The Many Beginnings

Seventeen years ago, on July 8th, 2008, I officially registered my photography company, Fotograf Løvberg.

But the story begins earlier. As a teenager, I tried many hobbies. Photography was the only one that stayed. I enjoyed the technical aspects — lenses, settings, tools, and the physics of light — as much as the creative ones. It was a medium that allowed both precision and interpretation. I wasn’t good at it. Not yet. Occasionally, a picture turned out well by accident. But something in the process kept drawing me back.

In 2008, a portrait studio owner gave me a chance. I began working as a freelance family photographer, at the most intense, one session an hour, seven days a week. I learned quickly. How to be a chameleon. How to match energy with whoever entered the room: shy teenagers, wide-eyed toddlers, tired parents. I became good. Technically sharp, emotionally attuned. But the rhythm wore me down. I didn’t have a style of my own. I adapted too well.

From 2012, I transitioned to working with corporate clients, taking on bigger projects in different settings, but the same pattern remained. I kept reshaping myself to fit each assignment. Many would dream of making a living from photography, and I have done just that since 2008. But it took me another six years to realise that this wasn’t what I wanted photography to be for me.

In 2018, I stepped back, not in a vague attempt to “find myself,” but through deliberate choices. I used early image recognition tools to study trends in major photography competitions. Most winning images shared a common language: darker tones, high contrast, and clear subjects. I chose to go in the opposite direction.

I chose light. Negative space. Subtle tones. Less contrast. Minimalism. A way to say something clearly and quietly. For the first time, I felt like I had a voice of my own. A friend once described my work as measured, scarce, strangely unassuming, tight, subtly inviting and vulnerable. “Just like you,” he said. That’s when photography started to feel like home.

I found a full-time job in communications — a place where I could utilise my creative skills, take photos on demand, and adapt my style to fit the message. It was work shaped by the organisation’s voice, not mine. But it was just one voice, one client, one direction — not a constant switch. That gave me room to breathe. It freed the energy I needed for my personal work, where the voice was entirely my own.

I began creating conceptual series. I published a book. Exhibited work. Received a few awards. In 2021, my series The Social Ills Prevalent became my most visible work to date. It was shown multiple times, written about in art publications, and included in the permanent collection at the Preus Museum — one of my quiet dreams. Then came the silence. Years of moving against myself caught up with me. My health faltered, and with it, the joy quietly slipped away. For a long time, I couldn’t create at all.

Now, in 2025, something is shifting again. I’ve redesigned my website. I’ve picked up the camera. The pause taught me that style isn’t something you find; it’s something you choose — again and again. That there’s no wrong pace. Breaks and pauses are part of the rhythm. Being a chameleon can be a strength, but only if you hold the space for your voice. And that joy doesn’t come from constant productivity. Sometimes, it begins when you stop.