lens and bristles | sophia bounou by daniel mercado

Photographer Niko Tampio’s new photo series depicts Barcelona’s ‘manteros’, the street vendors who hawk goods up and down the Barceloneta beaches and have become a mainstay of the city’s landscape. Named after ‘mantas’, the blankets on which they display their merchandise, these vendors are largely undocumented migrants shut out from traditional forms of work whilst they navigate the bureaucracy of settlement.

Like the humanist photography of the 20th Century, Tampio’s pared-back portraits are simultaneously a sociological and aesthetic exercise, illustrating the joy and community that persist despite economic precarity and anti-immigrant hostility. 

Schön! alive spoke to the photographer about the inspirations behind the series, the responsibility of the artist and Barcelona’s dynamism.

How did this project come about and when did you first decide you wanted to represent Barcelona’s beach vendors as photographic subjects?

I’ve been going to Barcelona for years, and I’ve always gone to the beach and seen the manteros walking around. They have this singing voice when they’re selling that represents to me the sound of Barcelona, and I’ve always wondered about how their lives are.

They also interest me in a fashion sense, because I do a lot of fashion photography, and I like their clothing – I thought that they looked interesting – so, I decided that I had to do a project about them. I come from the working class as well, and I want to tell the stories of people from this background. There are many, many angles why I chose to do this project. 

You mentioned that you spent a lot of time getting to know the subjects and forming relationships with them beforehand. Was there anything that you learned in that time that particularly stood out to you? 

There were a lot of people that didn’t let me take photographs, so I don’t know what’s going on for them. But those people who were open to it, they are just like you and me. Many of them have come from Pakistan or Senegal, and because they don’t have papers, they have to do this kind of work, but they all dream about having a regular job in a restaurant, and they live just like you and me, even though they don’t have papers.

One thing that surprised me was how happy some of them were to be photographed. I gifted them the photos later and I saw how much happiness they got out of it because they felt seen. I think because somebody took the time to photograph them, the actual photograph meant a lot. 

Even though it’s so hard, there are moments of connection or happiness that you can find in migration, and that really comes across in your photographs.

It was a really tight-knit community. People who were working close to each other knew each other by name, [but] when I went to the other side of the beach, I showed them pictures of the other guys and they were like, “Yeah, I know him.” 

You mentioned before that some people didn’t want their photos taken. It’s difficult to represent undocumented people because there can be dangerous implications to their visibility. Was this a big concern for you and for your subjects when you were making this series?

Some of the manteros, especially those who didn’t let me photograph them, asked if I’m working for the police, for example. When I started the whole project, I didn’t even know if I could get any photos, but then I learned that some were really happy to be photographed. Some were strict, and I respect that. I understood that they didn’t want to get photographed, and I didn’t want to push it.

How did you try to represent the subjects with compassion and humanity? 

Of course, I wanted to have my direction so that the photos look like they are in the same series – and the lighting and the time of the day dictates a little bit what I can do – but, basically, I let them choose the spot and choose how they posed. One guy wanted to sit under the umbrella, and one guy wanted to have something that was important to him in the background. I also took some pictures with their friends, all together.

I didn’t want to create any extra dramatisms from my side but just show them as a person and tell their story, and that’s why I didn’t want to take sneaky photos and stuff – I wanted to get to know them and build that relationship. I can call many of them my friends now.

They are very visible, but at the same time, I feel like they are kind of invisible. So, I wanted to photograph them as a whole person and show them as positively as possible, to lift them up, because I think photographs have the ability to make something more sublime, or put it in a good light.

The setting of the photos is evocative of those beach photos that Martin Parr did back in the ‘80s, yet very different because, of course, he’s depicting leisure and you’re depicting labour. Did you have any influences, photographic or otherwise?

I think the biggest inspiration is my background and my interest in my subjects, but I got really into photography when I was a super small kid. I grew up in the late ‘90s, early 2000s and I was looking at a lot of music album covers and fashion photography in magazines like ‘The Face’, and ‘i-D’, so a lot comes from there. 

Also, Wolfgang Thielmans and William Eggleston…When people look at my photos, they mention either of them, so feel some kind of connection to those photographers. Estevan Oriol, who’s a LA-based photographer, has been really influential for me. I wanted to photograph my subjects in a similar, straight up style, and I think that gives power to these photos.

Did you consider your own experience of migration and movement whilst doing this series?

I think so. I come from a working class background, and my dad has been traveling for his job his whole life. And the same thing for me; I feel like moving is in my blood somehow. Because I’m an EU citizen, I can go to Spain and anywhere in the EU, so in that sense, I’m in a privileged position. The manteros come from Pakistan to Spain without papers, and they don’t instantly have the same opportunities. I often thought about how lucky I am to be able to do that. And of course, coming from Finland, I don’t need to escape from anything.

The working title – ‘the working class below the working class’, is an interesting sociological perspective. Could you tell me a bit about the naming?

A lot of people are talking about the working class and what it is. I feel like people tend to forget that there’s a class of people who really want to work, but they can’t because of bureaucracy and certain laws. Being from a working-class background, it was a struggle to get master’s degrees in arts and photography – it wasn’t really on the table for me to become a photographer. I promised myself a long time ago that if I have the opportunity to work as a photographer or artist and I have a platform, I want to dedicate a part of my work to give some type of voice to people, because I think that’s the most important thing. If I don’t talk about those who are struggling more than me, then what am I doing? I think [artists] should try to bring about something better than what already exists. And if you’re not making anything better, at least try to not destroy anything more.

Finally, I was wondering about your relationship with the city of Barcelona. How does your perception of the city inform your photography?

For about 15 years, I’ve been living in the city and going there regularly. It’s been really influential for me. I also lived in Madrid for a year and I’ve spent time all across Spain, but Barcelona is a special place. Because I’ve spent so much time there, I know the dynamics, and I’ve seen how tourism has changed the city. When I went there 15 years ago, it was different than it is today, and it was also different after the pandemic. 

I don’t know exactly why I got so into it, even before the first time I went there. When I was a kid, I liked ‘Miami Vice’ a lot and I didn’t have the opportunity to go to Miami, but then I heard about Barcelona and I was like, “This is in Europe and it looks kind of like Miami!” So, it created an obsession before I even went there.  The first time I was there as a tourist, but then I got to know all the places and the people. It’s super vibrant and there are people from all over the world and from all classes. It’s hard to explain, but I love the city and that’s why I started to do this project about the people there.

It’s not been the easiest project to carry on. I spent pretty much the whole summer there, on the beach. I usually went there early in the morning, and back again in the evening to spend time with the manteros, so they got to know who I am. The most important – or best – part of being a photographer is that you meet people; you take their photo and you learn from them.

words. Soraya Odubeko
photography. Niko Tampio

Creating his own world one romantic and quirky photograph at a time, fashion photographer and documentarian Gorka Postigo has built a visual universe that feels both intimate and expansive. Born and raised in Spain and now based in Paris, he has spent his career filling his passport with stamps from some of the world’s most exciting cities. Yet he shares that his favourite place, without question, is behind the camera. 

Over his career, he has photographed campaigns for Miu Miu, Jean Paul Gautier, and Paco Rabanne, and his work has appeared in Vogue Italia, Vogue Spain, and more. But it was in 2018 that his more personal work came into focus with the debut of ‘Presente Futuro.’ The project spotlighted transgender youth in Spain, opening at La Fresh Gallery in Madrid, and – due to its success – was published as a monograph just a year later. 

His latest project, ‘You’ll Never See My New Friends,’ is yet another deeply personal endeavour. Debuting at LSD Paris during Paris Photo 2025, the 100-page book is a journey through 64 photographs chronicling loss, grief, queer resistance, and chosen family. Within its pages, Postigo explores photography as a means of healing, transformation, and connection. Taken over the past five years in Paris, London, Spain, Brazil, the Ivory Coast, Japan, and Shanghai, the photographs have not only filled Postigo’s passport but also left a lasting impression on his life and on the LGBTQIA+ community. 

For Schön!’s latest instalment of our ‘passport’ series – where we discover the cities, restaurants, museums, and travel anecdotes that have left a mark (or stamp) – we chat to Postigo about the places that inspire him, both behind the lens and beyond, and the stamps he hopes to collect next. 

Where are you right now, and what does a typical day look like for you?

I’m in my studio in Paris, where I spend about 80% of my time. Most of my days are filled with paperwork, pre-production, and post-production. It’s not as glamorous as many people imagine the life of a photographer to be.

If your passport had a stamp for every place that shaped you and your photography, which stamps would we see first?

If we speak about a physical place, it’s definitely Madrid, where I grew up. If we speak about an imaginary one, then MTV – I spent hours watching music videos, and that shaped so much of my cultural references and the visual language of ‘90s pop culture.

When you’re not behind the camera, how do you like to spend your time?

Behind the camera! [laughs] Honestly, I’d love to shoot much more than I actually do. Most of my anxiety comes from not shooting.

Which city, studio, or shoot gave you your first glimpse into the world of fashion photography?

I’d say a trip I did to New York City with a friend in the late ‘90s. Bumping into celebrities in SoHo in a pre-social media world was the closest I could ever get to this dreamy world I wanted to be a part of… Also, I remember, I came out as gay for the first time. I told my friend I was gay, and it felt so liberating!

Throughout your career, you’ve done both fashion and documentary photography. Out of all your work, which project feels like a passport back to your childhood?

Commercially, shooting a Calvin Klein campaign with Arca and seeing it on a Houston Street billboard in New York. That was a full-circle moment with my inner child who dreamed of that world.

In personal work, definitely the launch of ‘You’ll Never Meet My New Friends’ – a project that confronts my own spiritual journey, connecting people I’ve lost with new people I’ve met along the way.

Your photography style is characterised as an adventure in romanticism and quirkiness. If it had its own passport stamp, what would it look like?

Somewhere between a club stamp and a passport stamp – something you get at 4 a.m. on the way to somewhere unexpected.

Where do you still dream of getting a new stamp – a city you’d love to do a shoot in or document?

Honestly, my dream stamp is the paid stamp – both for the invoices I owe and those clients still owe me. In other words, to keep working so I can fund my personal projects.

What’s the most memorable stamp in your passport – a place that changed the way you see the world through your camera lens?

I’ve lost my passport so many times I barely remember the stamps… And now they barely stamp anything anymore. But recently, I’d say Brazil. It always gives me incredible people and memories that deeply enrich my experience.

Your Spanish heritage made an appearance within your ‘Presente Futuro’ project and subsequent monograph on the documentation of LGBTQIA+ youth in your home country. How does your work continue to present your culture as well as the queer community?

As queer people, we need to connect on a deeper level as a community. There are so many issues we don’t address, and we need to open those conversations. We live under the illusion of connection through technology, but in reality, there’s a deep disconnect.

With this book, I used social media to reach out to strangers and bring different experiences together – and I discovered that in the end, we all look for the same thing: Love and understanding.

Where did your new personal project, ‘You’ll Never Meet My New Friends,’ first come about?

It began with the need to navigate a personal process of grief.

The book explores loss, grief, queer resistance, and chosen family – with photographs taken in Paris, London, Spain, Brazil, Ivory Coast, Japan, and Shanghai. What is a moment during shooting that has stayed with you the most?

Photographing a trans father with his baby. At one point, he asked if I would mind if he breastfed, and invited me to document it. It was an incredibly generous moment – full of pride, beauty, and vulnerability. For me, it’s one of the most touching memories of the project, and also one of the most beautiful images in the book.

Why was this project so important for you, not only to photograph but to share with the world?

This project was important because it allowed me to make sense of a period of my life marked by loss, transformation, and rediscovery. Sharing it felt necessary. I didn’t want the work to stay only with me – I wanted these stories, these encounters, and these intimate moments to resonate with others who might be going through their own journey of grief or reinvention. It’s a way of saying: You’re not alone, and there is beauty and connection even in the most difficult transitions.

‘You’ll Never Meet My New Friends’ is unveiled on November 16 at Paris Photo 2025. 

photography. Gorka Postigo from ‘You’ll Never Meet My New Friends’
words. Amber Louise

The much-anticipated exhibition by photography titan Wolfgang Tillmans, ‘Passages Silencieux’ (Silent Passages), is now open at the Espace Louis Vuitton München. This show is a profound journey through nearly three and a half decades of the Remscheid-born artist’s genre-defying work, pulled exclusively from the renowned Fondation Louis Vuitton Collection. 

This presentation reaffirms the Fondation’s long-standing commitment to Tillmans, whose groundbreaking photographic constellations were a central feature of its inaugural display back in 2014. The show follows hard on the heels of the artist’s major retrospective at the Centre Pompidou in Paris, which concluded just last month before the museum’s closure for renovation.

Tillmans, splitting his time between London and Berlin, has personally curated the pieces on show, which span his practice from the late 1980s to the present. Rejecting a staid timeline, the display – which the artist has meticulously arranged across both storeys of the Espace – employs his signature method of ‘constellation,’ weaving connections between various temporal and geographical moments. 

Here, intimate portraiture and striking club scenes from his early 1990s period sit in dynamic conversation with photographs of plants, serene still life studies, and his audacious abstract works. There is no hierarchy of scale or genre; framed pieces hang alongside unframed prints, creating silent, yet powerful, links between pictures that are as deeply private as they are universally collective, attesting to a world made up of interconnected elements. As Tillmans suggests, the image is “a good starting point for thinking about the world.”

The artist’s lifelong fascination with the medium’s material reality is front and centre. Having famously started with a black-and-white laser photocopier in his very first exhibition in a Hamburg café, ‘Passages Silencieux’ highlights his subsequent experimentation. In certain works, like ‘Berlin’ (2006), Tillmans re-photographs and re-photocopies existing prints, deliberately enlarging them to highlight the paper’s texture and the idiosyncrasies of its inking. 

Meanwhile, his famous camera-less abstractions – such as the ‘Einzelgänger’ series – encapsulate the very essence of photography: creations that exist solely through the interplay of photosensitive paper, light, and dry chemistry. These abstract pieces, which he sees as a “pause rather than a rupture” from his figurative work, have been exhibited alongside his more traditional pictures since 1998, underscoring his expansive view of the medium’s technical, artistic, and thematic possibilities. 

This new chapter, part of the Fondation Louis Vuitton’s ambitious ‘Hors-les-murs’ international programme, is a vital stop for anyone eager to see how Tillmans continues to renew the very relevance of the photographic image for the contemporary viewer. 

The exhibition runs in Munich until 14 March 2026. Find out more here.

photography. courtesy of Wolfgang Tillmans, Florian Ebner (portrait)
words. Gennaro Costanzo