Some Images Never Need a Frame
In a grand corridor of the Tweede Kamer, December '08, the air vibrated with the familiar anxiety of those who live by observation. These corridors were designed to intimidate, to remind one of the enormity of the decisions made here, where power breathed through the walls and polished floors.
Journalists and photographers—my tribe—nervously and anxiously stared at the doors, which would soon open to reveal the world of political stagecraft, soundbites, and flashes of light.
We were summoned to move. The guard’s gesture was brief. Efficient. Like everyone else, I took a step forward. Then came the hand—unexpected, light but firm—on my shoulder. I turned, caught off guard.
“Mr. Van Marl. This way, sir.”
There was no explanation, just an invitation wrapped in quiet authority. The world around me faded away as I followed him through another door into a small room. There was a moment of isolation, of suspended time, before the sound of closing doors brought me fully into the present. And there, in the room’s stillness, stood Kofi Annan. Just me and... Mr. Kofi Atta Annan.
I found myself disarmed by the sincerity of his questions
For an absurd moment, I thought how strange it was that he appeared exactly as one might imagine—dignified. Yet there was no sense of theatricality. His presence was more like gravity—subtle, inescapable, gently pulling you closer to the center of something larger than yourself.
"I understand you are working on a human rights project," he said, his voice low and resonant, each word carefully balanced as if offering it up for consideration. "Let us talk."
He gestured toward a seat, and for a moment, I hesitated. Instead, I had been offered something more precious: a conversation with no intermediary, no carefully curated backdrop.
As we began the conversation, I found myself disarmed by the sincerity of his questions. He was interested in more than just my work; he sought to understand what drove me to it. I told him about my photography, how I tried to capture dignity, honesty, and resilience, and how it was one big learning experience. He listened in the way only a few ever do—with full presence, unhurried and unguarded.
“Education,” he said, “is not simply the acquisition of knowledge. It is the process of learning to see the world through another’s eyes. You are doing that with your work—offering others the chance to truly see.”
For a moment, I thought about the absurdity of my profession. We photographers are obsessed with frames, with the composition of reality within neat, rectangular borders. We believe that capturing a moment validates its significance, that only through the lens can we truly see. Yet here, in this quiet room, no camera could do justice to what was unfolding. Some images, I realized, never need a frame. They live in memory, in the weight of words exchanged, in the intimacy of shared understanding.
Approximately 30 minutes later, after a “let us meet again soon,” I did take a single photograph. It was this one.
As I walked back through the corridors—now impossibly quiet, the journalists having dispersed—I felt strangely content. Annan’s words echoed in my mind like an afterimage, the kind that stays with you long after your eyes have closed.
And I understood, perhaps for the first time, that some moments are too expansive to be confined by a lens. Some truths are meant to be felt, not captured. In those moments, we are no longer mere observers. We become participants in a profound and unspoken exchange—an image without a frame, preserved not in light, but in life.
Thank you, Mr. Annan.
Ilya van Marle. De Lichtjagers.
Written: February 2025.
Encounters that leave a mark. #2 : My meeting with Kofi Annan.
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