Vincent van Gaalen travels to the last dark places found in Europe, areas that do not light up on the continent's light pollution map. At night, he photographs nature. In his pictures, the landscape is barely visible yet palpable.
Van Gaalen (NL, 1984) initially wanted to photograph untouched wilderness, but such areas are few and far between in Europe. There is far too much humanity here. At night, humans are absent and a world is revealed where their absence is still felt. “To me, this is the moment when nature is momentarily returns to itself.”
In the deepest sense, Van Gaalen's work is about turning off reason and surrendering to a natural state. “When I spend a long time in nature, more opportunity for intuition develops, and this is what you need as an artist. It’s a form of direct knowing and the reasoning comes later.” Surrendering to the natural state, Van Gaalen says, may not be an uplifting experience, but it is a meaningful one. “It teaches us to realise that we are not the centre of existence.”
The exhibition Mesmerising, featuring work by Vincent van Gaalen, Bas Wiegmink and Andrés Gallego, can be seen at Galerie Helder in The Hague until 19 January 2025.
You’re a photographer and travel a lot for your work. Do you have a studio and if so, what does it look like?
Creating my Absence series requires a lot of travelling, but I’m also privileged to have a beautiful studio in the centre of The Hague. It’s in an old bakery hidden on the grounds of the former care home De Spanjaardshof. It’s a quiet spot in the middle of the city where I can work completely undisturbed.
Supposing I was your intern, what would I experience if we went on a trip?
I’ve often been asked to offer an internship, but have always declined. While I feel honoured that people ask, creating Absence requires me to work alone. It takes all my time and focus to immerse myself in the landscape, find the right spots and connect with the environment. This is something I need to do on my own.
You’ve been working on Absence since 2020, a series for which you visit the last remote places in Europe where humans are absent. Can you explain how this series came about? What inspired it?
In creating Absence, I travelled to Europe’s last ‘dark’ places, meaning areas where the natural environment is not or only minimally affected by our light pollution. The absence of artificial light often coincides with the absence of humans, as where there are humans, there is light.
I initially started this project searching for untouched wilderness, but such areas are few and far between in Europe. But there is a time when we are absent, which led me to focus on the night. When night falls, humans seek the safety of their homes. To me, this is the moment when nature is momentarily returned to itself. It’s about the moment and the time. We are not made for the night; it is not our time and I find that a beautiful concept.
How do you decide where to travel?
Europe is the most illuminated continent on the planet and this is very clear on the light pollution map I use. Cities, villages, even offshore oil rigs, appear as bright spots. There are so many now that the entire European continent lights up as a bright patch on the world map. Within this, I search for areas that are not or barely illuminated and travel there. It’s sometimes like searching for a needle in a haystack, but that makes it all the more relevant.
The beauty of this map is that it allows you to view humanity from a zoomed-out perspective and it becomes clear that we no longer have control over ourselves. We leave no place unused and are everywhere. Areas where it’s harder for humans to settle, such as mountain ranges and swamps, stand out on the light pollution map as dark spots, so these are the places I visit.
I imagine your work is a combination of survival and photography. How do you prepare for such a trip?
Survival isn’t too difficult in Europe. Of course, there are conditions to consider, such as the weather and unpredictability of the landscape. For Absence, it is important to immerse myself in the landscape by observing it for a long time and ‘reading’ it. This requires staying in one place for an extended period to see, for example, how the mountains are formed, which vegetation grows there and how old these landscapes are. These observations quickly transcend my own existence and shift focus to the whole of where I am.
Taking my time is crucial. It can sometimes take days to find a spot where I feel all the elements that characterise the landscape come together in an image. Once I’ve found it, I set up my tripod and the long wait begins.
Awoiska van der Molen once mentioned that it takes her some time to understand a place. By staying longer in nature, she stops overthinking and develops an emotional connection. Is that something you recognise?
Yes, absolutely. In our daily lives, we rely too much on reason. When I spend an extended period in nature, more opportunity for intuition develops, and this is what you need as an artist. It’s a form of direct knowing and the reasoning comes later. That’s liberating and in this state, only the landscape and I remain. It creates a space in which I can fully immerse myself in the landscape, leaving an indelible impression. I would also describe this as a deep emotional bond with the place.
You take pictures at night. In your photos, the landscape is barely visible yet palpable. Does your work involve focusing on turning off reason and surrendering to a natural state?
Yes, in the deepest sense, that’s what it’s about. The night is not our time and we are not made for it. Feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability are inevitable. On the other hand, once you surrender to this natural state, a whole world opens us. In the moonlight, a world is revealed where the absence of humans is still palpable.
I think it’s very meaningful for everyone to experience this. It teaches us to realise that we are not the centre of existence. That may not seem like a positive thought, but I’m convinced that if humanity were to adopt a humbler attitude, we would create a better world.
What was the most inaccessible place you travelled to for Absence?
Recently, I travelled to Mørkridsdalen. This valley in Norway is called ‘The Dark Valley’. Divided by an imposing wild river, the valley winds its way to the fjords. Autumn had already arrived and it was freezing at night. Here, the weather conditions were perhaps truly harsh, making this place so inaccessible. The power of the water was immense… with a deafening roar, the water crashed onto the rocks below. During the daytime, I chose my spot at the foot of a waterfall and when darkness fell, only the deafening noise, mist from the swirling water and I remained. Rarely have I felt so fearful and insignificant.
Is there a place you still want to photograph?
I would still like to visit the Pripyat marshes in Ukraine, but of course, now is not the time for that.
What are you currently working on? Where will your next trip take you?
There are still many areas of Scandinavia and Eastern Europe I want to visit for Absence. This requires a lot of preliminary research to find the right places.
I’m also working in my studio on a new project called Clouds of Progress, for which I’m using existing visual material, which requires a completely different approach. I can’t reveal much about it yet, but I hope to present this work next year.