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
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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