Before we start, tell us about yourself.

I am originally from Germany, but Japan has been my home base since 1972. When I was 5 years old, in 1955, my father bought a used Agfa Clack and encouraged me to use it. The Agfa Clack was a popular German-made medium format box camera, produced from 1954 to 1965. It produced 8 images in 6x9 cm format on 120 roll film and had a 95mm single-element lens. The camera got its name from its distinct “clack" shutter sound and had two apertures: f/16 for sunny and f/11 for cloudy. The shutter speed was 1/30. The large 6x9 negatives produced surprisingly good images but film and processing were expensive and I could use it only sparingly.

At 14 I got my first “serious” camera: a Kodak Instamatic 500 with Schneider lens and Compur shutter, with which I shot a lot of slide film. From the age of 16 I knew I wanted to be a professional photographer and took a course in B&W processing. After completing the baccalaureate, I studied photography at the Munich Academy of Photography for two years, from 1970, graduating in 1972.

For about three years from 1984 I also worked in video production — first employed as a cameraman at a production company making MTV-style videos of Japanese pop stars for LaserDisc and Japanese TV. The camera I trained on and used was the Ikegami EC-35, the world’s first electronic cinematography camera. Later I worked as a freelance video producer and cameraman, but realized I preferred still photography. Working with high-end video and digital gear as early as 1984 was crucial: I recognized very early that eventually everything would go digital and was prepared for the transition — though I thought it would take much longer, having noticed the flaws of electronic imaging even in equipment worth millions of dollars.

In the 1990s I worked mainly as an editorial photographer and photojournalist, but around 2000 the market for this kind of work dried up. Many magazines disappeared, day rates dropped below what they were in 1975 — not even accounting for inflation. At the same time, the transition from film to digital was difficult for most “old school” photographers: professional gear was exorbitantly priced, and the software learning curve was steep. Many of my colleagues, including some of the most accomplished, found themselves out of work and gave up. Today I work mainly in the corporate and industrial field, and in recent years have added medical and scientific photography.

I also produce two or three larger editorial projects a year — though considering the time invested, editorial pay is negligible and it is impossible to survive on photography alone in this field. In addition I work on books and calendars. The German edition of my coffee-table book JAPAN has been selling surprisingly well, and the French edition published by National Geographic has been reprinted twice. At the moment I am working on a book project called “Sacred Japan.”

At what point in your career did you turn professional?

That depends on how you define ‘professional’. From a technical and educational perspective, I was a trained professional after graduating in 1972 from the then well-known Munich Academy of Photography. The training was thorough and comprehensive: portrait, studio still life, product photography, advertising, architecture, journalism, landscape and fashion. In addition to B&W and color processing, lectures on optics and film chemistry—we were trained in complex lighting set-ups with high power studio strobes.

In the first year we were only allowed to use large format view cameras for school projects, because using a view camera is the best exercise if you really want to learn how photography works at the most basic level—how optics produces an image on film or now an image sensor.

Due to a personal tragedy I sold all my equipment after graduation and moved to Japan. There I was trained and worked as a German language teacher, but finally in 1982 I bought a Nikon FM with some lenses and started from scratch. In 1984, while still teaching, I had an exceptionally successful photo exhibition. After that I started doing more and more editorial assignments, initially mainly for inflight magazines.

In 1991 I was assigned a story on Toyota that ended up as a 12-page photo spread in the German magazine Stern. At that time it was one of the few principal outlets left in the world for photojournalism. After the Toyota story was published I was contacted by several major photo agencies that offered regular assignments and international distribution. 

Since then I have considered myself a truly professional photographer. Substantial projects followed in Japan, central Africa, Australia, and the USA for renowned Japanese, European and US magazines.

What’s your favorite subject matter that you’re not famous for?

That would probably be my extensive work on tall ships. Working on tall ships is an entirely different game. My experience of working an eight-month stint in high steel construction in my late 20s was most useful for this project. Photographer Frank Hurley, who accompanied Shackleton to the Antarctic and went up the rigging with a view camera, is one of my heroes.

Looking back, what do you think of your own early work?

Schizophrenic. Very personal, but not me anymore. In 1968, when I was 18, I bought a Canon FT, for which I worked on an auto parts production line during school holidays. From then on, until my graduation at the photo academy, I was almost exclusively a B&W photographer. I produced more and more stark and bleak portraits. Depressing stuff really, but some people think it is my best or at least most intense work and that afterwards I only produced eye candy.

In the summer holidays of 1971 I also crossed the Sahara on a local truck loaded with 400 propane gas bottles. I had in mind to shoot landscapes and to visit and document the life of the Tuaregs in the south of Algeria in a similar dark B&W style. It didn’t go as planned; everything about it was wrong, the season, my outfit, my equipment, my presumptions and my preparations. But after walking over 100km to and around the Hoggar Massif in the central Sahara I met the Tuaregs. It was a life-changing encounter and journey, and the mistakes made then distilled the blueprint for further quests. It also cemented my lifelong interest and affinity for ethnic minorities, especially nomadic people.

Since my ‘second start’ in 1982 I work almost exclusively in color.

For over a decade I pursued what you could call extremist observational anthropology — choosing to document all-male and all-female environments. Sophisticated Kyoto geisha and the extravagant women-only Takarazuka Revue on one side; rugged and tough long-distance truck drivers in Japan and Australia on the other. A group of women fighting erosive dunes in northern Japan set against men laboring in harsh industrial environments. Life in places without water — the deserts of North Africa and Australia — contrasted with life amid an abundance of it: Borneo, the Congo Basin, the Rwenzori Mountains in Uganda. My favorite environments remain the desert and the jungle. Both are brutal on the body and on equipment — but most fascinating to me for the strategies of people who survive in those habitats and the beauty, the spirit and sensory experience of the ambience.

As for the male-female division: Women in the industrialized world have entered boardrooms and assumed political power, but the dangerous, dirty, and physically brutal work remains entirely male. Whereas in most agricultural societies in the so-called Third World, the burden of subsistence falls overwhelmingly on women while men perform the theater of authority. In central Africa and Southeast Asia, where I have worked and watched, women do most of the physical labor — tending the fields, hauling water from a distant well or river, preparing food, even working in road construction — while bearing and educating children and holding families together, as men palaver, preach, lecture, posture, hang out, get drunk, or worst of all make wars over dominance. This may be a provocative truncated viewpoint lacking complexity, but it's based on what I've observed—not heard in a university lecture.

What’s something you’ve learned that your teachers/mentors didn’t show you?

Finding my own personal style and vision. All the non-technical aspects of professional photography, such as internationally common procedures for negotiation and deal with international clients. Dealing with my ‘victims’ in front of the camera and making them feel comfortable.

Describe the worst photo shoot you’ve done that satisfied you the most.

During a 10-week photo production on Australian road trains, criss-crossing the Outback with truckies, I caught a nasty tropical disease that crippled me for two years. The conditions during shooting were very harsh indeed. Working in the Simpson Desert, one of the driest places on earth, was a real pain—being covered by aggressive bush flies from dawn to dusk, the heat, the dust.

The story, for which I also did the interviews, was published in various magazines in Europe and elsewhere. It was done in 1993, but I think the photographs stand the test of time. And I know of nobody who approached the subject that comprehensively - from the ground, from inside the trucks, and from the air (Cessna). There were many other ‘worst’ assignments for different reasons, but without that much final satisfaction.

Describe your fondest memory.

Can’t think of a ‘fondest’ memory. I don’t do photography because I want to, but because I am obsessed and I need to. Cursed if you want to interpret it that way (laughs). If I thought about it primarily as a business to make money, I would certainly get another job. I have no kids, don’t own a house or an apartment, have no assets and never could afford a brand new car. All my resources, all my energy flow into photography. I am happiest with a camera, shooting, and wouldn’t - couldn’t - change this for another job.

The ‘How-on-earth-did-I-get-here’ is the whole point. All the places I have been, most of the people I have met, the experiences I have had, are all in one way or another related to photography. I follow my cameras. Most of the things I have done, most of what I have seen, would have been impossible without looking through the glass eye.

What’s your worst “protecting your gear” or “protecting yourself” moment?

Too many to count or select the worst. If you live by the premise “exposure through exposure”, then you are exposed to shit all the time. Despite trips to really dangerous places in central Africa and elsewhere, I never had anything stolen. Amazing, really. But plenty of damage to the body—not the camera’s, but my own.

Because my favorite places, the desert and the rainforest, also happen to be really bad for cameras and electronics, you have to go prepared. Sand or rain are the most obvious hazards. Heat used to be the biggest headache in times of film because film is organic and in those remote locations there’s no electricity and thus no refrigeration. With digital, water, rain and humidity are the bigger problem. My first brand-new digital camera died in a tropical downpour in Borneo in 2005 after two hours in the beginning of a three-week exploration up-river into the interior. Luckily my main cameras were still analog and I carried plenty of film.

I tumbled twice while coming down high-altitude mountains. In 1993 I fell down a steep slope in the Rwenzori mountains in Africa and crashed onto my shoulder while protecting my camera. It damaged the ligaments for life and is still painful. Bad things happen always on the way down when one is exhausted and euphoric. Ten years later, descending from Mt Kinabalu, the highest mountain in South-East Asia, I tripped downward and crashed head-first into a large rock which fortunately terminated my fall. I had instinctively protected my head with my arm, but the consequences were a ripped ear, a concussion, a hairline fracture in my lower arm and a broken rib. I managed to get down by myself but work was impeded.

Besides the hazards to body and equipment, another exasperation for exploration photographers — who are a dying breed — is dealing with editors who have no idea of the political and environmental conditions on the ground  in far-away lands and the logistics involved in carrying professional equipment on planes, across borders and into hazardous and/or hostile territory. Professional cameras attract attention, and you become a target for thieves, or worse, people with guns. It is not by chance that almost all journalists killed each year are photographers, filmmakers and their sound recordists.

Writers, studio and parlor photographers may rewrite or reshoot in controlled environments, free from weather, environmental hazards and antagonistic outsiders, while photographers working in precarious, harsh and unpredictable conditions usually have only a one-time chance. Never mind the enormous costs of insurance premiums on gear and body. The work is not only expected to be done in the time constraints of a paid assignment but performed in real time: things happen in split seconds. The photographer reacts instantly, assesses the situation in a fraction of a second and has to produce a finished result without the possibility of correction or re-take. The delivery is expected under any circumstances and on call. This is fundamentally different from any other job in journalism or photography in controlled environments or photo taking for leisure on sunny days. Writers make notes, assess them at home, make an outline and can rewrite a dozen times. The different consciousness shapes different personalities and lifestyles.

What’s your oldest camera?

My first camera was an Agfa clack which my father let me use when I was five years old. I don’t have it anymore, but on top is one of my first photos with the Agfa Clack, a photo of my parents. The oldest camera I own and use is a Sinar f2 view camera with an assortment of Schneider lenses.

Most people don’t realize that view cameras have basically not changed in over 150 years and are still commonly used today in architecture, advertising, and landscape photography. Today, instead of film holders for sheet film, you just use a digital back. A digital back for a view camera costs around US$20-30,000, so for the Sinar I still use film or rent a digital back. I have not used the Sinar recently, but for a serious architecture assignment it is a must.

What percentage of your images are keepers?

This seems to be a favorite question by journos who interview me about my work and who think it is an important factor. It makes me cranky (laughs) because it implies that you always shoot thousands of frames to get that one shot. So here is the short answer: as many as necessary.The long answer: it entirely depends on your tools, your subject and your experience.

When I do architecture with a view camera and work with sheet film, I fill 30 holders (each holder takes two sheets of 9 x12cm film) - 60 sheets - which often is enough for a day. Setting up a shot takes 20-30 minutes, everything is very disciplined and deliberate. One always does a test exposure with Polaroids first. Sheet film and its processing is expensive, every missed shot hurts. So in this case I would say over 90% are keepers.

If the subject is moving, as in sports, the volume will increase drastically and you will have many more outtakes. If both you and the subject are moving, like on a tall ship, outtakes increase again.

But from my 30 years of festival shooting I can say that keepers increase dramatically with experience. It is a huge factor. When I shoot festivals now, I produce more keepers in two hours than I would in a week when I started with that subject. Experienced wedding photographers will know exactly where to position themselves and are prepared for the crucial moments. You don’t wait for things to happen but anticipate them.

Working closely with some editors and having had the privilege to take part in the planning of story layouts before shooting changed my approach entirely. I am not a ‘collector’ anymore, shooting thousands of frames and editing them down to a few hundred. I envision the story flow and how the photos relate to each other on the pages. I do a huge amount of research to get to know my subjects and locations before I go there. Research is now the most time-consuming and the most important factor in my work. Research also includes weather patterns, which I may watch for months, light fall during certain times of the day, and checking into the background of people featured. Familiarity with your subject is crucial to get good shots. 

A recent story in Barcelona involved one year of preparations for two weeks of shooting. I delivered a selection of 40 final shots for a 12-page feature. Much of it was preconceived and the opener was ‘done’ two months before I arrived on the scene. My usual delivery for a 10-12 pager is 40-80 shots, depending on subject and client. These are the very best, from 30% to up to 70% keepers.

Have you ever regretted missing a shot, why did you miss the shot? 

Sure I have missed shots and not only one—many. Most opportunities are missed because one is not well prepared. Heat, cold and exhaustion affect vigilance. But what I regret most is that I missed shots because of preconceived ideas—when I saw only what I wanted to see. Preconception closes the mind and one can’t see the obvious in front of one’s eyes. These missed shots are the hardest to forgive. 

Since I was born in 1950 the world population has basically tripled, which is not sustainable. Therefore, species and plants vanish at a dramatic rate. Compared to 1976, when I was in Borneo the first time, only a few patches of rainforest are left. Through globalization and changing environments, ethnic tribes, indigenous customs, rituals and ceremonies are on the wane. Whole cultures are disappearing or are getting 'assimilated'. Starbucks everywhere. If I could have anticipated that changes would be this fast and dramatic, I would have shot much more material back then. But my attitude was: hey, I will be back soon and work on it in the future. So in recent years I have made efforts to increase my coverage of subjects—not to be mistaken for quantity of frames—to capture what's still there before it vanishes forever. 

On the other hand, media and cultural gatekeepers are herd animals. Most editors and curators follow the current Zeitgeist. My big story on climate change produced in decidedly hazardous circumstances in central Africa in 1993 over seven months was published in bits and pieces but never as the story about the warming of the planet. No editor, nobody, was interested in this subject then.

Has anyone ever demanded that you destroy photos, or taken your gear?

Yes, in central Africa, but I resisted successfully. In the Philippines I was held at gunpoint in 1975, but I managed to get out of a bad situation without harm. The rule in countries where men with guns are the authority is discretion, strict avoidance of any military garb, no cameras around the neck when not shooting and always walk and talk with a smile. 

Is photography Talent? Or hard Work?

I believe that everybody has some talent. Most people don’t discover their talents and many more don’t do anything about it. Somebody with little talent will still get somewhere with a lot of effort. But if you are especially talented and you don’t pay your dues and you don’t put in the hard work, you won’t get anywhere. Talent is overvalued. Photography like film is foremost a craft and the digital era didn’t change that—on the contrary.

These days people with some talent seem to be desperate to be an ‘artist’. Everybody with a camera is a ‘photographer’. There are millions of them. I find this rather pretentious. Many people own musical instruments, very few are musicians. I avoid being called an artist and would never call my own photographs 'art'. It sounds unprofessional and is bad for business. Nobody in the assignment business ever called me ‘talented’. It’s irrelevant because clients are only interested if I have the ability to do the job. To deliver under any circumstances, rain or shine, makes a professional. Consistency is the main ingredient.

Film vs. digital, your two cents.

I have always loved to photograph in dark places. Probably 70% of my work is at 1/30 of a second or slower, most of it handheld. Once an art director called me a “non-available light photographer”. So when the digital Canon 5D came out I was all smiles. It was incredible. I was shooting on ASA1600 and photos were perfectly usable for a two-page spread! Now, with the 5DIII, all my chains were dropped. After 30 years of shooting slide film, with its narrow margin of error, I was not overly enthusiastic that I got to see the results immediately on a screen. It killed the excitement. When working on projects in remote places over long periods I couldn’t see my work for months, which instilled the thrill of suspense: Did I get it right or not? But the massively increased sensitivity made it finally possible to photograph what I see.

Yet there seems to be a downside to digital, too. I recently had dinner with a respected magazine editor. He is always surrounded by the cream of Japanese photographers, and I have had the privilege of working with him since 1992. He prefers photographers who grew up with film, not those who started with digital. In his opinion, the quality of work and craftsmanship of film-trained photographers is much higher. Can’t really tell myself, but he is an authority. And they say the same in the movie business. It’s the discipline factor.

What do you do when you’re not being a photographer?

As a visual creator by vocation and making it my profession—it never stops. If it does, I get distraught. Exposure is primal. It’s a high risk job in all aspects and not for people with bad nerves who value safety, health, predictability, comfort, stability and family life. If I’m not a photographer I sleep, visit hospitals and doctors who take care of my old, abused and battered hardware.

In the field, mistakes are not academic — not merely embarrassing, but often dangerous or even life-threatening. You pay with your body for bad research, bad decisions, bad preparations; you may die for lack of water, freeze to death, your body cut, your bones broken, be maimed, beaten up or shot at. Or the exposure results in diseases most people only know from hearsay. My life partner once complained that I’m only home for recovery, physically as well as mentally.

This is an extended version of an interview conducted in August 2012 by Steven Spies for his project Questions for Professional Photographers, which he unfortunately abandoned.