In a world filled with hundreds of billions of digital images- many devoid of value, character, or meaning, and lacking any physical form- we store fleeting moments on phones, memory cards and hard drives, destined never to be printed or held. Amid this sea of intangibility, there exists a magical, historic process that stands in stark contrast to digital photography: the alchemical art of wet-plate photography.
It was thanks to Duy Le Phoung, a Vietnamese photographer I recently interviewed, that I first discovered the work of Boris Zuliani, a French wet plate photographer based in Vietnam since 2007. Looking through his website I was enchanted by his work- drawn not only to see his studio and learn more about his art but also to have him take my portrait. In an age when photography has never been easier or quicker, I wanted to see what it was like when it was difficult and slow.
My journey took me from a flight to Saigon to a 17-hour train ride to Danang, where Boris’ studio, MotMet, stands nestled among rice paddies. Arriving at the studio, I was greeted by Boris’s assistant, the charming Hugo Armano. The studio, a modern structure with grand glass windows, rises against the tranquility of its surroundings. Stepping inside felt like crossing into another time- a space suspended between worlds. There, two large, old-style wooden cameras, reminiscent of a Victorian portrait studio, commanded the room. I was overcome by a sense of nostalgia and anticipation of how the session would unfold, as Boris gallantly took the lead, guiding me through the portrait session like a graceful dance, each gesture deliberate, each moment slow and focused. Wet plate photography is amazing, not only because of the unique one-of-a-kind image that it produces, but because one realizes just how complexly intimate the process of making images can be. Often the word ‘magic’ is the only word that can be used to describe this experience.
How did your photography journey begin?
Around the age of 10, probably by playing with my mother’s Nikon FM and reading her photographic encyclopedia called “Time Life”. By the age of 11, I’d already acquired a lot of theory from these books. I loved photography from an early age. Fortunately, I was very bad at school. In the middle of tenth grade, when I was about 16, I decided to leave school and look for a job as a photographer’s assistant. I didn’t know how to do anything in practice, but I was so motivated that at my first job interview, I was taken on to work in an advertising studio. It was in the “Studio Des Plantes”in Paris, on rue du Château d’Eau in the 10th arrondissement. That’s when things got serious, and that’s where I learned everything I could and still learn from it today. It was incredible for me. I was the first to arrive and the last to leave every day. I used to see photographers shooting advertising photos that were very complex to shoot at the time, and I learned a lot by watching them work. And one day, with too much on their plate, they entrusted me with taking a small photo that wasn’t of much importance for them, but so important for me. I did it so well that they gave me others to do, and others more, and I ended up working as a photographer for them. Those were great years, and I was very happy. I took photos daily and learned a little more every day. That’s how I started.
What brought you to Vietnam and what made you decide to make it your home?
In 2007, my agent in France sent me to do a shoot for a Vietnamese brand, and I fell in love with both the client and the country. I left France in 15 days, finding life in Vietnam much easier for many reasons. In France, when you want to do something, it’s always very complicated; in Vietnam, nothing is impossible.
How has living in Vietnam influenced your work and perspective as a photographer?
The rules are different, and you need to adapt to the way local people work. But Vietnam is extremely photogenic. When I first arrived, my photographic work was mainly done with Polaroids. In 2007, Polaroid stopped producing its instant films. So I used all the money I had to buy 121 kilograms of Polaroid. I photographed many Vietnamese ethnic minorities with these films. At the time, I was probably the only person in Vietnam with instant film. It was incredible to see the reaction of the people I photographed when they saw the result appear immediately. It also fascinated me to see their attitude to this magic.
How do you navigate the cultural differences between your European background and the Vietnamese way of life and work?
At first, it was a little difficult to deal with a new way of seeing things, a new way of working, and a new way of living. Everything was so different that I found I had no other option but to adapt. I wasn’t going to change Vietnam, so I just started thinking like a Vietnamese. What I love about Vietnamese people is the way they deal with problems. They always have a simple and effective solution to overcome an obstacle. They don’t set themselves false problems to get ahead, and I love the way they solve a problem with ingenuity. It’s very different from Europe, which imposes too many rules to get things started. Here, you either do it or you don’t do it. Trying is not an option.
Do you find that this way of thinking has helped you slow down and become more mindful in your approach to photography?
Yes, of course. I had no choice but to calm down, especially as a French person. We French are never satisfied with what we have… Before, when I worked in France, I always wanted to control my environment. Now, in Vietnam, it’s the environment that controls me, and that’s much better. I let things happen much more naturally than before.
In a world hurtling towards AI you have chosen to embrace the slow and meticulous process of wet-plate photography. A photographic process that is in stark contrast to the digital dominated era that we are living in. Do you think you would have chosen this form of photography if you were still working in France, or has living in Vietnam allowed you more freedom to explore your creative needs?
I started learning photography at the age of 16, at a time when digital photography didn’t exist. We worked with Ektachrome film and polaroids. When digital photography came along, I didn’t really like it- it felt too clean, too scientific, too predictable. I preferred the magic of film, with its potential for surprises, both good and bad, and the absence of complete control. Today, with digital, many photographers add artificial analog effects to give the appearance of old film. For me, the imperfections of film were what made a photograph beautiful, and I find it absurd to try to recreate that randomness digitally. It always feels too fake. I think that if I had stayed in France, I would gave done the same thing and likely would not have embraced wet collodion photography. It would have been much more difficult to set up, for many reasons.
Do you find the photographic environment in Europe to be more stifling compared to Vietnam in terms of creative expression?
No, Europe, is an incredibly creative and inspiring environment. In Vietnam, we lack this photography culture, although the new generation is showing immense creativity and is in the midst of discovery, thanks to the Internet. I believe it’s just a matter of time. The Vietnamese people are very curious, and the government should support young talent more actively, but this is rarely the case.
The alchemical process of wet-plate photography involves numerous manual steps. Can you tell us more about this process?
Yes, there are twelve crucial steps to success, none of which should be skipped. Each step is important to achieve a quality final result. It just requires some method, discipline and maintaining a spotless laboratory to avoid cross- contaminating chemicals. A small mistake can have a huge affect on the outcome. Chemistry is alive and unpredicatble. One can never be sure of its whims- humidity, temperature, even the moon can influence the quality of a collodion or silver bath. This is also what makes it so appealing: chemical errors add character to a photograph. Unlike digital photograpy, where there’s never any real element of surprise, collodion is full of uncertainties. And this is what I find so exciting! When a photograph turns out well, the sense of joy is profound; and when it falls short, the disappointment is just as intense. Despite seven years of experience with this method and 10 whole 60-page parameter books, i.e. 600 tests, sometimes collodian photography still surprises me and I end up learning new chemical secrets.
What are the key steps involved in creating a wet-plate collodion photograph?
Making collodion requires a great deal of attention to quality and safety. Nitrocellulose is mixed with alcohol and ether. Nitrocellulose is extremely explosive when dry, so you have to be a little careful. This is the most crucial step for me. The second step, equally important, is the silver bath. It’s easy to prepare, just powdered silver nitrate diluted in distilled water. However, it is highly capricious and extremely dangerous: a single drop in the eye can make you blind. If contaminated, whether through negligence or other factors, it can cause serious problems, or no photo at all.
And do you adhere strictly to the traditional methods for developing and fixing images?
No, not when it comes to shooting – I use very powerful modern 6400-watt flash units for that. But when it comes to chemistry, I adhere strictly to traditional methods, following the old-fashioned methods to the letter. They work well, and most importantly, they have stood the test of time since 1851. In France, we have a photographic archive in excellent condition that dates back 173 years.
How do you manage exposure times?
I use a flashmeter to get a rough idea of flash power, but it doesn’t help much in determining the correct exposure. Collodion doesn’t capture the full light spectrum- red, green and blue; instead it primarily responds to the UV spectrum, along with some red and some green depending on the chemical recipe. This greatly distorts measurement readings.
Collodian’s ISO sensitivity can range from about 1 to 12, depending on the recipe, requiring numerous tests to determine the exact ISO for each.Another factor to take into account is the bellows extension. Simply put, this is the distance between the film and the lens. As you get closer to the subject, the bellows extend further, leading to a loss of light reaching the film, and vice versa as the bellows shorten. To expose correctlt, it takes not only the best light meters available but also a combination of intuition and experience.
What is it about the process of wet -plate photography that you value the most?
What I’ve always loved is instant film. When I worked as an assistant in advertising studios in Paris, we used Polaroid extensively to test contrast and check lighting. I found it incredible to get the result so quickly. On weekends, assistants were allowed to use the studio to build their personal portfolios. I was fortunate, even at a young age, to experiment with Polaroid in large quantities. I think that’s when I got hooked. However, 2007, the year I arrived in Vietnam, was also the year Polaroid stopped producing its films. At the time I was taking a lot of personal Polaroid photos. I came to Vietnam with 121 kilograms of Polaroid film. I was so addicted that I spent all the money I had saved on buying as much stock as I could. I then spent the next five years years using up my stock of Polaroid stock all over Vietnam.
But to answer your question, once I ran out of stock, I needed an alternative to instant film. I felt a bit lost at not being able to take instant photos anymore. So, I started searching for older photographic processes that could replicate the spontaneity of Polaroid. I found several that were interesting, but most were either very complicated or took too long. Collodion seemed like the most accessible option. I began to put the pieces of the puzzle together: I restored a vintage camera, bought some glass and chemicals, discovered old wet collodian recipes, rented a small garage, bought a few lights, and with a couple of twists of a screwdriver, I was ready. It took about a month to set up everything and work out the details. When the first photo emerged, it was an explosion of joy; I knew I had found what I had lost. It was incredible- within four minutes, I had the result, almost as instant as Polaroid. There were no more limitations in my mind; I could create film of any size I wanted. After a few 13×18 shots, I quickly felt the need to go larger. I jumped straight to 50×50. The beauty of the result on a large plate fascinated me so much that I asked a friend to build me a camera capable of making collodions one square meter.
What keeps you motivated despite the somewhat cumbersome and laborious steps involved?
I’ve already touched on part of this in my previous response, but there is another catalyst I haven’t mentioned yet. One day, I was invited to a Photokina trade show in Germany. I can’t remember the exact year, but Florian Kaps, the owner of one of the Polaroid factories, had the brilliant idea of relaunching Polaroid instant film. To promote his “IMPOSSIBLE PROJECT”, he displayed one of three enormous Polaroid photo chambers. During the conference, he asked me to take a few demonstration photos using this gigantic 50×60 cm camera. It was then that I realised the potential of such a large camera. The level of definition and the range of colours were almost as vivid as my own vision. From that moment on, the idea of building a full-sized, massive camera was always at the back of my mind. At that time, I wasn;t yet familiar with collodian, nor did I know that it was possible to create film for 1×1 portraits. Producing pure negatives at one square meter with 1 ISO sensitivity is an incredible achievement in terms of resolution- something I don’t believe any digital sensor could match in terms of definition.
You spent a year building a camera capable of taking 1×1 meter frames. Can you tell us about your experience of designing and constructing such a unique camera from scratch?
Ah yes, it was a fun experience, and I was incredibly fortunate. We started building it during the Covid period, which gave us plenty of time to focus on the project. My friend Francis Roux, a photographer and former cabinetmaker, had just set up shop next to the garage I was using as my studio. My former girlfriend, Le Hoang Lan- now my wife- is highly skilled in origami and made the bellows herself. At the same time, I met my assistant Hugo Armano.
When day a client how had become a friend asked if I could make a one-square-meter collodion. I agreed, even though I wasn’t sure if I could find the right optics for it. That very evening, I checked eBay and by sheer luck, came across a rare 1210mm Nikkor APO lens, and I had just enough money to purchase it. With all the pieces in place, the only thing left was to put in the work. And the one who worked hardest was Francis- It took him 600 hours to create this masterpiece of photographic woodwork. Today, it is one of the largest collodion cameras in use.
What were the biggest challenges you faced?
I’d say work was my biggest challenge. I’m pretty lazy.
You have lived in Vietnam for several years and seem very settled and at home there. What is your perspective on Vietnamese photography?
The Vietnamese love photography. The new generations, in particular, are doing remarkable work- full of creativity and their own unique perspectives. Events like “Hanoi Photo”, which take place annually, showcase high quality talent, and I hope to see more of these initiatives. It feels like we are on the right path, with more and more fresh talents emerging in the world of photography.
Do you believe there is a distinct style or characteristic unique to it?
Yes, increasingly so. They have their own distinct approach to photography, and it offers a refreshing and insightful perspective.
Are there any Vietnamese or other Asian photographers who inspire you?
They don’t directly inspire my work as their approaches differe significantly from mine. However, I deeply admire what they create and find each of them brilliant in their respective styles. Talented photographers like Duy Phuong Le Nguyen, Lam Duc Hien and Pham Tuan Ngoc are truly exceptional examples.
What aspects of their work do you find most fascinating and how does their photography resonate with your own practice?
What fascinates me most about their work is their confidence and artistic depth. Their photographs appear to be the result of profound artistic exploration, carrying messages that deeply resonate with them. This is just my personal perspective.
In contrast, my work is much less charged with meaning. It leans more towards aesthetics, lacking a significant narrative. I photograph people or objects without truly understanding why. I simply enjoy it, without much explanation. Perhaps this is what ultimately inspires me about them: their ability to give deep meaning to their work, something I aspire to understand and integrate into my own practice.
Silvia Donà
Instagram: @mot.met.studio @boriszuliani