Technique WILDLIFE PHOTOGRAPHY
Graeme Green speaks to Swedish w ildlife photographer Mattias K lum, whose ‘gritty’ creative language and w illingness to go to great lengths for his images has kept him at the top of his game for four decades
Born in Uppsala, Sweden, in 1968, Mattias Klum has been a professional photographer for four decades. He has worked for international publications, including National Geographic, Geo, Audubon and The New York Times. He’s also produced several books, including a collaboration with Jane Goodall, and directed documentar y films, including The Young Sea. www.mattiasklum.com, Instagram @mattiasklumofficial @mattiasklumcollection
Thirteen is an unlucky number for many people. For Swedish photographer Mattias Klum, it has a more positive meaning. ‘I’ve had exactly 13 National Geographic covers,’ he tells me, proudly.
Although his photographic work ranges from landscapes to people, it’s wildlife and nature, usually with a strong conservation focus, that’s at the heart of his work, whether working in the rainforests of Malaysian Borneo or the icy wilderness of Antarctica.
‘As a young boy, I was drawn to nature,’ Klum says. ‘Even if I ventured into our backyard or the centre of Uppsala, the fourth biggest city in Sweden, where I grew up, I felt that I could find miracles. It was like a treasure hunt. I started taking pictures with my father’s camera, a Pentax K1000, to bring those treasures back home. It was contagious to show people what I’d seen, whether it was a pattern on a stone or a spider’s web.’
Growing up, Klum drew on influences, not just copies of LIFE magazine and National Geographic that his parents subscribed to, but also art and music. ‘I grew up looking at things in awe,’ he explains. My parents talked about great artists like Picasso, Chagall or Salvador Dali. I still get more inspiration from Miles Davis or Bach than from an average photographic exhibition.’
A professional photographer since the mid-1980s, Klum must have been a prodigious talent. Playing drums in a band as a teenager, the group’s older bass player recognised something special in his photos and suggested he try to get sponsored. ‘I said, “That’s ridiculous,”’ he recalls. ‘But Pentax Scandinavia came back to me – I was sponsored by Pentax from 1984. They sent me equipment, a camera and lenses, things I could never ever have afforded myself. I didn’t have a salary – I was a child, still at school.’
Four decades on, his enthusiasm and curiosity are undimmed. ‘I’ve treasured that sensation of not becoming blasé or thinking that every subject needs to be dangerous, far away, or never seen before. I still treasure the mundane stuff because miracles, photographically, are just everywhere – it depends how you look at it. I taught myself that fro
