Ruan Zirk Cornelissen is a Cape Town-based documentary and street photographer whose eye for detail is matched only by his patience for quiet moments. With a foundation in theatre and a Master’s in Intercultural Communication from the Shanghai Theatre Academy, he has spent years observing people, culture, and the spaces they inhabit. His work explores everyday life and cultural intersections through a contemplative, cinematic lens, capturing the subtle gestures and fleeting emotions that often go unnoticed.
Some stories begin loudly; Ruan Cornelissen’s began quietly — in the moments where curiosity, stillness, and emotion meet before a camera ever enters the picture. His journey into photography was never linear. It moved through theatre, across continents, and between cultures, shaping the way he listens, observes, and understands people.
“I’ve always had a love for storytelling,” he says. Even before he knew which medium would claim him, that love was there. Physical theatre — his university major — wasn’t about movement for him; it was about the idea that performance could be an alternative form of storytelling. It taught him how emotion sits inside the body, how silence can be expressive, and how narrative doesn’t need words to land.
Years later, teaching drama in Beijing and Shanghai became a quiet apprenticeship in observation. “Teaching drama unknowingly gave me the 10,000 hours I needed,” he reflects. “Condensing, reshaping, and presenting stories every day…it trained my eye long before I picked up a camera.”
Photography entered his life slowly. His father’s old Nikon camera left a lasting imprint — a memory of moments he wishes he could recapture. Later, studying Gordon Parks and Annie Leibovitz, and seeing the work of photographers like Wayne Hipe Robertson, showed him that documenting your own people and city could be a form of art. A short film course during his Master’s gave him technical foundations, and a camera gifted by a friend before leaving China gave him the final push. “It’s the most rewarding gift I’ve ever received,” he says.
Ruan’s photography carries a still, almost cinematic quiet — the kind that asks you to pause. He credits his theatre background with helping his eye for composition. “The best advice I ever got was to think of the stage as a frame and to make ‘pictures’ on stage,” he says. But much of his work is unfiltered, capturing life as it unfolds. “If people feel any emotion while looking at my work, it’s because I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I really just hope people feel something when they look at my work…If anyone engages with what I’m doing and they can derive some kind of meaning from it, or it makes them feel some kind of way — then I am eternally grateful and honoured.”
Earlier this year, he experimented with different styles, chasing social media success at the expense of personal satisfaction. “It made me feel hollow,” he admits. Stepping back gave him clarity. “I was able to block out the noise and really listen to my own intuition,” he says.
The images he shares are part of Your Spring Has Come, a series exploring home, belonging, emotional turbulence, and hope. “Ultimately, I’m working towards a body of work that’s a portrait of where I live and my surroundings,” he explains — a gentle, unforced study of the spaces that hold him.
Looking ahead, Ruan plans to explore more conceptual, stylised projects. “They might work, they might fail…but I’m ready to try,” he says.
And for young creatives trying to find their path, his advice is simple: “Study the basics — then throw them away. Study the masters and your contemporaries. But most importantly, pick up a camera. Even a phone. Go outside. Engage with your surroundings.”
For Ruan, the story always starts with paying attention — and trusting that meaning will rise from the quiet.