In 2008 editor / publisher Beatrice Ottersbach and Thomas Schadt, filmmaker and head of the Film Academy Baden-Würtemberg approached 20 German cinematographers to contribute thoughts and reflections on their work for a book about cinematography. The following text was published in „Kamerabekenntnisse / Confessions of the Camera“:
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From a technical point of view, since its beginning the cinematography of film has by now liberated itself from almost all barriers and restrictions. Film which is more and more light-sensitive, constant improvements to digital video cameras, as well as the continuous development of digital postproduction techniques have created a wealth of technical means and possibilities which allow almost total freedom. How we tell a story is now hardly restricted by any technical considerations at all – and if there are any restrictions they are probably financial. Because of the increasing miniaturisation of technology as well as light-sensitivity – which means less time is taken up with technical issues when filming – enable the industry, engaged in a constant struggle to survive financially in a relentlessly changing media landscape, to work faster and faster.

Film reception has also changed. The audience is now well used to a deconstruction of traditional cinematography and no one is irritated by expressive handheld cameras or fast, jumpy cutting anymore. As a result, the focus on the individual image is fading into the fragment and the impression created by all the footage together only becomes an expression of the filmmaker’s attitude in its montage. This can also be seen as liberation because it allows sheer limitless movement, flexibility, closeness.

But how can we define this closeness? Is it the same thing as intimacy or does it merely describe the physical distance between the camera and its subject? And what effect do we want this closeness to have: is it some kind of proof of authenticity, a kind of realism? Should the individual image dissolve completely and should film simply become a medium for communicating character sketches through dialogue and action? And is the fragmentation of individual images somehow linked to our own perception, which is exposed to a torrent of images every day that we can only perceive partially?

On the other hand, just because there’s a lot of talk, that doesn’t mean more is said. What is real in this sense or rather, is this understanding of naturalism not, as Alain Robbe-Grillet puts it so well in his description of Henri Alekans, “a mixture of ideology and cowardice, which leads to all creativity being neglected for the sake of supposedly reproducing the ‘real’ world”? Are we describing the world as it is, or rather the way we see it? Is there some kind of filmic truth?

For me the camera is an almost unbelievable mystical invention. It connects the present to the past, the moment with memory. It is a bridge between two worlds. It records what happens in front of it, but at the same time reveals the attitude of the person looking through its lens.

In the camera technology and therefore precision, structure and organisation and also emotion, what we believe in and what we know, meet the inexplicable, which materialises in thoughts and feelings.

In this sense it is probably the only technical apparatus which comes close to fulfilling the human desire for a time machine.

In film the camera is the eye of the needle through which the feelings of the protagonists make their way into the hearts and minds of the audience.

The camera must, like the actor, surrender to the moment. It must be prepared to be determined by something else, to submit to the film in every moment and yet to open up emotionally.

It must remain permeable, must never become an aesthetic end in itself, because otherwise it will destroy what is happening in front of it, and it should also be self-aware enough to be the bridge for communication with the audience. It should create an aura of mystery to stimulate curiosity, but at the decisive moment should also demystify this mystery in order to satisfy that curiosity.

If one were to compare the making a film with making music, for me the camera would be like the drum. It creates the rhythm, giving the other musicians a basis from which to explore.

You see with your eye. You feel with your heart. For me, the centre of the image is always the thought of why one looks at something. This can be a person or an object or a space. The moment the camera records, the composition and aesthetic must submit to the feeling if the camera is to pursue this thought fully. The focus can always only be on conscious observation and not just on a carefully composed reproduction of so-called reality. Even when I film a profane object, I try to think of it in the moment I am filming it, to observe its form, to address it in some way. Without attitude an image is nothing but pure aesthetic.

When the feeling heart of the camera beats in the attitude to the people in front of its lens, then light becomes a kind of language, which can be seen with the eye. Of course there are as many types of light in the world as there are unique eyes. There is the light which surrounds us every day which we observe more or less consciously and with awareness, but which also accompanies us in every instance of our lives and defines our mood. In the moment of photography the camera captures this light. Perhaps the way a sailing boat suddenly catches the wind in order to sail.

Of course there are many technical and practical considerations to take into account when thinking about light in film making, which also influence the process of lighting design. Such as the space the actors move in, which needs to be created. Or temporal continuity, which must be maintained or manipulated. So for example showing the passing of time within a scene described in the script by changing the mood of the light. Or even more fundamentally: the change of natural light over the course of a working day, which needs to be compensated for, because the scene being filmed only spans a few minutes, in contrast to the many hours it takes to records them.

This is the purely technical skills required when working with the camera and yet there is something that goes beyond even this. There is a light that I seek out again and again in my work, completely unconsciously, one that always surprises me, a light like a sudden tear in a blanket of clouds in the sky.

The journey there begins of course firstly with discussions with the director and the set designer about the general aesthetic of the film, a kind of starting point, an attempt to get a feel for the visual design of the film.

And then there is the emotional atmosphere of a scene described in the script. Based on these initial discussions I try to create a mood which supports this emotional atmosphere, or perhaps which generates it in the first place or even counteracts it. What is visible, what is invisible, what stays in the dark, what is bright? An important part of the reception of a film is in the emotional energy with which it stimulates the imagination of the person watching it. Light can be used to create spaces in which the eye of the person watching is moved with curiosity or fear, with wonder or with desire.

This does not necessarily require a huge amount of technical effort. Obviously it can involve the complete construction of a studio, where the challenge is to avoid artificiality and too much aestheticisation, but where on the other hand there is the privilege of having total control over the work and the design. But it could also just involve a piece of black material with which one reduces the natural light to increase the contrast, or a reflector which makes the eyes of an actor suddenly start to shine. And it is in this very shine that light begins to transfer feelings.

The English painter Leon Kossoff once wrote in his exchange of letters with the art critic and writer John Berger that for him, light in a painting creates its own presence and that it was impossible for a painter to try to paint light, because it emerges only as result of the particular interaction of the different elements within the picture. He quotes a blind person describing his experience of light, explaining that if people have a feeling of security, if you give them courage, that this creates a kind of light. And Kossoff adds that light therefore occurs when you delve deeper into your relationship with the outside world.

In this sense for me truth is that which brings our thoughts further. This is where I see the heart of the camera, images, whether fast, slow, bright or dark; creating images, which bring our thoughts further.