"To me, photography is a quiet dance with light and time — a way of playing withperspective until the ordinary becomes extraordinary. I move through the world with mylens not as a tool, but as an extension of how I feel, how I dream. I do not just takephotographs; I listen to moments and translate them into art.There is a special kind of connection through my camera lens, a silent thread that linksme to my (often inanimate) subject, to the space around us, to the unseen. In that briefpause before the shutter clicks, I feel the world slow down, revealing its quiet truths. Iam not capturing — only observing and understanding.Each image I create is a small offering, a glimpse into how I move through the world. I tryto show how I see the world with photography — with curiosity, tenderness, and an eyefor the in-between. The reflections in puddles, the shadows that dance at golden hour,the stories etched in a stranger’s glance. This is the language I speak. I want to collect adiary of my life, a story with each picture without saying too much.I remind myself daily to always look around and see the beauty of the world — incrooked lines, in peeling paint, in the way wind moves through trees. There is poetryeverywhere, waiting to be noticed. My photographs are my way of saying: look closer.Feel deeper. This world is screaming in agony, death is inevitable, but between all painand suffering is immeasurable beauty. This world — both nature and man-made — is aninspiring miracle.Photography is a quiet rebellion against the rush of time — the speed of this new world.With every frame, I try to carve out space for wonder, for stillness, for connection.Through my eyes, I invite others to slow down and see the world not as it is, but as itcould be — achingly beautiful, and endlessly alive."
Alisa Hatterscheidt
Photographer
Germany
Tilted Realities
Alisa Hatterscheidt doesn’t photograph what we see — she photographs what we overlook. In her world, reflections become doorways, shadows take center stage, and the ordinary tilts, just slightly, into the extraordinary. Each image disturbs the familiar, not with noise, but with a whisper: Look again.
Her lens shifts perspectives like a slow breath — not to distort, but to reveal. A puddle becomes a portal. A crack in the wall, a line of verse. Inanimate objects hum with presence. Reality is not fixed in her work; it folds, bends, and reassembles into quiet fictions that feel truer than fact.
