There's a piercing clarity to Wolfgang Tillmans’s photography. He describes his photographic naturalism as stemming from a desire to “represent [things and people] in a way that doesn't bend them into something they are not”. Thus there is not one archetypal Tillmans image. Certainly, there are principles the artist has carried forth. His intuitive approach to composition. His often mimicked exhibition style, featuring freeform hangings and raw unframed prints. There was the turn to digital that seemed to announce the relevance of the medium in fine art spaces. His “Lighter” compositions have rearticulated the boundary between the photographic image and the sculptural object. He is an omnivore of subjects, and although he has certain fixations, is curious about everything.
Tillmans takes pictures of his food. I noticed this when we sat down in David Zwirner’s labyrinthian back office for our interview. In front of us was a delectable spread of glistening pastries and tarts. As I took in the scene, I realized Tillmans had quickly taken out his phone and snapped two photos: one of the sweets and one of me uncapping a pen. Later, we discussed this habit and he revealed that he, like all of us, documents his most delicious meals.
This was both obvious and revealing.
In a world ubiquitously filled with cameras, fine art photography is plagued by questions of its relevance. For some artists, this has necessitated a push to make more elaborate and self-critical work. Tillmans has spent his career doing just the opposite, making images of the quotidian. One of his veteran subjects is rumpled clothing––which he has photographed slouched over banisters and atop plain floors. Rather than a style, he has a sensibility. For Tillmans, the world is a curious place, and intrigue can strike him at any moment. For him, the distinction between the diaristic and the artistic is always clear; he can tell when something will be interesting. Yet, as all of us do, he also maintains a record of his life with his smartphone camera.