“I'm always happy when Julian's pictures pop up in my feed. This one is no exception. It's got all the romance of a cowboy in the old West but with an unmistakably Australian flair. I love that the man's face is hidden in shadow while the burning end of his smoke just glows and glows. The subtle colors and shading only add to the ambient romance. It's clear that the man is taking a moment — is savoring a moment — but what does he see? What's he thinking about? What's he remembering? Like most of the photographs I love, this one feels like the end of a short story I can't wait to read.”

“This is a very beautiful picture. There's an incredibly powerful sense of vertigo that one gets from the plane of focus and the depth of field, the way the stream, the outlet which is a storm-water drain as far as I know, snakes off towards a darkening horizon. It has all of that haunting atmosphere that you see in Tarkovsky and other great filmmakers and yet it has a stillness about it of course, which is where photographs derive their power. An introspective but edgy sense of the young person hanging on to the edge of the drainpipe is also perfectly balanced. It's as though the distance, the relationship between the viewer and the subject is perfectly paced and nuanced. It's a beautiful photograph.”

“Julian Kingma's beautiful and evocative photographs capture people's inner lives and their poignant relationships. He embraces difficult subject matter and seduces us into looking by the delicacy with which he works with his subjects. His portraits are often equally amazing landscapes, and his dark, silvery prints are both gorgeous and distinctive.”

“How does he do that? I find myself staring at Julian Kingma's images, hoping his secret will unfold to me. On one level, I get it. All that technical skill, borne of years of assignments. The eye, trained instinctively for framing and composition. The hand, subconsciously forging light into story.

It's a form of alchemy, I guess. Like any mastered skill, one that elicits an admiring shake of the head.

But that's not it.

How does he do that? Find the moment we are all looking at, but that only he can see? And more: within that moment, find the speck of something that feels universal?

Over 18 months, I worked on a project with Julian. Never once did I watch him take a photograph. But I saw something else he did which gave me a clue.

The project, which became a book, then a series of exhibitions, called The Power of Choice, was about people who were dying, and who'd chosen to do so on their own terms, using Australia's voluntary assisted dying laws.

In his long career, Julian had spent little time with the dying. Was terrified of the thought, in fact.

Of course he was. American writer Laurell Hamilton once described death as “the last intimate thing we do”. Imagine walking into a dying stranger's house — one filled with fear (theirs and yours) — seeking to create intimacy? Enough, so that they will unfold to you in their final moments as if you had always been there?

Robert Frank, one of America's greatest chroniclers, maintained that the one thing a photograph must contain is ‘the humanity of the moment’. Long before he raised his camera, he would stand there to see what the scene before him revealed.

When Julian walked into the home of Kath Keogh and her dying husband, Nigel Taimanu, his first instinct was to put his camera away.

And when, days later, he recorded Nigel's last moments, for those gathered in farewell Julian was no longer a stranger, but a friend to be hugged, and consoled, and thanked.

And here's what I saw: at every exhibition, whether it was Kath, or a family member of someone else who had died, the intimacy that Julian had shared with them, with the camera in his hands, was still there.

To find the true frequency of someone you have never met before, a person who is suffering, requires extraordinary openness and a willingness to be emotionally fragile.

Julian's secret, I realised, lies not just in his practised technique, or gifted eye.

It is in his ability to connect, deeply connect, human to human.”

“After holding out for years on joining Instagram, when I finally gave in and downloaded the app and started poking around to see what the platform was all about and what kind of photography might be available, Julian's was one of the first pages I discovered. And thankfully I did. The tones, the punch, the singularity, and the confidence of his imagery were immediately striking. Dark, yet hopeful. Beautiful, curious, and deeply human. It left an instant impression. I've been following his journey ever since. A maker of remarkably stunning images unlike any I've ever seen.”

“I have had the pure joy and privilege of being photographed by Julian many times. Julian has a relationship with the lens that is unique and magical, he also has a way of communicating with the subject or talent that is engaging and enjoyable which always manages to bring out that extra something that always turns up on the page and in the eyes of the person being photographed.

I have chosen Julian to photograph the covers of both of my books, and trust me when I say I had many great photographers to choose from, but in the end I decided not to settle for great, I decided I wanted someone amazing, and Julian is exactly that — an amazing photographer!”

“Being in the public eye during a career doesn't mean you are comfortable in front of the camera. Working with Julian back in the day was no fuss and enjoyable. He shot me a couple of times and there was always a clear purpose and direction in what he was wanting to capture. If I was to have a favourite shot I think this one would be right up there.”

“Julian has a care free gift for finding the drama and ridiculousness in every frame. I recall our time together being inventive, collaborative and low stakes. Julian has a terrific sense of play. He also has great taste, which is the most important commodity of all.”

“Persuasive, charming, talented — Julian Kingma is a pleasure to work with.”