Gestures of Trust: An Interview with Senta Simond

Can you remember an image (not your own) that fundamentally changed how you see the world?

Not a single image, but I think my perspective shifted when I started looking more closely at black and white photography. I love the work of Lewis Baltz, an American photographer known for his minimalist images of suburban landscapes and industrial spaces. His focus on lines and structure really resonates with me. In black and white, there are fewer distractions and a sense of quietness that I find deeply moving. It changed the way I see things – I began noticing light differently and paying attention to its subtleties in a new way.

Is there a book or piece of music that you return to again and again as a source of inspiration and comfort?

A book on Günther Förg, the German artist known for his minimal and modernist approach across painting, photography, and architecture. His work always refreshes my mind; there’s a clarity and strength in his visual language that I find endlessly inspiring.

In your daily life, are there non-artistic pursuits or passions that feed your creativity in unexpected ways?

Traveling. I actually wanted to become an ethnologist before becoming a photographer. Exploring different cultures and environments still deeply influences how I see and approach my work.

If you could collaborate with any artist (alive or dead) outside the field of photography, who would you choose and what would you hope to accomplish together?

I often hear music in my images and it’s a constant source of inspiration, so I would love to collaborate with a composer. Roy Montgomery’s cinematic, atmospheric soundscapes feel almost photographic to me, like they could shape the light and mood of a frame. I imagine creating a short film together, where his music and my images converse, amplifying each other’s rhythms and textures.

Could you share a memory or story about the first image or photographer that deeply affected you and made you want to begin making photographs yourself? Was there a specific picture, artist or moment that sparked this path for you?  

The first time I opened a book by Guy Bourdin, I was completely captivated. There was an unsettling strangeness in his images, a charged atmosphere that felt mysterious. Over time, I’ve moved a bit away from that aesthetic, I tire quickly of anything too mannered, but I still have to admit that his work profoundly shook me.

Are there any personal experiences or moments from your life before you took up photography that you feel have shaped the way you see and create images today? How do those experiences continue to influence your photographic vision?

I’ve always been fascinated by culture and subcultures. In my teens, I went through many “styles,” experimenting and trying to find my identity. That search for self-expression and understanding others continues to inspire me today. It informs the way I see the world and shapes how I approach creating images, always attentive to nuance, individuality, and the small details that make each moment distinct.

You mention trying out many “styles” during your teens while searching for identity. Can you recall one particular look, mood or subculture that made you feel most yourself at the time?

I followed trends the way I followed music, intensely, but often briefly. Sometimes my style didn’t last more than three months; I even had dreadlocks for a while! For me, anything too mainstream just didn’t feel right. Growing up in Switzerland sometimes felt like being part of a big melting pot, split into different parts, much like the country itself. That sense of shifting between influences and identities has stayed with me, shaping how I perceive and explore the world in my photography.

Were there magazines, films, or people around you that inspired your shifting sense of self?

I did an internship with Olu Odukoya when he was starting his magazine Modern Matter around 2013. It was a publication that crossed the boundaries between fashion, culture, and art. I learned a lot from that experience. Doing research for the magazine helped me “build my eyes”, to see more deeply, to notice details, and to understand what resonates with me. It was a very DIY process, one that I still enjoy today. Through it, I developed my taste, became more aware of what I love but also grew more critical of the fashion industry.

How do you begin a new creative project, do you have any rituals, routines or habits that help you focus?

Sometimes I write, it helps me clarify abstract ideas. But generally, new ideas can appear at any time, even in the middle of the night. The hardest part for me is trying to force an idea; it rarely works. My process is more about accumulation, all the things I see, hear, and experience slowly gather and coalesce. New ideas emerge naturally from that. Sometimes, surprisingly, they even come when I’m bored.

How does your academic background in cinema aesthetics and theory influence the way you construct and stage photographic portraits today?

For me, it’s very much about atmosphere and ambiance. I want my images to give the feeling of being transported, to spark the imagination. Sounds and movement are also present in my work, though not always overtly. In my mind, they’re there, but for the viewer, they’re more subtle, hidden layers. My background in cinema, combined with a deep interest in music, continues to shape the rhythm, mood, and emotional texture of the photographs I create.

Your portraits often feature close-ups and intimate crops that draw the viewer deeply into the moment. How do you decide what to include or exclude in the frame to preserve or heighten that sense of intimacy? What do you aim to reveal or conceal through your choice of cropping?

My photography is centred on people; it’s always about finding the protagonist of the story. Often, the surroundings aren’t as important, and I like the feeling of truly being with someone, of believing in what you see. I’m not interested in over-manipulating or creating fantasy. I strive for realism, but the way I crop and frame can heighten a scene, amplify emotion, and draw attention to the essence of the person in front of me. It’s about revealing the truth of the moment, while letting the viewer feel its intimacy.

By removing the surrounding environment, your frames evoke both closeness and a certain tension. What does that tension mean to you, does intimacy always involve some degree of vulnerability or distance?

Intimacy can border on something a little voyeuristic, which I won’t deny appears in my work. But I’m never trying to make the person uncomfortable. What I love is honesty and stripping away everything that isn’t necessary. That can sometimes feel raw and vulnerable, but I see that vulnerability as a strength. It’s part of what gives the image its emotional resonance.