Farewell to the Humble Tailor: An Interview with Judith Hornbogen
To celebrate the release of her upcoming book: Farewell to the Humble Tailor, Judith Hornbogen, sat down with writer, Sophie Gray, to discuss her motivations behind the making of this deeply personal project. Spurred on by a culmination of personal loss and farewells, Judith set out on a physical and metaphorical journey of self-discovery, in an attempt to unpack the underlying emotions brought about by profound life change. In this in-depth conversation, Judith elaborates on her photographic approach, the decisions that have led to this point in her practice, and how her view on life and art have evolved over time.
©Judith Hornbogen
In the summer of 2020, amidst a period of global unrest and widespread loss, Judith Hornbogen was having to face her own challenging goodbyes. Her beloved grandfather sadly passed away following a series of illnesses, coinciding with her departure from a career-defining job as a matelot. The significance of these life changes prompted her to create this deeply reflective body of work, which is now being published in book form and preparing for public release.
I had the great pleasure of observing the book as it developed, gaining an insight into the arduous process of finalising each and every detail; from the colour of the thread, to the size of the font, no decision is too small. In this digital age, where most of our lives are spent looking at images on a screen, it’s nice to know there are still artists out there who appreciate the value of the physical object.
On first impression, the images feel ambiguous, shifting from close-up shots of inanimate objects, to portraits of unknown figures sitting in a garden. Removed from their context, these photographs would take on an entirely different reading, but as with any great artwork, it stays with you, bringing unexpressed emotions to the surface that demand to be felt right then and there.
Though the themes of this book may be universal, and there is something for everyone to find connection to, its real power lies in the personal exploration of loss, love, and letting go. Judith kindly spoke with me about her intentions for the project and, ultimately, what she hopes readers will take away from its deeper meaning.
Interview with Judith Hornbogen
Sophie Gray: What was the impetus for making this work?
Judith Hornbogen: Well, I was working for a long time as a matelot, on a small river canal boat, and I had been planning my exit from this job for a few years because there was a lot of danger involved, so I wanted to get out and do something more safe, but I also wanted to find something more mentally and intellectually fulfilling. Working as a matelot was very physical, and as much as I enjoyed physical work and being outside all day, I missed having a creative outlet.
In 2020, when Covid was beginning to spread, I was forced to take a break from this job, and around the same time, my grandfather passed away. Therefore, I spent a lot of the summer of 2020 in Germany with my grandfather, as his health was rapidly declining. He was very old, he didn’t die of Covid, it was essentially several illnesses and his old age that were causing his health to deteriorate, which meant in a way, I could almost prepare myself that his death was going to happen. I was lucky that I was at home during that time and that I could spend a lot of time with him, taking care of him.
A captain friend of mine from Belgium had invited me to go on a trip, on a cargo ship, just to get away from everything and get out of Germany for a while. My grandfather had given me his car as a present a few months before he passed away, so I had told my friend that I wanted to go on a trip, taking his car and putting it on a ship with a crane, travelling the Netherlands and Belgium on the inland waterways. I saw that he (my grandfather) was very moved by this idea because it was a very mechanical thing, doing something with heavy machinery. He was very impressed that I was working as a matelot for such a long time because traditionally it was seen as more of a ‘man’s job’, but he was always supportive and recognised that I didn’t want to be put in place by gender roles. I really wanted to be able to document this whole action of putting his car on that ship and to show him the pictures, but he passed away before I managed to do so. I only finished the project in 2022, so two years after I had the initial idea. It came to me while I was dealing with farewells — saying goodbye personally to him and also saying goodbye to this job of being a matelot, so those two things became inextricably linked and it was really important that I completed this action because I had promised him I would, even if he didn’t get to witness it.
Sophie: How have you found the process of turning this project into a book? Has it changed the way you approach your photography?
Judith: I’ve always tried to capture the essence of a certain time, or a certain period in my life, so between 2020 and 2022/23, when it was all about farewells — it was all kind of connected to Covid as well because a lot people were losing loved ones and being separated from people — and so this whole farewell and absence from things was very present in those days. It really defined everything that was happening in those years. All of the images that I took were a bit dark, a bit mysterious, I like to recreate dream states as well. I don’t want to put too many of my own words into certain images because I like to keep it open for others, to find something that resonates with them, or speaks to them individually. I like to go about it in a metaphorical way and search for poetry, addressing everyday situations in a poetic way. That’s been my focus before, but dealing with other subjects, and it’s still how I photograph things now.
©Judith Hornbogen
Sophie: So you didn’t really change the way you go about photographing things, but a lot of the time when we’re looking at photography, it’s on a screen, or online; a book is tangible. You spend more time with the images and perhaps see things you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Was that the idea behind that?
Judith: Yeah, I mean, I have a great passion for books in general. If you have a book in your hands, it’s different than being in a gallery, or in a museum looking at work because you’re surrounded by other people — I don’t find it as intimate. When you have a book, you can choose your surroundings, you can create your own atmosphere while you look at the images, so for me, photo books have a powerful meaning, and that’s the reason why I like to turn certain projects into books because they become more intimate.
Sophie: Text seems to be an integral part of your practice, as it serves to contextualise the images in new and profound ways. How do you decide on what text to use and at what point in the process do you start to think about that element of the project?
Judith: For as much as I’ve taken photographs throughout my life, I’ve written things down as well; short prose, poems, etc. For me, text is very much connected to imagery, so much that it can even become images. You say something with text and it conjures an image in someone’s mind, so it’s almost like text can be redefined as a photo. I don’t like to use text to explain a photo, but rather to enhance it, to give it more depth, or add another layer of meaning to it.
Sophie: When you’re photographing, do you think in terms of single images, or do you take the whole narrative into consideration?
Judith: I mostly shoot analogue, so I normally think in terms of the span of a roll of film. If I’m shooting black and white, then I try to keep that film in communication, in order for the images to work with one another, however, I also like to combine black and white with colour, so sometimes I have several cameras going at the same time. I don’t try to plan too much when I’m taking the photos, I usually see what works together after they’ve been developed. Let’s say I have three to five films altogether, then that tells the story of a couple of months, or a certain trip; it starts to make sense when I see them all laid out in a specific order and I can move them around and find out what works and what doesn’t. It’s mainly intuitive.
Sophie: Well that was going to be my next question, which is, how do you then sequence your selection of images? Do you want to expand on your methodology?
Judith: It’s a process and it’s very fluid. Sometimes I get so stuck on a certain choice, or coupling of images, that I need to take a break from it and not look at them for a period of time, and then when I come back to it, I see it from a different perspective and can perhaps be more objective about it. I’ve always felt that pairing images in a specific way can really add to a story. Some images work great by themselves and others become much stronger when paired with another image. That’s what I love about books as well because you always have that double page that can help to communicate whatever story you’re trying to tell.
©Judith Hornbogen
Sophie: I notice you play around a lot with opposing images. For example, you’ll quite often have a close-up juxtaposed with a wider shot, or a black and white image against colour. Can you talk a little bit about that decision making?
Judith: Sometimes it’s intuitive and sometimes I can’t even explain why it works well, it just does. Other times, maybe the way the perspective works, or the way something is placed within an image, needs a mirrored image to balance it out. There’s a part in the book where I have the same shot of tram tracks and one is black and white and the other is in colour — those in my mind just fit together because it’s the same image, but shot with a different film. It’s difficult to say why, it really depends on the combination.
Sophie: It’s probably because you’ve developed your eye over the many years that you’ve been a photographer. Nobody starts out being amazing, but you get more discerning over time and it becomes intuitive without having to explain too much.
Judith: Yeah. I would say that I’ve changed my practice a lot over the last five or eight years. Maybe before, I was trying to want too much, but now, it’s become clear that less is actually more. Stepping back and having images that are more quiet, that resonate more with me nowadays, maybe has to do with me getting older and reflecting more on life and life choices. Before, I was going for images that would make a “splash” and were really colourful, but that doesn’t interest me so much anymore. I gravitate towards black and white a lot now, as you’ll see in the book.
Sophie: How do you know when a project is finished?
Judith: Well, with this project, it was finished when I did that trip with the car on the ship, that was basically the final stage of rounding this whole project up. However, dealing with farewells and saying goodbye to people that are dear to you will never stop, so I think this subject will come up over and over again for me. With this project, it was very clear that it was finished through that last action, but other projects are perhaps more open-ended. I like to work on things that I can always add onto with new images and make them stronger, but it can be difficult to know when to stop.
Sophie: Susan Sontag once wrote: ‘All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.’ In what ways do you think this applies to your project?
Judith: I don’t actually think when you photograph something that the moment is gone. As soon as I photograph something, that moment will actually stick with me for longer. I can look at images and know exactly how I felt in that moment, or what atmosphere it was, or time of day, and so on. So to me, when I photograph something, that moment is actually much more alive than before.
On the other hand, I do agree with the quote as well; photographing a subject, or an object, will increase or highlight the sense of mortality, vulnerability, and mutability. By capturing a moment of life on Earth, one also focuses on the impermanence of it all. The Japanese concept of "Mono no aware" comes to mind. Ultimately, we may regard that most concepts are deeply connected to perception and perspective. We may consider human existence as vast, but on the contrary, when compared to the existence of the universe, it is fleeting. We haven’t been around for that long, and sooner or later, we will vanish — either by our own contribution to the planet’s uninhabitability or as a result of the inevitable progress within our solar system. Depending on how we look at existence and time, moments are fleeting or can seemingly last forever. So, when I say that a moment resonates with me more deeply and has been frozen in time (once I’ve taken a photo) it only translates as such to my own life. I can only speak for myself. Simultaneously, I am brutally aware that my existence is so very transient and therefore using the phrase “forever” is an absolute discrepancy. My understanding of things, my “Weltanschauung” (world view) is constantly in conflict with itself. Reflection of existence has to be connected to perspective, always.
Sophie: That’s an interesting way of looking at it. Do you think there’s then a danger of you coming to rely on the photograph for the memory? That it could change the way you remember certain events in your life?
Judith: I am sure that our memory is constantly morphing. Layers upon layers will rewrite our memory. We intervene by telling stories, by taking photos, by looking at these photos, by listening to music and sounds, by smelling a certain smell. Something reminds us of a memory and our mind will try to reproduce essential emotions, but ultimately rewriting details over and over again. Photographs can help with certain parameters, and I believe that it amplifies remembrance, but does it really? We may believe that we have an objective grip on things, but that can’t be true. We are influenced and altered on a constant basis, so this must also affect the way we remember. There are memories from my early life that I was certain were true because I kept telling these stories to people throughout my life. I was flabbergasted to hear from older family members that some stories I had been telling were a complete construction of my own imagination as a child. Maybe they were dreams at one point and for whatever reason I wanted these “images” to be reality, so I made them reality.
Sophie: Photography can be a really useful tool to understanding complex and often volatile emotions. How has the act of taking these images helped you to process the themes you examine on a more personal level?
Judith: Throughout those years that I was taking photographs for the project, I was dealing with farewells and loss, and in a way, it gave the absurdity of life more meaning. When I find a way to express my emotions creatively, I feel a sense of purpose. Everybody deals with the complex nature of life and death and losing loved ones, so I like to share what I’ve found, in the hopes that it will resonate with people who feel the same as I do.
©Judith Hornbogen
Sophie: There’s a certain rawness to your images, which seems to take precedence over aesthetic beauty, as in, you don’t seem to be as concerned with aesthetics, as maybe it being more authentic? How important do you think that is to the overall perception of your work?
Judith: Maybe it has to do with my vision of what I find aesthetic because often my choice of aesthetic doesn’t match everybody else’s. I like to show things that are contradictory, or on the edge of what is considered beautiful or ugly.
When I first applied for art academy, I was actually criticised very heavily for having “too perfect” images. The people that were judging my images for admission basically said that they were like postcard images, and I found that very offensive. Now, I’m looking for things that are not “perfect” because nothing is, and I actually go towards images that other people might disregard. If they’re a bit grainy, or out of focus, I may even try to enhance that. I’m more concerned with the feeling, than the idea of perfection.
Sophie: What’s your definition of perfection in this context and why should it disqualify an image, more so if it has a “postcard aesthetic”?
Judith: I would claim that perfection doesn’t exist. Equally I would claim that it does exist. Nature in itself seems perfect, the way the universe works etc. Our existence on Earth could be regarded as miraculous and therefore absolute. We are part of nature, but we are far from perfect. I do not want to belittle perfect postcard aesthetics. I do value the idea that beauty can lead to pleasure and bliss, but I personally prefer the power of raising questions to ignite self-reflection, and in my artistic procedure, I’d like to focus on the imperfections because I regard them as more sincere and truthful to my own reality. Too much optimism can lead to delusion and self-conceit. Our world is in chaos; there is so much suffering, pain, and injustice that I feel oblivion is not an option. Ignorance and naivety is a cruel luxury, a choice. Anything and everything must be considered within context. All beings exist alongside one another, we cannot cancel anything out. We are interconnected, so we also have the responsibility to take everything (we can grasp) into account. You cannot understand one without the other. We must always incorporate both sides of the coin, consider the reality of others. I don’t want to add more truisms, but there is one saying that a friend — a musical artist and producer from Hamburg — has frequently reproduced on postcards, coincidentally, referring to one of his tracks: “think negative, act positive”. That summons up my conviction to promote and encourage critical thinking, to analyse negative aspects of society in order to enable the possibility of positive change.
©Judith Hornbogen
Sophie: What do you hope people take away from this book?
Judith: I hope that it will communicate that it is about a very emotional subject, a subject that everybody has to deal with. I hope they will see images that speak to them and maybe bring out feelings that they are able to confront in a healthy way. We included my starting points within the book, so everyone will know my intention behind it, but I would actually prefer if people looked at the images first, and then read the explanatory text after, so that they can draw their own conclusions.
Additionally, I hope that I’ve created a space for people to feel safe and good and that will allow them to have a moment of solitude, like they would if they were watching a film. I studied audiovisual arts, so I did a lot of short films, animation, and created my own sound. To me, photography is just another element of that because films are moving images, so it’s all interconnected.
Sophie: Perfect! I’m excited for people to see the book. Good luck with everything!
©Judith Hornbogen
I lost my own grandmother very recently and it’s been a strange and complicated journey, trying to navigate grief, as well as this new life without her in it. Judith and I spoke a little bit about the unique relationship between a grandparent and their grandchild, concluding that the generational gap is conversely what strengthens the bond on both sides. Perhaps they’ve learned from past mistakes and see it as a second chance at being a good parent, while children seem to have an innate ability to accept things as they are, without passing judgement on people’s shortcomings.
What grief has taught me is the fragility of life. Although we all live with an awareness of death, most of us don’t think about it on a day-to-day basis. It’s not until you’re confronted with its inevitability that you’re forced to re-evaluate everything you thought you knew. Once that happens, there’s no going back, however, I don’t necessarily view this as a negative. I’ve come to appreciate things on a much deeper level than before; learning to live more fully and love more deeply, with the knowledge of how temporary it all is.
Projects like Judith's, in my opinion, are crucial to how we share our experience of grief. Art is a place to connect, to see ourselves represented; it serves as a reminder that you’re not alone…and isn’t that what we’re all looking for?
Instagram: @judith_hornbogen
Website: Judith Hornbogen
References / Further Reading
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (1961)
Nick Meyer, Either Limits or Contradictions (2017)
Susan Sontag, On Photography (1977)
