27 february 2025, Wouter van den Eijkel
The studio of... Maarten Vromans
For his project 'Hope', photographer Maarten Vromans followed in the footsteps of immigrants who once exchanged the old world for the new, a long journey in which uncertainty just as often gives way to hope as melancholy to curiosity. From the balcony of his cabin, Vromans sought to capture the shifting emotional state of these emigrants through changing weather conditions: from sun to mist and rain, and from grey and black to colour.
Vromans was also fascinated by the effect of being surrounded by water for days on his own state of mind. He had previously created series in ‘no man’s land’, places where human presence is minimal and nature dominates. But traveling by sea turned out to be a completely different experience than traveling by land. “After a while, I no longer saw just a body of water, but an endless, intimidating, unpredictable and above all, living organism. It surrounded me from all sides for days and that overwhelming presence made a deep impression on me.”
The exhibition 'Hope' by Maarten Vromans can be seen at Contour Gallery in Rotterdam until 6 April.
Maarten Vromans, Hope #004, 2025, Contour Gallery
You travel a lot for your photography projects, so I was wondering, do you even have a studio?
(laughs) I can’t really start this interview by answering ‘no’ to that question. But it’s true, as a photographer, I always work on location and am usually on the move when I take pictures. So, I don’t need a traditional studio with a north-facing window. But I do like to do my image selection and editing in a fixed place — ideally at home at my computer. Although I have also covered the floor of a chalet in Switzerland with test prints to make the final selection for a series.
What kind of workspace do you need?
For a studio where I can do image selection and editing, my needs are simple: a nice space with a large desk and a computer. And a long, empty wall to hang up (test) prints and (test) reproductions.
The locations where I take pictures are sometimes very basic. I once sat on an old train seat for four days and three nights to capture the landscape between New York and San Francisco. For my latest project, I crossed the Atlantic on a luxury boat. I spent days standing outside on the covered balcony of my cabin, facing north.
Could you describe what a typical workday looks like, such as when working on 'Hope', which can now be seen at Contour Gallery?
In the years and months leading up to the actual crossing, my project days consisted mainly of decision-making. During which season should I travel? Which route should I take? Which ship should I go on? Where would be the best place on the ship to take pictures? What techniques would I use? Which camera equipment should I bring? Where should I buy everything? What clothes should I pack? To test visual styles, I even spent a few days taking the ferry back and forth between Den Helder and Texel.
When I finally got on the boat after all that preparation work, I could ‘simply’ spend my days from early morning until late at night staring at the horizon from my balcony. Usually, the light, the weather, the reflections and other variables changed very slowly, allowing me time to compose my shots, as in "Hope #008" or "Hope #011". But sometimes, the weather changed rapidly and I only had a few minutes to capture the sun breaking through the mist, creating what looked like a gateway to heaven above the ocean, as in "Hope #004". Those were exciting and unique moments to experience.
Maarten Vromans, Hope #008, 2025, Contour Gallery
Congratulations on 'Hope'! You crossed the Atlantic by boat, making the same journey many emigrants have made — and still make. How did this project come about?
Thank you! I’m really excited to finally show 'Hope' to the public in a gallery. The idea for 'Hope' emerged almost five years ago. In the years before that, I had completed three photography projects where I captured landscapes in the Netherlands, United States and Switzerland from moving trains. I had a long list of potential new destinations where I could create similar series, but at the same time, didn’t want to become ‘that train photographer.’
One autumn afternoon in 2020, my partner and I were looking out over the Westerschelde. We discussed this and explored new ideas for a photo series. And being in Zeeland, it seemed almost obvious to do ‘something’ with water. In the months that followed, I explored various angles for the idea. Water can be a friend, an enemy, a source of life. A river can be a trade route, the sea a way to travel from one place to another. Gradually, the desire took shape to cross the Atlantic and capture the shifting emotions — melancholy, uncertainty, curiosity and hope — of migrants making ‘the great crossing’, both in the past and today. The idea of experiencing the physical distance between two continents on a multi-day journey immediately felt grand and compelling. Also, I feel at home in no man’s land, where human presence is absent and nature takes centre stage.
For 'Hope', you captured the horizon and changing weather as metaphors for the shifting emotions of immigrants. Was it difficult to capture those transitions and make them meaningful?
That was certainly a challenge. During my preparation work, I decided to focus on transition moments at sea: the shift from sun to mist and rain, and from colour to grey and black. Through these, I wanted to depict the emotional changes — melancholy and uncertainty shifting to curiosity and hope — that migrants experience during ‘the great crossing’.
But to make that vision work, I needed varying weather conditions. That was nerve-wracking because despite all my planning, I had no control over the elements. If the sky had remained blue the entire trip or if the ship had only sailed through dense fog, I wouldn’t have been able to capture those transitions. All I could do was be patient and trust that the ocean would eventually reveal all its moods. So, I was relieved when one morning, gale-force winds gave way to a sunny afternoon and when hours of rain were interrupted by moments of mist.
Maarten Vromans, Hope #011, 2025, Contour Gallery
You were also interested in the emotions you would experience during the journey and how to translate them into photographs. Was it a different experience emotionally than traveling by land?
When I travelled by train through the Netherlands, United States and Switzerland to create a photo series, the unknown landscapes always still felt familiar. I always had a sense of scale and direction. At sea, it was completely different. After a while, I no longer saw just a body of water, but an endless, intimidating, unpredictable and above all, living organism. It surrounded me from all sides for days, and that overwhelming presence made a deep impression on me.
How did you get into art? You don’t have a formal art background, right?
I spent half a year at art school. I was really looking forward to it, but the programme didn’t suit me at the time. So, I switched to journalism school, which I successfully completed. There I learned how to work methodically and tell a story. I later worked in various creative positions in communication departments, where I really enjoyed producing major projects.
At the same time, I realised I wanted to create autonomous work. Around 10 years ago, I started doing just that, as a self-taught artist. Since then, my photography has focused on the quiet power and aesthetics of fleeting moments, particularly in transitional spaces — where time, space and atmosphere merge. My work has been exhibited in galleries and fairs, I’ve published a photo book and the upcoming solo exhibition at Contour Gallery in Rotterdam is now a major milestone in my artistic career.
If I were to give you carte blanche, without any time or money constraints, what kind of project would you work on?
Wow. My head is always full of project ideas both big and small. But if time and money were truly no issue, I’d love to photograph sea ice in the Arctic or Antarctic from an icebreaker. That would not only be an extraordinary experience, but also relevant since climate change is causing sea ice to retreat. When I was in Greenland—and later in Svalbard — locals told me that their fjords’ bays no longer always freeze over in winter. So, I’d like to capture the sea ice before it disappears everywhere.
What are you working on right now?
(laughs) My head is always full of fun plans and projects. But for now… I’ve spent almost five years working on 'Hope' and I’m thrilled to finally present it in a gallery. I’m going to enjoy that.
