Ioan Oprisan

Your photographs often evoke a sense of isolation and awe. What draws you to such remote and untamed landscapes?

When I was a kid, I used to spend most of my time reading, and my preferred books were always the adventure stories – both historical stories, as well as fictional ones. I was and still am a big fan of the fantasy genre, with authors such as J.R.R. Tolkien firing up my imagination. One of my favourite books is Captain Hatteras by Jules Verne – in which the nearly impossible task of reaching the North Pole is nevertheless achieved through sheer determination. I guess I was always attracted by the unknown, the different, the bold. Being a rather introverted person, I consider the wilderness an escape from the monotony and noise of city life. I also tend to prefer cold weather, and many of the world’s remaining wild areas have such a climate. I am particularly fascinated by ice, snow and glaciers, which are quite unique from a photographic perspective since they often act like giant reflectors.

Ioan Oprisan | The Sentinels | 2025

You mentioned that your journey into photography began after your mother’s passing. How has that emotional origin shaped your creative process?

I tend to be a very focused person with clear goals in my mind – and photography wasn’t on my radar back then. Usually when you start doing something new, you have some sort of expectations about it, because you invest time or money in it. The fact that I was suddenly left with a camera from my mother created a situation in which there was no mental pressure to “do something”. So I just started taking it with me whenever I went hiking, or on a road trip, to explore what it can do. I soon discovered that what you casually capture with a camera can be very different from what you’ve felt in that particular moment – because a photo, no matter how expansive, is a static, two-dimensional fragment of the dynamic landscape you were standing in. I realised, however, that this can also be an advantage: the possibility to frame only what you find the most interesting in a scene, and leave out what you don’t like as much. In this way, you can compensate for the loss of motion and three-dimensionality. To this day, I find the approaches to doing photography and videography to be very different, and being good at one will not necessarily make you good at the other one, although it does help. Whenever I am out in the field I struggle to convince myself to do video work because scouting for that amazing photo angle is so much more fun, haha!
I approach photography in a way that reminds me of great paintings – both in the field and during editing. I can’t say I am very knowledgeable in this domain, but painters such as Caspar David Friedrich or Ilya Repin inspire me. I was never able to understand “purists” who insist that a photo should be as close as possible to the way it comes out of the camera: a camera is a tool, and the way a sensor (or analog film) works is inherently different from the way our brain interprets what our eyes see. You don’t see people complaining about a painting “not being realistic enough” – for millennia, drawings and paintings have been used to depict certain events, objects, scenes and people, even though they might have been significantly different from reality. Early photographers also understood this, for example Ansel Adams is known to have extensively worked in the darkroom to bring his images closer to what his vision was. This is why I take quite some creative liberties in the way I adjust the mood in my images. My background as a musician is another reason why I approach photography in this way: because if you just leave the photo the way it comes out of the camera, where is your input in all of this? It is just like playing a song note-for-note: everyone can do it, with enough practice. Computers can do it much better. But can you transmit YOUR feelings through that song? This is what separates great artists from the good, I think. Humans from AI. It’s the ability to take something, and make it unmistakably your own. As a guitar player, although a virtuoso, I was never the guy with “perfect technique”. Mistakes happen. The world itself is imperfect. I became more interested, especially as time passed, in character rather than perfection. I apply this mentality to my photography too: I care relatively little about the “best camera”, corner sharpness or the latest cool gadget. For me, usually the best tools are the ones that I already have, and the ones that give me as much artistic freedom as possible. I also do not care much about trends: for example, I think nowadays it is a really popular style to capture abstract, minimalistic, polished landscapes from a drone, such as a braided glacial river. And there is nothing wrong with that. I can appreciate those kinds of images, and when the opportunity strikes, I do not hesitate to also capture such scenes if I find them interesting enough. But for me, the storytelling capacity of an image is by far the most important aspect that I’m looking for. Which is why I think some, but not all of my photos tend to be a little busier than expected. There is power in chaos.

Ioan Oprisan | The Dark Fortress | 2024

Having studied geography and environmental sciences, how does scientific knowledge influence the way you see and capture nature?

You know, I don’t think it influences the way I capture images that much, certainly not in the classic sense of “framing”. I’ve always been first of all an artist at heart, and when I’m out in the field, my biggest concern is the “ability to speak” of the image that I’m taking. That being said, I do think that this scientific background has increased my ability to connect with the environment. Understanding the way certain geomorphological processes or ecosystems work has definitely raised my appreciation for nature, and I think it is partly responsible for my, let’s say addiction to spending time in the wilderness. Perhaps this knowledge doesn’t dictate the composition, but it informs the story. For example, when I see a cirque lake, I don’t just see water; I see the ancient glacier that carved it. This adds a layer of complexity that probably plays an important role in the way I feel when I take that image. I also have thousands of images that will probably never see the daylight – I took them to document a certain location, event, process, even though their artistic value might be lower than what my standard is.

Ioan Oprisan | Planet Concordia | 2025

Many of your images feel cinematic and almost surreal. How do you find the balance between realism and emotion in your compositions?

Thank you! It is definitely a tough job trying to maintain this balance. I tend to prioritize the way an image makes you feel above anything else, as I’ve already mentioned before. However, there are also things that I consistently refuse to do in my images: for example, I will not add in permanent elements that do not exist in the field. I do not do focal length blends. Astrophotography aside (due to the limitations of the imaging equipment), I consistently avoid wherever possible major time blends, replacements. Not that there is anything wrong with that. But if I go too far from the original moment, I personally feel that I lose my motivation to do this. I like to spend a lot of time exploring the outdoors, and photography is a good way to give myself a purpose while doing that. For me, resorting to digital composites feels like a shortcut that has no connection to a real moment that I’ve experienced, even though the process itself involves significant work. Because if you are good enough, you will eventually find the interesting framing in the field, even in places that seem “boring” at first. For example, in Romania, making a great landscape photo is generally not as straightforward as it is in some iconic places such as the Alps: most mountains are smaller, rounded, grassy or densely forested, limiting the amount of options that you have in choosing a composition. This, I think, made me a better photographer, because I started exploring ideas, locations and angles that I would have never considered otherwise – it’s all about the effort that you put in. And this is a constant reminder to myself that great artists aren’t limited by their tools, or in this case, environment.
Going back to your question, I would describe my approach in this way: I try to work with the moment rather than against it.

You travel through vast mountain ranges such as the Himalayas and the Karakorum. Could you describe one moment in those journeys that changed your perception of nature or yourself?

I think one event that significantly changed, or rather confirmed my perception about both myself and nature is the time when I was caught for days in a tropical depression in the far east of Nepal – a remote area that is the rainiest part of the country, being closer to the Bay of Bengal. It was in September, so still technically monsoon season, but the rains that we’ve had were unlike anything that would be normal even during peak rainy season – it was the worst flooding that Nepal had seen in at least fifty years – there is even a Wikipedia article about it called 2024 Nepal floods. I won’t get into too many details here, but getting from the Kangchenjunga trailhead to the regional town and then to Kathmandu was a real, five-day ordeal that I will never forget. I bushwhacked through steep mountain jungle, avoided dozens of landslides and dealt with a critical situation which involved a river crossing at night, all while being eaten alive by the dozens of leeches that kept finding their way to me through the clothing, despite my best efforts. There were basically wartime conditions – everything was paralyzed, roads were destroyed, communications were down and I was told even Kathmandu had no power. I chose to trek to the regional town (and it turned out, beyond!) after we got stuck for two days due to a massive, highly active landslide which destroyed the only existing road out of the valley. We had no idea when the rains would stop – it was already raining for several days without a break. My guide and I got separated at some point: despite my insistent warnings and opposition, he tried to swim across that creek I mentioned earlier – a mistake that almost claimed his life. Hundreds of people died in this natural disaster. It’s a long story that is not very pleasant. But I can say this: I think in such situations, it is important to rely mostly on yourself, be calm and to evaluate the risks objectively – you can’t be either too reckless or passive, you must find a balance between the two. Because being too passive in such situations can also be dangerous. My phone might have been almost dead, but some of the scenes that I saw will be forever etched in my memory, such as a dam almost overflowing despite the emergency gates being wide open. It is important to respect the power of nature.

Ioan Oprisan | Golden Masherbrum | 2025

What role does light play in your work — especially during twilight or under the stars, when the mountains seem almost otherworldly?

As you know, when it comes to landscape photography, light and weather are the second most important elements in any scene after composition (or part of it!). Good light can make an average scene look absolutely incredible, and bad light (talking about you, harsh mid-day sun!) can make a great location forgettable. I would rather have a cloudy, grey day than harsh sunlight: at least you have some mood. That being said, there are certain niche situations in which mid-day sun can create interesting conditions, such as sharp shadows and light rays at a certain angle.
Most of my images are shot during the golden hour or the blue hour because this aligns with my style, which I would say is rather dramatic. I tend to do night-time photography when I want to create a scene that feels a little alien—because our eyes cannot distinguish colours well in the dark, while the camera can. If I had to pick a single moment of the day, a single type of light, I would probably choose the blue hour, with one caveat: to make a compelling image during that time, you often need to have something dynamic or complementary in your scene to counteract the flatness of the light—which is not always easy to find. The golden hour is much more dynamic and typically works with almost any kind of scene, so it often ends up winning when choosing an image. Another type of situation that I really like is when the sky displays dramatic storm clouds. It’s probably the only time when I really enjoy shooting during the day.

Ioan Oprisan | Fire And Shadows | 2025

Environmental degradation is a recurring theme in your statement. Do you see photography as a form of activism, documentation, or personal expression?

All my images are a form of personal expression – but that doesn’t mean they can’t also be a form of documentation. For me, this is a difficult subject to talk about, and I’ve spent years trying to come to terms with what is going on in the world.
I spent a lot of my childhood in Bukovina – a region famous for its forests. It has a long history of logging, going back to the Habsburg Empire, which gradually replaced most of the natural beech forests with conifers. But forestry was never done in such a ruthlessly precise, industrial style as it is today. Over the years, I noticed how pretty much all of the old-growth forests disappeared, and the age at which a parcel is cleared for exploitation keeps getting lower. Officially, forest cover has increased and everything is going well. But the question is, what exactly is a forest? Because it seems nowadays that “forest” is just a cover term for what I like to call “tree farms”: empty, monotonous, strictly managed, a means to an end. They are a far cry from what a real forest is – incredibly biodiverse, chaotic, alluring. It has been scientifically proven that old-growth forests are vastly more efficient at storing carbon and sustaining ecosystems. Romania was one of the last countries in Europe with remaining fragments of these real forests – and now most of them are gone. Some efforts are being made to save what can still be saved, but hardly anyone talks about restoring a part of what was lost. Because that takes a long time – and the world always prioritises quick profit over long-term value. It is an uphill battle. I am not naïve; I understand the increasing demand for land and resources, but I still think more could be done – especially at the grassroots level.
In my opinion, taking photographs of remaining natural environments can play a role in helping people understand why these areas hold immense value and why they should be largely spared from development or exploitation. Most people live disconnected from nature, and it can be difficult to resonate with the idea of protecting it if you can’t see its benefits. I think that natural beauty is a powerful argument for this cause.