Hunting for Pictures with Lukas Wassmann

Charlotte Fischli: Your photographs feel spontaneous, unforced, almost accidental. How much planning does it take for that kind of lightness to happen?
Lukas Wassmann: I always try to approach a project as naively as possible, and leave as much room as I can for the unexpected. When I’m photographing people, I’ve made a habit of approaching them with the simplest possible technical setup: minimal equipment, no four assistants standing around. And no matter how well known someone is, the best thing is if you show yourself the way you actually are, too.

In your pictures, things often collide that you wouldn’t expect to see together: models on cows, dogs in wheelbarrows, sunglasses on animals’ heads. Where does concept end for you, and where does chance take over?
That depends on the job. If I have to photograph ten handbags, I need a plan for how to connect the product and the props. My training as a carpenter, and my affinity for craft, definitely help there. But fundamentally, I’m always looking for opposites that attract.

What carried over from your time as a carpenter into your photography, into the way you see, your working method, your relationship to material and space?
A great deal. I assisted for a long time and picked up various techniques along the way. One of the first photographers I worked for, in Milan, always used to say: “First you have to understand the rules, then you can break them.” I still apply that principle today. I know the craft, I know what it takes for an image to be sharp and have enough light. But as with carpentry, it’s also about improvising with that knowledge: if you get to a building site and don’t know what’s behind a wall, you take a board off, take a look, and find a solution with the skills you have.

What’s your most important personal skill when you’re photographing people?
Engaging with people and working together with them. Sure, I need a certain amount of dominance to get a good picture. But I also try to let people be who they are. What I’ve learned over the years is the ability to photograph any kind of person: from the simplest people to those who think of themselves as special.

Do you know, in the moment you press the shutter, that you’ve got a good picture?
Two-thirds of the time, yes.

When watching you photograph, it’s noticeable how fast and intuitive you work. You press the shutter only a few times, then move on to something new.
That’s exactly what photography means to me. There’s nothing more exhausting to me than spending an entire day working on a single image. I’d rather shoot twenty.

Your visual language lives off the unpredictable. Is that also a challenge?
Not knowing what’s coming next is a challenge very few people can handle. The weather, the light, the person, there are so many unpredictable factors that come together in a single image. That uncertainty is exactly what fascinates me, but it’s also the difficulty: getting something good out of whatever you encounter.

What image comes to mind when you think of the Engadin?
Piz Mezzaun. The mountain sits across from Zuoz, where my wife’s family owns an apartment and where we spend a lot of our time. That’s the mountain I see most often.

What makes up the magic of the region for you?
The incredibly beautiful landscape, the quiet, the altitude. Our apartment here sits at 1,700 metres. The nature, the architecture, the people. I always go to the same baker and chat with him for a bit. And there are a few good restaurants I really appreciate. The glamorous side of the Engadin, I only deal with professionally. Personally, that part doesn’t interest me.

But professionally, you keep diving back into that world. How do you hold on to your own perspective while doing that?
By keeping a good distance. I love great design and good food, and I have a fascination for beautiful things, but my life revolves around my family, sport, hiking, and hunting. I love immersing myself in that world for a job, staying in a fancy hotel. I can really enjoy those moments. But I don’t miss anything at all once I step back out.

Speaking of hunting, what first drew you to it, and what fascinates you about it?
I used to fish a lot, and at some point, I wanted a dog to keep me company. Through some research, I came across the Munsterlander breed: its temperament was described as noble, it’s athletic, not too small, and very attached to its handler. That appealed to me. So, I decided to commit to it, but the breeder’s condition was that I take the hunting exam. My first dog, Gusti, and I basically did it together. He and I went a long way together, I photographed him and kept weaving him into my work. Gusti lived to 14.

Why did hunting stick with you, and how much space does it take up in your life today?
Hunting is like a virus. It pulls you in. After my exam, I got to train in a hunting ground near my home, and afterwards I was accepted as a leaseholder. A second hunting ground followed later, then the game-warden exam. By now I’m the chairman of a hunting ground, a game warden, and sit on the examination board. These days, it takes up about one to two days a week.

Hunting is a lot about waiting and patience, while photography happens fast and intuitively. Do you see parallels in the way you work?
Hunting has an active side too, of course, stalking, for instance, where you approach the animal very slowly. There too, it’s about observing closely, staying focused, and making a decision at exactly the right moment. With the classic sit-and-wait approach, patience comes into it as well: you sit in the high seat and wait. I don’t think you can really compare the moment of the kill to pressing the shutter, but the concentration and calm it takes are similar.

Is calm something that comes more easily later in life?
For me, yes. I used to be much more hot-headed and rebellious. I’ve never stood as firmly in life as I do now, at 45.

Do you feel at home quickly in a new place?
Yes. I settle into new things very easily. I always loved travelling, I first went through Greece alone at around 16. I love immersing myself in new environments, letting myself be surprised, finding solutions. That said, I wouldn’t need to move to Berlin today. But go for three days? Any time.

Do you know what it feels like to be uncomfortable in your own skin?
Yes, definitely, especially from earlier on, when I’d feel real insecurity and extreme pressure on big jobs with important clients. Over the years, you learn not to take yourself so seriously, and just be who you are. A picture is about so much more than just yourself. The most important thing is that you genuinely enjoy what you do, and do it well. Modesty, and a certain distance from yourself, help too.

Do you connect that attitude to your Swiss roots?
Of course. And my parents’ upbringing shaped me the same way. They pushed me and encouraged my ambition, but they also always made sure things didn’t go to my head.

The search for the perfect image is more universal and omnipresent today than ever. How has the meaning of photography changed for you over your career?
I still find a good picture something fantastic today. Taking one yourself, or realising afterwards that you’ve captured a moment or a feeling perfectly, that’s the best thing there is for me. I think a lot of people forget exactly that today: that it’s really about that one moment that counts, not some long, meaningless situation. For me, photography has to move fast: you have to be able to step outside, recognise the moment, and press the shutter.