Photographic artist Reuben Wu operates his camera like a key to hidden realities. We uncover the story behind Wu's latest project Thin Places, shot with Fujifilm’s new GFX100RF, and learn about the wider practice of an artist who transcends between motion and stillness.
Reuben Wu's latest project, Thin Places, captured with the Fujifilm GFX100RF, explores landscapes where the line between the seen and unseen blurs. Known for piloting drones with lights and lasers to etch glowing shapes across the sky—and preserved through long-exposure photography—Wu is most often associated with creating otherworldly scenes in his fascinating landscape images. Now, with the compact yet mighty 102 MP rangefinder-style GFX100RF, he’s taken a quieter, more intuitive approach, chasing fleeting encounters with the beyond.
Thin Places
Thin Places is a hauntingly beautiful series of images which bridges the gap between the seen and the unseen, revealing something that is just out of reach—a brief encounter with the beyond. Photographed with the Fujifilm GFX100RF, the project marks a shift from his typical toolkit. The camera’s compact rangefinder design, along with the fixed 35mm f/4 lens, offers a streamlined, spontaneous approach—its 102 MP resolution capturing every nuance of these ethereal landscapes.
Reuben Wu’s career dances between innovation and introspection. He pilots drones wielding lights and lasers, crafting illuminated patterns in the sky with long-exposure techniques. These images—otherworldly and surreal—coincide with Thin Places’ quiet mystery, showcasing his talent for unveiling the unseen. From a recent Lexus collaboration to a striking National Geographic cover, his latest work feels like a natural evolution of a mind drawn to the liminal.
The Interview
As a longstanding follower on social media and member of Wu's mailing list, I would firmly place myself in his unofficial fan club too. I was excited to get the opportunity to learn more about the drive behind Wu's work from the man himself, who has been so generous to give his time and thoughts for this article beyond a standard press release.
Your long-exposure drone photographs are something truly unique in a world awash with similarity. How did this journey start?
It began by accident at Trona Pinnacles in 2014. I was shooting a time-lapse at night when a random truck drove through the frame. Instead of ruining the shot, the way its headlights illuminated the formations sparked something in my mind. It created a lighting effect that shouldn't naturally exist in that environment. Having a background in industrial design, I started experimenting with attaching lights to drones, bringing studio lighting control into vast outdoor spaces. The technique evolved when I began incorporating the actual flight paths into the images, creating what I call Aeroglyphs—geometric light patterns above natural landscapes.
You describe Thin Places as brief encounters with the beyond. Is there a personal connection to that sense of mystery, visually or otherwise?
I'm drawn to landscapes that feel like they exist between worlds. Growing up as an outsider in Liverpool, I found refuge in nearby national parks. These spaces offered a different kind of living—away from the noise of the human world, where you can think and see differently. The concept of 'thin places' resonates with my experience of those moments in remote locations when everything aligns—the light, the atmosphere, the silence—and you feel both incredibly small and deeply connected to something larger. I'm trying to capture that feeling when the landscape itself seems to breathe with a certain presence.
Your images often feel caught between two worlds—out of this world, even. What stands as inspiration behind these themes?
I grew up fascinated by speculative fiction films like Close Encounters of the Third Kind and 2001: A Space Odyssey—not because they showed distant galaxies, but because they found ways to make the familiar feel extraordinary. My father's National Geographic subscription showed me landscapes that seemed so sublime they felt like figments of my imagination. Rather than creating alien worlds, I'm trying to reveal the extraordinary qualities of our own planet in ways people haven't seen before. It's about showing familiar things in unfamiliar ways.
Your use of drones for light painting has brought a unique dimension to landscape photography. How did you develop this technique, and what have you faced in integrating technology with traditional photographic methods?
I approach lighting almost like painting with brushstrokes. Each light movement is carefully considered in relation to the landscape. The technical challenges are considerable—working in remote locations at night with limited battery life, navigating regulations, and dealing with extreme weather conditions. My industrial design background helped me build custom lighting systems that could achieve the effects I envisioned. The goal was never about showcasing the technology itself, but using it as a tool to reveal something deeper about these places, to create a dialogue between artificial and natural elements.
Many of the landscapes and coastlines in your images interact with the illuminated subjects as if they have coexisted all along. What process do you follow to pair locations with your illuminated subjects? Is there one which comes first—the location or the shape?
It varies with each project. For Lux Noctis, the locations came first—I sought out landscapes with distinctive topography that would respond interestingly to artificial light. With Aeroglyphs, I began thinking more about the geometric forms and how they would contrast with natural environments. For SIREN, which evolved into Thin Places, the interaction between light and environment became more fluid and responsive—the movement of waves modulates the light source, creating a spatial ebb and flow. I'm interested in that tension between precise control and natural unpredictability.
Most photographs freeze a fraction of a second, but your works take longer to create. Does the shutter being open for an extended time hold any significance beyond the technical need?
Long exposures reveal a dimension of time invisible to the naked eye. I'm fascinated by how these images only appear under long exposures—they exist on a plane of time which we can't perceive directly. There's something powerful about capturing change and movement rather than a single frozen moment. The extended exposure time also speaks to the geological timescales of these landscapes—mountains and coastlines that have formed over millions of years being temporarily transformed by light moving through minutes or seconds.
As someone who continually pushes the boundaries of visual art, what new frontiers are you interested in exploring next? Are there any upcoming projects or concepts that you're particularly excited about?
I'm currently exploring more fluid and organic relationships with the environment. My work has evolved from the geometric precision of early Aeroglyphs toward more responsive interactions with natural elements. I'm interested in how natural rhythms can shape light forms themselves. I'm also working on several exhibition projects this year, including a group show at Foster/White Gallery, a potential solo show in NYC, and a collaborative exhibition in the autumn. I'm constantly looking for new ways to push the boundaries of what's possible with landscape photography while maintaining that sense of wonder about our planet.
The Camera
The Fujifilm GFX100RF is a medium format camera which also exists in the point-and-shoot category due to the ease of use of this 35mm fixed-lens rangefinder style that doesn’t sacrifice quality or resolution. The camera is loaded with the same 102 MP sensor as the GFX100S II, meaning massive flexibility in crop and editing without losing visible detail. As we have come to expect from Fujifilm, the camera is packed with a range of film simulation modes, customizable dials, a built-in ND filter, and much more. This is truly an ultimate carry-everywhere camera!
Images used with permission of Reuben Wu.
