I’m finally back photographing again. As I mentioned last week, the weeks before were pretty meagre in terms of image-making. Photography, just like any skill, needs practice and repetition. If you want to stay sharp, you have to keep practising—ideally every day—so you don’t lose your touch.
Of course, you never completely forget it—in the same way you never forget how to ride a bicycle once you’ve learned it. But if you haven’t been on a bike for a while, you’ll feel a bit shaky at first, and definitely less graceful than when you ride every day. It’s exactly the same with a camera.
This week, I’ve started a bigger assignment that will likely take up the rest of the week. I’ll be following one person, day in and day out, documenting her everyday life. The first images were made today, and I already know this is going to be interesting. She’s a real character—which makes all the difference when you’re hoping to capture something honest, spontaneous, maybe even a bit moving.
To make sure I was up to the task—and not fumbling around with the controls—I started practising again last week. Even more important is being on, in order to be able to capture telling and touching images on the fly when the person I photograph, is in activity and moving around.
First, I went out and did some street photography. Nothing trains your reactions better than photographing the unpredictable—and nothing is more unpredictable than the street. After that, I returned to a personal project I’ve been working on, on and off, for the past couple of years.
The idea behind the project is to “portrait” someone without actually photographing the person. Instead, I look for traces of them in their homes. We all surround ourselves with objects, details, and personal paraphernalia that reflect who we are—consciously or not. That’s what I’m hunting for. I visit people in their space and photograph anything that feels closely connected to them—the items that speak on their behalf.
The working title for the project is “Traces of You and Me”. In this post, I’m sharing a handful of those images—quiet visual portraits made through the things people leave behind, use, cherish, or simply live with.
I photographed almost every day last week, and it felt good. It grounded me again. And now, stepping into this new assignment, I feel ready—present, alert, and curious for what the next images will reveal.
This Week’s Book Read
Father by Diana Markosian presents the photographer’s journey back to another place and another time, as she attempts to piece together an image of a familiar stranger—her long-lost father. Through a compelling blend of documentary photographs, family snapshots, and archival material, she shapes a narrative that is both intimate and universally resonant.
The particular strength of the book lies in its ability to merge documentary realism with poetic storytelling. The result is a quiet, complex meditation on memory, loss, and identity. Markosian explores her father’s absence, her tentative reconciliation with him, and the shared emptiness created by their long estrangement. The photographs—made over the course of a decade in her father’s home in Armenia—probe the fifteen years of separation that began in her childhood.
In this voyage of self-discovery, Markosian touchingly renders her longing for connection with a man she barely remembers, a man who greets her, poignantly, with the question: “Why did it take you so long?” Her images are tender, personal, and deeply felt—quiet observations that speak loudly.
The book itself reinforces this intimacy. Wrapped in a red velvet cover, it feels both personal and elegant from the moment you hold it. The endpapers carry a pattern often found in Soviet-era wallpaper, subtly evoking the settings of the artist’s early life. Photographs are interwoven with short texts by Markosian, guiding the reader gently through the narrative.
With Father, Markosian translates deeply personal experiences into themes that resonate far beyond her own family. The book becomes not only a portrait of a lost relationship, but also an exploration of the universal human longing for connection, reconciliation, and understanding.
The book is published by Aperture.
For your information: If you decide to buy the book [through this Amazon link], I’ll receive a small commission. It doesn’t cost you anything extra, but it helps support the blog.
In Flow with Otto 