For over five decades, Swiss photographer Thomas Mayer has developed a serene, emotional, and documentary language for architecture. His lens captures the random and memorable moments of our built environment - reflections in the rain, long blue hours in Nordic summers, and the quiet darkness of sacred spaces. Recognized by ArchDaily as one of the top architectural photographers, Mayer carries an abundant fascination for light and space.
Self-employed in Germany since 1969, Mayer's career spans advertising, reportage photography, long-term architectural documentation, and close collaborations with visionaries such as the German graphic designer Otl Aicher, communication designer Thomas Rempen, entrepreneur Klaus Jürgen Maack, as well as Frank Gehry.
His perspective shows emotional documentary photography based on reportage photography. Mayer sees himself not only as a passionate photographer but as a creative contract photographer who helps his clients attract attention and achieve success by documenting their projects in a realistic and emotional way.
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ArchDaily [Thomas Schielke]: How do you prepare for a new project?
Thomas Mayer: I start by studying the project's form, its spatial relationships, and especially how it sits in its environment - the orientation, the natural light, the broader landscape. If the location is nearby, I like to do a preliminary site visit. Understanding the sun's path and the shadows it will cast is crucial. Light plays a decisive role in planning the shooting sequence. Which perspective needs morning light, and where is the softness of dusk most effective?
AD: How do you respond to less-than-ideal weather conditions?
TM: If time allows, I wait. But if it doesn't - especially during long-distance assignments - I have to adapt. For example, on a shoot for the lighting manufacturer ERCO at the United States Air Force Memorial in Arlington, it rained heavily and continuously. Instead of throwing in the towel, I embraced the mood. The wet ground reflected the soaring metal arches, and the rain added a unique dimension to the documentation. Enrique Peiniger, the lighting designer, held an umbrella over me so I could shoot at dusk. It turned out to be a powerful and very emotional series.
AD: What role does post-processing play in your work?
TM: It is never about altering the image — it entails refining what was already there. I shoot in RAW format and then work on contrast, brightness, and color to represent the greatest possible reality. No artificial effects. Digital photography has made things easier, especially in mixed lighting situations with daylight, fluorescent, tungsten, or sodium vapor lighting. In the past, I used a Kelvin meter and color filters; today, one RAW image is enough to depict complex lighting realistically, thanks to precise post-processing techniques.
AD: What is special about black and white photography?
TM: Black and white photography strips away distraction and focuses on shape, light, and form. It reduces a mood to its essentials. One project where this was crucial was the Sancaklar Mosque by Emre Arolat near Istanbul. The prayer hall is underground, lit by a narrow strip of daylight from above. The light bathes the stone wall in something close to sacredness. Color would have softened that impression. At night, a similar effect is created by artificial lighting from above. In that photo, the worshippers blend seamlessly into the architecture — a created harmony that black and white captures best.
AD: Tell us about your moonlit series of prehistoric stones in Brittany.
TM: As a young photographer, I was captivated by a photo by Edward Steichen - a Rodin sculpture photographed by moonlight near Paris. This image stayed with me. Later, while visiting the menhirs near Carnac in France, I thought of photographing them the same way. GEO magazine loved the concept and assigned me the story. These were analog days, so there was no image control. I experimented with exposures ranging from one to forty-five minutes. I worked with three cameras, three tripods, and an assistant who managed our exposure log and timing. We made four trips across all seasons. Spring and autumn were best — in summer, the night was too short, and in winter, the moonlight was too bright. In the end, the series became a powerful story, filled with mystery and silence.
AD: Which region has inspired you most in terms of light?
TM: The Nordic countries — especially Norway. The light there is like nowhere else. In winter, the sun stays low, casting long, clear shadows. In summer, the blue hour stretches into the night. It's a photographer's dream. Also, I was able to document both the aurora borealis and everyday life under artificial light during winter.
AD: What draws you to photograph buildings from the same perspective by day and night?
Curiosity. I want to know: when does the architecture reveal itself best? Often, daylight offers clarity and form, while twilight and night evoke mood and mystery.
TM: A good example is the Grande Arche in La Défense in Paris. During the day, you can see the monumentality of the shape. At night, the lighting draws you in. The sunset adds depth and a romantic undertone. The same view is completely transformed.
AD: What makes photographing glass buildings at night so compelling?
TM: During the day, glass often reflects its surroundings. It becomes a mirror. Yet at night, when interiors are lit, glass becomes transparent. It draws you in. The Lincoln Center in New York, as a public building for concerts, is a perfect example. At night, it glows from within - it becomes welcoming. I first shot it in 1978 with analog technology. The long exposures allowed moving car lights to streak across the frame. I included a car in the foreground - a subtle nod to my early days as a car photographer.
AD: What excites you about the tension between diffuse and directional light?
TM: Contrast creates atmosphere and narrative. In Richard Meier's MACBA in Barcelona, for instance, the architecture is flooded with soft daylight from above. But the warm-toned accent lighting on the artworks brings the space to life. Without those accents, the composition would feel sterile. The interplay of diffuse and directional light introduces a visual tension that makes the space compelling.
AD: Can you share your experience photographing Peter Zumthor's Bruder Klaus Chapel?
TM: I discovered the Zumthor chapel through a local newspaper article and drove there immediately. The farmers who commissioned it lived right next door and handed me the key and allowed me to photograph it at dawn. I arrived at five o'clock and observed the light. As the sun rose, the light that penetrated through the small tubes in the walls created a glittering of the countless glass hemispheres. In addition, daylight entered through the open top. The soft, diffuse illumination and the sparkle made the space feel sacred. Being there on my own was essential. You could feel the power of the architecture. The chapel was intended as a quiet stop for pilgrims, but today, it has become a kind of destination for architectural pilgrims. There is rarely a moment of silence inside.
Thomas Mayer's photography invites a different kind of attention — one not only driven by form or symmetry, but by the presence of randomness and people. His images remind us that architecture is not just built volume, but lived space. The perspectives are shaped by light and shadow. In Mayer's world, light is not just what illuminates the building; it's what tells the story and conveys emotion.
Light matters, a column on light and space, is written by Dr. Thomas Schielke. Based in Germany, he is fascinated by architectural lighting and works as a trainer for the lighting company ERCO. He has published numerous articles and co-authored the books "Light Perspectives" and "SuperLux". For more information check www.erco.com and www.arclighting.de.
