What drives a photographer to keep telling stories after four decades behind the camera?

In an era saturated with images, where moments are consumed and forgotten in seconds, how can depth, coherence, and truth be preserved?

This conversation opens a window into the trajectory of Alain Schroeder, a Belgian photojournalist who began in the sports stadiums of the 1980s and went on to document art, culture, and human stories around the world. In 2013, he traded stability for the open road, dedicating himself entirely to photography as a way of life.

“I’m not a one-shot photographer. I think in series,” he tells us. With this conviction, Schroeder builds narratives of 10 to 15 images, where light, framing, and rhythm converge to capture the essence of a moment. His work centers on people, their struggles, and their environments stories that resonate far beyond the frame. Recognized with countless international awards, including Nikon, POYI, and World Press Photo, his career is synonymous with excellence. Yet what lingers most vividly from a conversation with him is not the list of accolades, but rather the discipline of observation, the patience required to tell stories, and the conviction that even in an age of overexposure photography can still carry meaning and purpose. [Official Website]

What is the point of taking a photograph today when millions of similar ones already exist?

A million people can photograph the same subject, but giving meaning to fleeting moments requires intent and emotional depth. When I shoot a story, I’m not just documenting what happened; I’m interpreting it, framing it through years of experience and intuition. The light I choose, the emotion I wait for, the rhythm of the series, are what make the subject compelling. The point of taking a photograph today, especially when millions already exist, is to find your voice in the noise; to say something deeply personal that only you can say with light, composition, and presence.

Do you feel more inspired or overwhelmed by the daily flood of circulating images?

Photography has never been more democratic, but I seek out work that moves me emotionally, ethically, narratively. I’m drawn to photographers who have mastered technique and storytelling. My inspiration comes from taking the time to find stories that demand patience and context. My work emerges in contrast to the flood of images, not in competition with it.

How do you make your work stand out amid global visual noise?

I focus on storytelling, building narratives in series, never relying on a single image to carry the weight. My projects are researched, often immersive, and always human-centric. I spend time in communities, earn trust, and stay until the story reveals itself. I strive for a strong visual identity through composition, light, and framing, but style alone is not enough. Substance is key. I want my images to linger, not because they are visually striking, but because they make the viewer feel something. In a world full of images, emotional truth is what endures.

I like to submit my pictures to contests and exhibitions because I really like the idea that the juries don’t know me, they just choose the pictures that resonate with them. There is no lobbying involved, no network. If my work stands out, it is solely based on the visuals.

Has image saturation changed the way you look at things?

I am more conscious of what has already been done. This doesn’t discourage me, it sharpens my vision.  I now ask myself more rigorously, “Why am I taking this shot? What am I saying that hasn’t already been said? Is this respectful? Is this necessary?” I don’t want to mimic what I see online. Instead, I focus on cultivating my personal vision, on refining the way I see and feel and respond to the world in front of me. Saturation isn’t necessarily negative, it challenges us to define our photographic ethics and aesthetics.

Do you think we still look attentively or are we just scanning with our eyes?

Today, attention span is short; a photo has seconds before being dismissed or forgotten. But I believe there’s a hunger for slowness, for intentional seeing. As photographers, we have a responsibility to fight for that. Through series, informative captions, exhibitions or printed publications, we can engage the viewer. I don’t want my work to be scrolled past. It is one of the reasons I stopped publishing on Instagram and I only post new stories on my website. I want it to pause the viewer, to demand their presence. That’s not easy, but it’s worth striving for. Those who do stop, that’s the audience I care about.

How does the algorithm influence your decision on which images to share or show?

I have never been active on Facebook. I started posting on Instagram in 2016 but stopped over a year ago. In the beginning of the platform a few friends told me, « you will see other photographer’s work, you will be part of a community with the same interests…¨, which was true. There were no ads, no influencers,  no shops. Today, it has become a marketplace for everything. Not publishing has given me more time to think about photography. I have stories to tell, not a brand to sell. My main concern is coherence and narrative integrity, not likes or reach. I often work on difficult subjects  biodiversity in danger, aging, climate displacement, child labor  that are not always Instagrammable, but they are real, urgent, human. These days, I only add new stories to my website. I have no idea if my previous Instagram followers are going there.

How does the “like” culture affect your self-esteem or your perception of your work’s value?

The « like » culture is definitely not my culture. For a while, I paid attention to likes on Instagram, but likes are misleading. They tell you what pleases, not necessarily what matters. Anyway, I stopped publishing on instagram. For me, photography is a way of life. I sold my photo agency 13 years ago and I travel around the world, find stories and shoot them without any pressure from magazines or editors. Only when the stories are finished to my liking do I start looking for a publisher, and submit to contests and exhibitions.

The value of a photograph is not in the number of likes but in its ability to move, inform, or provoke thought. I constantly recalibrate to that standard. My work is not designed to chase approval, but to raise awareness.

Awards and recognition do matter, but the real value lies in the meaning I extract from the experience and the clarity I bring to others through it.

Do you feel pressured to produce more images than you truly need to create?

I don’t work for an audience. I have no pressure of any kind from anyone. I follow my personal interests in the search for new stories.

Quality over quantity is a principle I’ve always lived by. I don’t shoot to stay visible, I shoot when I have something to say. In fact, I often spend more time not shooting: researching, planning, editing. For me, the decisive moment isn’t just about clicking the shutter, it’s about knowing why and when to click. Producing more doesn’t mean saying more. I’d rather publish one compelling series a year than dozens of forgettable posts. That discipline keeps my vision clear and my work meaningful.

A What scares you more: audience indifference or algorithmic indifference?

Algorithms are machines, I expect nothing from them. if a person looks at my work and feels nothing, that concerns me. I photograph to connect. If the connection is lost, then I’ve failed.  If my work isn’t seen, it can’t be felt. That’s a problem, and one we must push back against through books, exhibitions, talks, and other platforms. In the end, what matters most is the human response. I don’t want your click. I want your attention. Recently, I had an exhibition in France in a port with a lot of foot traffic. The curator told me he had to choose the pictures carefully so as not to disturb people on holiday who don’t want to see disturbing images. If people no longer care to confront the real world, we lose something vital in our social fabric. That said, I believe good work finds its path, even if it’s slow. It doesn’t have to go viral to be effective.

What do you hope will change, for better or worse, in the world of photography in the coming years?

I think that the kind of work documentary photographers are doing will be more valuable and a golden age of photojournalism could reemerge. AI can be a great tool for « creative » photographers (at the expense of the whole community of image-makers), but documentary photographers are, for the moment, hard to replace and the need for real photos will increase and be rewarded.

I hope we slow down. I hope we return to photography as a craft, a language, a process. I hope photographers invest more in long-term projects .I hope platforms evolve to prioritize context and storytelling over virality. And finally, I hope viewers demand more: more truth, more nuance, more substance. The camera is a powerful tool for empathy, justice, and beauty, but in an age where everyone can take a picture, the real challenge is to say something with it.