World's Shortest Review of the Leica M11 - and more ...
Podcast hosted by Iain Farrell. Interview with Thorsten Overgaard. February 10, 2025.
Thorsten Overgaard is a Danish photographer who’s synonymous with Leica. He’s shot with their cameras for decades, has written a book on just about every model in that time and has shot just about every lens. Talking to him about everything from the camera you just have to have to the lenses that on reflection you don’t, was a real treat. Warning, this is a long one, you may want a snack.
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Hello again, and welcome to Prime Lenses. I'm Iain Farrell. My guest today is Thorsten Overgaard, a Danish photographer and teacher of photography. Over a long career, he's made images around the world.
Full disclosure: This is a long interview. I was very excited to talk to Thorsten, and we just ended up chatting for ages. I'm also learning something about putting together a podcast—when I say, "That's a lovely note to end on," that usually means we’ve got at least 15 more minutes before we actually wrap up.
But Thorsten was very generous with his time, and I really enjoyed hearing his thoughts on the importance of finding the fun in photography, as well as being prepared. We also share a love for imperfect lenses. He offers some insights into Leica—and considering how synonymous he is with the brand, you might not expect some of his opinions. He's definitely not completely sold on the Leica M11 yet.
Anyway, I've tried to keep it to time, but like I said, it was fun. If you want to know more about the lenses and cameras we discuss in this episode, you can subscribe to the newsletter, and I'll include a full list there. The newsletter usually goes out the following Wednesday.
So, without further ado, here's Thorsten.
Iain Farrell: It’s fun to see in your background that you have what most people would use as a coat rack, but that’s quite a selection of M bodies you’ve got back there. Are they all M's?
Thorsten Overgaard: Yeah, it looks like there's a couple of film ones.
Iain: I see a few Minilux and film cameras, and then there are more in the closet.
Thorsten: Yeah, I actually thought about hanging a couple more so I could have everything displayed. When I set up my new office a few months ago, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hang them like that.
And I actually dropped one R9 film camera because it only had a hand strap, not a full strap. I was moving something, and—boom!—there goes the 80mm. But it’s fine. These cameras go back and forth for repairs now and then, you know.
Thorsten: What are those glasses you have? Are those recording glasses?
Iain: Yes! So, being borderline obsessed with photography, I have Snap Spectacles from around 2015. I put prescription lenses in them so that I would always have a camera—taking your mantra of "always wear a camera" very seriously. The camera quality is low, but it still captures images, and it has a unique look. It has this kind of 2013 smartphone aesthetic, and the images have a circular crop. When you view them on your phone, you can rotate the image for an immersive experience.
It records video at 60fps, which makes it feel very lifelike—like being back in the moment. They even made 3D versions that were really incredible for recreating a sense of presence.
Thorsten: That’s great—crazy that was 2015!
Iain: Yeah, they’re not high quality, and if you fast-forward to now, there are Ray-Ban Meta glasses, which are much higher quality. But they recently did a software update that kind of ruined them.
Now, they apply HDR, hyper-saturation, and super brightness, which makes the images nearly unusable. They’re so saturated and bright that they’re hard to look at.
I know their goal is to "AI the crap out of it," but it has actually made the product worse. It’s this weird trend of cameras becoming computers—which is the opposite of what we get with these Leica cameras.
But the problem is inconsistency. One day, you turn the device on, and your product has changed overnight due to a software update. As a photographer or videographer, you can't rely on a tool that changes suddenly, with no way to revert it.
Thorsten: Yeah, it's fascinating—but also frustrating.
Iain: Yeah, it's a weird shift happening in the industry. Unless you use very specific, manual tools (which aren’t accessible to everyone), everything else—phones, glasses, whatever—is becoming more automated and less controllable.
I fear this will make people feel like they can't interfere with their images. Or they’ll have to find weird and creativeways to reclaim control.
Thorsten: I believe there are two types of people. Some know exactly what they want and pursue it. Then there are those who just accept what’s offered—and that’s not meant as criticism. It applies to food, electronics, everything.
For most people, if a product is good enough, that will do. And, of course, there’s a commercial interest in keeping it that way.
But I think it’s each person’s responsibility to seek out real experiences—whether that’s high-fidelity sound, real photography, or great food. If you want something authentic, you have to control it yourself.
Thorsten: And that is not a mass market. That’s not what’s offered in the mass market because—especially in the US—it’s a marketing nation more than a nation that’s actually good at doing stuff. It’s just: Can you sell it?
So, a lot of stuff sells really well and does well financially, but it’s not actually doing anything for the people it's supposed to benefit—except making money. And that applies to hospitals, food, you name it.
Iain: Yeah, I think I really only understood that on a recent trip to the US. I've been going more and more, and when you go frequently, you start to notice the differences. The television behind me that’s turned off—it’s a Samsung Frame, which is, by all accounts, a bad television. But it sells tremendously well because it has this magic trick—it can be left on and pretend to be a picture.
A lot of people aren’t using their televisions as much as they used to, but they still want one. So, it sits on their wall, pretending to be art, making them feel better about having this big hulking thing hanging there. And meanwhile, most people are just looking at things on their phones instead.
But again, by all technical accounts, it’s not a very good TV. Kind of like those recording glasses—it’s stuck in a 2015 technology level, but it does one thing well.
Thorsten: Yeah, it’s a gIaint thing. That could be a nice thing. My daughter-in-law has a Leica D-Lux 7 now. She was looking at getting a 2005 camera because she liked the whole look of it—m aybe Lana del Ray or someone else was using it, and suddenly, that made it exciting.
I don’t know where she got the idea from, but I kind of like that people are going back to that. It’s kind of like... I mean, I sold all my vinyl when CDs came out. And now, I’m buying it again, but I don’t have the vinyl equipment.
I don’t have the record player. The rest of my setup is high-end, but I don’t have a record player. And I don’t do anything to play the vinyl really well, but I still buy vinyl again.
I just bought the new Van Morrison album coming out in a couple of weeks. Sometimes, I just want to put it on and enjoy the fact that the vinyl jumps up and down, there’s dust on it, and it only lasts 20 minutes before you have to flip it over.
I think that’s still valid. And if for nothing else, it reminds you why high-definition streaming or whatever else you use is actually nice. But you learn from that—just like going back to film photography now and then.
Iain: Yeah, yeah. How much film do you shoot? Let’s get into a little bit of your background—because I assume you started with film at some point.
Thorsten: Yeah. I don’t know if we... I generally think that starting from year zero and moving forward is a little dull.
But we can start somewhere else. For example, we were just in Japan for two weeks, and then we went to Paris and London for workshops.
We love Japan, so I did a three-day workshop in Kyoto, and I had to take some photos in Tokyo. But since we were there longer, we could offer a magazine where I could go to wherever people needed me.
So, we got to some interesting places. And one thing that happened—every time I went to the Leica store in Ginza, Tokyo (which was the first Leica store in the world and still the most beautiful one)—it was an experience.
Everything in that store is high-end—silk on the walls, marble, hidden compartments. It was really expensive to make, and it follows a very Japanese design philosophy, where things are hidden.
If you walked in back in 2010 or 2012, you wouldn’t see any cameras—except for six or seven cameras on the counter, taking up maybe half a square meter of space. The rest was just empty.
It felt very Steve Jobs, very Apple Store-like. But with a Japanese twist—when you ask for a lens, they open the wall, and behind it, they have lenses resting in calfskin leather or something equally luxurious.
And then, on the table, they would always have the Leica MP.
The Leica MP is a classic film Leica—at least for me. I think they started making it in 2002, but it feels like it’s been around forever.
I would look at that camera every time I visited, and over the three or four days I spent in Tokyo, I’d fall in love with it again. Film photography is huge in Japan, and it was even back then.
So, day by day, I would talk myself out of buying it. I’d remind myself that I already had 10 or 15 film cameras at home that I don’t even use. So, why would I buy another one? And besides, I already had a Leica M4, which is very close to the MP. And that’s how I ended up going to Japan for the last ten years, every time seeing the MP, falling in love with it, and every time talking myself out of it.
Then, this time in Japan, I was in Kyoto, and I thought, This is the right place to finally get a Leica MP.
We were at the Leica store, but I forgot to ask about it. So after the workshop, I emailed them asking if they had it in stock. Nobody answered. So I figured, Well, it’s not happening.
Then, I went around Japan and eventually back to Tokyo. I walked into the Leica store in Tokyo and talked to the store manager, Takahashi-san.
I asked, "Do you have the MP?"
He said, "I’m not sure we have any."
But then he went to the back—and found one.
So I held it in my hands for a bit…
And then I said, No, let me just sleep on it. I’ll come back and pick it up tomorrow if I need it.
And then… I talked myself out of it. Again!
So I’ve been going there, but somehow—here’s the thing—going to Japan is where you get a Leica MP. Not ordering it online in the U.S., not even going to Wetzlar to the factory. It has to be from that store.
And while I was traveling around Japan, I was thinking, No, actually, I could get into shooting film again. Maybe just put in some color film. And somehow, the whole mood of Japan made me feel like, Yeah, I could do this.
And I had this thought—I've said this to a few people and workshop students as a joke—but I always go to exciting places around the world.
Tokyo is definitely one of those places. Asia is full of exciting locations I visit.
But I come in, I do my three-day workshop, and then I leave. Sometimes, I fly out the same night or the day after. And I started asking myself: How is that going to feel when I’m 90?
I’ll look back and think, I went to Tokyo all these times… but what did I actually see?
Well, I just walked around the streets, photographed, and left.
I never really take time to look. I definitely don’t look as a tourist—I don’t care about all the typical tourist spots. But maybe I should see something beyond just the workshop.
And then, as part of the joke, I thought:
Maybe I should finish my workshop—after three days of shooting digital with an M11, M10, M9, whatever I use—and then, after that, switch completely.
I put the digital cameras away, take out a film camera, and suddenly, I become a completely different person. I shoot only film, and it changes my whole perspective.
And this time, I got really close to actually doing it.
I had two weeks in Japan for myself. I could have just shot film and reinvented myself—created a whole newphotographic identity. Maybe one day.
Shooting Film Again
That’s the film story—but of course, if we go back a bit, the Leica M6 was reintroduced in 2022, so I got one.
I went to New York specifically to shoot both film and digital.
I used a Leica SL film camera from the ’60s or ’70s—a camera I used a lot in the past—alongside the M10 or M11and the Leica M6.
I shot film and sent it to a lab in New York. They scanned it, sent me a download link once I was back home, and then mailed the physical negatives later. But at that point, I didn’t even need the negatives anymore.
I usually don’t like direct comparisons, but here I did one.
I found a street scene with extreme light reflecting off a skyscraper. First, I shot it with one camera. Then I shot it with the other.
When I got home, I experimented: "How much can I change the film look?"
And you can’t change the film look much—which is actually a blessing. You don’t have to worry about it. It’s locked in.
But with digital, we’re used to making endless adjustments.
So, I tried to recreate the film look on my digital files.
And I could.
I created presets based on it, and now, when I look at photos from that week in New York, I can’t tell whether an image was shot on film or digital.
Especially if you add film grain in Capture One Pro, there’s no way to tell anymore.
That experience—going back to film for a few weeks in New York—reminded me why I love shooting digital.
But it also gave me something from film again.
It’s like touching your roots—like rediscovering something you once knew.
It’s the same feeling as going back to vinyl records.
You remember why you loved it.
You go to a record store, listen to an album three or four times before buying it, and then, when you finally own it, you listen to the whole thing.
Albums used to tell stories—they had a communication behind them. That’s gone now.
But still—there’s something about going back.
That’s why I put film photography back on the shelf two years ago.
My History with Film Photography
Before that, until 2004-2006, I was shooting slide film.
I used the Leica R8, R9, and a lot of Leica SL—the first SLR film camera Leica made.
It feels like an M—sturdy, like a tank—and the shutter sound is amazing.
I used it all over the world.
When I shot assignments, I’d shoot on slide film, turn it into a lab, and pick up the scans. If I needed it urgently, I’d get it in an hour. Otherwise, I’d pick it up the next day.
I’d scan the images using an Imacon scanner or a Nikon scanner, remove the dust, and process them.
That was the last time I really produced a lot of film—and by then, I had refined my entire process.
- I knew which film to use.
- I knew which lab to send it to.
- I knew how to handle the scans.
Before that, I shot black and white film and had my own darkroom.
I developed everything myself—rolling film, mixing chemicals. It was all manual.
But I know I’m not going back to that.
Modern-Day Film Photography
A neighbor of mine—five minutes away—sent me photos of his state-of-the-art darkroom.
He’s semi-retired, has money, and somehow, he got convinced to build a full darkroom setup.
It looks amazing.
But I wouldn’t even go there for one evening just to make prints.
It’s just… no. That part of my life is done.
Philosophy on Workflow & Photography
Still, everything I do today—from books to workflow—always references back to the origins.
I always ask:
- How was it originally done?
- Why was it done that way?
- What was the logic behind it?
And that’s how I structure my digital workflow—the way I teach it in books, video classes, the Lightroom Survival Kit, and workshops.
It’s based on the principles of photography from 150 years ago.
Back in the 1970s, photographers selected their images. They didn’t destroy negatives or carry them around.
You developed final prints, and that was it. You stored everything properly.
Today, with digital, it’s become an endless process—people upload everything to the cloud, constantly re-edit, and get lost in the marketing hype.
But photography has always been about making decisions.
The Allure of Film Today
I look at some photographers on Instagram who shoot film, and at first, I think:
"Wow, this looks amazing!"
But when I look closer... the quality isn’t actually that great.
Even the way they travel and shoot—one guy went to Copenhagen, and I loved the colors and style.
But then I realized—he only visited the most touristy places.
So yeah, he shoots film, and he has a cool aesthetic. But that’s not what I would do.
For me, film is for later.
When I’m older and more experienced, I’ll revisit it.
Maybe then, I’ll finally figure out how to make something new out of it.s
Iain:
I think even Platon and photographers like him have moved over to digital now. At some point, you just have to accept it.
Film costs £30–40 per roll—before developing—and then there’s the risk of it going wrong.
Thorsten:
Yeah, but the slowness of film… that's one thing.
I mean, when I started out, I had an advertising agency and an internet company, and then I sold that.
One of the things I wanted to do afterward was interviews with entrepreneurs.
So I’d go out, talk to them for one, two, three, even four hours, take notes—sometimes record, but mostly take notes—and capture a photo that showed the soul of the person.
And then, the writing process took three or four weeks to finish.
It was kind of cozy in a way—slowing everything down—but it was also a lot of work.
That’s just how it was done.
On the photo side, I shot on slide film. So I’d send it to the lab, get it back, and every scan took 20 to 30 minutes to clean for dust and get it looking right.
Imagine doing that every day.
So while I was working on a new interview, I was still editing the previous ones.
Then, when I switched to digital, it was completely different.
Now, I just go out, take the photos, go home, import them, and I’m done.
By the next day, I’m working on something new.
And that’s something I really like—the ability to complete things in a structured way.
From a business standpoint, it’s also easier to make money.
That’s just how it is.
The Importance of Completing Work
Iain: But that’s also where good creative work comes from, right?
Great work comes from completing iteration cycles—actually finishing projects.
It’s only when you go from beginning to end that you refine your workflow and process.
My background is in project management, so when you talked about repetition in Japan, I really loved that video.
You said that freedom comes from being organized, and that resonated with me.
First, because I’ve felt that way for a long time but never found the words to describe it.
But also because you’re right—when you look at great creative people like Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Elton John—these are people who do the work.
They get up, put on their shoes, go to work, do the job, and then go home.
It’s that repetition that makes them great.
So in a way, digital photography, when embraced properly, supports that idea.
I think it’s good that you talk so much about workflow—because that’s key.
You can do it more times. And that’s how the greats get great.
There’s a Macklemore quote that makes me sound terribly old, but:
"The greats aren’t great because they were born able to paint. They were great because they painted a lot."
And when artists get together, they don’t talk about art.
They talk about where to get cheap paint.
And I think that’s an important distinction—even for people who aren’t professionals but want to understand art and craft.
Finishing Work vs. Perfectionism
Thorsten: Yeah. But nowhere does it say that just because something takes a long time, it’s good, you know?
Finishing things is very important if you’re an artist or a creator.
It’s so tempting to start something, leave it unfinished, and tell yourself:
"Maybe if I leave it in a drawer for a few years, it will get better."
But I can tell you—it doesn’t.
It’s been proven: time alone does nothing.
If you pick it up again, you can’t even remember why you started it in the first place.
So you have to redo it, but it’s never going to be what you originally intended.
You see this with every artist.
Henri Cartier-Bresson, Paul McCartney—anyone.
Especially with long projects, when you finally finish, you almost feel ashamed because now you know how to do it better.
Every piece of art is a process of learning something new.
The Evolution of an Artist
I had this experience as a teenager when I was drawing comics.
If you work full-time, it takes two to three days to finish one page.
A comic album is 48 pages.
Even from the top left corner of a page to the bottom right, your style evolves.
By the time you reach page eight, it looks like a completely different person drew it.
But you can’t keep redoing it, or you’ll never publish anything.
And that’s true for any creative work.
Whether you’re making coffee, running a factory, or painting—you can only sell or share finalized products.
You have to finish something.
Sure, once you finish, you might know how to do it better—but what you made is still great.
And if you look at Henri Cartier-Bresson or Paul McCartney, they might not be proud of their early work.
They might think it was too simple.
But that’s where their biggest breakthroughs happened.
The Story of the Jumping Man Photo
I always joke about Henri Cartier-Bresson and his famous "Jumping Man" photo.
Within the first year of owning a Leica camera, he took that shot.
I went to the exact location where he took it. The fence isn’t there anymore.
But I can totally imagine how it happened:
He sees water.
People are jumping over it.
He gets an idea: Maybe I can capture that.
But he’s shooting with a rangefinder, and he’s new to it.
So, he doesn’t realize that one-third of the frame will be blacked out due to parallax error.
And that means that one photograph—his most famous image—is the only one he ever cropped.
From his later perspective, there are so many technical mistakes in that photo.
But what are you going to do?
That’s the photo everyone wants.
And I bet it’s the same for songwriters.
They might be embarrassed by some of their early, simple songs.
But those are the ones people still play at weddings.
That’s just how it is.
Choosing Lenses: A 50mm Obsession
Iain: Well, on the subject of making things, we should probably talk about your lens choices.
What was the first lens you were going to mention?
Thorsten: I kind of left it to the last minute.
Iain: That’s more fun!
Thorsten: Yeah, you asked me to send an email with my three lenses, and I actually didn’t know.
The short story is: My favorite lens is 50mm.
Iain: Yeah.
Thorsten: And then the question is: Which 50? But in general, 50mm.
And the reason I didn’t decide earlier is that I never know until I pack my bags.
When I travel, the night before, I make a list—cameras, lenses, socks, cigarettes.
And somehow, in recent years, I just end up bringing only 50mm lenses.
It’s my go-to focal length.
A lot of people go to my website looking for excuses to buy a lens—but I don’t actually say they need it.
I just say: If something makes you interested and gets you out to photograph, just get it.
Worst case?
You realize: I didn’t need it. I didn’t like it.
But now you know, and you don’t have to wonder anymore.
That’s my attitude.
The Leica M246 Monochrom Story
When the Leica M246 Monochrom came out, I tested it in Paris and elsewhere.
I wrote a long article saying: This camera is BS. It cannot handle highlights.
I showed examples, did tests, and said: This is not great.
Then, I got an email: "I read your article about the M246—it's awesome! I just bought one!"
I thought, Okay... that's cool.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter what I say. I can write about a lens or a camera, and it doesn’t change much. Leica isn’t going bankrupt because a sensor isn’t great. People buy it anyway, think it’s awesome, or later say, Yeah, I liked it, but I agree—it wasn’t that great, so I got the next one.
It’s kind of liberating in a way.
It’s not a big responsibility.
Why Some Lenses Just "Feel Right"
Now it makes sense why Milan wrote the piece on my website about the Steel Rim 35.
I'm actually talking to him tomorrow—he might be on a future episode.
But yeah, it’s funny—because I’m a 35mm guy.
It’s probably because my first cameras as a kid had 35mm f/2.8 lenses.
So, in my head, that’s just what a photo looks like.
But with a 50mm, it feels a bit like cheating.
There’s extra compression, extra background separation, and if you shoot f/2 or lower, it starts feeling very versatile.
It’s a bit like films being played at 24 fps—it just has that natural feel.
I totally see why 50mm was the go-to for so many people.
The Art of Seeing: 50mm vs. Wide Angles
Thorsten:
I don’t think about compression or stuff like that.
For me, this is just how I see the world.
Every time you take a photo, you’re excluding what’s outside the frame and isolating what’s inside it.
That’s the story.
And ideally, there should be one clear story in the picture.
If it’s a beautiful car, a lady standing next to it, and a tree in the background—
you don’t try to tell all three stories at once.
Either they all come together as one story, or they don’t belong in the frame.
That’s how a painter works.
So, in a way, picking a lens is just about what feels natural.
When a 28mm Makes Sense
Sometimes, I do have to tell a 28mm story.
In Japan, I had a portrait session where the guy was sitting at a traditional Japanese table talking to someone else.
I needed to capture the whole room—so that was a 28mm shot.
That’s what I used it for.
But when I put on a 21mm—it’s completely disorienting.
Everything looks small and unimportant.
You realize: Okay, I need something in the foreground.
A 21mm forces you to tell stories differently.
And that’s the challenge.
You can learn to use it, or you can decide:
"Nope. I’ll stick with 50mm for the rest of my life."
The Noctilux: Magic & Cheating
If I’m choosing between 50mm lenses, I often pick the Noctilux.
But I use it so much that I almost get tired of looking at my own Noctilux photos.
Sometimes, I force myself to use other lenses.
But the Noctilux is just magic.
At f/0.95 or f/1.0, it gives you freedom to create something dreamy—
portraits or street shots that blow people’s socks off.
It makes any city or indoor setting feel special.
Sometimes, you forget how magical it is—
but then you put on an electronic viewfinder or mount it on an SL camera—
and suddenly, you see a whole different world.
I met a guy at DreamWorks in LA—one of the animators working with Spielberg.
He told me:
"My whole life is about creating fantasy. Why would I use a camera at f/8, wide-angle, and capture reality? That’s not me. It has to be dreamy."
And that’s exactly what the Noctilux does.
In some ways, it feels like cheating.
You can get similar effects, but nothing looks like a Noctilux.
Even a Canon or anything else can’t replicate it.
It has to be that lens.
The 50mm Summilux & APO: Perfection vs. Personality
Leica sold a lot of Noctilux lenses.
Not that they’d admit it, but they did.
Then came the 50mm f/1.4 Summilux ASPH, designed by Peter Karbe.
Peter actually told me:
"This is basically an APO lens, but it was too ridiculous to call it that."
And he was right.
I had workshop students using that lens, and the industrial design of it was perfect.
It’s balanced beautifully on an M camera.
But I didn’t like using it—it felt too easy, too perfect.
When the M9 came out, I shot almost exclusively with a 1957 50mm Summicron Rigid.
That lens had low contrast and an old-school look.
It wasn’t the best lens I had—but it was the one I liked.
Then students would show up with the 50mm Summilux ASPH,
and everything was razor sharp, high contrast—perfect.
I thought:
"Yeah, that’s great. But it’s not for me. It’s too predictable."
Peter Karbe & The 50mm APO
I used to sit and have long conversations with Peter Karbe about lenses.
And one day, I realized: I don’t actually use any of his lenses!
I had all the older ones, but not the modern ones he designed.
So eventually, I decided: Okay, I’ll get a 50mm f/1.4 ASPH.
I even got the black chrome brass version, a limited edition.
But once I had it, I thought:
"Why did I get the heavier one? The lighter one was already perfect!"
The Ultimate Workhorse Lens
If you need a workhorse lens, the 50mm Summilux ASPH is the one.
It can give you a Noctilux-style dreamy look—but with higher quality & versatility.
It’s compact.
It fits on the M, the SL, and everything just works.
It’s so easy to use, anyone can make magic with it.
If there’s one key lens in the Leica lineup, it’s this one.
Final Thoughts
Picking a lens is about what excites you.
When I pack for a month-long trip, I ask:
"Which lens will make me enthusiastic about this project?"
Even on daily coffee runs, I pick a camera and lens based on what I feel like shooting that day.
That’s the beauty of photography.
You choose what makes you excited—
and that’s what makes your photos yours.
Thorsten:
It just records exactly what’s there. It doesn’t make your voice sound like it’s from the 1920s, and it doesn’t make it more perfect. It’s just exactly as it is.
Yeah.
So, in essence, that’s the nightmare for any Instagrammer these days—you take a selfie, and it actually looks like you.
Iain:
Imagine.
Thorsten:
Yeah. That would be terrible. End of the world.
But in photography, that is actually cool. Some of the photos I took in Cambridge, I looked at them and thought, No, this is it—I actually have to compose my photograph. I have to be a good photographer. I have to get the timing right.
I also have to make sure the tonality in the environment is correct. If I use a monochrome camera, it will capture the tones exactly as they are. In that way, it makes photography feel very old school—like being a photographer in the 1950s. There’s no safety net other than what you can create with your own skill.
That’s why, at first, I found that lens a bit boring. The only excitement I got from it was that it put me in the driver’s seat. I had to decide what to photograph. I had to create the photograph. Sometimes you want that challenge, but it’s not how I felt every day. I thought it was too hyped, too perfect.
A lot of the hype around it came from its use in monochrome photography. They had a Danish Magnum photographer shoot promotional photos in Greenland—ice, a village, some dramatic scenery. They made these massive prints where you could see the face of a child in the valley, and sure, it’s impressive. But for me, I thought, I don’t shoot stuff like that, so I don’t care how much you can blow it up.
I see that it’s interesting. And yes, it’s fun to buy a lens and show your spouse, Look, this is why it costs $7,000!
Iain:
I wouldn’t be married for very long if I did that!
Thorsten:
Right? “Hey, Alice, come look at this blown-up photo of some kids at the end of the driveway. You can see their faces!”
Iain:
Yeah, no.
Thorsten:
But anyway, if you look back, the Monochrom came out in 2012, and the 50mm APO around the same time. It’s almost like it was made to match that level of detail. The longer perspective of Peter Karbe, the lens designer, makes sense—he designed it with 250- or 300-megapixel cameras in mind. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t, but the resolution is there in the lens. It’s a masterpiece he created.
I tried to love it. Just like with the 50mm f/1.4 Summilux, I felt like I should love it because of all the effort that went into making it. But every time I used it, I came to the same conclusion: It’s too perfect. It’s too boring.
Of course, sometimes you need that level of detail and color accuracy—like for product photography. At some point, they released a Leica historical edition in brass with black paint, and they only made three of them. I got one.
At that time, it cost the same as the standard version, so I swapped it out. And suddenly, it felt more like my lens because it had that 1950s look. I’ve used that one quite a lot, and to me, it blends in with my other lenses. Whether I put on the Noctilux 50mm f/0.95, the Summilux 50mm f/1.4, or the Summicron 50mm f/2.0, they all give me that old-school mood.
Maybe that’s what it is for me—it has to feel old school. Fundamentally, I know I can do anything with a 50mm lens. I could do anything with any lens, really, but it’s about how much of me is in the lens.
All my 50mm lenses—especially the Noctilux—have that feeling. The Noctilux f/0.95 came out in 2008 or 2009, but I almost pretend these lenses are from the 1950s. Somehow, that’s what a lens has to have for me to like it.
I need to feel like I’m on some important mission in the 1950s, capturing something for the future. I don’t know why, but that’s what gets my juices going.
And that’s what I want for myself—and for anybody else. If you love Fuji cameras and they make you want to go out and take evening photos, then that’s what you should do. You shouldn’t have a Q or whatever else.
Then it’s just a matter of convincing your spouse—or whoever else you need to convince—that yes, you really do need this. That this is the only right choice.
Iain:
Yeah. That’s your stance on it?
Thorsten:
That’s my stance on it, yeah.
Iain:
I think you’re right. My stepdad has been talking about buying a Q. He’s circling around it. He wants a small camera for travel, ideally weather-sealed, and with a wider angle but the ability to crop in.
Unfortunately, all roads lead to the Q.
That is just the camera for him. But instead, he’s got a Sony A7CR, bolting on lenses. I think he actually prefers the Sony system, so in the end, he’s talked himself around in circles—kind of like you with the M4-P.
Maybe one day he’ll land on it, maybe he won’t. We’ll see.
Thorsten:
Yeah, I mean... so... yeah.
My experience with the Leica M, which for a long time was the only system out there, is that there wasn’t much to choose from. But what I’ve seen over the years is that some people find a way to make it happen.
I meet people who don’t have the money for a Leica M, yet somehow they own three of them, with lenses. And they love it.
And then I meet people who could buy five Leica Ms a month, and they still don’t buy one. I have this one guy—a management consultant from Germany—who’s been talking about the M9 and a 90mm lens for ten years.
He’s always saying, “Oh, that’s all I need in life. That would be perfect.”
And I ask him, “Did you buy one?”
“No, not yet.”
And I’m like, Can you just go now, pull out your credit card, dig the money out from under your mattress, and buy it already?
But he can’t get himself to do it.
Iain:
Yeah, I get that.
Thorsten:
I can relate. I’m not big on cars. I wouldn’t spend a lot of money on a car because it would feel wrong for me—out of character or something. So, I get it.
Now, the Leica Q—personally, I’m not a big fan of it. But I know the Q is the gateway camera.
You hand someone a Q and say, Hey, try this one out.
And next thing you know, they have to have it.
But here’s the real trick. They use the Q for a few weeks, and now they start dreaming about an M.
They do all the work by themselves. I’ve seen this process so many times.
I have a guy here locally who has a lot of Fuji and Sony cameras. He’s a photography nerd, deeply into it. He even has suitcases full of RussIain lenses and other oddities.
But about a week ago, we talked, and he had a Q for three weeks.
Iain:
Right.
Thorsten:
And now he’s saying, I’m getting a Q2. I’m selling all my other cameras. I don’t need them anymore. I looked at my pictures, and I need a Q.
And I know what’s coming next... but I didn’t warn him.
And he's like, I'm getting a Q2. Or rather, the question was, Should I get a Q2 or a Q3 or whatever? I said, Get the Q2.
And he’s just like, I’m going to sell all my cameras. I don’t need them. I looked at my pictures, and no, no, I need a Q.
And I mean, I know what’s coming next, but I didn’t warn him.
Iain:
We know where this story ends.
Thorsten:
Yeah.
I did the same thing. I started looking at the Q for years, going back and forth, in and out of deciding whether I needed it.
Then, eventually, I skipped the Q entirely and just went straight to the M, which was the right move. Because I think, like you’re saying, I would have stayed with the Q for a while, but ultimately, I like versatility. I like to change perspectives periodically. I like to swap lenses.
But more importantly, the feel of the M is tremendous.
I had an M10 and eventually upgraded to the M11. The reason? I don’t travel as much as you, and the USB chargingon the M11 is huge for me.
Now, here’s the funny thing: the M11 is better than the M10 in every way, and yet… I don’t love it as much.
It’s got a much higher resolution. There’s USB-C charging. There’s a much longer battery life—all these things that, on paper, should make it the perfect camera.
I think it even corrected a color cast that I didn’t quite like in the M10. In fact, I actually prefer the colors in the M11.
And yet, despite all that—if my house were on fire and my M10 and M11 were both sitting there, side by side—I might still pick up the M10. And I don’t really know why.
Thorsten:
No, I think that’s fair enough.
So, there are several things to that.
Going back to the Q, you’ve got the original Leica Q from 2015. I’ve talked to dealers—off the record, of course—and when nobody else is listening, they admit: I like the original Q better.
They say, I prefer the way the pictures look.
I also like the Q2. The Q3, though? I’m not that fascinated by it.
But overall, I’m actually not that fascinated with the Q series in general. I would pick an M any day because it feelsmore like making a photograph.
Now, I did have a period, maybe 9 or 12 months ago, where I started thinking—maybe I should just get a Q2 Reporter, and that’s it.
I’m in Florida. It gets hot here. Sometimes, dealing with lenses and camera bags feels like too much. I thought, Maybe I just go super simple—almost like not even wearing a camera. I just have the Q2, and that’s it.
I figured, I’ll make it work.
And I think the key in that for me is that, no, the Q2 Reporter is a special camera. It feels like I could make it my friend, just like that lens have to be a 50s version to be my lens. And with the Leica M11 repeated, I mean, so you could say the short review of Leica M11, it's just not a great camera.
That's like the bottom line. And you could say with not a great camera, it's basically the image quality is not good. That's my take on it.
I’ve been writing different articles about it. I’ve been having discussions with people, trying to figure out why it’s not great. And what I keep coming back to is this: The M10 was the camera that worked.
It was in production for seven, maybe eight years. No problems. It just worked. And somehow, Leica got everything right.
Now, you can take the approach of, No, I’ll make the M11 work.
And yeah, you can make it work.
But my question is: Why go through all that effort to make something work when you already had a camera that just worked?
That’s the part that gets me.
I also had the M11 in silver, and I didn’t have any problems with freezing or anything like that. There were a few software bugs at the start, but Leica fixed them in firmware updates.
But even though I didn’t have those issues, I still had a problem with the image quality and the feel of the camera.
And so, once I finished my articles and videos about the M11, I thought, That’s it. I’m done with this camera.
I was ready to throw it out.
I was thinking, I’ll just find some kid on the street—“Hey, do you want a Leica? Take it, just run away.”
Just make sure he doesn’t live in my neighborhood.
Iain:
(Laughs)
Thorsten:
But then something funny happened.
I was scrolling through Instagram one day, and I saw a post from Leica Store New York.
And there it was—an M11-P in black Kevlar.
I immediately wrote to the store’s Instagram account, What the hell is this?
The store manager, Rob, replied, That’s an M11-P. We made some with Kevlar.
I asked, How much is it?
He said, Same price as the regular one.
And I was like, Wow.
Then I thought, Why would I get another M11 when I don’t even like the first one?
But I kept talking to Rob, and he told me they only made six black and six silver versions with Kevlar.
It wasn’t a strictly limited edition.
For all I knew, they could start making 2,000 of them.
But for now, they had just made these for the store opening.
And I thought, Okay, that’s it.
I tried to talk myself out of it.
I even asked Rob if he had some really bad serial numbers in stock—something to give me an excuse not to buy it.
But in the end, I said, Okay, that’s it. I’ll take one.
And the reasoning for myself was simple:
Let me try to love this camera.
Let me get one where I actually feel like, Wow, this is my camera.
And so I got it.
But even after I got it, I had it sitting on my table for a whole week—untouched.
I didn’t put an SD card in it. I didn’t turn it on. I didn’t do anything.
I just left it there.
Because I kept thinking, I’m going to return this. This doesn’t make any sense.
This doesn’t make any sense.
Then I decided, Okay, that’s it. Now I’m taking off the plastic from the bottom plate, or whatever was left, and I’m just going to shoot the hell out of this camera.
And I almost shot exclusively with it for a month—in Japan, Paris, and London.
Iain:
Yes, you were spotted! Tokyo Camera posted that picture of your camera, which I saw this evening just as I was working on the video. A message job, yeah?
Thorsten:
Yeah. So, somehow, I can like it.
And the funny thing is, that camera actually started freezing in between shoots.
I changed the SD card, and now it freezes maybe once every thousand shots, whereas before it was once every hundred or something.
Yeah. So apparently, going from a 300 MB/s card to a 280 MB/s card helps.
I don’t know if that’s been fixed in the latest firmware update.
Then there’s the issue of colors and exposure, but I mean, fundamentally—you can make it work.
For example, with assignments, I send the RAW files to the magazine, and at the start of each portrait session, I include a gray card for reference.
Then I just wait to see what they make of it.
So far? No compIaints.
But I have to say—while you can make it work—it doesn’t feel completely right.
Then again, you could say that about anything. You can make anything work.
Iain:
Yeah.
Thorsten:
But I still love the M10-P.
In my opinion, that is the camera.
It has a silent shutter. It’s been well-tested for seven or eight years now.
And with 24 megapixels, the workflow is easy.
So now, I’m looking into why certain lenses behave differently on different sensors.
For example, why does the 28mm f/1.4 look great on the M10 but not as great on the M11 with its higher megapixels?
There’s something happening—maybe light is spilling over into the next pixel or something like that.
I’ve been talking to lens designers and various experts about it.
At the same time, I’ve gone back and looked at old M240 images.
I see pictures on my website, and I think, Wow, that’s really crisp. That’s the M240.
And I wonder, Why do the M240 images look so crisp?
Maybe it’s because when you have an M240, you use lenses designed specifically for it.
It’s a kit that works together.
Then you move to an M11 with 60 megapixels, or soon, a 120 or 200-megapixel camera, and suddenly… maybe that doesn’t do any favors to certain lenses.
Take the 50mm APO, for example.
That lens was designed for the future.
But nobody really knows how it will look on future sensors, because those sensors don’t exist yet.
Not even Peter Karbe knows for sure.
In theory, it should look amazing because the lens has the resolution.
But the real question is: Can the sensor handle the light properly?
Then you get into another issue:
Are the people designing these new sensors actually experts in image quality?
Or, like everything else in the world, are they just making a new sensor because they have to make a new sensor?
That’s what I’ve been researching.
I’ll be publishing some interesting articles about it.
I’ve even gone back to studying Oskar Barnack—thinking about what he would have done.
Because, at the end of the day, a Leica camera is about taking pictures.
Not about whether it has USB charging.
Not about whether it can update via Wi-Fi.
Those features help sell cameras today, but that’s not really what a Leica is about.
So, in some ways, I’ll go a long way to find something I love and make it work.
But part of making something work is feeling attached to it.
Feeling like, Yes, this is my lens. This is my camera.
Iain:
Yeah. That camera does look great.
And I think it’s all about what inspires you to pick it up.
Like, if you love using it, and you’re excited by it, then it doesn’t really matter what anyone else says.
I think you’ve said that a few times—that’s the key.
If it excites you when you pick it up, that’s all that matters.
There was a Hugh Brownstone quote from years ago, when I first got into the M system.
He said that when he raises a Leica to his eye, it has this talismanic quality—something he can’t quite rationalize.
He said he can’t be objective about a Leica.
And I totally get that.
When my M10 arrived, I bought it used.
I was so excited—this massive box arrived at my house.
I unwrapped everything, took it out, and it was freezing cold from being in the box.
I remember putting in a memory card, mounting a lens, and lifting it to my eye for the first time.
And I just thought, Oh no. I’m a goner.
The minute I heard that shutter sound—
The moment I looked through the rangefinder for the first time—
I knew.
That was it.
I was gone.
I was going to be shooting with Leicas for a long, long time.
I could just tell.
Thorsten:
Yeah.
Iain:
Are you optimistic about the future of Leica?
Or do you think it’s just going to be more megapixels, more unnecessary features, and stuff we don’t need?
Thorsten:
No, I’m pretty sure the M12 is going to be like the M10 was in relation to the M240.
The M240 was a shock at first—it had video and more buttons.
But looking back, it’s actually a nice camera.
It does the job. It’s a good deal now.
But then you had the M11, and that went completely nuts.
Iain:
Yeah.
Thorsten:
The M12 has to fix all of that.
It has to be simple again.
The SL3 is a different story—it’s a separate system.
It has a lot of great features.
The design of the menu is beautiful—car manufacturers should learn from Leica when it comes to UI design.
But I think the M system should be about simplicity.
It should be about removing buttons, not adding them.
Every time they add something—like user profiles, custom menus, all that stuff—it’s hard to get rid of it again.
Because now, people expect it.
So if they take something away, suddenly 100 people email Leica compIaining, and then it has to come back.
So, how do you simplify it?
Maybe Leica should say, Here’s a simple M camera. If you want more menus, you can download extra features later.
But keep it simple.
And yes, I completely agree with you.
A Leica is like a talisman.
It just feels right.
And that’s rare.
I’ve met so many grown adults with too much money, and they tell me—This camera has really improved my life.
It’s not like they don’t have other things.
They could buy airplanes or cars.
But this?
This is something they love—because it feels right.
And that’s a rare thing.
Photographs just come down to one thing—I just want to take pictures.
But the fundamentals have to be right. Especially when you know about all the possibilities, and especially if you have the ability to buy whatever you want.
At that point, you really want to simplify things. You don’t want to deal with unnecessary distractions.
You just want something that feels exactly right.
And it’s funny—I hadn’t really thought about it that way before, but it’s true.
If I go back and look at my workshops from when the M9 first came out—the first full-frame M—I noticed something.
The people who used it were all very different individuals, but they were also very similar in their habits.
A lot of them had a particular taste in cars, bags, phones, the way they traveled—everything was carefully considered.
They would exchange recommendations like:
"I found this notebook cover because it does this and that. It doesn’t have a big logo, it’s simple, and it works perfectly. I know this guy who made it for me."
And then three or four others would immediately say, "That’s the one I want."
Then they’d go buy it.
That’s what makes the Leica M crowd so unique.
They actively seek out something special, something that feels right.
And once they recognize that they’ve found the right thing—they stick with it.
They don’t necessarily need to buy the next new edition.
But of course, we all get caught up in that cycle of feeling like "the new iPhone, the new Leica, the new lens" is somehow better.
That’s just how the world works.
It keeps the economy going.
And honestly, it’s nice to have an excuse to walk into the camera store every now and then.
Iain:
Yeah, and if we want an M12, I suppose people had better buy M11s…
Otherwise, we won’t get an M12. Or an M13, for that matter.
Thorsten:
Well, the M12 is coming—no matter what.
And despite the M11’s issues—or let’s say, the disagreements about it—they’re milking it to the last drop.
Now they’ve released one without a screen, and maybe they’ll make one with a built-in EVF as well.
Iain:
Yeah, but the EVF debate… That’s a whole evening conversation over a pint, isn’t it?
Whether or not an M with an EVF is really an M.
Thorsten:
Well, it is still an M at that point.
The name Messsucher—which is where "M" comes from—just means distance measurement.
You still have to measure the distance to focus the lens, one way or another.
But if it had autofocus?
Then that would be a different story.
Iain:
Yes.
Thorsten:
A built-in EVF makes it easier to get the result.
But maybe it takes away some of that talismanic feel.
Still, I think there should be a choice.
I think Leica has now realized that there’s a market for multiple versions:
- One without a screen
- A P version
- A monochrome version
- And maybe one with a built-in EVF
And if they can sell enough—say 800 to 1,000 units—then they’ll make it.
But there’s a lot of internal resistance at Leica.
The product manager, Stefan Daniel, who oversees all Leica product lines, has said:
"Over my dead body—it will always have a rangefinder!"
And I think, That’s bullshit.
Because it is bullshit.
Iain:
But maybe that’s the marketing strategy.
I mean, take Rolex, for example.
They’ve never made a digital watch.
Not because they couldn’t, but because a Rolex is a mechanical watch.
That’s their position in the market.
They could make an electronic Rolex if they wanted to.
But if you want something digital, you buy another brand.
Rolex is mechanical—period.
Thorsten:
Exactly.
And that’s the positioning Leica has as well.
"We’re old school. We don’t do that."
That could be the reason they resist a built-in EVF.
But from a photography standpoint—or even a marketing standpoint—there’s no reason not to do it.
Iain:
Yeah, they could put anything in it.
I think it’s about the corner of the market they’ve carved out for themselves.
The M is the M.
The SL line is the modern mirrorless system—if you’re shooting professionally, tethered to lights, that’s the one you’d use.
And the Q?
That’s the gateway drug.
Each camera has something that makes it just difficult enough to create that Leica experience.
You can try to build your own "Q" out of other cameras.
But it won’t have a 1.7 aperture lens that’s that good.
There’s always something unique.
Thorsten:
Yeah, the Q system is a perfect balance.
The designer behind it—of course, it was a team effort—but the fact that they managed to keep it that simple and that functional…
That’s what makes it brillIaint.
And that’s why a flip screen didn’t really fit in at first.
But now it’s there—whatever, that’s fine.
In the same way, the M system was designed so perfectly from the start that every new version is just a variation.
Iain:
Yeah.
Thorsten:
They hit the nail on the head from the beginning.
And speaking of that—I just realized we’ve been talking for an hour and a half!
This has been wonderful.
I’ve really enjoyed this conversation.
Iain:
Same here! You’ve been very generous with your time.
But I should let you get on with the rest of your day.
It’s afternoon for you now, right?
So I guess you’ve had your coffee and juice?
Thorsten:
Yeah! And we have family visiting from Holland, Chicago, and Denmark.
The house has been full for the last 10 days.
They just got back from the beach, took showers, and now we’re heading out for dinner in 20 minutes.
So that’s the noise you’ve been hearing in the background—all the showers running!
Iain:
Ah, nice! It’s great having a full house.
You miss the quiet when they leave, but it’s great to have family visiting.
Thorsten:
Yeah, I love it.
But it does take some energy.
Iain:
Yes! Same here.
But at least you get to stay home and work while they go to the beach!
Thorsten:
Exactly! We divide responsibilities like that.
Iain:
Oh, and let me know how your film photography experiment goes!
And whether your neighbor develops the film for you.
It sounds like you have a great lab down the road—maybe you should just have him do it!
Thorsten:
Yeah, maybe!
I always dread dealing with film.
I just want to take the shot and get the final result.
Iain:
If you’ve got a passionate amateur developing film right next door…
Thorsten:
That’s true! I hadn’t even thought about that.
Iain:
There you go—a free gift!
Thorsten:
Cool.
Iain:
Amazing to talk to you, Thorsten.
Thank you so much!
After Talk:
Thorsten:
Thank you for having me.
Good to... wait, where are you?
What city are you in now?
Iain:
So, we're in a place... well, I live in a village called Nethy Bridge.
I don’t know how well you know Scotland, but we’re near Aviemore and Inverness—so, very far north.
I like to joke that it's Das Mittelfeld Nowhere, as the Germans would say.
It's the middle of nowhere, completely surrounded by trees.
But it’s tremendous.
It’s far from everything, which is good because I travel a lot for work, so when I come back here, it’s the perfect place to recharge.
It’s quiet, very rural, lots of countryside.
Deer in the garden—things like that.
And then, when I need to, I go to cities, meet people, see new things—it’s a great balance.
Thorsten:
I like that.
Where I am in Florida, it's not quite the same—there are a lot of people around, but everything is spread out.
It’s still very nature-focused and private.
Right now, I’m looking at the woods from my window.
I tried something similar when I lived in Denmark—when I had my internet company, we moved the business into a former windmill factory that had been turned into an office space.
It was totally silent out there.
The nearest grocery store was a 15-minute drive away, so it wasn’t completely isolated, but still—very peaceful.
And I loved that.
Even now, most of my work is just sitting alone, writing, smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee...
I don’t need constant input from the world.
Iain:
I think we get more input now than ever.
There was a guy I used to follow on YouTube—he ran a marketing agency in London, and for years they were based in Soho because that’s where you had to be.
It was where you saw trends first, where you noticed how people dressed, how they behaved—you could predict what was coming next.
But by 2017, 2018, he started to realize that he didn’t need to be there anymore.
Even before the pandemic, he was questioning:
"Why am I paying an insane amount of money for an office in Soho?"
And it made sense.
If you’re running your own business, the overhead costs in a city like that are just too high before you’ve even started working.
Thorsten:
Yeah, but I think that’s just growth—it’s like being a teenager.
When you’re young, you have FOMO—the fear of missing out.
You want to go to all the parties, try everything, be everywhere.
But at some point, you get older, and you just think:
"Leave me the fuck alone."
"Don’t call me, I’ll call you."
If I want to go shopping, I’ll go to Paris.
If I want something delivered, I just order from Amazon.
I mean, here in Florida, I can order Nespresso coffee, and three or four hours later, it's at my door.
Iain:
That’s crazy.
Thorsten:
Yeah! There must be a warehouse nearby, because a lot of stuff arrives within hours, and everything else is next-day delivery.
It changes your lifestyle completely.
Iain:
Yeah, it does.
I mean, our kids are learning nothing about how things used to work.
I have two boys, six and ten, and they have no concept of what it means to actually go out and get something.
They just assume everything arrives at the door.
And maybe that’s the future—maybe it will always be like that from now on.
But I do wonder... what happens if that suddenly stops working?
I’m not sure we’re preparing them for that.
Thorsten:
It probably will change at some point.
Actually, I was just talking about this yesterday—how you could do a photo project in a supermarket.
Here in the US, we have Whole Foods—there’s one in London too, but it’s much bigger here.
Imagine taking photos of people shopping, watching them stare at the shelves, trying to decide which olive oil to buy.
It doesn’t seem very exciting now.
But in 50 or 100 years, people might ask:
"What the fuck is a supermarket?"
And you’d have photos to show them.
"This is how people used to spend time—standing in a store, looking at milk and olive oil."
Iain:
Yes!
Thorsten:
They’ll be shocked.
"Wait—you had to physically pick up groceries? They didn’t just arrive by drone?"
It sounds insane now, but in a hundred years, it might actually be insane that we ever did it this way.
And that’s what makes photography important—it preserves moments.
If you take a great photo today, it’s valuable.
But in 10, 30, or 100 years, it’s historically priceless.
Iain:
Yeah, I see that a lot in my work too.
I work in video games, and our studio is turning 15 years old this year.
We just moved into a brand new building, and they spent millions making it a perfect creative space.
And I keep pushing for us to document the studio properly.
There’s almost no black-and-white, high-contrast, Tri-X style documentary photography of video game development.
Which is crazy, because gaming is one of the biggest art forms in the world.
But it’s so secretive, and honestly, game development isn’t always visually exciting.
Big-budget games are made by rooms full of people sitting very still, staring at screens for hours.
Thorsten:
That’s still cool, though.
It’s almost like a Matrix moment—they’re literally creating a new world.
Iain:
Yes!
And I keep telling my bosses, "We need these photos now."
The way we make games today won’t be the same in 10 years.
If we don’t capture it now, we’ll regret it later.
Thorsten:
That’s a great idea.
Look at Doug Menuez’s book, Fearless Genius—he photographed Silicon Valley in the 90s.
Steve Jobs let him document NeXT, the company he started after Apple.
He shot 250,000 images in three years—capturing a young Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, the founders of Adobe…
The people who built the modern world.
Back then, nobody cared.
Now? Those photos are legendary.
Iain:
That’s exactly what I want to do.
Thorsten:
You should do it.
And don’t just capture the good moments—document the bad parts too.
That’s what makes it real.
Iain:
Yeah.
I should send this part of our conversation to my bosses!
Thorsten:
Absolutely.
And remind them—nobody cared about Bob Dylan before he was famous either.
But now?
Those early photos are priceless.
Iain:
That’s it!
Okay, I’ll let you go—sounds like your family is getting restless.
Thorsten:
Yeah, they’re getting ready for dinner.
Thanks again—this was great!
Iain:
Likewise.
Thank you so much!
More to come
Bon voyage with it all. Sign up for the newsletter to stay in the know. As always, feel free to email me with suggestions, questions and ideas. And hope to see you in a workshop one day soon.
/Thorsten Overgaard
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