A member of
Sebastian’s work centers on long-term documentary projects that examine the interplay between spaces, people, and systems of power. His photographic series about the Olympic Games,
In 2022, he co-founded the English-language magazine
Follow and Contact
Press
Artistic Education
| 2015–18 | Ostkreuzschule for Photography and Design, Berlin |
| 2020–24 | University of Applied Sciences, Bielefeld |
| 2021–22 | KASK School of Arts, Ghent |
Selected Exhibitions
| 2024 | Solo Exhibition, Typ/Traube/Tross, Haus am Kleistpark, Berlin |
| 2024 | Solo Exhibition, La Rada di Augusta, Galerie Focale, Nyon |
| 2024 | Solo Exhibition, Eine Sportschau, Institut français, Berlin |
| 2023 | Group Exhibition, A Garden Of Roots, HSBI WERKSCHAU 2023, Bielefeld |
| 2022 | Artist Talk and Group Exhibition, Solomiya № 1, Galerie Springer, Berlin |
| 2022 | Group Exhibition, Kontinent, OSTKREUZ Agentur, Deutsche Börse Photography Foundation, Frankfurt |
| 2021 | Group Exhibition, Kontinent, OSTKREUZ Agentur, Kunsthalle Erfurt |
| 2021 | Solo Exhibition, La Rada di Augusta, Artphilein Foundation, Lugano |
| 2020 | Group Exhibition, Kontinent, OSTKREUZ Agentur, Akademie der Künste, Berlin |
| 2020 | Group Exhibition, Framing Identity, Museum for Photography, Braunschweig |
| 2019 | Solo Exhibition, Anhänger, Galerie Fenster, Eberswalde |
| 2018 | Group Exhibition, Olympia, at Lumix Festival, Hannover |
| 2018 | Group Exhibition, Sharing Spaces, Feldfuenf Project Gallery, Berlin |
Awards and Residencies
| 2025 | Grand Prix, Art Directors Club Germany |
| 2024 | Artist in Residence, Cité internationale des Arts, Paris |
| 2024 | Gold, Art Directors Club Germany |
| 2024 | Gold, Art Directors Club Europe |
| 2024 | Distinction, Joseph Binder Award, Vienna |
| 2023 | German Peace Prize for Photography, Osnabrück |
| 2023 | Nomination for the Story of the Year, Stern Preis 2023, Hamburg |
| 2023 | Portraits Hellerau Photography Award, Dresden |
| 2023 | Gold, Art Directors Club Germany |
| 2023 | Distinction, Art Directors Club Germany |
| 2023 | Bronze, Art Directors Club Europe |
| 2022 | Award of the Jury, Les Boutographies, Montpellier |
| 2019 | Finalist, Leica Oscar Barnack Award, Berlin |
| 2019 | Winner, New Talent Award at Photo Month, Belgrade |
| 2018 | Winner, FOLA Photobook Award, Buenos Aires |
| 2018 | Winner, Art Competition, Münzenberg Forum, Berlin |
| 2017 | Young Talent Prize, Dumont Journalism Awards 2016, Halle an der Saale |
| 2017 | 1st Prize, VDS Sportsphoto of the Year 2016, Dortmund |
Curating
| 2025 | Solomiya Studio, KVOST - Kunstverein Ost, Berlin |
| 2025 | After Now - Navigating Peace, Goethe Institut, Sarajevo |
Imprint
Sebastian Wells
c/o OSTKREUZ – Photographer’s Agency
Behaimstraße 34
13086 Berlin
mail@ostkreuz.de
+49 30 47373930
© for the photographs: Sebastian Wells, 2016-2025
© for the music: Doomscroll Shame by Poly Chain, 2025
Writing, Photography
2025
Here, in Berlin, in a place where wars and genocides happen only somewhere far; where theatre is mostly made for the intellectual’s entertainment; and where drones happen to be simply what they used to be—a filmmaker’s toy watching the world from above—I begin to wonder. Am I just rushing for the next dopamine hunt whilst frequently travelling to Ukraine, avoiding to take up the burden of advancing change in the country I was born into? Am I, ultimately, a Dopamine Superman, too, pretending to act just to avoid real action?
It is the day after another deadly Russian attack on Kyiv. Hundreds of drones and ballistic missiles reached the city, destroying apartment buildings, killing 31, injuring hundreds, and depriving millions of a calm sleep, many of whom are my close friends. As I watch an avalanche of devastating posts on my Instafeed, I ponder over whether I should share a story, to do at least something, to raise at least a tiny bit of awareness that this war keeps going and that one day, it may come here, too. I decide not to. I feel like it would not change anything. I switch off my phone, and look out of the window. Outside, a gloomy summer rain sets in, pattering on the streets in front of my windows, forcing pedestrians waiting for the tram to gather under the roof of the stop. The tram arrives. People step in. The tram leaves. The rain goes on. More people wait for the next tram. And the next. And the next. Some people go back home. Others go to work, and go back home after. Others go to a bar, only to return a little later. The rain stops. People still wait at the tram stop, but only a few remain under the roof. Some seem to look into my window. Others watch their phones. Until the next tram comes. I wonder if they feel useful. I wonder if they found purpose. I wonder if they’d rather submit to occupation, or fight against it. I wonder if they think they have a choice. I wonder, sometimes, how not to believe in Jesus?
It is the day after another deadly Russian attack on Kyiv. Hundreds of drones and ballistic missiles reached the city, destroying apartment buildings, killing 31, injuring hundreds, and depriving millions of a calm sleep, many of whom are my close friends. As I watch an avalanche of devastating posts on my Instafeed, I ponder over whether I should share a story, to do at least something, to raise at least a tiny bit of awareness that this war keeps going and that one day, it may come here, too. I decide not to. I feel like it would not change anything. I switch off my phone, and look out of the window. Outside, a gloomy summer rain sets in, pattering on the streets in front of my windows, forcing pedestrians waiting for the tram to gather under the roof of the stop. The tram arrives. People step in. The tram leaves. The rain goes on. More people wait for the next tram. And the next. And the next. Some people go back home. Others go to work, and go back home after. Others go to a bar, only to return a little later. The rain stops. People still wait at the tram stop, but only a few remain under the roof. Some seem to look into my window. Others watch their phones. Until the next tram comes. I wonder if they feel useful. I wonder if they found purpose. I wonder if they’d rather submit to occupation, or fight against it. I wonder if they think they have a choice. I wonder, sometimes, how not to believe in Jesus?
How Not To Believe in Jesus was written for and published in
Photography
2016-2024
A ski jumper?
Yes, right at the top of the platform
Are you afraid of heights? No, but the stairs are extremely steep. When I went down them, I was afraid of falling. We were 100 metres above the ground. It was dead silence. Nobody spoke and you couldn't hear the roar of the spectators from below.
It looks somehow staged... The question is, who made it?
You? Am I the director?
That's not theatre! But a great TV show
So you didn't put it up? I don’t think so, but to a certain extent, I exposed the staging that was set up to my images.
Can I then trust the picture? Is that what you want?
Are you afraid of heights? No, but the stairs are extremely steep. When I went down them, I was afraid of falling. We were 100 metres above the ground. It was dead silence. Nobody spoke and you couldn't hear the roar of the spectators from below.
It looks somehow staged... The question is, who made it?
You? Am I the director?
That's not theatre! But a great TV show
So you didn't put it up? I don’t think so, but to a certain extent, I exposed the staging that was set up to my images.
Can I then trust the picture? Is that what you want?
Exhibition Views:
Writing, Photography
2023
Are we a diaspora?
No!
We might become a diaspora, if we stay here.
Yet, we’re not building anything here, there’s no space for planning.
But we’re also not refugees.
No, we didn’t flee the war. We came here as we were looking for opportunities.
I left because I didn’t want to serve in the army. I am technically a defector.
Maybe we are expats.
No!
We might become a diaspora, if we stay here.
Yet, we’re not building anything here, there’s no space for planning.
But we’re also not refugees.
No, we didn’t flee the war. We came here as we were looking for opportunities.
I left because I didn’t want to serve in the army. I am technically a defector.
Maybe we are expats.
Written for and published in
Photography, Installation
2021-2023
Why the newspapers?
To the pile of old, printed newspapers represent a medium of the past. But laying there, the newspapers intervene in the present. Each newspaper stores the information of a day in history.
It gives a sense of nostalgia. Yes, and it refers to the topic of this work, nationalism, since nationalist ideas only appeared after the printing press was invented, enabling a national discourse in people’s vernacular.
The imagined community of random people. Like this group.
How did they agree to be photographed? Well, I just asked them and they agreed.
They agreed? I told them I’m an art student interested in the topic of nationalism and that I’m curious to investigate the role of the uniform visually.
But, which side do you take? I don’t think I understand the question. I’m trying to dissect nationalism.
It gives a sense of nostalgia. Yes, and it refers to the topic of this work, nationalism, since nationalist ideas only appeared after the printing press was invented, enabling a national discourse in people’s vernacular.
The imagined community of random people. Like this group.
How did they agree to be photographed? Well, I just asked them and they agreed.
They agreed? I told them I’m an art student interested in the topic of nationalism and that I’m curious to investigate the role of the uniform visually.
But, which side do you take? I don’t think I understand the question. I’m trying to dissect nationalism.
Exhibition views:
Photography, Installation
2023
The biggest deception was, of all things, a photograph. Dated 1962, the small picture, barely larger than a postage stamp, shows two men on the Old Bridge in Heidelberg. The man on the left is young, slim, well-dressed and looks a bit like me. On the back of the photo is written, among other things: Wells.
Your grandfather?It is not him. Walter Wells was already 56 years old in 1962. As it turned out, he grew up in Vienna with six siblings, a Polish passport and Jewish parents. Samuel, his father, and Josephine, his mother, were actually called Vogelhut and were among the first to come to the Austrian capital from what was then Galicia at the end of the 20th century and apparently enjoyed a good reputation before those who later imitated them were disparagingly dismissed as “Eastern Jews”. Samuel and Josephine died before the worst could have happened to them when the Nazis annexed Austria in 1938. Walter Vogelhut and most of his siblings took flight and left Europe. Two years later, he received an American passport. He is now called Walter Wells, as he has been since his arrival in America. He lives in splendid houses in Hollywood, marries his wife, Mary Parker, travels to France or England from time to time and apparently to West Germany at the end of the 1950s.
He meets my grandmother, who, in her early 20s, could be his child. He takes the young Sigrid with him to London, not just on a business trip, but to the registry office. In posh Westminster, the daughter of a war criminal marries a Jew who may not even have told her that he is one. After only two years of marriage, at the end of 1961, Walter Wells drives to Juarez by car and may have to queue up behind his equally rich neighbors from Hollywood who, like him, wanted to get rid of a marriage without red tape. Walter divorces Sigrid a year before my father, Andreas, is born. Although “Walter Wells” is on Andreas' birth certificate, Walter only gave birth to his surname. There was another man, a man from Spain, whose only known name was Gonzales.How did you find out about this?
He meets my grandmother, who, in her early 20s, could be his child. He takes the young Sigrid with him to London, not just on a business trip, but to the registry office. In posh Westminster, the daughter of a war criminal marries a Jew who may not even have told her that he is one. After only two years of marriage, at the end of 1961, Walter Wells drives to Juarez by car and may have to queue up behind his equally rich neighbors from Hollywood who, like him, wanted to get rid of a marriage without red tape. Walter divorces Sigrid a year before my father, Andreas, is born. Although “Walter Wells” is on Andreas' birth certificate, Walter only gave birth to his surname. There was another man, a man from Spain, whose only known name was Gonzales.How did you find out about this?
Exhibition views:
Publishing, Editing, Curating
since 2022
Spreadsheets:
Photography, Video
2019-2020
Exhibition Views:
Photography
2019
Do you want Hong Kong to be independent?
I can’t talk openly about this.
...
But yes, sure.
I can’t talk openly about this.
...
But yes, sure.
Exhibition View:
Photography
2017-2018
Utopia, from ancient Greek
οὐ- ou- „not-“
and τόπος tópos „place“.
Publications:
Utopia, fist edition, self-published 2018. Design: Peter Bünnagel, Kollektiv Scrollan (sold out)
Photography, Assignment
2021-2022
Sebastian Wells was commissioned by Germany's largest business law firm, CMS Hasche Sigle, to document the planting of a small mixed forest on the roof of their new Stuttgart office in the
Exhibition View: Baumwanderung, CMS Hasche Sigle, Stuttgart
Curated by Sassa Trülzsch