Midnight Express Magazine

In the middle of the Atlantic, the Azores seem to exist at a distance from the noise of the world. An archipelago of volcanoes, ocean, mist and extraordinary light, where nature sets its own rhythm and landscapes carry an almost primal force. It is within this unique environment that Portuguese photographer Paulo Monteiro has developed his distinctive visual language.

His photographs do more than simply depict the Azores: they reveal its atmosphere, poetry and, at times, its mystery. Moving between landscape, human presence and fleeting moments, his work reflects an intimate relationship with the territory and with the ever-changing light that gives the islands their particular character.

In this exclusive interview for Midnight Express Magazine, Paulo Monteiro talks about his journey, his relationship with photography and his surroundings, as well as the sources of his inspiration and the elements that shape his vision. A conversation with a photographer whose images invite us to slow down, look more closely, and rediscover the quiet power of places we might think we already know.

Grégory Herpe: Profound Azores took twenty-four years to complete. At what point did you realize this wasn’t a short-term project anymore, that you had committed to something much larger than yourself?

Paulo Monteiro: I began this work in 1995, on São Miguel Island, photographing rituals that had been familiar to me since childhood. In 1998, I travelled to Pico Island to document the Holy Spirit festivals and encountered very striking differences compared with the celebrations on my own island. From that moment I understood that I was no longer dealing with a local project, but with something that had to encompass the entire archipelago, while respecting the singularities of each island. That was when I realised that my commitment was no longer only to my island: I was entering a long-term project about a changing insular culture.

Grégory Herpe: You describe the Azores as “a world on the verge of extinction.” In 2026, nearly two decades after the book was published, how much of what you documented has actually disappeared?

Paulo Monteiro: What I described as “a world on the verge of extinction” has not vanished completely, but it has lost intensity. Many festivities in small villages still take place, yet ageing populations and demographic decline have made them less vibrant. On my island, for instance, the traditional Carnival dances, popular balls with masked participants and choreographed sequences, are no longer held, and I had the privilege of photographing the last one. I also photographed the last farrier blacksmith on São Miguel: today horses are still shod, but the horseshoes are imported and the artisanal craft has almost disappeared.

Another example is Caldeira Velha, a volcanic thermal area where, until 2013, willow rods used for basketry were boiled in the hot waters to make them pliable; this practice was banned for environmental reasons and the site has been turned into a tourist attraction with tickets and natural pools. In other contexts, such as a procession on Faial Island that used to cross the beach among the swimmers, the dynamics have also changed: it now proceeds along a designated corridor, more organised but with less exoticism and spontaneity. In many of these cases, economic logic has overshadowed community cultural life.

Grégory Herpe: The Festa do Divino Espírito Santo appears across almost every island in the series, yet no two celebrations look alike. What was the most unexpected variation you encountered between islands?

Paulo Monteiro: Early on I realised that, to truly understand the Azores, I would have to photograph the Festa do Divino Espírito Santo on every island. It is a transversal celebration, almost a “national festival” of the Azoreans, uniting residents and diaspora communities. Over the centuries, the isolation of each island has allowed this shared ritual to evolve very differently from place to place, and sometimes we find significant variations even within the same island.

On some islands it is customary for children and adults to be crowned with the Holy Spirit crown in a church ceremony; on the Western group islands (Flores and Corvo), however, this crowning simply does not exist, which is a structural difference. The revelers, groups of men who sing, play music and animate the festivities, also vary widely in melodies, lyrics, instruments and clothing. By the time I photographed them, these groups had already disappeared from Corvo and Terceira, which deeply marked me: I arrived too late for certain manifestations that are also part of this diversity.

Grégory Herpe: The choice of black and white for a project about colorful religious festivals, processions, girls dressed as princesses, flower-filled streets, was that a deliberate artistic decision, or did it emerge naturally as you worked?

Paulo Monteiro: I grew up seeing the Azores represented in very colourful tourist postcards, full of saturated greens and blues. With Profound Azores I wanted to distance myself from those clichés and from illustrative or purely touristic photography. I opted for black and white as a way of emphasising the documentary character and, at the same time, assuming my subjectivity: by removing colour, I ask the viewer to focus on people, gestures, relationships and the structure of the rituals. Black and white helps me to build a more coherent visual language, to bring these images closer to the tradition of humanist documentary and to reinforce the sense of time and memory that runs through the project.

Grégory Herpe: Over twenty-four years, you photographed some of the same events repeatedly. Were there moments where you witnessed the same ritual decades apart, and was that disorienting or revelatory?

Paulo Monteiro: Photographing the same rituals over decades was both revealing and unsettling. It was revealing because I perceived the enormous resilience of small communities that continue to organise their festivities, often with few resources and little visibility. It was unsettling because I witnessed the decline of certain cultural expressions.

One example is a procession in a village on the south coast of São Miguel, which I followed many times. I had a particular affection for this ritual because of the presence of many girls dressed as angels; over the years, I watched that number decrease drastically. Continuity and change coexist in these images, and it is that contrast that the project seeks to record.

Grégory Herpe: Your earliest frames in this series date to the mid-1990s. Looking back, can you see the evolution of your eye between those first photographs and the last ones? Is there a frame you would shoot completely differently today?

Paulo Monteiro: In the early years, as a young and self-taught photographer, I experimented a great deal. I worked with focal lengths ranging from 21 mm to 180 mm, searching for a style and a way of approaching my subjects. Without a direct mentor, I mostly learned through practice and error. Over time, I realised that many images made with super wide-angle lenses ended up being re-cropped, and that formal simplicity helped to reinforce the strength of the rituals and the people.

From the end of 2010 onwards, I simplified my approach: I began working with two camera bodies equipped with 35 mm and 50 mm lenses. This self-imposed limitation made the whole series more cohesive and, I believe, the images clearer and more consistent. Certainly, there are photographs from the 1990s that I would make differently today, but I prefer that an independent eye assess that evolution; for me, they are also testimonies to a learning process.

Grégory Herpe: You include one image that stands apart from the rest: the illegal extraction of sand from the sea, Ribeira Seca, 1996. Was social criticism always part of your intent, or did that photograph simply demand to be made?

Paulo Monteiro: That photograph arose first and foremost as a gesture of solidarity with the community portrayed. These were people at the lowest rung of the social hierarchy, who found in the illegal extraction of sand a means of subsistence. For a long time, the poorest were in a sense pushed to live by the sea; today, having a house by the shoreline is a sign of status.

In Ribeira Seca, what was once a marginal activity has disappeared, and the beach has been transformed into a space frequented by locals and tourists. By photographing that moment, I wanted to document not only a specific practice but also a changing social landscape, in which marginality and the desire to survive confront economic and urban transformation.

Grégory Herpe: The fishing boat baptism at Rabo de Peixe in 1998, a moment of pure collective joy, marks one of the project’s earliest frames. What drew you there that day?

Paulo Monteiro: I went to Rabo de Peixe moved by curiosity and respect. I already knew the ritual of boat baptism, but I was aware that in that town, the largest fishing community in the archipelago, the moment held a particular significance. At the time I was frequently visiting the village to document the artisanal construction of wooden fishing boats.

Being present at the baptism seemed like a natural outcome of that process: it meant witnessing the culmination of a journey that began in the shipyard and ended in the water, surrounded by the community. The collective enthusiasm, faith and joy I encountered that day were decisive in consolidating the path that Profound Azores would follow.

Grégory Herpe: You were born on São Miguel Island and still live there. How do you negotiate the tension between the insider’s intimacy, being Azorean yourself, and the documentary distance that serious photography requires?

Paulo Monteiro: This project arises directly from my childhood memories: I grew up watching many of the rituals I have since photographed. Being Azorean gives me a closeness and intimacy that I consider a strength, provided they are accompanied by respect and careful attention to people and their cultures. When you approach a community with respect, doors open more easily.

At the same time, I try to maintain a critical gaze and remain aware that I am not entirely impartial, it is impossible to be so when images come “from within” us. I accept this partiality as part of the project’s character: the photographs do not aim to be neutral, but to be honest about a relationship of belonging.

Grégory Herpe: The Azores carry a specific Atlantic history: whaling, isolation, mass emigration. How much of that historical weight did you feel pressing on the everyday scenes you were photographing?

Paulo Monteiro: The Atlantic history of the Azores is always present. The memory of whaling, for instance, is very strong on Pico and Faial Islands; the old whaling boats have been restored and are now used in rowing and sailing regattas and in maritime processions, transforming a practice of exploitation into a sporting and symbolic ritual. The isolation of each island over the centuries has given the rituals their own forms, which I try to record carefully.

The theme of emigration is particularly sensitive for me. My father, like thousands of Azoreans, emigrated to Bermuda, the only way to improve my family’s living conditions. Many emigrants return in the summer to take part in the festivities of their childhood, bringing new cultural influences with them. In villages on the south coast of Pico, for example, the Holy Spirit festivals have incorporated elements from the communities in the United States, such as the “rainhas”, adolescent or adult women wearing velvet dresses richly adorned with symbols of the festival. This interplay between local tradition and diaspora is an important layer in the images.

Grégory Herpe: Has the act of spending twenty-four years documenting your home changed the way you inhabit it, the way you walk through a village, attend a festival, see your neighbors?

Paulo Monteiro: Photographing my homeland for twenty-four years has profoundly changed the way I inhabit it. I recall in particular four years spent accompanying a group of “romeiros da Quaresma”, a very old Lenten penitential pilgrimage on São Miguel, in which men walk together for several days, praying and visiting churches.

Over time, in that village, I came to be known as “the photographer of the pilgrims”. That designation says a great deal about the relationship that is built when you accompany a community over a long period: you are no longer just someone passing through, you create a bond that outlives the project itself. I still meet those pilgrims regularly, and the cordiality endures.

Grégory Herpe: Do you sometimes feel isolated as a photographer, living on an island? Do you think you would have had a different career if you had lived on the mainland?

Paulo Monteiro: For many years I felt the weight of working from a remote archipelago, with my work receiving little recognition from local political power or the regional media. Today, however, I feel increasingly less isolated: the internet has become a fundamental tool for establishing connections with the wider world, taking part in international festivals, being discovered by curators and magazines, and even joining initiatives such as the Magnum Community Spotlight.

I believe I would have had a different career had I lived on the Portuguese mainland, due to greater proximity to institutions, the media and exhibition circuits. Curiously, the most consistent recognition has come from mainland Portugal and abroad, with exhibitions and participations in countries as diverse as Belgium, the United States, Bermuda, Italy, Greece, Nigeria, and more recently Chile and the Democratic Republic of Congo. This long-distance dialogue has helped to compensate for the fragility of the local context.

Grégory Herpe: You describe yourself as essentially self-taught, yet your biography lists portfolio reviews with Cristina Rodero and Steve McCurry and online courses with Jonas Bendiksen, Matt Black and Mark Power. After a lifetime of self-directed work, how did external critique from photographers of that caliber affect your process?

Paulo Monteiro: I am essentially self-taught, but portfolio reviews with photographers such as Cristina Rodero and Steve McCurry have had a profound impact on my path. Unlike online courses, accessible to anyone, these reviews required a prior selection process and had limited places, which for me was already a sign of recognition.

The sessions, held online during the pandemic, showed how a crisis can open unexpected opportunities. The critiques and teachings of these masters led me to look at my work with greater rigour: I rethought image sequences, refined editing, questioned framing choices and my proximity to people. In the case of Cristina Rodero, the influence was so strong that I spent two years reworking photographs and series. She is today my main reference, someone with whom I have had the privilege of photographing in mainland Portugal, not only a great photographer, but also an excellent teacher and an extraordinary human being.

Grégory Herpe: The Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian supported you in 1994 and 1996, before the project was complete. What did that institutional recognition mean for a self-taught photographer working from a remote archipelago?

Paulo Monteiro: In the years when I was mainly making experimental photography, the grants from Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, in 1994 and 1996, were an important sign of confidence in a young self-taught photographer coming from a peripheral archipelago. That institutional recognition gave me courage to keep working and deepening my visual language.

Later, I applied again with documentary photography projects and did not receive support, which was naturally disappointing. However, that experience also taught me that a photographer’s path does not depend solely on one institution: there are other routes, other contexts and other ways of building long-term projects. For now, I do not intend to apply again, preferring to focus on alliances with editors, galleries and festivals that understand this kind of work.

Grégory Herpe: Your work has been exhibited in Belgium, the United States, Bermuda, Italy, Greece, Nigeria. When non-Portuguese audiences encounter Profound Azores, what do they seem to see in it that you perhaps didn’t anticipate?

Paulo Monteiro: When Profound Azores is presented to non-Portuguese audiences, I feel that many viewers discover a certain exoticism, in the sense of an insular world of rituals and human landscapes unfamiliar to them. But what interests me most is another kind of response: when some spectators tell me they recognise in the photographs feelings, relationships and conflicts that could exist anywhere.

That type of reaction makes me believe that, beyond the specificity of the Azores, there is a possible universality in these images: communities fighting to preserve their culture, people living between tradition and change, memories that cross the ocean of emigration and return every year to take part in festivities. It is in this tension between the local and the universal that the project positions itself.

Grégory Herpe: Profound Azores, Entrudo, Rituais do Inverno Transmontano, your long-term projects all seem drawn to collective ritual, community, and the passage of time. Is there a deeper thread connecting them that goes beyond subject matter?

Paulo Monteiro: The thread connecting these projects runs deeper than the isolated subject of each series. In Profound Azores, in Entrudo and in Rituais do Inverno Transmontano I always begin from personal memories and from an intense curiosity about the cultures of communities that, for a long time, have lived relatively isolated.

I am interested in observing how time shapes rituals, how people gather around festivity, faith, play and tradition; how modernity enters these worlds and transforms them without ever completely erasing the past. What I seek is to follow the passage of time over forms of collective life, whether in an Atlantic archipelago or in inland regions of mainland Portugal.

Grégory Herpe: The book was published in 2007, but you are still photographing. Is Profound Azores truly a closed chapter, or does it remain something living for you?

Paulo Monteiro: For some years I considered Profound Azores a closed chapter. The book was published in 2007 and, feeling little attention from my homeland towards the documentary work I had been developing, I decided to stop photographing the islands in 2019. I had the sense that the cycle was complete and that I needed to look towards other geographies.

Recently, however, a gallerist, curator, editor and designer based in mainland Portugal discovered the body of work and has become seriously committed to publishing a new book bringing together the twenty-four years of photographs, accompanied by an exhibition. Her enthusiasm is much greater than mine, and perhaps that is what keeps the project alive: the possibility of revisiting it with other eyes, in a different context. The coming months will be decisive in understanding whether Profound Azores becomes a new work or remains a memory of a path already travelled.

Grégory Herpe: What are your dreams as a photographer?

Paulo Monteiro: My dreams as a photographer are at once simple and demanding. I want to keep learning, deepening my way of seeing and working, and connecting more and more with the world through images. I hope to meet again, many times, people who have been decisive in my journey, such as my friend and greatest reference, Cristina Rodero, and to sustain a network of affinities and dialogues that nourish long-term projects.

Above all, I hope that life and health will allow me to continue accompanying communities, building series with time and patience, and sharing these stories with audiences who may never have heard of the places where they unfold.

Grégory Herpe: The Magnum Community Spotlight featured you in November 2024. Magnum has long stood for a very specific tradition of humanist documentary. Do you see yourself as part of that lineage, or do you resist the label?

Paulo Monteiro: Being included in the Magnum Community Spotlight in November 2024 was both a surprise and an honour, especially because Magnum is associated with a specific tradition of humanist and documentary photography. I am not sure I can claim, by myself, to be part of that lineage; I prefer that others decide that, if they feel it is appropriate.

I can say, however, that I feel deeply aligned with the work of several Magnum photographers, particularly with the oeuvre of Cristina Rodero, who is my main reference. I do not resist that label: if my work is read as part of a humanist continuity, I will be pleased, provided that this does not prevent the images from being assessed on their own singularity.

Grégory Herpe: Can you tell us what you are currently working on, or what projects you are considering for the future?

Paulo Monteiro: Since 2018 I have been photographing various rituals in mainland Portugal, following a plan I have drawn up to 2028. My intention is to publish a book bringing together images made since 1995, when I began Profound Azores, up to that horizon, gathering thirty-three years of work on rituals and communities: a truly national project that connects the archipelago to inland territories and other regions.

After that, I know there will still be much to do: Portugal is a country with extraordinary people who keep the culture of their communities alive far from the major centres. If life and health do not fail me, I want to go on walking with them, listening to them and photographing the way they move through time…

Grégory Herpe for Midnight Express Magazine

Paulo Monteiro Official Website: https://paulomonteiro.jimdofree.com/

Paulo Monteiro on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/paulomonteiro_fotografia/