„No manipulation. Just presence.“ - Photographer Phil Sharp in conversation with Thomas Berlin

Phil Sharp

Phil is a London-based photographer known for his portraits of quiet intensity. In our in-depth conversation, we explored his unique approach to portraiture, how he connects with the people in front of his camera, his technical process, and much more.

Thomas Berlin: Phil, first of all, thank you for taking the time for this interview. As you know, I consider you one of the most remarkable portrait photographers working today. Your images convey both artistic sensitivity and emotional depth. At the core of your work is, of course, the human being. I believe you create a very distinct atmosphere in your portraits—something that’s definitely worth talking about.

To me, your images often feel like a silent conversation between the photographer, the subject, and perhaps even the viewer. Would you agree with that? Or am I misinterpreting something?

Phil Sharp: I think that’s a fair interpretation. And regarding the viewer I believe you’re referring to The Meeting by Nadav Kander, where he describes this idea of a triangle. The concept is that there’s a triangular relationship between the photographer, the sitter, and the viewer. That triangle is definitely something I think about—perhaps not consciously while I’m photographing, but it’s always present in some way.

When I’m shooting, my focus is entirely on the person in front of me. The viewer—what they might experience or interpret—operates more on a subconscious level. It’s not something I actively consider in the moment, but it becomes part of the image’s life before and after it’s taken.

Thomas Berlin: I agree with Nadav Kander’s triangle theory, and I can imagine that you're not really thinking about the viewer while shooting. But sometimes, when I look at your images, it feels as though the viewer is included—as if they’re part of the scene.

What do you think makes certain images so special that the viewer feels truly involved?

Phil Sharp: What I try to do is help my sitters understand that, if they’ve agreed to be photographed, they’ve also agreed to be truly seen. Of course, they know they’re in front of a camera—but there’s a psychological difference when you say to someone: You don’t need to perform or pretend. Just be present.

I think one reason people connect with my photographs is because they simply acknowledge the human being in front of the lens. There’s something primal about that—something deep in the brain, a kind of caveman instinct, where you're just seeing another person for who they are.

Thomas Berlin: How does it work?

Phil Sharp:  Ideally, the image creates a connection. It also cuts through much of the noise in contemporary photography—especially the kind shaped by advertising, where people are expected to look happy, sexy, or polished. My portraits, I like to think, operate on a slightly more timeless level. They’re not trying to sell anything. They’re not trying to be anything else. And maybe that’s why they feel a bit outside the usual aesthetic.

I’m not trying to make my sitters look like something in particular—I just try to let them be. And maybe that’s what gives the viewer a way in. There’s no manipulation. Just presence.

Thomas Berlin: You often photograph actors. Could it be that this plays a role in how they relate to the camera?

Phil Sharp: Yes, definitely. But I think we’re all playing roles all the time. What I’ve learned from working with actors is that good actors understand that, while they may play different roles—a police officer today, a judge tomorrow—the core of who they are doesn’t change. Their sense of self remains intact.

When I’m photographing an actor, I often notice that, in the beginning, they bring a certain performance energy into the shoot—maybe drawing on characters they’ve played before, or a version of themselves they think they should present. But then something interesting happens: at some point, that performance begins to fade. They stop trying to do something, and just are. That’s the moment I look for.

Thomas Berlin: We’re all playing roles, of course. Even just this morning—when you rushed out the door with your daughter—you were playing the role of a father. And later, when you meet a client, you’ll slip into another role.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just part of being human. But it’s also why I think it can be dangerous—or at least overly simplistic—when people say things like, Just be yourself. That sounds easy, but in reality, it’s incredibly difficult. Most of us spend a lifetime trying to figure out what that even means.

What I try to do in my studio is to create an environment—hopefully with a certain calmness and trust—where people can let go of that pressure to perform. Actors, of course, bring their craft into the room. Their tools are their body and their emotions. But when they allow themselves to be seen—not as a character, but as a person—that’s when something real happens in front of the camera.

Thomas Berlin: Allowing yourself to be seen—that’s a beautiful explanation.

Phil Sharp: Yes, and actors in particular really understand that kind of language. But it’s not just actors—I find that many people get it instinctively. There's a kind of true relaxation that can occur when they realize: You can’t really do this wrong. Like, say someone sits down in front of the camera and starts giggling a bit or feels a little awkward—that’s fine. There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to be in front of the camera. That moment of letting go opens the door to something more honest.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence.

Thomas Berlin: So you allow your sitters not to pose but to be truly seen as indivituals. But when I look at your images, I also recognize a clear visual style. I feel like I can identify a Phil Sharp portrait among others. Would you say there’s an overarching idea or intention behind your work that gives it this signature style?

Phil Sharp: Well, there are some technical things, of course—certain lenses, cameras, lighting choices—that help create consistency. But on a more meaningful level, I think it goes deeper than that.

There’s a quote—I can’t remember where it’s from—that says all portraits are, in a way, portraits of the artist himself. And I think that’s true. When I photograph someone, I’m looking for a moment that resonates with me. There’s this kind of wavelength I’m trying to find—like I’m tuning into who they are, and hoping we meet somewhere in the middle.

When that connection happens, there’s a moment where it all aligns. And the resulting image—the portrait—is the product of that shared space. Of course, for each photographer, that moment might look different. What I respond to might not be what someone else is drawn to. But I think that’s exactly what gives a photograph its voice.

Thomas Berlin: You seem to consistently find similar emotional moments. What’s behind that?

Phil Sharp: Yeah, I think part of it is that I usually shoot in my studio, so it's a fairly controlled environment. I often play music, which helps set a mood. But it’s not really about controlling how people look. I’m honestly not that interested in appearances—at least not in a traditional, surface-level way.

What matters to me is whether I can elicit the right feeling from someone—and whether they’re able to stay in that feeling long enough for something genuine to emerge. Sometimes it all just comes together: the light, the atmosphere, what they’re wearing, their mood—it aligns. That’s when something real happens. Of course, there are technical factors too—certain lenses I love, specific backgrounds, and a particular aesthetic I gravitate toward. That all plays a role as well.

Thomas Berlin: You’re using Fujis digital medium format system, right?

Phil Sharp: Yes, that’s right.

Thomas Berlin: Because ot the very narrow depth of field it allows?

Phil Sharp: Yeah, definitely. That helps to isolate the subject and draw the viewer into the image. Also, with such shallow focus, a lot of the image is naturally soft or out of focus—which allows for a kind of visual looseness. It gives you permission to miss a little. And there’s something quite freeing about that.

Thomas Berlin: So sharpness isn't your top priority …

Phil Sharp: No, not at all. I mean, sharpness has its place, but for me, it’s more about emotional clarity than technical precision. I’ve always been interested in how technology and technique work together. Back when I was using a Canon 5D Mark II, I discovered tilt-shift lenses and manual focus lenses. They forced me to slow down—and that was a gift.

Now I often shoot wide open, like at f/1.4 or f/1.2. That means I need my sitters to stay quite still—otherwise the focus slips. But that stillness becomes part of the emotional atmosphere. I often tell my sitters: There’s power in stillness. You don’t have to be doing anything. Just by sitting there, being fully present, you’re already saying something. That stillness can hold a lot.

Thomas Berlin: “Power in stillness” — that’s a beautiful way of putting it. What exactly happens with your sitters in that situation?

Phil Sharp: Well, imagine you're sitting in front of me—just head and shoulders, directly facing the camera. I ask you to look straight into the lens. You don’t have to do anything—just look. And I’ll take thirty or forty frames while a beautiful piece of music plays.

You’re physically still, but your mind is active. Your thoughts begin to wander—memories, emotions, little fragments surfacing. At first, it might feel a bit awkward—What am I doing here?—but the music carries you. Suddenly, you’re thinking about your family, a fleeting memory, something meaningful… and I’m quietly photographing all of that unfolding beneath the surface. That’s what I’m after.

Thomas Berlin: Sounds like slow motion.

Phil Sharp: Like acting in slow motion, yes. I often use manual-focus lenses, which naturally encourage a slower pace. I might say, Let’s do that again—but even slower. There’s a kind of choreography to it. The sitter becomes attuned to the atmosphere, the music, their own body. They start to let go of how they think they should look. Eventually, they forget the camera is there. And that’s when the real gestures appear—an unconscious shift, a subtle tilt of the head. That’s what I follow.

Of course, not every frame will work. I always tell my sitters: Not all of these images will be great—and that’s perfectly fine. What matters is the openness, the process.

Thomas Berlin: You mentioned music—do you choose it, or does the sitter?

Phil Sharp: I choose it. Partly to avoid the risk of someone playing something I really don’t like! But more importantly, I want to avoid triggering a pre-programmed emotional response. If someone hears a song they already associate with a breakup or a holiday or something personal, they might fall into a kind of performance. That’s less interesting to me.

So I usually pick something unfamiliar—something they’ve probably never heard before. That way, the reaction is fresh. Genuine.

Thomas Berlin: I was shooting someone and put on a quiet piece by Einaudi, an Italian composer—thought it would be perfect. But the sitter said, I’m getting a headache from this! So we ended up switching to Rammstein.

Phil Sharp: Haha, well, that’s one way to clear the air. Nothing like Rammstein to get the blood pumping!

Thomas Berlin: Blood pumping wasn’t exactly what I was aiming for—but the music did work surprisingly well.

Phil Sharp: Haha, yeah. I do think music has this incredible ability to cut through everything. It creates an immediate emotional response. And it’s rare in everyday life that we’re invited to just sit and listen to music—without multitasking, without distraction. When you do, it can be a powerful experience.

Sometimes during a shoot, I play a piece that really connects with me, and I can feel something shift. It’s like the atmosphere thickens. There might still be some tension in the room—and that’s okay. I’ll often say to the sitter: That feeling? That’s what we’re here for. Let’s use that.

We’re not trying to avoid the discomfort. We’re going to go through it. In that way, my sessions can feel a bit like therapy—music therapy, maybe. Though I’m not a therapist, of course—but there’s something deeply emotional about the process.

Thomas Berlin: Music is one part of it, but how else do you build that openness and trust with your sitters? Do you talk before the shoot? What’s it like in your studio?

Phil Sharp: I think I’m quite lucky in that most people who come to me already have a certain level of trust. If it’s an actor, they’ve often been recommended or they’re already familiar with my work. So there’s a built-in element of respect and expectation.

But I also try to create a simple, welcoming environment—professional, but relaxed. Nothing complicated. Just the basic human things: make someone feel at ease, offer them a drink, play some music. At the same time, I’m clear that this is work. It’s not just a hangout—it’s their job to show up, be present, and allow themselves to be vulnerable. And it’s my job to create the space for that.

I don’t expect anyone—actor or not—to sit down and be amazing from the first frame. That’s not how people work. You have to warm up together, find that rhythm, that connection. Once you do, something begins to open.

Thomas Berlin: And would it be different if your sitter wasn’t an actor at all—just, say, a blue-collar or white-collar worker?

Phil Sharp: It is a bit different, yes. With non-actors, I tend to expect a little less at the start. But strangely enough, sometimes it’s actually easier with them.

Actors—especially younger or less experienced ones—can overthink everything. They try too hard to get it right. But acting, at its core, is really simple. That’s the big secret. It’s not easy—but it’s simple. It's about being present under imaginary circumstances. That’s what all acting training basically boils down to: different ways of getting back to something real.

Thomas Berlin: Maybe actors also carry more expectations. After all, the images might help their career.

Phil Sharp: Absolutely. There’s often a lot riding on how they appear—especially when the photograph focuses so closely on just their face. That’s what makes it interesting: all they’ve got is their human expression. There’s no costume, no props—just their face and their emotion. And if they can access something real, something genuine—that’s everything. It’s actually very simple.

Thomas Berlin: Sometimes I get the feeling, that your sitters behave as if you weren’t even in the room.

Phil Sharp:Yeah, I think that’s the byproduct of telling someone—especially an actor—not to do anything. They stop performing. What remains is just a human being. And that’s something we rarely encounter consciously: just sitting with another person, without words, without distraction.

It touches something primal, something deep in the brain. You’re not analysing or judging—you’re just witnessing. In a way, we’re breaking the usual social contract. Normally, if I’m talking to you, we’re engaging. But when I stop speaking and raise the camera, the dynamic shifts completely. It’s something else—something a little more intimate.

Thomas Berlin: Do you have conversations in general with your sitters during the shoot?

Phil Sharp: Yes—conversation is crucial. Without it, people start second-guessing everything. They don’t know what’s expected of them. So I try to set some parameters.

Some people like direction—they want to be told what to do—but often, what I’m asking them to do is very minimal. Listen to the music. Hold still. Let something come. It’s not like I’m saying, Now cry! or Now give me intensity! It’s a much quieter atmosphere.

Thomas Berlin: So you’re not shouting “Great! Beautiful!” all the time?

Phil Sharp: Ha ha, definitely not. It’s a quiet, immersive mood—depending on the music, of course. At best, I get into a sort of emotional sync with the sitter. When it’s going really well, we’re both feeling the same thing. It becomes a shared moment.

In the end, it’s just two human beings in a room, sharing an experience. And actors—when they’re not stuck in commercial roles or projects—often crave that kind of honesty. When it happens, it’s meaningful. It’s why they started acting in the first place.

Thomas Berlin: Sounds like you’re chasing something real in each session.

Phil Sharp: Yes. Each shoot is different—sometimes we hit it in twenty minutes, sometimes it takes two hours. It depends on all kinds of things: the light, the mood, the weather. If it’s gloomy out, I use artificial lighting, which takes more time to set up.

Thomas Berlin: Do you show your sitters the images during the session, or do you say: I’ve got what I need. You’ll see the results in a few days or weeks?

Phil Sharp: Both, actually. Some sitters want to see images on the back of the camera as we go. Others don’t. Actors often want to “check the action,” so to speak—to see if they’re connecting emotionally. If what they’re doing feels right. Sometimes I’ll say, Look—we’ve got it. You can feel it when it’s there.

Because I’m handling the lighting, the color, the composition—but the sitter feels whether the emotion is real. If it is, they know it. And afterwards, I usually send them all the images we took, unless it’s a commercial shoot with specific usage agreements.

Thomas Berlin: So you send the images and let your sitters select some for final editing?

Phil Sharp: Yes, exactly.

Thomas Berlin: Let’s talk a bit about light and color. Many of your images are rich in color, sometimes almost painterly. Today one of your portraits even reminded me of Edward Hopper. Do you consciously use color as a visual language? Do you follow a concept—or is it more intuitive? Do you sometimes think: This color fits this person?

Phil Sharp: I think it’s a mix of intuition and influence. I’m definitely inspired by painting. But funny enough, my wife is what I call "chromophobic"—she has a really strong aversion to certain color combinations. If we’re out shopping and she sees something in clashing reds and blues, she’ll say, I can’t even look at that. So I’ve become hyper-aware of color through her—and of how crucial it is in visual media.

At the same time, we’re animals. Like bees being drawn to flowers, we’re naturally attracted to color. I think color can really pull a viewer into an image. It can enhance emotional resonance. But it has to be used carefully.

Thomas Berlin: Because color carries emotion?

Phil Sharp: Absolutely. Every pixel in an image contributes to the emotional tone. Sometimes I’ll work on an image and realize the color is distracting from what I want to say. That’s when I might switch it to black and white. It’s not a fallback—it’s a creative choice. Sometimes I just don’t want to spend hours trying to get the colors to feel right. If they’re not working, I’d rather focus on the strength of the image itself.

Thomas Berlin: That sounds like a very pragmatic decision.

Phil Sharp: It is. But then there are other times when I know the image is good, and I want the colors to work—so I spend a long time finessing them. That’s where the craft comes in. I’ll finish a session, look at an image the next day, and think: It just needs a touch more blue in the shadows. Tiny adjustments like that can make all the difference.

Thomas Berlin: So you shape the color in post-processing—not in the moment of exposure?

Phil Sharp: Actually, the colors are mostly decided at the moment of shooting. I don’t change someone’s shirt color or the background hue later. But with digital imagery—especially when working from a RAW file—you have this incredible flexibility. That file is just data, not yet a finished photograph.

So I see post-processing as part of the creative process. I might increase saturation, adjust contrast, sharpen certain areas—whatever helps bring out the emotion and composition I saw at the moment of capture.

Thomas Berlin: I also think a RAW file isn’t really an image—it’s just raw material that needs to be processed if it is good. Only after a careful selection of a few images from a bunch and post-processing does it become a picture. It’s the artist’s role to create the image out of that raw material—not just accept what the camera gave them.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. A RAW file is data, not a photograph. When I’m editing, I don’t feel like I’m altering reality—I’m uncovering the photograph within the data. Sometimes a little crop here, a shift there—and the image reveals itself.

My intention is there in the moment I take the shot—but the work continues afterwards. I trained in the darkroom, and for me post-processing is just today’s version of that. In the darkroom, we were manipulating negatives. Now we’re working with pixels.  It’s the same idea: making the most of what you’ve captured.

Thomas Berlin: And what about beauty retouching?

Phil Sharp: I do retouch, but in a very empathetic way. I’m not trying to make people look beautiful in some idealized, objective sense. I’m not chasing some standard of beauty. But I might remove a distraction—something temporary or irrelevant. It’s about keeping the emotional truth intact, not creating a polished mask.

Thomas Berlin: Like skin blemishes—but the human side remains.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. I want the image to feel honest. I’m not interested in perfection. What fascinates me is the flaws—physical and emotional. That’s where the humanity lies. Some images will feel more polished than others, sure, but for me, it’s never about perfection. It’s about resonance.

Thomas Berlin: Earlier you mentioned turning certain color images into black and white when the colors don’t work. What other reasons lead you to choose black and white over color?

Phil Sharp: It really depends on what the color is doing. Is it adding something meaningful—or is the image really about form and light? Sometimes I’ll finish a color edit and think: This actually works better in black and white. So I’ll try both versions, and whichever one feels stronger wins.

Interestingly, there have been cases where I’ve published the black and white version, then come back a year later and rediscover the color one—and love it. It’s not about rules. It’s about instinct. Is the basic structure of the image strong? Does color amplify the emotion—or distract from it? That’s what I ask myself.

Thomas Berlin: So it’s an intuitive decision in post-production and not during the shoot?

Phil Sharp: Yes, largely. I try not to second-guess myself too much. I’ve been doing this long enough that I trust my gut. Often, I’ll be working and think: This color combination is working beautifully with what they’re wearing and how the light falls. So I follow that.

Of course, I’m constantly looking at images and absorbing visual references. Even if I’m not consciously thinking about them while shooting, they’re in my brain. Sometimes I’ll look at an image and realize: Ah, that’s totally inspired by a painting I love. But it wasn’t planned—it just emerged.

Thomas Berlin: When I look at your images, I often feel there’s a refined use of light—sometimes even colored or directional light. Can you tell me a bit about your lighting approach?

Phil Sharp: Sure. My studio has large south- and west-facing windows, so I tend to use available natural light as my main light source. Then I might add subtle touches—like LED lights to introduce a bit of color in the highlights or catchlights in the eyes. Just small accents to complement the existing light.

For example, I had a shoot today where the available light was just beautiful. And if the light is right, I’ll absolutely use it as the primary source. Sometimes the light in London can be unexpectedly magical. Even on gloomy days, when the clouds move quickly, it creates something really dynamic.

I love that kind of shifting light. It forces me to stay alert, to respond instinctively. I might suddenly say, We’re shooting now! Go!—because I know we’ve only got a few minutes before it changes again.Those are the great days. The cloud cover moves fast, the sun breaks through for a second, the light scatters beautifully. I have to react quickly, which I enjoy.

That kind of light makes me nimble. It also influences my aesthetic, I think. Usually it’s just me and the sitter—no big crew—so I can respond immediately. If the light is perfect, and the sitter is in the right place emotionally, I won’t interrupt the moment. I just shoot.

Thomas Berlin: You only add artificial light—but do you ever use only artificial light?

Phil Sharp: Sometimes, yes. I actually think I should do it more often. But I’ve become a bit lazy—or maybe just very comfortable—with natural light. It’s intuitive for me. Of course, I’ve done shoots using only artificial light, and every time I think, I should do this more. But setting up lighting rigs takes time, and it pulls me out of the flow a bit. It feels like it interrupts the connection with the sitter.

Thomas Berlin: Right, that can happen.

Phil Sharp: Yeah. Still, I don’t mind using artificial light—especially on those grey London days when there’s just no other option. In fact, mixing natural and artificial light can be really interesting. It keeps things fresh.

Natural light also keeps me in tune with the seasons. The quality of light changes constantly—week to week, hour to hour. You start to learn where it comes from, how it moves, how it hits the subject. I think that’s part of the appeal for me. It keeps me grounded.

Thomas Berlin: The weather in London is therefore good training for becoming a flexible photographer.

Phil Sharp: Absolutely. You learn to adapt—and fast.

Thomas Berlin: You mentioned that you’re using Zeiss Otus lense which are manual focus lenses. Why choose them, especially when there are autofocus lenses with equally narrow depth of field?

Phil Sharp: Yeah, good question. I think because I’m often shooting someone’s face really close-up—and often in quite a similar setup—I’ve become very tuned in to the specific characteristics of a lens.

Two 85mm f/1.4 lenses from different manufacturers can look completely different. And I just happen to really like the rendering of the Otus. It’s not just sharpness—it’s the feel and the way it draws a face. For me, that matters more than convenience.

Thomas Berlin: I currently use the GFX system, as you do, and like the look of the 110 mm f/2.0 lens—beautiful bokeh and narrow depth of field. Now I’m thinking about checking the TTArtisan 90mm f/1.25…

Phil Sharp: Oh, I just received the TTArtisam 75mm f/1.5 yesterday! I’m going to try it out today.
That’s one of the things I really enjoy about the GFX system—you can mount all kinds of random lenses on it. It makes experimentation fun.

I have the GF 110mm as well—it’s optically fantastic—but I find myself drawn to lenses with a bit more character. I’m constantly switching things up. Sometimes I’ll mount old Mamiya 67 lenses, or even vintage German glass. It depends on the subject and the mood.

Thomas Berlin: So you adjust your technical setup depending on the sitter?

Phil Sharp: Exactly. Some people are great at sitting still. Others not so much. If I realize early on that my subject can’t hold still long enough for a razor-thin focus plane, I’ll switch to an autofocus lens. No big deal. I adapt my technique to the person in front of me.

Other times it’s purely practical: maybe the person’s wearing amazing shoes and I really want to include them—but don’t want to step all the way back and reset the whole scene. So I’ll grab a wider lens to get the shot I want.

Thomas Berlin: When it comes to older lenses—I’ve found that vintage Hasselblad lenses from the 500 series, used with an adapter, can also be great on modern mirrorless cameras. Sharp in the center, a little soft on the edges—adds a beautiful character, especially for portraits.

Phil Sharp: Yes, exactly. Actually, Fuji makes a Hasselblad adapter for the GFX. And I’ve also got a tilt-shift adapter that works with those lenses.

It’s fun to experiment with gear like that. I think for some photographers, part of the joy is the gear—the optics, the variations. People will say things like, This lens is perfect—it renders this or that way, but I honestly don’t care about that kind of perfection. I just care how the image looks. That’s all that matters. I’m not chasing optical benchmarks. I’m chasing something that feels right to me. That’s my only standard.

Thomas Berlin: You’re clearly not a landscape or product photographer—where technical perfection might be more important.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. I mean, even with product photography—you still have to ask: Do I like how the image looks? That should be the core of it. There’s this obsession, especially in commercial photography, with perfect optics—sharpness, technical specs, the latest lenses. But for me, it’s not about that.

Clients come to you because they trust you as a visual professional—not because you’ve got the sharpest lens on the market.
They want you to make interesting choices. I’ve never had a client complain that a photo was slightly soft in the corners if the image itself was strong. What matters is the final result—the photograph.

Thomas Berlin: That reminds me of the story attributed to Henri Cartier-Bresson. A novel author once told him, I love your pictures—what camera do you use? And he replied, I love your novels—what typewriter do you use?

Phil Sharp: Exactly. As photographers, we’re using tools—technology—to express something. And sure, the gear does affect the look and feel of an image, so you have to understand how it works and what it gives you.

But the camera isn’t the point. People sometimes say to me, Well, of course your photos are good—you’re using a £4,000 camera and a £5,000 lens. But I didn’t start out that way.
Some of my favorite photographers from the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s were using 35mm film cameras you can now find on eBay for next to nothing.

It’s about understanding what your gear can do—and making the most of it. You won’t create a super glossy, high-end fashion look with a Holga camera—but you can make something raw and brilliant with one. So it’s really just about choosing the right tool to tell the story you want to tell.

Thomas Berlin: Exactly. And photography has such a wide range now. Some people love the creation and choose the tool to realize the vision. Others just love the tech—new gear, better specs. And that’s fine.

Phil Sharp: Right. I’m not romantic about cameras—I’m not one of those photographers who fetishizes gear. I like the GFX system because I can mount interesting lenses on it. To me, it’s just a box with a sensor and some buttons. If a better box comes along tomorrow, I’ll use that one instead.

Thomas Berlin: You’re known for photographing people—but I was lucky to get a copy of your book Heavy Light, which also includes images without people. You combine portraits with studies of light. What was the idea behind merging those two aspects of your work into one book?

Phil Sharp: I think I’m constantly trying to reconcile my portrait work with my non-portrait work. And I liked the idea of combining both in one book, because I don’t believe a photo book has to be just one thing.

To me, it’s more like a music album—not a greatest-hits compilation, but a real album that takes time to reveal itself. Some tracks might not hit you right away, but over time, they grow on you. That’s what I wanted Heavy Light to feel like.

I’m not interested in a sequence of just “bangers”—big emotional shots, bold colors, immediate visual appeal. I wanted to include the quieter images too. The ones that make you pause and think: Why is this here? What does it do in this context? That allows the viewer to bring their own thoughts into the experience. And that’s what I love about the photobook format—it invites reflection, not just reaction.

Thomas Berlin: So it's not primarily about narrative coherence—it’s more about how the images work visually and graphically?

Phil Sharp: Exactly. It doesn’t always have to make logical sense. Sometimes, for me, it works on a subconscious level—more like abstract painting. It just feels right, even if I can’t fully explain why.
That doesn’t mean it will make sense to everyone else—but that’s okay.

I think in my non-portrait work, there’s a certain through line. I’m always considering light and shape, and I try to keep a visual consistency. I’m fascinated by the idea of place—why one place feels different from another. Yes, it’s about light, temperature, texture... but often it’s just about drawing attention to small, quiet details.

Sometimes these images complement the portrait work, sometimes they don’t—but they come from the same instinct. Honestly, it’s a challenge for me. When I think about doing another book, part of me just wants to make it only portraits. But then again, I like the mix.

Thomas Berlin: A combination can be really interesting. In my last book, I also included different types of images—not just portraits, but also places. One of the masters of this kind of combination, in my opinion, is the Japanese photographer Rinko Kawauchi. She places seemingly unrelated images on opposite sides, and if you look at them individually they may have nothing in common, but viewed together they become something interesting. It’s hard to explain, but the effect is stunning.

Phil Sharp: Yes, absolutely. That’s kind of the point with photography books—you’re trying to say something that can’t be expressed any other way. The photography is the language. It doesn’t have to mean anything in a literal sense.

Sometimes I see these projects where every photo is pinned down by strict categories, or people ask me what exactly a picture means. But often, I’m more interested in the feeling a photograph creates.
And I think that’s valid.

Thomas Berlin: A visual language doesn’t need to be translated into words. It can stand on its own.

Phil Sharp: That’s why I actually hate titles in photography.

Thomas Berlin: I agree because without a title, the viewer is invited to create their own interpretation, maybe even their own story. But once you assign a title, you’re steering them—and limiting them a little.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. It narrows the experience.

Thomas Berlin: Speaking of Rinko Kawauchi brings me to the question: Which artists have had a lasting impact on your visual approach? It could be a painter, photographer—any kind of artist.

Phil Sharp: I think there are many. Some are more classic—like the Dutch masters. Vermeer, Rembrandt. And like you mentioned earlier, Ed Hopper. I’ve always been drawn to that kind of American light and quiet atmosphere.

In terms of photographers, Philip-Lorca diCorcia inspires me. And Stephan Vanfleteren.

Thomas Berlin: Have you seen Jan Vanfleterens new book Atelier?

Phil Sharp: Yes, I have. It’s small in format, but really good. I love also his other work about these quiet industrial towns in Belgium. His non-studio work is genuinely brilliant. It feels more raw than mine—more documentary. I really admire that.

Thomas Berlin: Sometimes almost social documentary.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. Interestingly, I don’t actually look at that many portrait photographers. I tend to take more inspiration from other areas of photography. Sometimes even fashion photography—less for the context, more for the colors or compositions.

I admire photographers like Jack Davison here in London, who move effortlessly between editorial, fashion, portraiture, and documentary. The work isn’t easily boxed in. That’s what I like. I’m not that interested in photography that’s obviously one thing—like when it’s unmistakably just fashion, or just documentary. I prefer it when the boundaries blur.

Thomas Berlin: You mean that your work can’t be easily categorized?

Phil Sharp: Exactly. Yes, I take portraits—but I like to think my work could just as well sit in a fashion context, or a documentary one because I’m documenting a human being. Sometimes I think: Is the studio just another kind of landscape? And if you flip that, maybe a landscape can become a kind of portrait—of place. Genres can be helpful—but they can also be limiting.

Thomas Berlin: And even the category “portrait” is broad. Some say a portrait is face, head and shoulders. Others say it’s full-body. Sometimes the face isn’t even visible—and still, it’s a portrait. The boundaries are so fluid, I’m not sure it even makes sense to categorize.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. I’d go so far as to say: categories can be actively damaging. They box you in. It’s like we said earlier about titling images—it narrows the viewer’s imaginationIf you see yourself only as a portrait photographer, then that’s all you’ll be—and that’s going to get boring very quickly.

Thomas Berlin: Do you remember a portrait—or any photograph—that truly moved you? Perhaps one of your own, or one you've seen. And is it still possible, after taking so many pictures, for an image to really move you?

Phil Sharp: Absolutely. I still see photographs all the time that move me. Sometimes it's a technical thing—where I think, Wow, that really works. But more often, it’s something deeper. There are certain images I keep coming back to. For instance, I recently revisited some work by Sabine Weiss.

There’s this one photo—just a pair of shoes in a shop window. So simple. But to me, it’s pure magic. It captures the essence of what photography can do: it freezes time. In that moment, Helga saw something—something ordinary, but worth noticing—and now, decades later, I can see what she saw. There’s no overt meaning, no agenda. It’s just human. And that’s what makes it powerful.

What about you?

Thomas Berlin: I saw a moving image by Josef Koudelka in an exhibition at Tate Modern. It was from Prague, 1969—right after the Soviet invasion. The photo shows people with their hands on a tank, trying to stop it. Their faces were full of determination and hope. Knowing what happened next makes it especially emotional.

Phil Sharp: Yes, exactly. That’s the kind of image that stays with you.

Thomas Berlin: There’s something about human images. Sometimes they go deep.

Phil Sharp: That’s the power of photography. Sometimes the most simple images can express incredibly complex emotions. And as viewers, we bring our own complexity to them. That’s what gives them meaning.

Thomas Berlin: Well, Phil, since we’ve spoken so much about photography—just one final question. What does photography mean to you outside of your profession? Are you active with photography in your private life too?

Phil Sharp: Photography really is my vocation. It’s what I do—and I love it. But I don’t really go home and shoot for fun in the evenings. I don’t walk around with a camera like a tourist. To be honest, it feels more like a job now—and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t mean I love it less. It just means I don’t need to separate it into “work” and “personal.” It’s all the same for me.

Thomas Berlin: Do you have any side projects outside of commissioned portrait work?

Phil Sharp: Not really. I’ve realized I’m not much of a “project” person. I don’t tend to plan long-term documentary series or travel somewhere with a concept in mind. I just keep photographing life as it comes. Over time, certain images start to form connections—and maybe those become something. But it’s not premeditated.

In a way, my ongoing project is the people who come into my studio. That’s where everything happens for me.

Thomas Berlin: That sounds like a great project in itself.

Phil Sharp: Exactly. That’s how I see it. That’s the project.

Thomas Berlin: And when you’re not taking pictures—what do you enjoy?

Phil Sharp: Spending time with my daughter, watching football, and drinking coffee. That pretty much covers it.

Thomas Berlin: Phil, it’s been a real pleasure talking with you – thank you for this inspiring exchange.

Phil Sharp can be reached on the internet via his website and on instagram. Feedback on the interview is welcome here.