Omar Danial Biuiiuktosun
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Aug 12
- 5 min read
Omar Danial Biuiiuktosun works with analogue photography to capture the layered feel of city life. His ongoing series "Street Layers" is made using in-camera multiple exposures on black and white film. The images blend buildings, people, and movement into dense compositions that mirror the rhythm of the street. He began the project after moving to London, where the constant motion and mix of styles left a strong impression. His process is based on instinct and emotion, reacting to what the city gives him rather than planning each frame.
Q: How did living in London lead you to start the “Street Layers” series?
A: London definitely shaped the project, London itself inspired it. It started off as a photo experiment, and turned into a way to show how a city full of contradictions and chaos could also hold moments of harmony. I grew up in a big city, so I was used to a certain kind of noise and movement. But when I first moved here, I was overwhelmed. There were so many people, so many things happening at once. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be, something to do. That’s when I realised: I’m part of that mechanism now, a tiny piece in this complex system, trying to figure out where I fit. I still am.
It’s a constant journey. That feeling of motion, confusion, connection—that's what I wanted to explore through the work.
London never stops moving. You pass a brutalist tower next to a Victorian terrace, someone rushes by with headphones, a cyclist cuts through the frame all in a matter of seconds. That disjointed harmony is something I found really powerful and wanted to capture in a way that felt emotional, not just observational. Another part of the project is about celebrating the city’s architecture—how different styles, eras, and structures somehow exist together in one space. You’ve got modern glass towers next to 18th-century brickwork, a corner shop beneath a luxury flat. It shouldn’t make sense, but it works.
That visual layering really shaped how I approached the photography, trying to bring that same mix into a single frame.
Q: What drew you to using in-camera multiple exposure rather than post-editing?
A: It actually started by accident. One of my first rolls came back layered unexpectedly—I had no idea my Canon EF-1 even had a multiple exposure function. But when I saw the results, it felt like something clicked. There was a rawness to it, something unpredictable that digital just doesn’t give you.
Shooting in-camera makes the process feel more alive. You can’t undo or adjust later—you have to commit to a choice and let go of full control. I like that tension. It feels more honest. The imperfections and the surprise become part of the image’s truth.
Also, there’s a physicality to film that I find grounding. You load it, wind it, expose it—it slows you down, makes you more present. That makes every decision count. You’re not constructing something in Photoshop—you’re feeling it out in real time.
Q: You describe the city as a kind of score. How do you decide when one visual “note” ends and the next begins?
A: It’s all very intuitive. I don’t think of it as “planning” as much as just feeling. When I take the first exposure, I usually have a mood or rhythm in mind.
Then I try to respond to it with the next frame. It’s not really about matching things perfectly—it’s more about letting one layer speak and seeing what it might need in response.
Sometimes that second “note” comes seconds later, sometimes hours; sometimes it is a big mess of many elements where I let go of control fully. It depends on what I feel in that moment. Like, maybe I started with something static and want to add motion—or the other way around.
The city gives cues constantly—light hitting a window, a crowd forming, a building that interrupts the skyline. You simply need to be open to noticing those cues and respond to them based on a feeling. Like one time I tried framing a street scene on one side and then layering a person in the middle—some of it worked, some unexpected stuff showed up, and that unpredictability made the photo feel alive.
Street Layers - OBD 5,6,7
Q: Do you remember a specific moment when the layering technique revealed something unexpected to you?
A: Definitely. There was one photo where this heavy, aggressive concrete building sliced through the middle of the frame, and layered right on top of it was a curved detail from a much older terrace—soft, almost ornamental. They were from totally different exposures, but the way they interacted looked deliberate, even choreographed. That’s when I realised the technique could reveal more than I was consciously trying to say. It wasn’t just about aesthetics—it was emotional. That tension between eras, materials, energies—it said something real about the city. How nothing here fully matches, but it still finds its rhythm. Moments like that taught me to lean into the accidents, give up control, and let things happen naturally. It’s about letting go.
Q: “Street Layers” feels rooted in observation but also emotion. How much of the work comes from what you see versus what you feel?
A: It is about feeling rather than just seeing. Most of the time, the photos come from an emotion I am feeling at the moment—maybe a building looks beautiful that day, or maybe I’m feeling overwhelmed and need to get that out somehow. It’s not just about how the city looks, but how it hits me emotionally.
There’s also memory in there. Sometimes I walk past a spot that reminds me of when I first got to London, and that feeling layers the past onto what’s happening now—even if you can’t see it directly. Another example is a red phone box, which carries weight for me. I grew up in Moscow, so those kinds of symbols felt huge when I first came here. That sense of wonder hasn’t gone away, and I think it still shows in the photos.
Q: Has working with black-and-white film changed how you look at the city day to day?
A: Yes, it has. I am a very visual person and colour is a big aspect of how I see the world, but there was a time last year that it did feel like my life lacked colour, and instead of trying to find it elsewhere, I decided to embrace it. And while it could have been something sad and grim, it helped me find other things to appreciate and celebrate. Black-and-white strips away the noise, and I focused more on core visual aspects like contrast, shape, light, and rhythm. It gave me a feeling of needing to remember the original thing, if that makes sense, but in the photos, it lets the audience focus on the details of the structures and other elements.
I think the series could have been interesting in colour, but it would’ve felt overwhelming, which is kind of ironic, since I was trying to embrace chaos in the first place. It also sharpens your eye. You start to notice how light falls on a wall or how shadows stretch across pavement. Things that might feel ordinary in colour suddenly carry weight in monochrome. There’s a sense of permanence to it.
