At the PS.Speicher in Einbeck, there’s a 1986 Harley-Davidson FXRS-SP. The odometer reads over 160,000 kilometers. The owner has personalized the bike with little touches—accessories and details that some might dismiss as unnecessary. I photographed the bike and thought of a woman I’ll never meet: someone who, back in 1986—at a time when women on heavy motorcycles were still the exception—got on this FXRS and rode it until arthritis forced her to stop.
That's what I'm looking for. Not the machine. The story behind it.
I’ve been taking photographs for many years—not as an outsider looking into a world, but as someone who is at home in it. I know the clubs, the unspoken rules, the silence between people who trust each other—and what it costs when that trust is put to the test. As a paramedic, I’ve seen how quickly a story can come to an end. I’ve squatted in houses and later ran my own business—I’ve fought, built things up, and let them go again. Never the same profession, but always the same path. These experiences are behind every photo I take.
My interest in photography has several roots. My maternal grandfather ran the general agency for Carl Zeiss Jena in what was then West Germany—and was a passionate photographer himself. So was my father: I remember slide shows from my childhood, when the family would gather and project images onto the wall. Nevertheless, I first trained in something else: offset printing. Not because of the technology—but because I had read a lot from an early age and believed that the written word could change the world for the better. A printer brings those words into the world. Today I work with images—for me, a different form of the same idea. As always, I want to inspire reflection and make a difference.
For me, freedom exists somewhere between connection and autonomy. It is an ideal that must constantly be pursued, achieved, defended, and negotiated. Freedom is both inspiring and exhausting. Freedom connects you to the world and leaves you feeling lonely. Freedom always comes at a price. And because you can’t photograph freedom, I photograph people, symbols, and moments in which I see freedom. Freedom—as it is lived, fought for, defended, and lost.
The studio is where I control everything—lighting, pose, composition. This is where an idea becomes an image, where I can work on the details—alone and as part of a team with the model and my intuition. This is where series like*Who is watching?*,*Control, Illusion & Autonomy*, and*Portraits of Freedom* are created. I’m interested in the subtle forms of power: norms, roles, expectations—gaze that we’ve internalized to the point where we police ourselves. Hardly any other field illustrates this more clearly than sexuality, and hardly any other has been used for longer to control people.“Who is watching?”asks precisely this question. The studio is my workshop.
On the road, I let go of control. That’s where the documentary aspect matters most to me: capturing the moment—photographing people and machines that radiate freedom. A motorcycle being started. A face in a crowd that steps out of character for a second. Perhaps freedom exists only in the moment. But these moments prove that it does exist. Images like these are meant to inspire courage. I didn’t start*Blacktop Dreams*until after 25 years in the motorcycle and hot rod scene. It’s not a documentary—it’s a tribute. To a world that’s slowly disappearing, and to the people who remain loyal to it. This scene doesn’t open up easily to anyone, not even me. But 25 years change the way you see things: where others see a backdrop, I see people and their stories.
And then there are places where no one is watching. An empty mountain pass. A pine tree towering above a sea of clouds. A coastline beneath heavy clouds, just before the light breaks. There is nothing to assert there, and no one to convince. Only the question of whether one can endure one’s own silence. These images are not a break from my work. They are its third place.
Three places, one question. The answer isn't in any of the pictures. But each one is a step in that direction—toward a freedom that doesn't shine, but carries you.
Three phrases have stayed with me for years:
I set off for a better world. When I arrived at my destination, I realized that I was back where I had started my journey. Everything was the same, only I had changed.
If you recognize yourself in this—then you know why you're here.
My work has been honored with the 2026 Golden Shot Award (Silver, Portrait category), the 2025 Chromatic Award (Honorable Mention, Conceptual), and the 2025 Exposure One Award (Bronze), and has been published in magazines such asThe Style Researcher,ARTELLS, Bold and Beyond,ACTIVE FIT, andArtego—and were featured in the 2026 group exhibition*250 Years of Expression: Freedom, Dissent, and the American Voice*(ArtSpace Gallery, Richmond, Virginia). I am a Trusted Art Seller with the Art Storefronts Organization. Limited editions and originals:stefanoviani.art· The book is in the works—pre-order without obligation:news.stefanoviani.art/buch
Contact:hello@stefanoviani.art