s always this moment of the first meeting. We sit across from one another and discuss what the shoot should look like. Then we get closer as we talk about the vision, the location, the styling and the makeup. Encounters with people are the headlines of my life. I don’t know if someone has met more people in 30 years of club culture.
And for decades, you’ve only photographed people – no abstract motifs, no landscapes or animals. Don’t you ever get bored of people?
No, I always find it exciting. Even every Sunday, when I’m at the door again and an entirely new generation is partying, I think, ‘Wow, how international!’ How dominant the English language is all of a sudden, at least in that scene. Especially in that creative scene. And that’s really great.
Does it ever become too much for you?
I definitely need it, because you always want to balance things out. I also have time for myself.
In the Spreewald?
(Laughs) My assistant was actually there recently – funny you should mention that. I told them I had never been to the Spreewald and asked if we could go there next time. So he checked out what it’s like among the gherkins. Apparently it’s quite nice.
I’ve heard that too and would like to visit. Even though I am not a big fan of Berlin’s hinterland.
You’re not a fan of Berlin’s countryside?
I am more of a mountain person.
In recent years, I’ve been fortunate enough to travel extensively for my projects. I’ve been to places like Kuala Lumpur, where you don’t get to go to very often. Sometimes we stay for 10 days, hire a car and go on a road trip. For me, that’s a real escape. And speaking of mountains… Canada! Those are the moments when I think, ‘I was really there.’ It’s great. So I don’t just drive to the outskirts of Berlin. That was a different time for me.
Because you can move far away now?
That’s just how it was back then – you could’t really go anywhere. We’d go to Straussee or Warnemünde on the Baltic Sea, usually by train, just to chill out for a few hours.
Black and white just has more drama.
Let’s circle back to your photography. Your images feel very direct. How do you find the balance between closeness to and distance from your subjects?
I hope that I have enough empathy to not even think about taking a picture of someone at an unwanted moment. A lot can be planned in advance. But the moment when you face each other happens spontaneously, and I feel as if everything else is silent. Those are the most intense moments. I feel close to someone without crossing any boundaries. For me as a photographer, that’s a very important point. That’s why I don’t understand snapshot photography. It certainly has its place, as does street photography, but it doesn’t correspond to my way of working, or my feeling as a photographer. For me, that would cross a line.
Are you interested in authenticity?
I think so, even if it’s a worn-out term.
What’s your interpretation of it?
To be real, to have a backbone.
And in your work?
Well, my team and I create it together. And that’s a very important point – that there are two or three people with whom I’ve been working with for many years. We create a parallel world, and yet it’s still real. The set is there, but I like it when you can’t immediately recognise the location in photos, even though it obviously plays a role.
Your photos are almost always black and white. Is that purely a question of style, or can black-and-white photography tell a story that colour cannot?
Black and white just has more drama. I’m thinking of the entire generation of East German photographers that came before me, who later founded the Ostkreuz agency. That was the old East Berlin school: black and white. My favourite photographer from that time is Sibylle Bergemann, and Helga Paris was my mentor.
So you see yourself as part of a tradition?
I think so, yes.
What more would you like to know about photography?
I still want to take photographs. I’m excited about every new job and every new project. Working conceptually is becoming more and more important to me. Even when topics come externally, it’s always great.
What project do you want to tackle next?
After nearly four decades of working as a photographer, I think the time has come to compile my work into a monograph. This means a lot of archival work, which is not necessarily my favourite activity – you don’t want to spend every day delving into the past. Even though there have been a few book publications – catalogues and the like – a monograph is something else entirely. Even though times haven’t been rosy for the art book market for quite some time, I already have a working title, so stay tuned.
