Dragoljub Zamurović is a photographer, visual storyteller, and former architect whose career has followed the shifting landscapes of Europe and the world for more than four decades. A long-time member of the Gamma photo agency in Paris, he authored more than ten feature stories and two covers for National Geographic Magazine, and published extensively in LIFE magazine – including a cover image and a number of spreads in the legendary “Big Pictures” section.

With a wealth of experience and hard-won lessons, we put some questions to him. His answers – covering his introduction to photography, how he got into photojournalism, what documentary truth means to him, and how he deals with high stress scenarios – are a must read for any aspiring documentary photographer.

BANNER IMAGE: Belgrade – Civilians Waiting in Line for Food During International Sanctions, January 1994. Prolonged and exhausting international sanctions led to severe food shortages and the lack of basic necessities, leaving many people hungry. Although the sanctions were not the result of the population’s own choices but of political decisions made elsewhere, their consequences were felt directly in everyday life. Long lines formed day and night in front of shops where food was available. With public lighting reduced or nonexistent, people often waited in near darkness, guided only by moonlight.

Dear Dragoljub, perhaps you could begin by introducing yourself and where your love of photography began?

As far back as I can remember, I have been drawing and painting. As a child, I often copied the works of great masters, although high-quality color reproductions were very hard to find at the time. I searched for them everywhere, driven by a desire to understand how those paintings truly looked.

One day, at the age of twelve, I came across several copies of LIFE magazine in an antiquarian bookstore. In one of them, I found a beautiful reproduction of Rubens’ Venus at the Mirror. I bought every copy they had, spending my entire monthly allowance.

At home, I eagerly flipped through the pages hoping to find more reproductions—but instead, I discovered something far more important. I discovered photography. I realized that photography is not just a record of reality, but a creative and expressive medium in its own right. That moment defined the direction of my life.

You began working as a professional photojournalist in the late 1970s. What first drew you to reportage, and what kept you committed to it over so many years?

It was precisely those LIFE photo essays that drew me in, along with the powerful imagery in National Geographic. A friend’s father had been subscribing to the magazine since 1960, and when he saw my passion, he gave me his entire collection. I spent days analyzing those photographs.

I never wanted to copy them. Instead, I imagined myself in the photographer’s position—asking how I would capture the same story, and how I might go even further.

My professional career began when I joined Ilustrovana Politika, which at the time had one of the strongest photography teams in Yugoslavia. I started as a volunteer and soon became a full-time photojournalist.

However, after two years, the economic crisis severely affected print quality, and photography lost its visual impact. I decided to leave and pursue independent reportage, offering my work to international magazines.

My breakthrough came with a story about pre-Olympic Sarajevo, which I sold in Milan. That success opened the door to publishing the same story across multiple countries, followed by other major projects such as Medjugorje, Koversada nudist camp, and Gypsies of the World.

How has your understanding of “documentary truth” evolved over that time?

For me, truth has always been what I see—not what I hear or read.

The fundamental role of documentary photography is to reveal truth. A photographer may emphasize it through visual means, but must never conceal it.

I remember photographing a group of policemen abusing their authority early in my career. There was hesitation about publishing the story, but it was eventually released and even received an award. That experience reinforced my belief that truth must prevail.

Your work has appeared in highly esteemed publications such as TIME, LIFE, and National Geographic. How did you begin working with these outlets? And how did working with them shape your approach to storytelling?

A key turning point was my connection with the French magazine L’Express. One editor advised me to join a strong photo agency—he suggested Gamma.

I arrived unannounced at Gamma Presse Images and, by chance, walked straight into the office of its director, Floris de Bonneville. While he was on the phone, he began reviewing my slides. After a few moments, he stopped the conversation, looked at me, and said: “These photographs are excellent. We would be happy to represent you.”

That moment marked the beginning of a collaboration that lasted over 25 years.
Through Gamma, my work was published worldwide, in over two hundred leading magazines including Time Magazine, Life Magazine, and National Geographic. It profoundly shaped my storytelling—teaching me clarity, narrative strength, and visual precision.

You’ve documented everything from everyday life to conflict and political unrest. How would you prepare, mentally and practically, for photographing unpredictable or high-stakes situations?

Before any assignment, I think carefully about what I want to express. I often sketch potential images, imagining photographs that do not yet exist.

Sometimes I think about a subject late into the night, until—just before dawn—I “see” the image in a half-dream state.

I arrive early, stay late, and observe everything—both the main event and its surroundings.

In dangerous situations, such as war, I adopt a kind of fatalism. I tell myself nothing will happen, and I focus entirely on the act of photographing.

In fast-moving documentary contexts, how do you balance instinct with intention when searching for or composing an image?

I prefer situations where I have time to think, but in fast-moving environments I rely on instinct. After years of experience, instinct becomes a form of knowledge. It allows me to capture what Henri Cartier-Bresson called the “decisive moment.”

And what ethical considerations guide your work when documenting real people and real events, especially in sensitive contexts?

Truth—always and only truth. I sometimes photograph people doing troubling things, especially in wartime. Interestingly, many are not aware of how their actions appear, and some even take pride in them. However, I never photograph people who explicitly refuse to be photographed. I have never been drawn to paparazzi-style photography.

You’ve spoken about the “experience” behind each photograph. How important is the unseen context – the emotions, atmosphere, and memory – to the final image?

Experience accumulates like radiation—it builds over time, consciously and unconsciously. The more you have, the more naturally you arrive at meaningful images. What is invisible—the emotion, atmosphere, memory—is often what gives the photograph its true depth.

How would you decide when to remain an observer and when to engage more directly with your subjects?

By nature, I am a reserved person. I find it uncomfortable to intrude on strangers without permission. However, when I worked briefly in street photography, I used techniques that allowed me to remain unnoticed, capturing natural behavior. Today, in my Roof Art series, people are sometimes present—but never dominant. They serve as a measure, not the subject.

Is there an image you’re especially proud of? Can you tell us about it?

As a child, I often dreamed of opening LIFE magazine and seeing my own photograph inside. In April 1991, that dream became reality. A friend brought me an issue from the United States. When I opened it, I saw my photograph of peppers from Macedonia—credited “Art Zamur/Gamma.”

That was the happiest moment of my career. Although my work was later published many times in LIFE, including a cover, nothing ever matched the intensity of that first moment.

What’s the most important lesson you learnt across your career?

Confidence. During my postgraduate studies, my professor Dragoljub Kažić once told me he was certain my work would one day appear in LIFE. That belief changed me—from an insecure young man into someone convinced he was on the right path.

Finally, for emerging photographers interested in documentary and photojournalism today, what do you believe is the most important mindset or discipline to develop?

I can only speak from my own experience. I never tried to imitate other photographers, no matter how great they were. Unlike in painting, where I copied masters as a child, in photography I always searched for my own way of seeing. That is the only path that leads to something authentic.