Meet Małgorzata Fober, a Polish artist whose photography captures the quiet beauty of nature and emotion. With roots in sculpture, she creates minimalist images that resonate deeply. In this interview, she reveals the instincts and surprises behind her soulful art, inviting you into her creative world.
1. For those who may not know you, who is Małgorzata Fober, and how would you introduce yourself beyond titles and professions?
I am a sculptor by education, but photography has become my current form of artistic expression. I was raised in a home immersed in art and culture, where from a very young age I listened to serious conversations among professors visiting our house, discussing goodness, beauty, and timeless values. From the earliest stages—initially through playful artistic activities and later more conscious creation—I had a very high standard set before me, which is probably why I am so critical and selective about my own work.So, to answer your question: I would describe myself as an artist striving for perfection, although I do love my accidental photographs. If I were to describe myself as a person, I would like to be seen as someone trustworthy, with a deep love for animals and nature. Maybe a little overly sensitive.
2. Your photos often feel like moments of silence. Do you consciously aim to create that atmosphere, or does it emerge naturally?
I’ve never really thought about it, but I suppose due to my education (woodcarving – sculpture in wood), I tend to subtract rather than add elements during post-production. I “clean” my photos of unnecessary, irrelevant elements, and I usually compose frames and scenes to be as simple and minimal as possible, so that I can work with light, shadow, and the essence of the message. I think that comes naturally to me.
3. What role does instinct play in your creative process, and how much do you trust it when you’re behind the camera?
Over time, I’ve learned to trust it, although I still have doubts—usually about whether a photo is “good enough” to share or show. As I mentioned, I’m very critical of my own work. The creative process itself varies—sometimes drastically. Sometimes I imagine an image in my head that I try to create, and sometimes, by accident during a shoot, unexpected photographs emerge—and those are the ones I end up showing. Sometimes, it’s those accidental photos that push me forward and inspire a whole new series I hadn’t planned.
4. How do you define beauty in photography, especially when it’s not obvious or traditionally “pretty”?
I define beauty as something mystical and difficult to define—something that evokes a sense of awe. I also appreciate the element of surprise—something unexpected, innovative, clever, and fresh that I haven’t seen before.
5. Many of your images seem deeply emotional yet minimal. How do you know when a photo is “complete”?
I think you might be referring to my most recent series, Everything in Our Hands. My previous works, though minimalist, weren’t as emotional. In this series, I believe the emotion comes from the fact that it’s almost like a “self-portrait”—it says a lot about me without showing me physically. It tells a story about what I love, what I do every day, what matters to me, and what moves me. It connects my two greatest passions.
6. How do you stay connected to authenticity in a world full of visual noise and trends?
Oddly enough, I think this is actually the easiest thing to do. You just need to stay true to yourself and know the difference between what’s right and what’s wrong.
7. Has there ever been a photo you didn’t plan that turned out to be one of your most meaningful?
Yes, absolutely! That happens often—and it’s actually one of the things I love most about photography. Despite the perfectionism I’ve inherited, I also adore spontaneity, randomness, and surprise. It’s like an unexpected gift!
8. How do you emotionally prepare yourself when working with vulnerable subjects—whether animals, people, or spaces?
I don’t have much experience with such sensitive topics. The animals I photographed were ones I knew very well. However, if I were to tell a difficult story through “still” images, I would probably start by learning as much as I could—through interviews, for example. Then I’d proceed in my usual way: by eliminating unnecessary frames and selecting just a few of the most powerful images—so as not to over-explain, but to say what truly matters.
9. What’s the most challenging part of capturing softness or silence in photography?
What bothers me most is unnecessary “visual noise,” which can drown out the sense of stillness. And the hardest part? That really depends on what and where you’re photographing. Sometimes, the hardest thing is capturing authenticity. Sometimes, you just miss the perfect moment because of a lack of reflex or luck. And sometimes, it’s simply technical issues.
10. If your camera had a voice, what do you think it would say about the way you see the world?
Probably what my boyfriend always says: that I overthink and complicate things too much. I’m definitely looking for something I can’t quite define myself—I just know I’ve found it when I manage to “catch” it.
11. Finally, what’s something you’ve never had the chance to say in an interview, but feel ready to share now?
I’m not a secretive person, so I don’t think there’s ever been a question I’ve avoided answering. But I can admit that I often still feel unprofessional due to my lack of formal photographic education. I’m not very technical, I don’t know much about equipment, and when someone suddenly asks me what I shoot with, I sometimes freeze trying to remember the “number” of my camera.
