Especially in her bodies of work titled Near (2005) and Indefinitely (2007-2015), that deal with the themes of distance and migration, there is an overlap of longing that is effervescent in her imagery. Having moved to Australia at the age of 25, Koenning’s tryst with interspace and the stories that occupy them is often central to her practice and consumes the viewer with the same sense of nostalgia. With Near the photographer delves into exploring the complexities and challenges of family love, distance and belonging through the passing of time, and with Indefinitely, that was shot in Australia, New Zealand and Germany, she addresses the more lyrical and optimistic approach to migration as being a precursor to fresher narratives.

“I often think that my photographs own me, but I don’t own them. While I don’t specifically seek images that exist in the in-between, it comes together organically, I believe that everything grows out of each other,” she elucidates in a Zoom conversation. Koenning also explains her process which involves working on a variety of projects at any given point of time. She begins with concrete ideas involving people, community, ecologies, or societies, and then lets herself free. “It’s important to listen to your stories, and the places that you’re engaging with. It’s messy, and chaotic, but that’s beautiful to me,” she says.

The artist’s oeuvre distinctly points to her interest in returning to things and playing with the unending possibilities within the visual language. Her photographs rarely stand alone, often conversing in diptychs, triptychs, or a multiverse of collages. Like in her work the kids are in trouble (2019) which was exhibited at the ReadingRoom, Melbourne, each photograph is presented with a pattern that moves into the next, slowly binding together a narrative which she explains is about a time in which vested interest, economic growth-obsession and capitalist pursuit is folding the world; a time of ecological collapse, extinctions and social emergency. the kids are in trouble is a work about the present.

“Initially, my imagery wasn’t so much about being in conversation with one another, but I always ended up creating bodies of work, or volumes of images. Over the last decade, I have become excited with the idea that the photograph is just the beginning and then the rest unfolds,” elaborates the artist. She is intrigued by the possibility that a batch of images constantly change their meaning depending on what they are paired with, and consistently create newer commentaries. However, she elaborates that the puzzle-esque approach is completely dependent on the concept that she’s working with, and if that approach works. “For example, I’m working on a body of work titled Lake Mountain (Bushfires caused considerable damage to the popular winter destination 120 km out of Melbourne, Australia), where I keep returning to a wounded mountain while thinking about collapsing ecologies and climate change. And although my language is quiet, melancholic, and tender, its form is a lot more singular and linear,” Koenning illuminates.

In a story published by The New Yorker titled Loneliness Belongs to the Photographer by Hanya Yanagihara, she writes that “…if love belongs to the poet, and fear to the novelist, then loneliness belongs to the photographer. To be a photographer is to willingly enter the world of the lonely, because it is an artistic exercise in invisibility.” Since Koenning’s work is so much about looking inward, and bringing oneself into a story, I was curious to know her take on this statement. When asked, Koenning is of the belief that in fact if anything, “Love is for the photographer.”

Whether one is working with familial narratives, wandering through a community, or documenting one’s partner, mother, or home, there is always a drawing closer. “The thing that I’m looking at allows me to belong and learn something new about the space. So, this notion of the lonely or distanced photographer is a common narrative, but one I don’t believe in. There is a whole canon of language about the lone creature, or lone wanderer, but in fact, with photography I don’t think you're erasing yourself - you're bringing yourself,” says the hopeful storyteller.

It makes sense that Koenning’s ways of seeing are more about feeling and less about blatant observation, since her introduction to photography was rather personal. After her oldest childhood friend passed away in a plane crash above Iceland, she inherited both, his Minolta analogue camera, and his love for the medium. To cope with the tremendous loss, she travelled to Iceland and walked on the land above which he had passed, all the while making photographs as a way to be near him and find consolation. “I don’t think it’s something I immediately recognised – this passion for photography – it sort of just took over me,” Koenning ponders

Since the image-maker is also a teacher, I wonder how she extracts this idea of ‘feeling,’ in students that are still grappling with the idea of photography and developing a visual language. Koenning is quick to respond that “as a teacher, if you can manage to contage the students with the idea of love, they will be inspired. It’s about creating the burning for something, everything else will follow,” she says emphatically. We also flirt with the idea that photography isn’t a passive artform, and it requires your heart, your brain, your eyes, and your senses to be on fire. “Photography involves your whole body,” she says.

If we look at the history of photography that has been populated with a majority of male narratives, there seems to be a lack of feeling-based work that has been as widely celebrated. “We need felt spaces, messy spaces, fluidity, vulnerability, and openness. A certain style doesn’t have to necessarily dictate another. They can collide with one another,” continues Koenning. Even with her first book Astres Noirs (published by Chose Commune) which is a collaboration with Dhaka-based photographer, Sarker Protick, there is a space of reflection and introspection that weaves itself into a contemplative body of work. Sand cascades through sunlight, and a horse’s mane glints with silver streams, all-the-while creating a variety of perceptions dependant on the viewer. Koenning believes that there is a radicality to committing to this style of photography, one that is neck-deep in emotion.

She questions “If something doesn’t touch an audience, I’m not sure what’s the point of it. You know? Let’s touch each other with our narratives.” It seems to be the only way forward.