Do you ever feel tension between documenting a moment and actually living it?

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People often say that photography creates a distance between you and the moment. For me, it’s actually the opposite.

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When I photograph something, I’m completely inside it. Hyper aware. Hyper present.

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I notice details I probably would have missed otherwise : a hand movement, a change of light, someone’s expression for half a second, the atmosphere shifting during a dinner.

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I can’t really be half in the moment. If I photograph something, I live it fully.

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Photography, for me, isn’t a way to escape reality or filter it. It’s a way of paying attention to it more deeply.

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Sometimes I even feel like the camera gives me permission to observe the world with a level of intensity that everyday life normally doesn’t allow.

Have you noticed certain experiences being designed for the camera before being designed for the people actually living them? And if so, how do you feel about it?

Yes, absolutely. And honestly, I’m completely in favor of it.

I’ve photographed everything from dark, depressing restaurants with terrible lighting to events designed to be visually spectacular as much as they are delicious.

And as someone constantly chasing the strongest possible images, I can say that the second category is a real visual feast.

For me, gastronomy has always had a visual dimension anyway. A beautiful dining room, a well-plated dish, candlelight, open kitchens… none of this is new.

The only thing I care about is that the visual aspect doesn’t betray the actual experience. If something looks incredible but tastes empty, people feel it immediately.

But when both work together... when something is genuinely delicious and visually powerful. It becomes almost cinematic.

What do photographs fail to capture about atmosphere or hospitality?

I remember going to Troisgros, the three Michelin star restaurant. I had already seen hundreds of photos before going there. Beautiful plates, beautiful interiors, perfect lighting… I already knew what it looked like visually.

But once I was there, I realized how little the images had actually prepared me for the experience itself.

The atmosphere, the silence, the precision of the service, the rhythm of the meal, the human warmth, the emotional intensity of certain dishes… none of that could truly exist inside a photograph.

That’s when I understood that hospitality is something you feel physically and emotionally. Not just visually.

Photography can preserve fragments of an experience beautifully. But it can never contain the experience entirely.

Are the most memorable meals always visually beautiful?

Not at all.

I still remember tasting the rice pudding from Mathias Marc at Substance. Visually, it wasn’t the most spectacular dish I’ve ever seen. But emotionally, it hit me immediately.

It brought me straight back to childhood in a way that felt almost physical.

I think some dishes become unforgettable not because they’re visually impressive, but because they reconnect you to a memory, a feeling, a moment of life.

As a photographer, I obviously care a lot about aesthetics. But some of the most powerful food experiences I’ve had had very little to do with visual beauty.

What makes certain images emotionally powerful beyond aesthetics?

I think emotionally powerful images are often the ones where you can feel that something real was happening beyond the aesthetics.

For example, I photographed Juan Arbelaez during a Westholme dinner while he was serving a dish with fire coming out of a small blowtorch. Visually, yes, the image is striking : the flames, the darkness, the contrast, the movement.

But what makes the image powerful to me isn’t really the fire.

It’s his expression.

He genuinely looks happy. You can feel the energy of the room, the excitement, the playfulness of the moment. There’s something very human happening behind the spectacle.

I think that’s what gives certain images emotional weight. Not technical perfection or aesthetics alone, but the feeling that life was truly happening inside the frame.

Have food and hospitality become more performative over time?

Yes, clearly. But I also think gastronomy has always been a form of spectacle in some way.

Fine dining was never only about eating. It has always involved staging, ritual, lighting, choreography, presentation, storytelling… even centuries ago.

The difference today is probably that social media pushes everything a little further.

The food and hospitality industry knows that certain moments will be photographed, filmed, shared and replayed online. So naturally, some experiences become more visually dramatic andmore “camera conscious”.

And honestly, I don’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. Some of these experiences can be incredibly exciting and visually unforgettable.

The only danger is when performance completely replaces quality and unfortunately it happens sometimes.

Is there an image or moment you captured that has stayed with you emotionally?

During the Westholme dinner, chef Andrew Clarke performed a kind of prayer to the fire before cooking. It’s apparently a ritual he has.

The atmosphere suddenly became incredibly quiet. Almost sacred for a few seconds.And what stayed with me emotionally is that I didn’t even take the picture.

I remember having my camera in my hands, seeing the scene, knowing it was visually beautiful… but I had this strange feeling that pressing the shutter would somehow disturb the peace of the moment.

So I just watched.

As photographers, we often feel the need to capture everything. But sometimes a moment becomes so human, intimate or spiritual that documenting it almost feels intrusive.

Ironically, I think that’s why the scene stayed with me so strongly.

Credits:

Julien Mazille
Culinary photographer
www.julienmazille.com