Julian Slagman

Julian Slagman is a photographer currently working between Malmö (SE) and Hamburg (DE). His work centers on the significance of paying attention to the act of seeing. He publishes books, photographic reactions, image studies and texts on an ongoing basis and at irregular intervals.

ISBN 978-87-973526-9-4

Looking at My Brother

published by Disko Bay
Embossed printed hardcover
17 × 22,7 cm
120 pages
68 b&w and color images
Text by Linda Baumgartner translated by Jennifer Russell
Edition of 750
Published 10th of May 2024
Design: Louis Montes

Prague, 2012

Hahnemühle Photo Rag Baryta,
mounted, signed & dated
Maple Frame, Artglass AR 70 Antireflex
Frame Size 300x400mm
Image Size 200x300mm

Copenhagen, 2024

Jonah looking at me, wearing a silver suit
Hamburg, 2016

Granta Magazine 161
Sister & Brother
Text by Alice Hattrick

Vergissmeinnicht

Haus der Fotografie, Deichtorhallen Hamburg, 2017

Archival Pigments Prints in various formats, silver gelatine prints, glass, aluminum plates, broken focussing screens, calendars, glassbox, suitcase puzzle, spirit level, pencil drawings, drill holes, hammer, pliers, paper scraps, tape, folder, fishing line, blue children's chair, spider paper, cutter, nails, packaging, archival cardboard, glue

Looking at My Brother
written by Res

For many of us born at the end of the 20th century, we learned something about photography from our family photo albums. Through the photographs we became a family, we saw what we aspired to, what moments were worth remembering and recording, and what the passing of time looks like. The camera was taken out with the good silverware, at the big game, with the diplomas and the travelers checks, its presence wasn’t uncommon, but it wasn’t casual. We focused on what we were seeing, not necessarily aware of how we were seeing and who was doing the seeing, “Once the picture was made, the photographer disappeared, to be replaced by the viewer,” we saw a family telling itself the story of itself.

What Julian Slagman saw in his family albums was a little different in that he could see what the photographs couldn’t show. He explains, “both of my grandparents were photographers … when my grandmother accompanied my granddad on his trips through Germany, she would photograph him, focusing on him disappearing underneath the cloth.” He could see the photographer and the reverence for the act of photographing, and although Julian couldn’t always see what they were seeing, he inherited their deep dedication and love for looking and acknowledges the sharing of this role as foundational to his practice, stating “Their intimate relation, that they found through photography was perhaps what made me look at my brothers in a similar way.”

Julian was born in 1993 in Hamburg, Germany. Years later, after his mother remarried, his brother Mats was born in 2004 and the youngest Jonah in 2008. Julian was 15 years old when he began photographing and reflects, “I found myself in a great situation, of being a teenager, witnessing how a little boy is being brought up and raised in our society, while I was myself kind of still in that process too. The camera made me learn a lot about growing up.” We can see Julian coming of age behind the lens as he tries on different photographic approaches and experiments with different cameras as most teenagers do with styles of clothing or genres of music. As Julian ripens, we follow these boys blooming over the nearly 15 years of photographing, resulting in a collection of images that holds together and distills the wild, unpredictable, and often divergent processes of three evolving individuals circling each other as they move through time. Looking at my brothers, is a dedication to Mats and Jonah, as Julian asks both them and us, “to understand our vulnerability in relation to time.”

1 Peter Galassi, Pleasures and Terrors of Domestic Comfort, The Museum of Modern Art: Distributed by H.N. Abrams, 1991, p. 7

2 All quotes from a series of conversations held between Res and Julian Slagman in the spring of 2023 in Gothenburg, Sweden.

3 Konica Hexar AF, Leica M6, Leica M9, Leica S007, Sony Alpha 7r III, Fuji X100, Mamiya 7 II, Fuji GFX SII, Nikon FE2, Yashica Electro 35, Canon 5D M2, Fuji X-Pro 3, Rolleiflex 2.8F

The Child of a Moment ago Enters Without a Word
Röda Sten Konsthall, Gothenburg, 2023
Slide projection (2011-2022), anodised aluminium plates, welded metal construction, Inkjet prints

Sandkörner, Linda Baumgartner
Wisst ihr noch, wie wir aus dem Waldgeflecht eine archaische Welt zogen? Wir liefen über die Wirbelsäule ausgestorbener Reptilien, verkauften den Geistern ein Gesicht aus Flechten und Moos und zupften Libellenskelette aus dem Wolfsfell. Wir waren weich wie Weinbergschnecken, amorph wie Amöben und hatten wilde Stellen im Herz. Wisst ihr noch, wie wir im Haus der Moderne gegen die sterilen Träume revoltierten? Aus den Schwarz-Weiß-Bildern lehnten städtische Händler und elegante Damen, die durch Türen aus feinstem venezianischem Glas schritten und in der Hinterwelt, auf dem schwebenden Perserteppich, Walzer und Tango tanzten. Wisst ihr noch, wie wir Planeten aus Sand formten und Städte aus Lakritze bauten? Wir ließen Figuren unter die Haut ziehen, wurden Könige mit Insekten im Gesicht, mächtige Kalifen mit roten Lippen und Netzstrümpfen und rebellische Nixen mit Augen aus grünen Edelsteinen. Weißt du noch, wie du mir von deiner Welt hinter den Augen erzähltest? Von Zebrafaltern und Wildschweinen? Die Sonne schmolz auf deiner Stirn, ein Schatten holte uns auf den Boden und vernetzte uns mit Meridianen. Spürst du noch das Gras zwischen den Fingern, den kühlen Mond, der in das Zwielicht der Erde wanderte? Die Augustnächte fächerten sich auf, legten ein zartschimmerndes Lichtband aus. Wir leuchteten in verschiedenen Farben, vernähten die Risse im Himmel und bedecken ihn mit Azur, Cyan und Nachtblau. Du bist ein Jäger, der durch das Regime der Lücke schleicht, auf der Suche nach Möglichkeiten, Zeichen und durchlässigen Zonen. Du schälst Dimensionen aus der Materie und verschwindest in den Raumtiefen der Sternbilder. Wir ziehen aus den Haaren des Himmels eine glatte Oberfläche und legen sie in die blaue Ferne. Ist der Abstand groß genug, wechselt der Körper die Gestalt: Wir schweifen über die symbolische Haut, zählen die Muttermale, die euch gewachsen sind, mustern die Körper, die sich in Punkten auflösen und das Gewicht verlieren. Bis zu welchem Punkt müssen wir gehen, damit wir unsichtbar werden? Sagt, bis zu welchem Punkt müssen wir gehen, und was nehmen wir mit?