Self-Portraits Through Weather Cameras—The Portraits of Existence by Tatu Gustafsson

In 2012, just after graduating from the Department of Photography at Turku University of Applied Sciences in Finland, Tatu Gustafsson was interested in the question of authorship in photography through self-portraiture, as well as in exploring alternative methods of photographic production.

One day, he happened to learn that Finland’s traffic and weather cameras automatically take photographs every twelve minutes and keep them online around the clock.

“What if I stood in front of those outdoor cameras and took self-portraits?” With this thought, he immediately began the project.

A Block-Like Presence and an Unexpected “Lightness”

Covering the entire country of Finland was no easy task. Gustafsson therefore decided to spend one week per month travelling around the nation, sleeping in his car along the way.

He continued this endeavour for nine years, until 2021, ultimately standing before more than 700 roadside cameras. The outcome of his efforts is the book titled "I on the Road / Weather Camera Self-Portraits".

At first glance, the book’s block-like solidity captures the reader’s attention.

The cover features a visibly degraded image—its resolution insufficient for enlargement—while the spine and back are densely packed with text, creating a somewhat mechanical impression.

Like the Incomplete Encyclopedia of Touch introduced earlier, this book is considerably thick. Yet whereas that earlier volume feels lighter than it looks, this one is curiously light compared to its solid, brick-like appearance. The use of thin paper is the reason, but as one reads on, it becomes clear that this lightness serves a purpose beyond practicality, shaping the experience of the work itself. Designed like a tear-off calendar, its vertical binding allows pages to be flipped one by one, each presenting a blurred image accompanied by road number, location, and year.

Many may not notice at first, but every image contains a human figure: Gustafsson himself. Occasionally he stands motionless, staring into the lens; other times he looks away or strikes a pose. Across 400 pages, alongside Finland’s diverse landscapes, these subtle variations accumulate.

The Unease Effect of Low-Resolution Images

As already mentioned, these are not photographs taken by the artist himself, nor by anyone remotely pressing a shutter. They are records made by machines, captured at fixed intervals and settings for meteorological purposes. The cameras are meant to document landscapes, not people; Gustafsson is merely “caught in the frame”.

Because the data are stored only for twenty-four hours, both the original scene and its recorded data soon disappear. Two forms of the “original” vanish, and what remains is only the screenshot—a copy of a copy, stripped of reality. Moreover, in order to prioritise speed, such surveillance images are often low in quality. The result is an accumulation of indistinct, ghostly images reminiscent of old horror films or paranormal footage.

 
Indeed, many who encountered the book at IACK did not describe it as "interesting" but rather as "scary." This uncanniness stems not only from the erosion of reality as images shift into mere screenshots but also from the one-sided gaze of surveillance: a system never intended to exchange glances is suddenly met by a subject who silently returns the gaze.

Surveillance and observation cameras are not designed for reciprocal vision. When that premise is broken, unease arises. Without words or expressions, the gaze alone can sometimes be the strongest message.

Yet beyond this unsettling structure of vision, what strikes one most in reading the book is the undeniable force of these images as portraits. Gustafsson appears not as an individual with a proper name but as a fleeting element within the landscape. Even that record is temporary, disappearing within a day, erasing proof of his presence.

And still, as if to insist on existence against that fragile reality, he continues to stand before the camera. Though expression and detail are lost, the accumulation of these screenshots engraves his figure with even sharper intensity.

Portraits Drifting Between Presence and Image

The book’s calendar-like construction reinforces the sense of passing days. Despite the years Gustafsson devoted to the project, time flows in an instant as one turns the pages. The book’s lightness resonates with the spectral quality of the images themselves—their “ghostly lightness” as copies of copies, devoid of both reality and originality.

Placed on a desk and turned day by day, it can even be experienced like a calendar (its binding is designed to allow for this). Read slowly, one senses more acutely the flow of time lying between the pages.

What emerges is a faint trace, drifting between existence and image: a portrait of the contemporary human being, attempting to inscribe individuality even as it blends into the vast and varied landscapes of Finland.

Article by Yukihito Kono (28 August, 2025)