Walter Pfeiffer’s hands have trembled ever since he was a little boy at primary school. The problem, recalls the Swiss photographer, only intensified as he aged. “It amuses me,” he says, “when people call me a genius for using flash from the very beginning. It gave me my style – but I only did it because a flash stabilised my images.”
Pfeiffer’s photographs exude a perpetual summery warmth, as if all the harshness of life has been banished. Before gaining recognition in the art world, he spent years shooting for the underground gay zine scene. Remarkably, after achieving success, he refused to change his approach: it has always been just him and his subject, like a painter with a muse.
