When Olaf Schieche talks about light, he rarely means brightness alone. He means movement. Time. Color. And a camera that captures it all. “Light is infinite – and so are the possibilities,” says Olaf with a laugh, adding: “Light connects – and in my case, it connects people.”

That’s exactly what happens once a year, when he invites people to his Lightpainting Festival – the largest of its kind in Germany. The location: a former sanatorium for children with tuberculosis, tucked away in the countryside, now transformed into a place of creativity, encounters and nocturnal wonder.

By day, the site feels calm and quiet. Many participants wander silently, capturing the fading atmosphere of the place through their lenses, practicing their lightpainting techniques in workshops or exchanging flashlight tips at the base camp. But as soon as the sun sets, the magic begins. The night becomes a canvas.

With flashlights, custom-built LED tools and anything else that glows, they paint shapes into the darkness. Colored lights dance through the forest and the abandoned rooms of the old buildings, leaving glowing trails behind – captured in long-exposure photographs. What the naked eye barely perceives, the camera makes visible. It’s a form of art that only works together.

WHEN LIGHT BECOMES LANGUAGE

“Lightpainting only works when you open up to others,” says one participant who has returned for the third time. “You need someone behind the camera, someone guiding the light, someone moving. It’s a coordinated collaboration.”

The man behind it all is Olaf Schieche, known artistically as ZOLAQ. Once a construction manager in yacht building, he now travels across Europe with his light art. His first encounter with lightpainting? “I saw a short article in a photography magazine back in 2011 – and just had to try it,” he recalls, smiling. “Those early images were a far cry from what I do today, of course. But they sparked my passion.”

Today, Olaf shares this passion with many others. This year, 70 participants joined – ranging in age from early 20s to mid-70s. There is no such thing as a “typical” lightpainter. “People come from all kinds of backgrounds, but they share the same passion. That’s what makes it so special,” Olaf says. In the evenings, they gather around the campfire, tell stories, laugh. Many come alone – and leave with new friendships.

During the day, Olaf offers tips, explains the tools. At night, he helps with camera settings and light movements. “I never thought I could do something like this,” says one participant in a black leather jacket. “But when I saw my first image – with those glowing light trails behind me – it felt like magic.”

ONE PICTURE – MADE BY ALL

Much of it feels like it’s from another world. Crystal shapes float in the darkness, spirals glow on the ground, shadows dance along the trees. And by the next morning? It’s all gone. No traces. Only the photographs remain – and the feeling of having been part of something.

One moment that captures this feeling is the big group photo on Saturday night. That’s when everyone gathers – each with a light source in hand. There’s laughter, improvisation, coordination – until many individual movements become one shared image. “Everyone is involved,” Olaf says. “Everyone can find themselves in the picture.” It’s the festival’s heart – a collective composition of light and connection.

When the festival ends, silence returns. The last tents disappear, and nature exhales. But something remains: vibrant images that stand as testimony to how community can come to life. Even in darkness. With light.