People Say More When They’re Silent
I didn’t grow up in a world that made sense. What I grew up around were contradictions, tension, survival, and people hiding more than they showed. Long before I understood photography, I learned to read faces. It wasn’t a choice; it was how I understood what was happening around me.
Drawing became an early escape, a way to slow things down and make sense of what I couldn’t express in words. Years later, when I borrowed a Leica M6, I realised I wasn’t drawn to streets or scenes but to people. Not idealised figures, but real characters.
What drives my work is human behaviour, the complexity people carry, and what reveals itself in the instant their guard lowers. I recognise the same fascination in the films of the Coen brothers, whose characters often embody contradiction, fragility, and quiet intensity. I photograph with that same curiosity.
As an underdog armed with a Leica M11, shooting the streets feels like engaging in a bullfight. Using a flash up close and invading people’s personal space, often sets people on edge.
Into Their World
What draws me to street photography isn’t beauty. It’s proximity. 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 image is part of a wider photographic art project documenting the atmosphere of Odesa, Ukraine, and the lives of people 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
Book Signing, Polycopies - Paris, France
NPPA
Member of the U.S National Press Photographers Association (NPPA)
Q + A
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Weegee.
What inspires me most about Weegee is his unflinching way of revealing the human condition. Beneath the crime scenes and city noise, he understood that the real subject was never the event; it was the people experiencing it.His photographs captured humanity at its most exposed: a bystander’s shock, a lover’s tenderness at 3 a.m., the resignation in someone's eyes just before they look away. He didn’t look for beauty or tragedy; he looked for the truth that lives in the split second when people forget to perform. Even in the harshest moments such as death, shame or exhaustion, there is an odd dignity in his images. They show that vulnerability and resilience can coexist.
That is what drives me. On the street I search for the same raw expression, the instant when someone unconsciously reveals themselves.
Photographers whose work I truly love and find deeply inspiring include:
Mark Cohen
Kohei Yoshiyuki -
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.
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I’m a big fan of the Coen Brothers, especially The Big Lebowski, No Country for Old Men, and the Fargo TV series. What I admire most is how they build characters that feel entirely original. They’re real, strange, cool, and sometimes even ridiculous.
Their dialogue is just as distinctive. It can be deadpan, surreal, or quietly unsettling, but it always fits the character and the moment.
My favorite film is The Big Lebowski. It’s more than a cult classic for me. What stands out is the tone and how well the characters fit together. The Dude moves through life without much control or urgency, surrounded by people and situations he can’t quite make sense of. But he sticks to his own laid-back logic. One of his most iconic lines captures this perfectly:
“That rug really tied the room together.”
It’s funny because the rug wasn’t anything special. His apartment is nearly empty, messy, and worn down. But to him, that rug brought a kind of order. That mix of sincerity and absurdity reveals how he sees his world.
The Fargo TV series is some of the most compelling television I have seen. It keeps the spirit of the original film but expands it with characters just as strong. One moment in particular stands out:
Ida: “So he's just standing in the parking lot, having a milkshake, and a hailstone comes down, size of a softball, crushes his skull.”
Molly: “What flavor?”
Ida: “Strawberry, I think.”It’s grim, dry, and strangely funny. The flat delivery makes the weight of it hit even harder. The tone speaks for itself without needing explanation.
No Country for Old Men is colder and more minimal, but just as powerful. Chigurh barely speaks, but when he does, every word hits with precision. In one scene, right before executing a man, he says:
“If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?”
There’s no yelling or drama, just that line. Cold, philosophical, final. He doesn’t raise his voice or explain himself. Just that one cold line. It’s calm, but it hits harder than violence.
What stays with me most is how the Coens portray people. Their characters carry something offbeat, something raw. Whether it’s the detached calm of Anton Chigurh, the tragic awkwardness of Lester Nygaard, or the laid-back stubbornness of the Dude, they all feel like real people shaped by their own strange logic. That’s what I connect with.