Currently on view at the German outpost of Fotografiska as part of its local talent-scouting initiative, Emerging Berlin, the photographer’s long-term documentation of Heidering Prison challenges our view of the criminal justice system: “We don’t make people better by excluding them
When glanced at quickly, the photographs gathered by Chiara Wettmann’s SeelSorge, the titular body of work presented in her ongoing solo exhibition at Fotografiska Berlin (through July 14), will likely catch your eye for the rituality that pervades them.
Captured up close, two men drink coffee from plain white mugs as a cigarette burns in one of their hands. Sitting out in the sun, they are dressed in matching grey vests and black, acrylic tracksuit bottoms, their faces left out of the frame. In another image from the series, someone hides behind a thickly hand-woven prayer rug in a wood-clad room while holding it from its top corners, the central pattern of it — framed by ornate trails of embroidered flowers and foliage coloured, like the rest of the mat, in emerald green and gold — hinting at the silhouette of a person when seen as one with the arms that support it. Elsewhere, four young men in casual clothing are portrayed having a smoke in the built-up inner courtyard of a modernly designed, minimalist chapel. The weather is overcast, their bodies slightly blurry in the distance, rising beyond a sleek, textural chrome altar with two crosses: a more classical, wooden one, laid on its top, and a brass, sculptural one, pending from a screw sunken into the ceiling against a glassy wall.
Throughout the project, snippets of everyday life abound: a man stares out of a grated window, his head resting on his left hand, closed into a fist. A ficus, potted into a flower bed in cement, bathes in natural light. From behind another grated window, a crowd is shown unwinding under a pale blue sky. These are ordinary scenes. Ordinary people — not in any way unlike yourself, or different from your younger, or older, relatives. Except they are not in the eyes of the law nor in those of whoever chooses not to see past the sentence that’s been marked up upon them. It is only in paying greater attention to the details gently rendered in Wettmann’s visual chronicle of faith, masculinity and alienation that its protagonists’ condition manifests itself to those who observe them, revealing the minutiae of their confined circumstances, the small, unsung gestures that allow these individuals to still imagine something besides them.
Unfolding as a collaborative, months-spanning dialogue between Wettmann, Axel Wiesbrock, a chaplain at Berlin’s Heidering Prison, and a group of inmates who embrace him as their spiritual guide in reckoning with the reality of imprisonment, SeelSorge (German for “pastoral care) offers a nuanced account of what it is like to serve time, exist and resist behind bars. Inaugurated at the German outpost of world-leading photography platform Fotografiska, the show, curated by Marina Paulenka and Marie-Luise Mayer, was realised as part of Emerging Berlin, an ongoing initiative aimed at spotlighting the work of budding photographers based in the capital whose practice engages with its idiosyncrasies, its lesser-known stories and communities. Produced in cooperation with WhiteWall, it is an invitation to stop for an instant or two, let go of preconceptions and look closer at what lies in front of us, as Wettmann and Mayer recount themselves below.
Chiara, congratulations on the unveiling of such a complex yet needed exhibition. What can you tell us about the journey that led up to it?
Chiara Wettmann: In the beginning, it wasn’t really about photography for me. I’ve always been interested in politics and the deeper reasons behind what’s happening in the world. I want to understand how this affects individuals — what people truly go through, what they feel and think. I need to see things for myself, understand how something is and feels, talk to people directly, get to know them, not just read about it in the paper or see it on TV.
Photography became a way in; it granted me a kind of legitimate access to places and situations I wouldn’t otherwise be part of. People don’t realize how much groundwork goes into a single image. Building trust, giving everyone involved the time and space to get to know each other, researching thoroughly, and constantly checking the boundaries — how close I’m allowed to come to the story and to the people in it.
I don’t have idols or photographers whose work has been a source of inspiration. I barely even know the names of the “big ones” — I don’t care about famous names. Of course, I need to train my eye and understand how to compose an image properly, but more than anything, I believe it’s important to know how to listen before expecting to take a good photograph. And of course, you need to know your camera.
SeelSorge sees you chronicle the daily life of inmates over several months. The project was developed in 2020. How did you land on this story? What concrete actions went into ensuring this was done fairly?
CW: The project began with an open call at my photography school in collaboration with the Guardini Foundation. The theme was City and Religion, which didn’t immediately resonate with me, not until I thought of prison as a kind of isolated city, with its own rules, rhythms and spaces of belief. I was curious to witness how faith and spirituality are lived behind bars, especially since people often turn to belief in moments of crisis. I reached out to prison chaplains across Berlin, wrote countless emails, made phone calls, following up persistently and facing many rejections due to “understaffing”, “lack of interest”, or “concerns about my presence as a young woman in a men’s prison”. Eventually, one chaplain, Axel Wiesbrock, was interested in the project, so after a couple of longer phone calls, he invited me to the JVA Heidering. He had already discussed the project with the prison administration and the inmates’ group to ensure they were comfortable with it.
The rules were strict: no faces, no keys, no surveillance cameras, no identifiable locations. I started by attending without a camera, just to introduce myself and get to know everyone. Over several visits, I built relationships based on trust and openness. We discussed everything. From trauma and faith to politics and prison food. I remember being regularly overwhelmed by the bitter coffee, but someone always made sure I got extra milk. Slowly, I began to bring my analog 6x6 camera. With only 12 frames per roll, everyone knew that each photo had to be intentional, and all of us wanted nice pictures. They helped me overcome my shyness, but also told me clearly when it was not the right time to take photos. At some point, I was even allowed to photograph tattoos, something deeply personal, often loaded with meaning and identity. I always brought prints from previous visits to share with the group, so they could see the images and feel part of the process. Towards the end, I was invited into some of the inmates’ cells, too. The project ended with the pandemic lockdown.
What were the biggest challenges and learnings you experienced while working on this series, whether photographically speaking, socially, or personally? How did you go about building a relationship of trust with Axel Wiesbrock, Heidering Prison’s chaplain?
CW: The biggest challenge was simply getting access. Prison is a highly isolated space, especially from the outside world, and the beginning of the COVID pandemic didn’t make things any easier. It took time to get all the necessary permissions and clearances. Some might call the slow process of building trust a challenge, too, but to me it’s more of a condition, something essential. You can’t expect things to work perfectly from the start. You have to take your time, listen closely and try to understand the many layers that come together in a place like this. That requires energy, patience and emotional capacity, but it’s worth it. Once trust is there, the good images almost come on their own.
I learnt so much during those months through the conversations we had. Not just about guilt, fear and morality, but also about loyalty, joy, and bad jokes. I had done a lot of research on prison politics in Germany beforehand, so I wasn’t completely surprised by the systemic side of things. Still, the lived reality is always something else. Hearing the experiences of inmates, officers, psychologists and the administration left a deep impression on me. As for Axel, the prison chaplain, it just clicked from the very beginning. I remember meeting him and wishing he were my uncle. He is a calm, wise, thoughtful man. He challenged me to think beyond my perspectives. We often had different opinions, especially when it came to philosophy. But he always made me feel heard and respected. He takes people seriously.
