People Say More When They’re Silent
I didn’t come to photography through aesthetics.
I came to it through survival.
My childhood was unstable. My mother struggled with alcoholism and psychological illness, and the people around us were often drifting, eccentric, and unpredictable. Home wasn’t a place of clarity. It was a place where I learned to read faces quickly. Mood, danger, vulnerability, intent. Long before I held a camera, I was already studying people.
The faces that filled my childhood were not ordinary. They were characters. Outsiders. People living close to the edge. That environment shaped how I see.
When I was fourteen, I borrowed a Leica M6 from an established contemporary photographer and went into the streets of Oslo. I photographed people, not places. One of the first was an eccentric street musician. After I took his picture, he chased me down the street. The fear, the adrenaline, the absurdity. It felt like a scene from a dark, off-beat film. But for me, it was familiar.
Photography became a way to face what I grew up with. I work with raw, direct light because that is how life felt. Unfiltered and confrontational. I photograph people on the fringes of society because that is where my understanding of humanity was formed.
This work isn’t about shock.
It’s about recognition.
I photograph people the way I learned to see them as a boy. Closely, instinctively, and without turning away.
Into Their World
I’m drawn to people most others walk past, the ones who keep their history close. I stay long enough to notice what comes through when there is nowhere else to be. It doesn’t start with empathy. It starts with being present. Close enough to sense what slips out when the act fades. For a moment, imagining the weight they carry without pretending to share it.
Each portrait exists in the space between what someone allows and what remains beneath it. The camera matters when it holds that second still. Being close isn’t comfortable. It isn’t meant to be.
From the Ukraine Project
This artwork forms part of a wider photographic art project documenting the atmosphere of Odesa, Ukraine, and the lives of those living on the edge of society during the war.
Instinct, Light, and
the Human Face
Inspired by the tradition of street photography, I work instinctively with a handheld flash and a wide lens to isolate the human face within a chaotic world.
Vidar Korneliussen, AKA Tyheim
Kherson, Ukraine - November 2025
NPPA
Member of the U.S. National Press Photographers Association (NPPA)
Q + A
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Weegee.
What draws me to Weegee is his refusal to look away. His pictures weren’t about the chaos of the scene; sirens, bodies, headlines. They were about the people caught inside it, the mask slipping, the truth leaking out.He shot humanity at its most exposed: the shock frozen on a face lit by police lights, the numb stare of someone who has already seen too much, the split second when a person forgets to act like who they think they are. He didn’t chase beauty or sentiment. He hunted the unguarded moment, the raw honesty that shows itself only when life pushes too hard to hide.
That’s what drives me. On the street I’m looking for the same fracture, the unfiltered expression, the brief reveal of who someone really is before the world snaps back into place.
Photographers whose work I truly love and find deeply inspiring include:
Mark Cohen -
Yes, working at close range often leads to challenges, but I believe it’s necessary. Expression is the core of my photography, and the level of intimacy I aim for often requires stepping directly into someone's personal space. That closeness can unsettle people.
I remember photographing an underworld figure in a charged moment. His face shifted, his eyes went dark, and for a split second I believed he might react violently. I was aware he was armed. It isn’t unusual for me to encounter resistance from the people I photograph.
In moments like that, I stay calm and make my intentions clear from the outset. I approach them as an artist, not as someone collecting information or working on behalf of anyone else. That distinction often shifts the atmosphere and opens a space for trust. I speak with respect, explain why I want to make their portrait, and remain grounded in the purpose of the work. Respecting the person in front of the camera is essential, especially when dealing with those living on the edge.
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I often find myself alone, photographing people on the fringes of society, those living in unstable or volatile circumstances. These situations can quickly turn unpredictable. Some of the people I meet may be armed or involved in criminal environments. But I’ve learned how to read people with precision.
That ability has its roots in my childhood. I grew up around unpredictable personalities, and over time I developed a natural instinct for sensing shifts in mood, intention, and energy. It’s not about being fearless. It’s about being aware and respectful. I know when and how to speak, when to listen, and when to step back. In the end, I often manage to connect with those others struggle to approach.
That awareness has helped me defuse tension, avoid escalation, and walk away from encounters that could have gone very differently. It’s a survival skill, but also a key part of what allows me to get close and create honest work.