Her journey started in the Netherlands but truly took shape under the neon haze of Shanghai. What began as a means of framing daily life gradually evolved into a compass — guiding her through unfamiliar streets and grand stadiums, across languages and cultures, and into the quiet moments that follow the roar of the crowd. Moments when the finish line has been crossed, the tension dissolves, and something human remains.

In those in-between spaces, her lens learned to search — for the subtle softening of shoulders after the starting gun, for eyes that scan the scoreboard and find something else entirely. Over time, she discovered that photography was not just a way of seeing, but a way of being present.

As her international path unfolded, Sofieke uncovered a universal language: one composed of movement, image, emotion. And with it, she adopted a set of quiet, unspoken ethics — to choose care over spectacle, dignity over sensationalism. To learn where to stand so the athlete might stand taller. To witness, without intruding. To honor the moment, even when it’s fleeting.

What follows is the story of an ambitious photographer whose work is not only about chasing new dreams, but about reimagining photography itself — not as a career, but as a commitment. A commitment to curiosity, to connection. To meet people first. To listen with the eyes. And to trust a single image to tell a story all its own.

Exploring the world with photography

“When I was twelve, my family moved from the Netherlands to Shanghai for my dad’s work. It was during that period that I started to pick up a camera for the first time, nudged by a family friend who was into photography and whose images lit a spark in me. What made me fall in love at first was the power to hold a moment still. 

Around 2010, I started walking around Shanghai with my parents’ camera, learning the streets through the lens—connecting with people, practicing Mandarin, and sharing images on Facebook. Very quickly I realized I could show friends back home what life in China actually felt like—beyond the headlines and politics. I went local. From that point on, the camera came with me everywhere, especially on family trips across Asia. Portraits, street scenes, small gestures—anything that carried life.

In 2014 I had to choose a path. I’ve always loved sports, so I moved back to the Netherlands to study sports management. We’re a very active family. Growing up in the Netherlands I played field hockey; in Shanghai, at a British school, I tried everything—football, volleyball, netball, even basketball. Movement was constant. I photographed bits of school sport after classes, never imagining it might become a career.

During university,  the camera gathered some dust while I lived the student rhythm. But on trips I still pulled it down from the shelf. After graduating, I landed in Munich at a sports sponsorship agency. I started in social media and concept work. For clients of the agency and events, I started photographing more and more.  In October 2020, I realized I really wanted to do that full time, and I went freelance. 

It was still Covid time. I shot anything and everything at first. In 2021 I was inspired by what Team Germany was doing on Instagram—sports covered differently. Before that I always saw sports photography as either press or commercial, nothing in between. I never really thought of it. In 2022 I applied, almost on a whim, for accreditation to the European Championships in Munich. I didn’t even have a press pass, I just pressed ‘0000’ and hoped. Somehow I was approved for all sports and all ten days. I had no gig; I committed anyway. That’s where my sports photography career truly began.”

Universal Languages

“Everyone sees the world through a different eye. I’m convinced your eye is shaped by your past—by what you’ve lived. The way you look at the world, at the beauty of humans, the beauty of action, emotions. My international upbringing—having friends from Brazil, Australia, China; studying in international schools; discovering different cultures layered on cultures—gave me what I call a “global citizen” gaze.

Sport is global too. Wherever you go, you find it—a universal language. At the World Championships in Tokyo, so many people didn’t share a spoken language, but we understood the same rules, the same heartbeat.

Photography is another universal language. On the street in Shanghai, I’d make a frame; someone would smile; connection—no words. Show a person their portrait and you’re communicating something about beauty, dignity, attention. That energy still drives every image I make.

Beyond visuals, my background taught me how to approach people—the sensitivities, the yeses and noes, how to find common ground fast. I try to do the same with athletes now. When I travel for Global Sports Communication to China with Eliud Kipchoge or the Diamond League for example, my Mandarin helps  build bridges. If you can be more than “just” a photographer—translator, cultural link, steady presence—you give the work a better chance. You’re less shocked by difference, quicker to find focus.

In the end, the purest universal language is emotion. That’s what draws me to sport—the happiness and heartbreak. The one winner and many losses, but even more the feelings in between. That’s where my camera lives.”

Visual Storytelling

“I’m always trying to tell a story. Most of the time that means more than one photograph. I need a series to show the facets of a person or a team—emotion and athleticism, detail and breath.

Nowadays brands increasingly move this way too. Stories reach people. As photographers we’re being given space to work between editorial and commercial, to go deeper. That’s where connection happens—between an audience and an athlete, a fan and a team.

I’m drawn to emotion. At a 100-meter final, I’m not in line with the press photographers. I’m twenty or thirty meters past it, waiting for the moment after—when bodies soften, eyes search the scoreboard, joy or pain surfaces. Noah Lyles rips his shirt; others quietly exhale. That’s the story. The emotions after the finish are never the same. An athlete can be proud without a medal. I focus on the human, not just the result—whether it’s Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce’s last race in Tokyo, the Shanghai Diamond League, a press tour across China, Olympics for Team Germany, or months embedded with the German national Football team.”

Building connections

“Genuine connection with athletes is everything. I try to stay humble and respectful—that’s even a big part of Dutch culture. With athletes, no matter how fast someone runs, how much they’ve won, or incredible other things that they have achieved on and off track, road, pitch—I meet them as people first. In the Netherlands we say: “They also go to the toilet.” It keeps you grounded.

Some athletes are open, some are guarded. Some prefer to talk about anything but sport; others want to go deep on details, while some love to talk about their hobbies. Over time you learn when to speak and when not to. You might hear conversations you shouldn’t repeat; you might be in rooms where decisions are made. Always remember that you are a photographer first, you’re there to capture moments and not to talk about things. Respect their privacy and how they want to be portrayed. That’s how you build long-term trust, not just a momentary win.”

Team work make the dream work

“With the German national team, I worked inside a traveling ecosystem. I operated with a team of more than twenty athletes and a staff of sixty people—trainers, coaches, medics, chefs, media team. In those cases, you need to be a little bit more of a team player and do your own job because every individual that is working there has their job. That’s something that you need to comprehend and respect.

Being a woman, and working with a lot of female athletes helped me read what players wanted in terms of representation—and to spot moments they might not want public. Social media complicates this: athletes have a defined image of themselves. I have discussed this at length with other athletes, and although I believe that women should show themselves in their entirety, in a real way, I do not think that women’s sport is yet advanced enough globally to be able to portray women with all their imperfections. I think that today we need to trust the athlete, the player, and try to portray them as strong people, strong athletes, and try not to belittle or humiliate them in any way.

I choose care. If a brilliant frame risks humiliating an athlete—or undercuts how she wants to be seen—I don’t publish it. Respect comes first; the future of women’s sport deserves that.

As a Dutch photographer, working with Germany was fun, and never awkward—for me or for them. I really enjoyed the process and the trust ran deep: changing rooms, celebrations, the quiet minutes. You learn where to stand so players feel confident in front of the lens. That kind of bond doesn’t happen overnight. It’s still there now. I support them—even when they play the Netherlands. Funny, but true.”

Capturing big events

“The Olympics was my most ambitious goal, like many sports photographers. It’s the most beautiful sporting event in the world. The legacy and history give them a unique beauty, and then Paris as a stage made it even more special. The funny aspect about the Paris Olympics was that what inspired me in my work was how Team Germany represented sport in Tokyo, the team I worked with afterwards, a couple of years later. A full circle moment.

I bought the first book on the Olympics as a source of inspiration, and I still get goosebumps every time I think about being inside with my photographs in the Paris 2024 version now.

At the Olympics, and at the World Championships in Tokyo, you work within constraints: fatigue, logistics, and a city of photographers around you. Press photography has its own classic language. I try to show something else—angles and details that feel different. Access helps, but so does the choice to stand somewhere unexpected, to edit with other intentions.

Each event demands its own approach. In Tokyo, for example, my brief was simple: cover Shelly-Ann’s last Worlds. That meant studying her rhythms and habits, anticipating her choices. And still, sport is sport—unpredictable. I had anticipated a longer lap of farewell; instead, after the finish she stopped, waved, and left. You can’t script that, and you shouldn’t try. In commercial work you can build an image; in reportage you honor what happens. In sports photography, you don’t create—you capture. And. I think that’s what makes these events unique.”

Inspiration takes time

“I had trouble finding inspiration after the Olympics. With every job, every photograph, every post I published, I was trying to get closer to that goal. I managed to take some time off to reflect on this lately. After the Olympics, I asked myself: ‘what’s next?’. I believe creating a new goal takes time. You shouldn’t rush it, nor the process of creating and defining it, which can be difficult. I’ll be working in the Milan-Cortina Winter Olympics next year. I’ll be there with the German Olympic team. It’s something I can’t wait to do, to rediscover that inspiration.

But I’m reminding myself not to hop from milestone to milestone. Instead focus on people. Seek out collaborators who inspire you. I’m ambitious, yes, but I’m learning to look back with humility and enjoy each frame for what it is.

Maybe in five years I won’t be a “photographer” by job title. I’ll shoot as long as I love it—maybe I’ll move into projects with more creative direction. Who knows. I’ll stay open, keep learning, and keep telling stories that feel true.”