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As a kid, I always had a camera in my hands. I remember going around and photographing everything I found interesting. Aged 12, I knew I wanted to become a photographer: not just any photographer, but a war photographer. I saw it as the noblest form of photography, one where the photographer is ready to sacrifice everything to report on things that matter. Travelling to places most people would not dare go, to tell stories that would otherwise remain untold. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of the famous photographers from the 70s- 90s, the LIFE magazine and National Geographic photographers.
In my early projects, I worked towards this goal, keeping these standards at the back of my mind. When I started working on documentary projects, I did so by delving into the daily life of Belgian farmers. I would spend a few hours a day with them, photographing their routines while learning about their struggles. Whenever I showed the photographs I had taken, I felt as though I was telling their stories from far away. I tried to fix this by spending more time with the people I was photographing, but even then, that same feeling stayed. At the time, it seemed to me my photographs were just the tip of an iceberg of already existing, similar pictures from similar projects. Suffering and pain, glorified in their aesthetics, which in turn glorify the photographer before telling the stories of those portrayed.
It was during my time at the London College of Communication, where I was studying for a Master’s in Photojournalism and Documentary Photography, that my practice completely changed. Maybe it was when Covid started, and we all had to rethink the way we took pictures, that I realised I wasn’t adding much to the stories I wanted to tell. I could not shake the feeling that whether it was me taking the pictures or someone else, the result would be the same. I questioned whether I was just conforming to the rules of photojournalism, creating predictable images, doing what was expected of me without ever questioning it.
Feeling like I wasn’t helping the people I photographed was the main reason I shifted my focus to the themes of surveillance and technology, which had always interested me. By doing so, I was able to work on a series of projects where, as an artist, I feel more useful. Though I use my camera less these days, for now, I feel I have found a way to express myself better. Someday, I might return fully to my camera, but I no longer dream of being a war photographer as I did when I was younger. That said, I still carry that strong desire to create work that matters, in the hope it can help and drive actual change.
Marcel Top was part of Face-to-Face: Arles Edition 2024.
Check out his Artist Feature Nemo Smith.