From the moment I picked it up, the seamless dance between German and English text, a subtle yet powerful statement of inclusivity and intellectual reach, at once captivated me. It felt like stepping into a conversation, rather than simply reading a detached analysis, and as someone who often looks for those direct, human connections in my own work, this truly resonated. This issue, with its extensive focus on Berlin, peeled back layers of a city I feel I know, yet constantly discover anew, much like the winding paths I explore in my own ongoing project documenting the graveyards and resting places of Aberdeen. Both are places steeped in history, scarred by time, and pulsating with untold stories.

The opening essays on Berlin, particularly Christoph Tannert’s “Berlin is Indescribable,” set a magnificent stage. His chronicle of the city, from the rubble of post-war devastation to its current state as a super internationalist hub, a place “constantly challenged to reinvent itself,” struck a visceral chord. I found myself thinking about the impermanence of things, a theme that surfaces time and again in my own reflections on memory and identity. The idea that Berlin has “normalized” yet still keeps its “studio commissioner,” an office battling gentrification to keep art accessible, speaks to a deeply ingrained artistic spirit that many cities, including my own, could learn from. This tension between transformation and preservation, between the relentless march of development and the fierce desire to protect creative freedom, is a powerful undercurrent throughout the entire Berlin section.

The photographic explorations of Berlin itself are a masterclass in diverse perspectives. Helmut Newton’s “Berlin, Berlin,” with its blend of fashion, portraiture, and historical documentation, showed his ability to infuse commercial work with a deeper narrative, capturing the city’s evolving identity. I was particularly intrigued by his staged, “confusingly ambivalent images,” where a fashion shot became a travel photo, or a portrait at the open Wall transformed into a historical document. This speaks to the fluid nature of photography itself, how a single image can carry multiple truths and intentions.

Then there is Barbara Wolff’s “Metropolis, Berlin,” which at once drew me in with her intention to “create images that go beyond the documentary moment and reveal several levels of life.” Her focus on “subjective views of contemporary Berlin that tell of the people living here in their urban environment” echoes my own desire to move beyond mere factual recording in my current project. Her black and white approach, a “reminiscence of Fritz Lang’s classic Metropolis,” creates a timeless quality, allowing the viewer to experience the city emotionally, which is precisely the kind of visceral connection I strive for.

Michael Ruetz’s “Timescapes” offered a truly philosophical proposition. His concept of visualising the “passage of time through photography” by revisiting the same locations over nearly six decades, keeping a fixed viewpoint, is simply breathtaking. The idea that “within this fixed frame, the changes in what is photographed are due solely to the passage of time” is a powerful meditation on impermanence and the relentless flow of life. His meticulous records of every technical detail, from cameras and lenses to films and settings, prove an incredible dedication to craft and process, elevating his work to a scientific yet deeply artistic endeavour.

The raw energy of Berlin’s constant transformation is captured with an unflinching gaze in Robert Herrmann’s “Berlin bald fertig” (Berlin soon finished). His direct challenge to Karl Scheffler’s century old proclamation — “Berlin is damned forever to become and never to be” — with his own “Berlin will soon be finished!” is wonderfully defiant. His photographs of construction sites, both current and completed, are not merely records of urban development, they are portraits of a city grappling with its own identity, filling in the gaps of its past.

Thomas Florschuetz’s “Opera” series, taken within the Komische Oper Berlin during its extensive renovation, presented an exquisite exploration of architectural forms and the tension between past and present. His focus on “ruptures that occur within the building(s)” and the clash of Wilhelminism and GDR modernism is a poignant visual metaphor for Berlin itself. The idea of the Great Hall, a neo-baroque time capsule sealed within the new, is a truly evocative concept, speaking to how history is often hidden within the very fabric of our contemporary spaces. It is a soul settling way of seeing, an invitation to look deeper.

Andreas Gehrke’s “Berlin” series, six years in the making, offered a more detached, “factual, documentary photography” approach, yet it revealed a profound aesthetic identity. His focus on “traces and evidence of human intervention and the structures created by human hands” resonated with my own interest in the quiet echoes of lives lived, even when people themselves are absent from the frame. This cool, distant view paradoxically brought me closer to the unseen narratives embedded in the urban landscape.

The raw and vital pulse of Berlin’s queer community and rave culture was brought to life through Spyros Rennt’s “Intertwined.” His honest, unvarnished voice, photographing from within the community, is utterly compelling. His images, “personal, sometimes tender, sometimes raw, often ironic,” make the invisible visible, serving as a crucial contribution to “current emancipatory struggles.” His dedication to chronicling his life for future generations, taking his camera into both public and private spaces, is a powerful act of bearing witness, a profound testament to the human need for authentic self-expression.

And then, Rafael Medina’s “Double Vision” completely blew me away with its ingenious use of double exposure to depict nightlife from the perspective of a person dancing. His challenge to shoot analogue without flash, aiming for “blur and haziness” to capture the “diffuse image” of memories from a club, is an artistic stroke of genius. What truly struck me, however, was his embrace of “mistakes.” His first upset at a double exposed film transforming into an appreciation for the “power of these unplanned images” resonated deeply. It’s a powerful reminder that sometimes, letting go of control and allowing “chance and the unexpected to happen” can lead to truly innovative and authentic creative breakthroughs.

The latter part of the magazine delved into the profound shifts occurring within photography, particularly with the advent of Artificial Intelligence. Lev Manovich’s concept of a “Generative Museum,” an “infinite museum filled with endless AI generated images,” is a truly mind bending idea. The thought of exploring “alternative art histories” or “hypothetical collaborations” between artists through AI generated works opens up exhilarating new possibilities for understanding art and creativity. While there are undeniable complexities and ethical considerations surrounding AI in art, Manovich frames it not as an end, but as an evolution, building upon Malraux’s original “museum without walls” concept.

However, the warnings woven into the discussion were equally important. Clément Lambelet’s “The Mathematics of Regression,” examining racism in today’s technologies by exposing how databases of mugshots “reflect the systemic racism of the American justice system,” was a gut punch. His creation of “perfect algorithmic suspects” through the anonymisation and merging of these biased portraits is a chilling, unflinching look at the dangers of normalising prejudice through technology. It is a powerful call to break that “vicious circle” of socially embedded biases being reinforced by AI.

Andreas Müller-Pohle’s “Niépce Recoded” offered a fascinating intellectual journey, tracing the metamorphosis of photography’s archetype, Niépce’s 1827 View from the Study, through Gernsheim’s reproduction, his own Digital Scores, and now, Midjourney’s AI interpretations. This idea of photography constantly transforming, moving from analogue image to digital text to AI generated image, highlights the medium’s relentless evolution. And Ben Millar Cole’s “One Horse Landed,” where he explores AI as a “creative collaborator and playmate,” taking machine generated phrases from BBC sound effect titles and feeding them into Midjourney, is wonderfully whimsical and surreal. His work reframes AI not as a “dark and inevitable end time for art,” but as a “vehicle for wonder, wit, and surrealism,” a tool to interrogate the boundaries of artistic expression. This optimistic yet critical perspective is vital as we navigate these uncharted waters, and I am going to be reviewing this book myself in the coming weeks.

The comprehensive Berlin Photo Guide, listing galleries, institutions, bookstores, schools, and services, is an invaluable resource, showcasing the sheer density of creative energy in the city. The closing essay by Boris von Brauchitsch, acknowledging the “continuous downward trend” of Berlin as a creative location due to rising costs and gentrification, struck a melancholic chord. The stories of once thriving artistic spaces being replaced by monstrous Apple stores are a grim reminder of the relentless pressures faced by artists in global cities. Yet, his assertion that “real Berliners are tough. They don’t let themselves get beaten down,” and the continued existence of institutions like the Museum für Fotografie, offer a powerful glimmer of hope, a testament to the enduring spirit of classic photography.

Ultimately, European Photography 116 is more than just a magazine, it is a profound journey through the past, present, and possible futures of photography. It is a testament to the resilient spirit of artists navigating an ever changing world, from the human stories etched into urban landscapes to the philosophical questions posed by artificial intelligence. This issue has left me with a renewed sense of purpose and an even deeper appreciation for the boundless possibilities of the photographic medium. It is an intellectual feast, a visual spectacle, and a powerful call to keep looking, keep questioning, and keep creating.

Regards

Alex