Mapping Change, Making Pressure

Many people say they want to make a difference. Far fewer are prepared to let that desire rewire their entire working life. EIZO’s Mike Owen sat down with Klaus Thymann, a Danish documentary photographer and filmmaker, to discuss curiosity, craft, and the problem-solving instincts behind his multi-disciplined initiative known as Project Pressure.

Thymann founded Project Pressure with a clear objective: to build awareness and action through documented evidence of environmental change caused by human activity. What began as a focused photographic initiative has since evolved into a diverse organisation working across science, communication, and policy, partnering with institutions including the UN, UNESCO, NASA, and the Glacier Monitoring Service.

Along the way, Project Pressure has earned support from the Queen of Denmark, Rolex’s Perpetual Planet Initiative, Getty Images, Arts Council England, and multiple European ministries, alongside coverage from outlets such as The Guardian, The New York Times, the BBC, CNN, Le Monde, Wired, and National Geographic.

Since 2019, the organisation has widened its scope beyond glaciers to address the climate, ecological, and biodiversity crises more broadly. Today, Project Pressure describes itself as a “bridge organisation”: one that breaks down silos, connects stakeholders, and tackles root causes rather than surface symptoms. That distinction matters, because the challenges we face are not linear problems with simple solutions. They are layered and interconnected, where action in one place can trigger unintended consequences elsewhere.

Denmark and the Nordic countries are often associated with strong environmental standards. Even the familiar TCO certification seen on EIZO monitors originated in Sweden in the early 1990’s. So did environmental concern lead him to photography, or did photography lead him to environmental work? His answer comes instantly and bypasses the question entirely. “Storytelling.” From there, our conversation moves not to glaciers or policy, but to a teenager, a summer job, and a camera…

“When I was 14,” Thymann tells me, “I was taking a few pictures. My dad also told me I had too much summer holiday and I should get a job.” He found one through a newspaper listing – and landed a job as a photographer working for the Copenhagen Canal Tour.

A boat would arrive, and using a large-format Linhof camera, photos were taken from both sides. Half an hour later, at the next bridge, the printed photographs were dropped down and sold onboard. “It was a lot of logistics,” Thymann says.

By 15, he was shooting for Danish newspapers and magazines. His early interests weren’t environmental, but cultural. “For me it was music,” he recalls. “Photojournalism was a big part of photography for me, and it’s always something I’ve circled back to.”

What photojournalism stands for especially believability has stayed and is evident in his work throughout his career. Another constant is a restlessness he readily acknowledges. “I have high energy,” he smiles, describing a working rhythm that combines early mornings, physical activity, and deliberate thinking time. Walking, canoeing, time outdoors, but also using time away from a screen as a tool. “I’m very good at having the time to think about what I’m doing,” he admits. For Thymann, reflection is time spent that helps to build the critical infrastructure of a project, especially when projects span science, communication, and policy.

Thymann rejects the idea that creativity and technical skill sit in opposition. “Photography and directing are very technical,” he says. “And people who say otherwise don’t really know what they’re talking about.” Great work, he argues, is often “curated down to the millimetre.” Mastery looks effortless, precisely because the craft is embedded. In documentary storytelling, that craft underpins credibility.

“If you want to tell stories that people feel,” he says, “it has to be believability.” Believability must be embedded in all decision-making, from lighting, lens choice and other technical choices. If the image fails, the message collapses.

An example of a documentary with believability embedded is Thymann’s Hybrids, a global project exploring niche subcultures and early internet-era “hybrid culture.” Subjects ranged from gay rodeo in Los Angeles to underground gardening in Tokyo, motocross bullfighting in Madrid, snow polo in Switzerland, and Bike Kill in New York.

The project aimed to explore tolerance by moving between social strata, but its complexity made it difficult to communicate. Thymann even collaborated with artist David Shrigley to create explanatory drawings – only to find they added another interpretive layer rather than simplifying the work.

His early career in fashion and music moved quickly. Thymann photographed recording artists including Depeche Mode and David Bowie, working in spaces where images shaped identity at speed. Commercial and advertising work followed – including Apple (as he noted, “a small company back then”) and Levi’s – alongside experiments in fashion photography. Thymann does not define his work through the prims of genre, but  instead approach, and that explains how his work has encompassed landscapes, fashion, documentary and more.

“With photography, it’s very easy to get distracted because there are so many genres,” he explains. “I like experimenting. I like trying new things. For me, the question was always: what’s the story? The genre is secondary.”

That mindset story first- helps explain how someone moves from cultural photography to scientific collaboration and policy-facing work. Thymann resists fixed labels. He’s less concerned with whether he is seen as a photographer, filmmaker, or environmental practitioner than with solving the problem in front of him.

In the early 2000’s, he described his career as “a blast.” Even commercial work held appeal, partly because clients recognised his ability to figure things out. “People realised I’m a problem solver,” he says. “‘They would think: We don’t know how to do this.’ OK – let’s get Klaus to figure it out.” Problem solving would later prove essential in his complex projects often encompassing science, communication and advocacy.

As a photographer, Thymann was shooting 90% on location, and often in nature. This was because he has a deep love for the outdoors and the landscapes. With climate change threatening what he loved, he decided to communicate around it. But how does one take on such a complex subject matter?

When Thymann focused his lens toward climate change, it was a decision built on the foundations established while at University. In many ways, it seemed like the logical choice, even at a time when the issue was far less widely recognised or understood than it is today. “Those who denied it were called sceptics,” he recalls. He needed a subject that resisted argument. Glaciers fitted that intent.

“They only react to long-term warming trends,” he explains. They are slow, measurable, and visible. They also occupy a communicative sweet spot: landscape photography is an established art form, allowing glacier documentation to bridge science and art naturally.

Project Pressure launched as a collective effort, and Thymann commissioned photographers worldwide, pairing them with scientists to create a global perspective across all seven continents. The first exhibition, Meltdown, was never intended as awareness alone; the thinking was that with information, change would follow.

He explains the thinking behind it: “Science without communication reaches a very restricted audience,” he continues. “Science and communication might increase awareness, but without a drive for policy change, it’s not going to do anything substantial.” Evidence alone doesn’t move power. Story alone drifts. The work needs a pathway from attention to action. This thinking still drives the projects he works on.

A clear example of this approach is Thymann’s work on bottom trawling in Denmark. In 2020, he was asked whether it was possible to examine the seabed off the Danish coast for bottom trawling impact – an area officially classified as sand.

Bottom trawling – the destructive act of dragging heavy nets and metal gear across the seabed to catch fish and shellfish – happens largely out of sight. Thymann attempted to dive the area, repeatedly failing due to algae and low visibility. Instead of abandoning the effort, he treated it as a research problem: under what conditions could imaging work?

When visibility finally cleared at around 20–25 metres, he saw something unexpected: cold-water corals known as Dead Man’s Fingers. Not a few, but many. Their presence contradicted the official classification.

Unable to map the area alone, Thymann built a system. He partnered with local fishers and the Danish Technical University, developing a semi-automated drop-camera that could be deployed by non-specialists. Lowered to depth, the camera recorded video evidence of the seabed.

With funding from the Velux Foundation, the team generated data and analysis. Shortly before our conversation, the Danish government announced a proposed ban on bottom trawling in 19% of Danish waters. Thymann resists framing this as simple cause and effect.

“Awareness is past its due date,” he warns. “Awareness alone isn’t going to do enough – we need more.” That “more” is infrastructure: science, mapping, collaboration, policy engagement, and persistence.

Environmental storytelling depends on emotional connection – but what happens when the subject is abstract or remote? Like the glaciers: “Here’s a piece of ice. Great,” Thymann says dryly. “Most people haven’t been to a glacier.” The challenge is finding an entry point that allows understanding without distortion. Sometimes that’s a human narrative; sometimes it’s moral clarity. “Corals are good. We shouldn’t plough them over with metal. Got it.” Climate change, however, is often derailed by secondary debates and distractions. Thymann offers a deliberately blunt framing: “CO₂ and methane are poison,” he said, “but we do not treat them as such, and it’s a poison that’s not taxed, and that we allow into the atmosphere unchecked.”

Again, the point is around framing. Greenhouse gases are treated as normal byproducts rather than harmful substances exceeding safe thresholds.

Thymann’s career isn’t a linear pivot from photography to environmental work. It’s a series of investigations, each building credibility and capacity, until the boundary between storyteller and practitioner dissolves. As he puts it, the real shift comes when you start with a research question and aim to return with an answer. Klaus Thymann hasn’t built a practice that merely documents change. He’s built one that applies pressure – patiently, persistently, and with an engineer’s respect for the weakest link. If you want to make a difference, he suggests, don’t start with the label. “Start with the question. And then find the best way to answer it.”

Klaus’s work is a powerful reminder that our relationship with the environment is shaped by the choices we make. At EIZO, we recognise that responsibility extends to us too. From how our monitors are designed and manufactured to the energy they consume and how long they remain in use, every decision has an impact. Our focus is on reducing that impact through more responsible manufacturing, greater energy efficiency and products designed for a long working life. We may approach the issue from a different perspective, but the underlying message is shared: meaningful change comes from recognising our impact and choosing to do better.