Light Born from Darkness
A reflection on identity, acknowledgment, and the shift from becoming to being
December brought me four images and one revelation: I can create deep and meaningful pictures without being an artist.
This might seem like a strange statement, even a contradiction. But for me, it feels profoundly liberating. I’ve struggled for a long time with calling myself an artist. An artist, as I understand it, is someone who feels compelled to express themselves and share that expression with the world. That’s not my calling. Yet I love what I’ve found through photography, using my photos to reflect on what concerns me, what moves through my life, what asks to be seen.
Finally, I can acknowledge something I’ve known for a while: I am a good photographer.
The Four Images
The Self-Portrait: Where Light is Born
The first image is a self-portrait, taken during an assignment with Kim Grant’s Winter Awareness Club on capturing the essence of light. I’m standing next to the window in our old home on Leberstraße in Berlin. To the right, you can see the window and colourful lilies on the sill. Then me, mostly in silhouette. Then light on the back wall behind me.
What I love about this image is how it reveals something essential about how I work with light: I use it to carve shapes and textures from darkness. In this picture, just the right side of my face catches the light, emerging from shadow. The background behind my head is dark, then transitions to light on my left side.
Looking at this image, I understood: Light is born from darkness, and so are we.
The Flower Arrangement: On the Edge
The second image is a flower arrangement I made in our new home in Schöneberg, where we’d just moved. The vase sits on the living room table, backlit by the window. The flowers rest right on the edge where light transitions into shadow, into darkness. They exist as silhouettes, almost black and white, but with subtle tones and colours breaking through.
Being on the edge. That quality feels compelling to me in this image.
When I look at these first two pictures side by side, I see they connect with each other. They’re in conversation.
The Close-Up: Beyond Beauty
The third image is a close-up of another flower arrangement. I love making these arrangements, and I love photographing them. But here’s what interests me: a beautiful picture is not simply a representation of something beautiful. It has to go beyond that.
In this image, you see light coming through the petals, revealing their texture. There are more bold colours than in the others, with an abstract, mysterious quality. You have to look twice to understand what you’re seeing. It has a different quality—clearer in some ways, yet requiring you to stay with it a moment longer to grasp what’s happening. There’s also a movement in this picture that speaks to me.
The Park: A Calm Space
The fourth image is different in style. I shot it outdoors during a walk in a nearby park. What draws me here is the symmetry, and how it displays light in yet another way.
In the foreground, a pond reflects the sky in almost pure white. Trees reflect in the water, then the image transitions to the ground—a pathway leading directly to the pond, winter-green grass on either side. The trees rise up, and above them, the sky again, with a subtle transition from light to dark.
This photograph has a calming effect on me. Perhaps it’s the near-symmetry, or how the image divides into two halves that mirror and don’t mirror each other simultaneously. I love walking into this calm space and finding myself there.
The Shift: From Knowing to Acknowledging
I don’t consider myself an artist, but I call myself a photographer. What does that mean, and how is it different?
One thing I realized in December: I photograph to entertain myself. This is something very beautiful. Being creative is good for my mental health, I know this deeply. I wrote in my journal one day that I hadn’t photographed for a week or two, and I felt miserable. The moment I went out and shot again (I think when I took that last picture in the park), I suddenly felt whole.
The effect of photography on my mental health is something I deeply care about and can now acknowledge.
A friend recently looked at my work and said, “Ingo, you’ve got a really good eye.” For a while, I struggled to accept that. Now I know I’m a good photographer. The question is no longer about who I am, now it is: what lies beyond that? I
Now that I acknowledge this, what am I going to do with it?
This is the shift I’m experiencing: from How can I become a better photographer? to How can I grow as a photographer? These are not the same question. One is about technical improvement. The other is about something else entirely – something that will carry me through the coming year.
The Gift of Sharing: I can photograph to entertain myself. I don’t have to worry about how others will perceive my work. And yet—and this is equally true—I have a gift I can share. Others can benefit from this.
That’s why this series matters to me: To reflect alongside you, to share these images and thoughts, and to create space where we can each find our own understanding.
