I Lost the Ability to Be a Tourist

How abstract photography slowly redirected my attention away from landmarks and toward things most people never notice.

It might be a model, a sunset, a famous landmark, a waterfall, a city square, or people going about their lives on a busy street - usually, there is a destination, a subject, and some idea of what the trip or the photographs will be about.

That feeling was very familiar to me when I was doing street photography and landscapes.

When I travelled to Paris, I knew I was going to photograph people and the city itself. When I visited Lake Bohinj in Slovenia, I knew exactly what I had come for.

Then, as I became interested in abstract photography, something started to change.

During my recent visits to Istanbul and Munich, I spent hours walking through the old city centres because there are plenty of things you “have to see,” yet I returned home with almost no photographs of the cities themselves.

No photographs of Hagia Sophia.

No photographs of Marienplatz.

Instead, I found myself fascinated by torn posters, rusting metal, abandoned corners, and things that most people would consider completely irrelevant.

The same thing happened when I visited the socialist monument at Petrova Gora. I photographed the monument, of course, but when I reviewed the images later, the photographs that interested me most were reflections on wet asphalt and small fragments of surfaces I had noticed almost accidentally while driving back home.

At first, I wasn’t entirely sure whether that change was a gift or a problem.

I recently visited Osijek, a town in Croatia which is known for the promenade along the river that runs through the city centre and the old town with its fortress. However, I returned with the photos below — those of broken windows, damaged walls, and worn-out surfaces that most people walk past without a second glance.

It has happened to me several times recently that a centuries-old church can leave me indifferent, while a torn poster or a crashed car can hold my attention for much longer.

In that sense, I sometimes find myself wondering why I travel to places that people get excited about in the first place. Why spend hundreds or even thousands of kilometres chasing a destination when the most interesting thing I photograph (and see!) might turn out to be something completely ordinary, or better yet, junk around the corner?

The downside is that I have become a terrible tourist. It can feel slightly ridiculous when you travel across Europe and return home with photographs of peeling paint.

On the other hand, my life has become considerably richer because wherever I find myself, there is always something that catches my attention and makes me lose myself in it.

As a result, I often catch myself making my favourite sound - "Mmmmmm" - usually accompanied by a smile.

And when that is at stake, I give up my tourism without the slightest regret.