I photograph people who want to be seen without being turned into someone else's idea.

Why sunrise? Because the city was still empty. That was the whole idea: give them a Copenhagen that was not watching yet.

Terence and Kevin came from Hong Kong and Taiwan. They had been together for nearly seven years when they came to Copenhagen to get married, with little experience of being visibly together in public. The first photographs that morning were careful. Real closeness, held close to the body.

In a courtyard in the old town, as the light began to warm the stone, I photographed what I believe may have been their first kiss in public. I cannot prove that. I did not ask twice. It was quiet, and enormous in what it meant.

The next morning, after the ceremony, they both cried. They thanked the registrar more than once. That is the part I keep returning to. Not only the kiss. The thank you.

We knew it would be the two of us before the pandemic decided anything for us.

Jana is my wife. She is introverted and does not enjoy being the centre of attention. When we decided to marry, the day was never going to be built around a room full of people watching us. It was meant to be about the two of us from the beginning.

We planned a hotel, the registry office, a photographer, tattoos instead of traditional rings, food together and a quiet evening. Then April 2020 arrived. The decision stayed. Most of the plan did not.

We went to the registry office. Our photographer could only photograph us outside, so that is where the portraits happened. The hotel was gone. The tattoos were gone. Eating out was gone. We had burgers delivered to our home instead.

It was not the day we had planned, but the reason for it was still intact. We wanted enough room to be present with each other. No audience was required for that.

Hafenliebe is a word I understood before it became a name.

I used to spend a lot of evenings by the pier at Hamburg's fish market, or somewhere close to it, watching the ships. I did not need to know where they were going. The fact that they could leave was enough.

That is what the harbour has always meant to me. The possibility of setting out. The possibility of coming back. And the freedom to make your own decisions somewhere in between.

Hafenliebe is Freiheitsliebe.

I pay attention first. I give direction when it helps.

During an elopement, I follow what is happening. I stay close, watch properly and sometimes point towards something useful: better light, a quieter place, half a step closer. I do not manage the people or turn the day into a production.

Lovers sessions and intimate portraits can begin with a loose concept, a moodboard or a specific image I want to try. For portraits, I may build the frame deliberately, sometimes very precisely. I can place you in the light, ask you to move or tell you where to look.

Then I leave room. The instruction ends, people stop waiting for the next one, and something happens that neither of us could have planned. Very often, that is where the photograph is.

You do not need to know what to do in front of my camera. That part is my responsibility.