Some artists arrive into your life with noise and spectacle. Others, like Pierre Martin, known to many as ultrapola, arrive with presence. Not loud, not demanding. Just there. Genuinely, kindly, unmistakably there.
I first met Pierre almost six years ago during the Barcelona edition of the now-extinct Polaroid Festival. It was a chaotic time for me; my daughter had just been born a few days earlier, and I arrived late, tired, and overwhelmed. I barely had time to hang my pieces on the wall. But Pierre had already stepped in. Without being asked, without needing to be noticed, he hung my photographs for me. Just like that. That small act stayed with me. And I’ve been following his work and his way of being ever since.
Pierre’s photography, much like his character, carries that same generosity. There’s a quiet strength in what he does. A sensitivity that doesn’t push, but instead opens up space for emotion, for play, for instinct. He works across different formats, never tied to one frame, but always making sure Polaroid has a seat at the table. It’s not just a medium for him, it’s a companion, a way of seeing, a way of grounding his vision while allowing for accidents, softness, and magic.
His work is often layered, experimental, and personal. But beyond technique, what stands out is his loyalty to the spirit of instant photography: being there. Being present. Being human. Pierre doesn’t shoot for applause; he shoots because something inside him needs to speak. And he listens to that inner voice with patience and care.
Today, I wanted to give him a small homenaje. Not only for his beautiful images, but for being a beautiful person. For quietly helping others, for showing up, and for staying curious all these years. In a scene where it’s easy to get lost in ego or aesthetic trends, Pierre reminds us that being an artist is also about being kind.
Merci, Pierre.