Photo: Morten Albek

In The Footsteps of Henri Cartier-Bresson

Photo: Stefan Lalkovski

When I first picked up a camera to explore the streets, I wasn’t consciously following in the footsteps of Henri Cartier-Bresson. 

My journey began with a background in photojournalism—a discipline rooted in truth, timing, and the quiet power of observation. It was only later that I realised how closely this path mirrored the essence of Cartier-Bresson’s work, the man often called the father of street photography.

Cartier-Bresson spoke of the decisive moment—that fleeting instant when all elements in a scene align perfectly, revealing something deeper than what the eye alone can see. I didn’t set out to chase those moments, but they found me. And in time, I understood that the streets are full of them, if only we learn to see. 

Take the photo I’ve attached here. Two dogs, a lamppost, a parked car, and the quiet presence of plants in the background. It’s a simple scene, yet it holds a rhythm, a balance, a story. The larger dog sits calmly, grounded. The smaller one rises on its hind legs, curious or playful. There’s tension and harmony, stillness and movement—all in one frame. It’s not a copy of Cartier-Bresson’s work, nor could it ever be. But the spirit is there: the spontaneity, the respect for the subject, the composition that feels both accidental and inevitable. Waiting for the moment when the small dog rises to look for its owner. The decisive moment.

A photo I took in Rome (2025) relating to the spirit of Henri Cartier-Bresson. 

Street photography is never the same. It’s like swimming in a river—you never swim the same river twice. The flow changes, the light shifts, the people move on. You can’t replicate a moment, and trying to do so would strip the joy from the process. 

What you can do is find your own rhythm, your own way of seeing, and in that, discover a kinship with those who came before.

Cartier-Bresson didn’t just teach us how to photograph; he taught us how to be present. To wait. To trust. And though I didn’t seek his influence deliberately, I now see how deeply it runs through my work. The streets are different now, and so am I. But the approach—the quiet listening, the intuitive framing, the reverence for the everyday—remains.

And that, perhaps, is the true legacy of the father of street photography: not a style to imitate, but a way to walk through the world.

Photos: Morten Albek

Photo Workshops In the footsteps of Henri Cartier-Bresson is a way to seek the same sense and spirit of street photography. Not a copy, but the spirit.

This means we meet the world with presence and patience. We learn to see—not just with the eyes, but with the heart—the fleeting moment where truth and beauty align. This path invites us to slow down, to observe deeply, and to trust our intuition. It is a practice of light and composition, yes, but also of humility and reverence for the life unfolding before us. In this space, spontaneity becomes a form of wisdom, and the camera, a quiet companion to our awareness.

Henri Cartier-Bresson: A Visionary of the Decisive Moment

Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908–2004) was a pioneering French photographer whose work laid the foundation for modern photojournalism and street photography. Known for his concept of the “decisive moment”, he believed that a single, spontaneous frame could capture the essence of a scene and the truth of human experience 

Henri originally was trained as a painter under Cubist artist André Lhote, and Cartier-Bresson brought a deep understanding of composition and form to his photography with this background. An artistic eye, combined with the portability of the 35mm Leica camera, made him walk discreetly. A basis for capturing candid, unposed moments with remarkable clarity and emotion, which he is known for.
 

In 1947, he co-founded the world-famous agency  Magnum Photos, a cooperative that revolutionised documentary photography by giving photographers full control over their work. Cartier-Bresson’s legacy is not just in his images, but in his philosophy: photography as a quiet, patient act of seeing. He avoided cropping as much as possible, rarely staged scenes, and never developed his own prints, believing that the moment of capture was where the true artistry lay.

Even after he stepped away from photography in the 1970s to return to drawing, his influence endured. His work will continue to inspire generations of photographers like me, whether we are aware of it or not, learning to observe the world with empathy, precision, and a deep respect for the fleeting beauty of everyday life.

Photo: Morten Albek