You’ll read everywhere that he “looks at the stars.” What matters more to us is that he doesn’t just look at them—he captures them in almost magically beautiful images. These very images earned him second place in the Astronomy Photographer of the Year competition, run by the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, London. They also caught the attention of NASA, which featured him in the Astronomy Picture of the Day and placed him among the top 25 Milky Way Photographer of the Year winners worldwide.

20 Seconds of Light is Mihail Minkov’s first open-air exhibition. It gets its name from the average exposure time of a night shot – 20 seconds. His exhibition marks the opening of the FotoFabrika 2025 photography festival.

The First Shot

Photography has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I got my first camera in second or third grade—a Smena 8M. I vividly remember finishing a roll of film, opening the camera, pulling out the film, and wondering, “Why aren’t there any photos on it?” Then a cold sweat came over me, and I realized what I had done. Photography became my way of expressing the things I felt inside in response to the world around me. The Dobri Hristov National School of Arts in Varna, where I studied visual arts, helped me develop an eye for beauty.

I’ve been doing landscape astrophotography for six years now—intentionally and with a lot of passion. My first successful photo, capturing the core of the Milky Way—the center of our galaxy—was in late April 2019. I was on the beach near Shkorpilovtsi at 3 a.m., set up the camera, pressed the shutter, waited for the exposure… and bam—the photo appeared on the screen. I was like, “WOW, this is it. I only want to do this!” And for six years now, the surprise and childlike excitement keep me going through sleepless nights.

The Perfect Shot

There’s no such thing as a perfect photo. Nature itself isn’t perfect. But there is the pursuit of perfection—what drives you to grow, to seek new challenges, to push the limits of your creative potential. If I ever think, “Well, I’m really good—I’ve won awards, gained recognition,” and start believing that too much—then that’s the end of growth, and I begin to take myself too seriously.

I usually like my photos for a few days or maybe a month after editing, then I start noticing flaws and they’re no longer as pleasant to look at. What I truly love is the process of shooting itself—the thrill of being out in the silence of the night makes me feel alive and humbled. Then, while editing, I feel the same way I used to feel when I painted—that’s the creative element for me, and it brings me great joy. Once a photo is done, I lose interest in it. I archive it and move on to the next one.

The Moment

Landscape astrophotography is a complex pursuit that requires a lot of planning. You need to have a vision of what and where you want to shoot. The sky is the same, but what’s in the foreground and the idea behind the photo—that’s what sets you apart. That’s why I call it landscape astrophotography—because Earth and people are present in the frame, which is very important to me.

Then you have to consider many factors, and if you’re lucky, nature will cooperate—like having a clear sky. If that happens, you can take the shot and capture the light of countless stars. That light reaches my camera sensor—like a time machine. Some of those celestial bodies no longer exist, but their light is still traveling to us.

Being alone in the quiet of the night, taking photos, helps me stay present in the moment, to really feel it, to be grounded and at peace.

The Focus

After six years of actively shooting, I can say that over the past year, I’ve reduced the quantity of my photos in favor of quality. In the first 4–5 years, I was out shooting several times each month. Lately, I’ve felt the need to step off the carousel of shooting, editing, and posting to social media—something that has little to do with the real joy of photographing the night sky. I felt like I needed to prove to myself that there’s still meaning in continuing.

At one point, everything began to feel the same. I needed to "get off the train" and look at things from the outside. A trip to Bolivia, Chile, and Easter Island—a big dream of mine that I managed to organize—reignited my passion. The whole experience and the photos my group and I captured deeply recharged me and gave me a new starting point to keep going.

The Truth

When I stand alone under the starry sky with my camera in front of me, I realize how small and insignificant I am. It puts everything in perspective. Before arriving at a location, I might be caught up in daily problems, noise, and distractions that pull us away from inner peace and meaning. But when I go out to shoot, I can better hear that inner part of myself that reminds me we’re only here for a short time, that life is beautiful, and those big problems I thought I had are really just temporary bumps—not worth all the energy I give them.

I know it might sound cliché, like some kind of Western guru, but it’s the truth. And the more people who manage to experience a truly dark sky and spend just half an hour under the stars on a warm July night—the more will understand what I mean.

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