Kanitlow. By Luvia Lazo.

"In Zapotec communities, it is difficult for a woman to use her voice to tell her story, or to share her thoughts. My grandfather, Domingo, encouraged my voice. After he passed last year, I started to pay attention to elders in my community. I study their hands, expressions, movements — the way they talk, how they hold a cup, or how they wear the hats on their heads. I began photographing grandparents in my village as a way to find memories of my own grandfather in these elders, while at the same time preserving and documenting our culture while it’s transforming. 

There is a word in Zapotec used to name someone or something disappearing — when a close friend is not close anymore, when someone stops visiting as often as they do, when things transform and change, or when someone is going blind. This word, kanitlow, means “faces are getting lost,” or “disappearing.” 

I want to document the memories of our culture and images of our grandparents. When they are gone their grandchildren can look for them, as I look for my grandfather in old pictures now. This work will be a place where my community can find their grandparents in photographs — where they can not only read time, context, and body language, but also see our culture reflected in the images."

Luvia Lazo

"When my grandfather passed away, I had a grant from FONCA for Young Creators, and I was working with women from my community. But I was in the midst of grief, and I talked to my mentors to tell them that my work didn’t feel honest. So, at that moment, I started photographing my grandfather’s spaces. 

I took photos, for example, when I went to collect his clothes. At that point, his closet only had three shirts. I began to navigate this grief and noticed many grandparents who I felt were close to passing, like my grandfather. I knew them from the market, which was also influenced by Covid when many older adults were dying. 

So, I started paying more attention to these signs of death their way of walking, and decided to photograph many of them. Several of the people I photographed have passed away in the last year."

Luvia Lazo

"It started with my grandfather, but I realized it later. I took several photos when I said, ‘One day, he’ll be gone.’ They were images of his eye with cataracts, his little hand, or these things about grandparents that you can’t quite make sense of. For example, my grandfather used to fasten his shirt with a paperclip, and he wouldn’t let anyone fix it. 

This new layer emerged as I got closer to these people, and through the interaction, I started to see how they transformed. It’s about their skin, the weariness in their gaze, or something quite curious happens – the spaces where they sleep become smaller. In other words, I see how they start to become smaller. 

But I have only seen glimpses of this so far. When I was at the Mirar Distinto portfolio review, I ended up with two photos, and that’s a guide to what’s calling me now."

Luvia Lazo

"The first photo I took without faces—which I now connect to this work—was of my grandmother. My relationship with her was a bit distant, detached. From time to time, she would come to the house to say hello to my mom, and that day she was visiting. 

My mom (who always wears dresses with flowers, earrings with flowers, aprons with flowers, her room is full of flowers) had bought a hibiscus that was in bloom that day, and she asked me to take a picture of her with her hibiscus. I got the camera to take her picture: her with her hibiscus. When my grandmother was leaving, I don’t know why, I asked her, “Can I take a picture of you?” I had never taken pictures of her before, because I didn’t feel close to her. She looked at me and agreed. “But with your back turned,” I told her, “you don’t have to see me,” and she stood right next to my house, and I took that picture, at that moment. 

That was long before this series. I didn’t even remember that photo, which came out of the fear of not knowing what to do with the relationship I had with her. I didn’t want to invade her. Then, looking through my archives, I found the photo, and I couldn’t believe it was identical to the photos I’m taking now. That was the first photo I took with a back turned. It’s why I’m including it, even though the picture was never intended for this series.

I lived with my great-grandparents. They were already old, and I was aware “they would die soon or someday,” I thought. I was very shy, and photography became a way of being, feeling, expressing. It was my language, a way to navigate my space and my great-grandparents’ home. I also learned visual language—or communicating without words—because my great-grandmother had a stroke and didn’t speak for seven years. But we talked all the time, even without speaking. We had a way of communicating through images. 

When my great-grandfather died, it was a complicated process. I understood grief. Yes, I felt my heart was broken. For me, my grandfather Domingo is the root of this photographic series. We spent the last month of his life together. I listened to him a lot, and we talked a lot. I think older people want to talk, and I can sit and listen to them for hours, just as I did with my grandfather. Once he was gone, I would have liked to stay and listen to him for a bit longer. 

He walked a lot, and I started walking a lot, with the camera. Whenever I walked, there was someone who reminded me of him. That’s how this series began. I was thinking about my grandfather. I have many pictures of him, but almost all of them are of his hands, his unbuttoned shirt, his eye, his ear. When you know someone so well, you see those little things; when you lose them, you remember those details. 

In my grandfather’s case, I remember precisely how he wore his hat: a little bit on the side, not too much. For me, all those little things were what was really important to observe in him. Then, when I started looking at other elderly people, I would see what I saw in him. I would see the clothes or a little chain, and when I started talking to them, it was the blouse that her daughter sent her from the United States or the chain that his son had given him when he graduated. All those elements, put together, were speaking and saying something well beyond their faces. I didn’t need to see their eyes or faces to understand them. I wanted to show the truly ordinary.

There is a photo of a man with wooden cooking utensils. One day I was in the market, and suddenly I saw a blue jacket, like my grandfather’s. I ran after him. When I caught up with him, I said, “Oh, sorry, I mistook you for someone else,” and we sat down to talk.  

That was the first Sunday, and I saw him many more Sundays. I would go to talk to him, because I could see his hands and how he played with his fingers, and they were just like my grandfather’s, just like his. I remember when taking that picture of the utensils, the hand, the silhouette, everything; I took it and began to cry. I knew it was not my grandfather, but when I saw the photo, I felt that if I removed the wooden spatulas, I would see him. It wasn’t him; it was the process of searching for him. 

I no longer cry when I take pictures. There came a time when it didn’t hurt anymore, and I stopped crying. But that led me to deep conversations, especially with women. Getting close to them, talking and speaking Zapotec, showed me on another level who they were and what they knew. It had nothing to do with their eyes. Some would ask, “aren’t you going to take a photo of me from the front?” One lady asked me to take one, “for when I die so that they can put it on my coffin.” That was very intense for me. 

I like to sit and listen to them, I like to go and see them, go to their spaces, go and greet them, listen to their stories. Also, I feel that it’s like tricking life. Some women have told me things I never thought they would say to me. When I listen to them, I find that although they are not from my time, we have many things in common. I look at these people who have lived, achieved, made mistakes, and I think this human part of everyone is universal.

(...) Some flowers are just for the cemetery. Some are for church, and others are for saints. Some are for godparents at a wedding, or for children, others are only for women. I started to observe all that, and I found it incredible. It was cyclical, the Flor de Niño is only used at Christmas, and on January 15th, we only have poinsettias, because we celebrate San Antonio, and the market turns red. On the Day of the Dead, we have flor de muerto, and the whole market smells of them. During Holy Week, the saints have necklaces of frangipanis, to accompany the Stations of the Cross."

Luvia Lazo

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photographs via and via and via and via and via and via 

Escaramuza. By Constance Jaeggi.

"Historically Charrería, which is the national sport of Mexico, was predominantly male. Charrería emerged from early Mexican cattle ranching activities and was eventually refined and formalized during the post-revolutionary era as a romantic, nationalist expression of ‘lo mexicano’ (Mexicanness). It is similar in many ways to American rodeo in its variety of competitive equestrian activities. Women, however, were not seen participating on horseback until the 1950s when they were finally brought into the sport as riders.

A discipline was invented for female participants called ‘Escaramuza,’ consisting of all-female precision horse riding teams who execute exacting maneuvers while riding sidesaddle at high speed and wearing traditional Mexican attire. The costumes and synchronized patterns they perform were inspired by the Soldadera or Adelita, the women who fought in the Mexican Revolution between 1910-1920. To this day, the events within Charrería remain heavily gender segregated. A charreada lasts up to three hours but the portion dedicated to Escaramuza makes up for three to five minutes of those three hours, so there is still a large discrepancy between the representation of genders within the sport.

Escaramuza is wide-spread in Mexico of course, and becoming increasingly established in the United States as Charrería keeps growing. Initially, I was drawn to the visuals. The dresses are colorful and intricate, and the performance is elegant and powerful, like a ballet on horseback. But it is the stories of the women I met that really captivated me. The dedication that they have for the sport and their drive to uphold this tradition is admirable. In Mexico, Charrería tends to be a sport practiced by the wealthy, while many of the charros and charras in the US work hard to be able to afford the costs associated with owning and competing with horses. A lot of the women I met are full time students, or have full time jobs, sometimes multiple jobs and are raising children.

The sport is also dangerous. The women ride side saddle in heavy, hand-crafted dresses. A team consists of eight riders, and they perform patterns, criss-crossing each other at high speed. Riding side-saddle is extremely difficult as you only have good control over one side of the horse. There is a narrative around immigration and the role it plays in the development of the sport in the US, shaped by this feeling that many of the riders expressed to me of “not feeling Mexican enough when traveling to Mexico, but not feeling American enough at home either.” 

Then there are the gender relations. Many riders expressed frustration regarding their inability to vote within the Charrería governing association, and the strictness of the dress rules they are subjected to, which is not the case for the disciplines practiced by the men. And finally, the parallels with the women who fought in the Mexican Revolution, the lack of historical research on their role, how they were remembered through time. Essentially, it felt like such a richly layered story, there was so much unpacking to do that I couldn’t look away. 

The women I photographed are from all around the US. They are for the most part first, second, third, fourth and fifth generation Americans. As I got to know these women personally, I became aware of the importance of their oral histories. I needed to bring their voices back into the work somehow. I started interviewing teams as I went. I met teams from California, Texas, Washington, Illinois, Iowa and Colorado, recording their stories as I photographed them. I tried to understand how they thought of their position in Charrería, what Escaramuza meant to them and how they wanted to be seen, which influenced the way I photographed them. I am continuing the project as I expand the body of work for an upcoming book, and attempting to cover as many of the US states as possible. 

Escaramuza translates to ‘skirmish’ in English, inspired by the image of the soldaderas sent into battle before the men to kick up dust and distract the opposing side. Women of course played a much more significant role than simple distraction during this complex and destructive civil war. They were activists in feminist movements, but a much larger number of women of rural and lower urban classes found themselves caught up in the struggle and had no choice but to be actively involved, whether it was as camp followers and caretakers for the soldiers, or as women who took up arms. 

I see parallels between the soldaderas’ contribution to the advancement of women’s emancipation in Mexico and the Escaramuzas I met who are pushing back on the machismo in their sport. Especially for the US-based Escaramuzas growing up in blended cultures. The image of the soldadera is a powerful historical example and reference point. It means that Escaramuza is much more than a way to connect with contemporary Mexican traditions. It also connects these women to their history, the history of their people and of women in their culture. It gives women a certain image of strength to refer to.  

One of the riders told me that she wanted to inspire other young women by showing them that they too could ride horses, be fierce and competitive and that they too could have a place in Charreria. Soldaderas provide evidence of women defying social expectations, and that has an impact. 

(...) Escaramuza is an example of cultural preservation in an era where globalization often dilutes local traditions; a way of keeping customs and stories of past generations alive by passing down skills and technique from one generation to the next. It is a celebration of heritage. It is also a source of personal empowerment for many of the women involved, providing a strong sense of identity and pride and challenging traditional gender roles by showcasing women as skilled equestrians and leaders in their communities. This empowerment is not only personal but also communal, as it helps redefine gender norms within a cultural context."

Constance Jaeggi

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photographs by Constance Jaeggi via and via and via 

Men Untitled. By Carolyn Drake.

"I worked on the periphery of my subject for almost a year before turning to face it directly. Many months were spent scouting locations, arranging portrait sessions, searching for props, and hiring assistants before I decided that what I really needed was to get the men in front of me to take off their clothes. 

Despite having existed among them for half a century, I cannot claim to be comfortable around male bodies. The truth is, the male body is not a subject that I’ve ever been encouraged scrutinize the way we do women’s bodies. It’s as though the act of looking at men is inherently dangerous. Asking the men to remove their clothing introduced a degree of risk that propelled my fifty-year-old imagination even as sexual desire continued to elude it. 

Mostly, I photographed men who were older than me. Maybe I was more interested in seeing masculinity in decline than admiring male prowess. Or maybe older men are more visibly vulnerable, making me more empathetic towards them. Some of them unveiled their bodies with adventurous curiosity; others were willing to partly reveal themselves, letting go of their reservations as an act of generosity. Some got an erection and stood still in front of me, wondering where to direct their gaze. One person kept bending over to make sure I captured a view of his anus. 

Once I started stripping away the clothing and props and scenery, what I was left with was a body alive in time, like mine. Its authority dissolved when I took the liberty to look."

Carolyn Drake

"I really wanted to expose the body and demean it and play with the idea of seeing how far I could push men, even if they didn’t want to."

Carolyn Drake

"I realized that it was also a healing exercise for my psyche. I channeled a lot of pent-up anger to make the work, drawing from repeated dealings with misogyny in life and politics, including the restriction of women’s rights to abortion, over which I had no control."

Carolyn Drake

"I am a 52-year-old woman who has internalized a lot of personal and political rage over the years, most recently in response to the #MeToo movement and the U.S. Supreme Court decision on abortion rights. My hormonal impulses are also shifting. I wanted to channel all that onto the men: how can I subjugate the male body, and how will that look and feel to me? 

But on the other hand, photography for me is a way of connecting and empathizing with other people. So as I played with how it felt to look down on men and to mangle and twist and direct their bodies, I also found tenderness and began to see the ways they were fragile, and not at all fulfilling masculine stereotypes. 

I also wanted to look at the myths connected to masculine ideals, but without perpetuating them. The images are constructed, posed. I did not want to insinuate any of this as natural, so the feeling of staging and performance was important to me.

One of the main differences in the way I approached the men as photographic subjects is that I wanted to expose the vulnerability of their bodies and lay them bare. (...)

Wallace is a character I got to know pretty well over many photo shoots. Before he passed away in 2022, he ran a motorcycle club next to his house, and the inside, notably, was wallpapered floor to ceiling and all over the ceiling with centerfolds from Penthouse and Playboy magazines that he had collected over the years. This was always something on my mind when I visited his house to photograph him, so when one day he showed me an old picture he had taken of an ex-girlfriend, I knew I wanted to ask him if he would be willing to pose for me in the same position. He agreed to let me photograph him hanging upside down from a hook like a piece of meat only if I would also, and it felt natural for me to agree to it. What I chose not to do is publish the image he took of me. That final decision of what to show is where my power resides. This is about me authoring male bodies, not the reverse.

(...) The men weren’t all cis, actually, but I didn’t distinguish one way or another in the image titles. It’s not a project about youth culture and the diversification of gender identities. It’s about my feelings toward old guard gender structures whose power remains entrenched, and about how I too relate to individual people on that spectrum. Part of why I worked mostly with older men was that I wanted to see masculine strength in decline.

(...)

I had to let myself feel two things at once while making this project — anger I had boxed in and the empathy needed to make human portraits. One of the things they remind you in psychotherapy is that contradictory feelings can coexist. 

Regarding geography, the American South is where I began, but I eventually decided that the project is not about a particular region. It’s about an American brand of patriarchy and its strange attachment to white penises."

Carolyn Drake

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photographs via and via and via 

Time As We Know It. By Marna Clarke.

I am 81 years old, my partner 92. On my 70th birthday, I woke from a dream in which I had rounded a corner and seen the end. This disturbing dream moved me to begin photographing the two of us, chronicling our time together, growing old. 

Now, 11 years down the line, he and I face numerous physical challenges: decreased mental acuity, especially memory; the diminished quality of our skin, hair and teeth; mild disfigurement; as well as the need to tend vigilantly to our balance, hearing, sight, physical agility and getting adequate sleep. Inside we are learning to accept it, sometimes going from anger, impatience, sadness or fear to seeing the humor in the idiosyncrasies of aging. We realize that if we can be comfortable with our own aged appearances and limitations, then the potential exists that others will become more comfortable witnessing this transformation and possibly become more comfortable with their own. 

I have entered a taboo territory: aging and death. The creation of these photos is part of my own way of dealing with the inevitability of dying by bringing attention to it and accepting it. I have come to embrace the photographs as a tribute not just to our lives but also to the demanding and courageous task of growing old gracefully, graciously, and aware. A certain wisdom is evolving from years of living and observing, eventually unveiling previously unseen associations, patterns and similarities. I am gaining a much-appreciated perspective that was not available to me previously.
Marna Clarke

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photographs by Marna Clarke via

Drummies

London-based, South African photographer Alice Mann started her series "Drummies" after reading a newspaper article about drum majorettes in 2017. Mann photographed eleven teams (school teams and club teams) in two provinces in South Africa. Some of the girls are from underprivileged backgrounds. To them, being a drum majorett means a lot since, as Mann notices, it can open doors (via)

“As a young, white, South African photographer, I am very aware of my position when making photographic work, and I always try to let this awareness affect my process. The ways that images have been used in South Africa, as a tool of colonialism, as a tool of apartheid, has a very violent history. So it is important to me that I can create work that empowers and elevates the people I work with. Particularly as I am often working with women, and with younger people, I need to ensure that the resulting images are challenging the representation of these individuals as victims.”
Alice Mann

“I’m interested in examining the relationship between community versus individual identity; how does a sense of belonging affect the way we perceive ourselves? I think wanting to belong is something that everyone identifies with, and this is an idea I return to often in my work… I’m fascinated by the way that feeling a part of something can reinforce an individual’s sense of self.”
Alice Mann

“The sport is a very empowering one for young women to be involved in. You can see how being part of the team creates a powerful sense of belonging and is a safe female space where the girls are very supportive of each other. There are a lot of accolades associated with being a drum majorette, and the discipline and hard work required says a lot about the person who can commit and put in the hours. The girls feel very proud to be majorettes, and this pride is evident.”
Alice Mann

“Photographs are so ubiquitous, and these images have such a powerful role to play. As an image-maker, I wanted to contribute in a way that might prompt people to re-examine the set ideas we have, because of what we are used to seeing,”
Alice Mann

photographs by Alice Mann via

Flowers at Your Feet. Texas Isaiah's Archive.

Texas Isaiah is a Black transmasculine photographer and the first trans photographer to shoot for the cover of Vogue and Time. His project "Flowers at Your Feet" started in 2020 and is about memories, gratitude, beauty, and healing;. It is a collection of Black transmasculine portraits, the flowers are the people themselves (via).

Excerpts from an interview:

I was interested in developing a more concrete archive because I had lost a significant amount of people in an eight-month period. People from childhood had passed away, my coworker, and the last person was my grandfather.

Looking back, I didn’t have a visual archive of these people. I just had my memories, and there was a visual loss that resonated with me deeply. I started to think more about what it would look like to contribute to an everlasting archive. Black and brown POC trans people weren’t being imaged a lot during that time, so I thought about the ways I can do that differently that weren’t immediately tethered to media or traditional aspects of representation.

When I was creating the archive, which was Black trans people in general, I didn’t feel a full connection with a lot of the [other trans-centered] work that was being created, especially of just masculine people in general. There are so many reasons why there isn’t a lot more Black trans representation in the media. It was not so much that I wanted to be seen, actually. I wanted to be able to extend space to people who felt invisible, who felt that they didn’t deserve to be imaged. When we look at media, the transmasculine people that are popular and who are extended resources are white transmasculine people.

It’s so important for people to see themselves so that they are able to heal and grow from the things they’ve been taught. There is so much that is projected onto us, and the reality is that we haven’t always been in proximity to the most healthy terrains of masculinity. But I believe that Black transmasculine people — in the ways that we have cared and loved throughout history and today — are really shifting the perspective of what it looks like to be a person of good character who is also masculine.

The beautiful thing about Flowers at Your Feet is that it mostly highlights transmasculine people, which includes trans men. I think that there is so much nuance there because not everybody has the same relationship to their masculinity — not everybody identifies as a man.

And I’ve learned myself that other people desire specificity. I don’t need that for myself because I don’t think that there is always language to describe our existences, and I’ve made peace with that. Those gray areas are really beautiful to me, because that means that I don’t have to lock myself into something that I may grow out of. There’s such a deep desire to keep that open.

Inherently, I view transness as, like, such a deeply spiritual space. I believe that, you know, the spirit doesn’t have to have any specificity. I think that’s such a beautiful thing.

It (Flowers at Your Feet) was something that someone I dated a long time ago used to say to me. I asked them, “What does that mean?’ They said, you know, ‘I’m just giving you your flowers. I’m offering you gratitude.’” And when I was thinking about a Black transmasculine archive, and also the masculine archives that exist today, it was during that era where people were creating a lot of images of Black masculine people and flowers.

That was so beautiful aesthetically, but I don’t think that conversation went as far as it could have. I think it stopped at aesthetics. I decided to use that title for the project to offer my gratitude to Black transmasculine people — past, present, and future — but also to contend with the images made at that time. There aren’t any flowers within the images I make; the flowers are the Black transmasculine people themselves.

Texas Isaiah

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photographs by'Texas Isaiah via and via and via

Beautiful Disruption. Nadine Ijewere's Photography.

Nadine Ijewere is a London-born photographer with a Nigerian-Jamaican background. With her approach, she aims to help establish "a new standard of beauty" (via). For her commissions, she usually does most of the casting herself choosing models who (apart from age) do not conform to the traditional industry standards and who are ethnically underrepresented (via). In 2019, she became the first Black woman to shoot a cover for Vogue (via).

My work is all about the celebration of diversity without creating a representation – particularly for women, as we are the ones who are more exposed to beauty ideals and to not being comfortable in who we are.

Nadine Ijewere

I find beauty in all its facets. My work is about showcasing different forms of beauty that I believe our society could do a better job of representing. We are so different, and I think it is especially important to show this in the world of fashion. I follow this principle when I cast models and also by exploring my own origins and identity.

Nadine Ijewere

Excerpts from an interview:

Looking at these images, I wish that I saw these kinds of images and people that looked like me when I was growing up. It’s such an important thing and it’s exciting that there are more Black creatives now using their culture and heritage to create amazing images that can be used for research or reference because it wasn’t necessarily available for me. Even now, it’s in a questionable quantity and finding images for inspiration is quite difficult, but it’s nice that the images we create can inspire the next generation. 

Positivity is important because for so long there have been negative connotations around the Black community and Black women and it’s something that we don’t really see celebrated or portrayed in a beautiful way. In the past, when you did see women of colour, there was always an element in place to make them conform to what the beauty ideal was – whether it’s straightening their hair or lightening their skin. It’s important for me to reframe that and show women of colour in a positive light, that’s what my work is all about.

I would have been a lot less self-conscious because growing up, I was always the sort of person who tried to fit in and change something about me. My hair was a big issue because I grew up in an environment that was predominantly white and went to a school that was the same so I was always trying to assimilate to fit in. 

I would straighten my hair a lot and would wear weaves and extensions instead of my natural hair because in fashion and beauty you never really saw girls with tight curls or Afro-type hair being portrayed as beautiful. If you did, it would be the images in Black hair salons of girls on relaxer kits with silky, straight hair. It was the image that was constantly shoved in your face, so of course you felt insecure because that’s not the hair you had. Even protective styles which are natural like cornrows and braids were seen as not beautiful or unprofessional. 

You become very restricted in a sense and you lose your sense of identity because you’re trying to fit in and be somebody else. I struggled with that for years, but having images like the images I see now would be incredible because it shows beauty as being multifaceted, there’s different kinds of elements and layers to it. It shows it in a different way and celebrates it across the board and that’s super exciting.

Nadine Ijewere

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photographs by Nadine Ijewere via and via and via and via

Beautiful Boy. By Lissa Rivera.

‘Beautiful Boy’ is an ongoing series of photographs of my lover. It began as a confession between friends. On the subway one evening, my friend shared that he had worn women’s clothing almost exclusively in college, but after graduation struggled to navigate a world that seemed both newly accepting and yet inherently reviling of male displays of femininity. I thought that photography could provide a space to experiment outside of isolation. Taking the first pictures was an emotional experience, and I connected to his vulnerability. Over time he became my muse and eventually my romantic partner. Soon we began taking photos like addicts, setting up several shoots every weekend. 

When taking the photos, I feel the same as when viewing a film where a director and actress share a deep connection to the fantasy captured. It is thrilling to see my partner transform into countless goddess-like forms. The project is a canvas to project our desires. At times the images even become self-portraits. The camera transposes our private experiences into public expression.  

Often, I construct sets in my studio. Other times, I seek out locations that feel as if they are sets. I spend a lot of time conceptualizing the costumes, which I piece together from thrift shops, ebay, and discount fabric outlets. I think it is important that the images not be seamless, but more like an assemblage where you can see the glue, revealing contemporary identity as a collage of the visual language of the past. Although I art-direct the images and come to each shoot with a strong aesthetic intention, my partner inhabits each costume and set in a thoughtful way, embodying the scenario with a sense of openness. 

It is important to show his femininity as strength. I want to feel empowered as well, and to have an intimate muse. Together we investigate feminine fantasies presented throughout the history of photography and cinema. The project is a way to ‘step-inside’ images that we have found alluring and examine what it is like to live each scenario out. We explore both our captivation and our ambivalence towards these depictions of femininity. By presenting my partner within the lineage of great beauties and populating the media with our images, we are reclaiming our voice in what is attractive and beautiful.

Lissa Rivera

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photographs by Lissa Rivera via and via and via

Bringing The Struggle Into Focus. By Peter McKenzie.

"We are people before we're photographers."

Duane Michael

"I am part of all that I have touched and that has touched me."

Thomas Wolfe

This is the basic promise that this paper will follow. I believe that if we are going to become part of the struggle through photographic communication we must examine and realise the undeniable responsibility of all photographers in South Africa to using the medium to establish a democratic Azania. Our photographic seeing is the direct result of the factors that contribute to our being here. Our day to day experiences and our degree of sensitivity to these will determine the are we isolate in our viewfinder, the moment in time that we freeze forever.

Photographic Communication and Culture

"Your child shares in your sense of indignity when you are stopped outside your yard and asked to produce your reference book. Your child shares in your sense of outrage and anger when people arrive in your house in the midle of th (sic) night and take you away, throw you into jail without trial, and for weeks, evven months, refuse your wife the right to see you.

As their cars drive off into the night with you, they leave behind seeds of hatred in the hearts of your small kids."

Percy Qoboza

This "way of seeing" referred to in the introduction, holds true for the viewer too. We therefore realize the importance of examining this relationship with our viewers so that they can understand, interpret and perceive the images that we transmit to them in the process of communication. Culture supplies this relationship. To demonstrate this we can compare photographic comunication to an iceberg where the tip of the iceberg represents the point and the submerge area the unstated unconscous cultural assumptions that make communications possible. Communication depends on the assumption that photographer and viewer share a common culture. 

Photographic communication is possible in our multicultural society because we are united under oppression. The chances of being morally affected by photographs is better than ever before in our struggle because of the level of consciousness and awareness of the people. Evidences of the last drawing together of the laager are so evident tha tthose who don't see them are those who choose to ignore them!

Because of the high level of awareness and frequent acts of resistance in this country we will regard our culture at this stage in our struggle as a resistance culture. (...)

The poor history of committed photography in South Africa will reflect the refusal of most photographers to accept their responsibility to participate in the struggle.

"Whether he likes it or not the photographer is in the business of communication and it is useless to retreat into the romanticism of self-expression and technology wizardy. Useless, because to communicate takes us purely beyond personal and technical concerns and into phenomena that the communicator and his audiences share."

Frank Webster

This shows the added responsibility of photographers in South Africa as oppression continually stifles the inherent creativity in us. No photographer can lay claim to any individual artistic merit in an oppressed society.

We must realize at this urgent stage of our struggle the importance of making a commitment to change through photographic communication. 

Once we realize the importance of our resistance culture in photographic communication it becomes clear that we can successfully communicate on a level that the people are perceptive to. 

(...)

Effects of uniqueness on photographic communication

Once we've understood the present feelings and sensitivities of our intended viewers we can become explicit and direct in our photographhic communication and the statements we make will be easily understood.

Lewis hine, a pioneer in social documentation, said: "There are two things I wanted to do with the camera, I wanted to show the things that had to be corrected, I wanted to show the things that had to be appreciated." Social documentation can be regarded as having two aspects, negative aspects which we can call negative documentation and positive aspects or positive documentation. 

Negative documentation

This type of documentation is to show the effects of injustice. They show the shocking conditions that people are forced to cope with, they show the faces of those who have given up in the face of overwhelming odds. These images are meant to awaken the sleeping consciences of those who havent't yet realized their oppression and the danger of non-commitment to change. There are those of our brothers who are so blinded by crumbs from the master's table, who even develop a sense of pride over their false securities. Because of the realistic tangibility of photographs they can arrest the conscienne of those people and influence them into remedial action.

Positive documentation

We can see the danger of negative documentation. We could be seen as a pathetic and hopeless people. Nothing could be more misleading, our struggle has shown resolution, dignity and strength. We've got to show the hope and determination of all committed to freeom. 

The photographer must serve the needs of the struggle. He must share the day eperiences of the people in order to communicate truthfully. We must be invovled in the strikes, riots, boycotts, festivities, church activities and occurrences that affect our day to day living. We must identify with our subjects in order for our viewers to identify with them. Because of the realistice nature of photographs and the relationships built up around the camer and its images they can promote unity, increase awareness and inform. A society possessing these qualities is an easily mobilized one. We as photographers must also be questioning, socially consious and more aware than our predecessors. 

(...)

Two intentions are necessary for committed photography in South Africa:

1. We must be comitted to liberation.

2. We must prepare our people for a democratic Azania. 

Peter McKenzie, Botswana Cultural Festival, Gaborone, 1982

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photograph by Ernest Cole via

The Afrapix Collective

Afrapix was founded in South Africa in 1982 (and disbanded in 1991), a collective of photographers who documented and opposed Apartheid. According to Paul Weinberg, a cofounder, initially, there were two objectives: to found a cooperative not unlike Magnum Photos but also - or primarily - to stimulate social documentary photography and social change.

(...) the Afrapix photographers’ mandate was to be participants in action, aligned with the politics and principles of the anti-apartheid movement. Their work was grounded in the belief that exposure and visibility were not the end goal; rather, the objective was ‘preconditions for an empathetic and humanistic reaction that would prompt international political action.’ (via)

The more influential Afrapix became, the more challenges the photographers had to face. Apartheid security forces harrassed the photographers, their office was raided, then the building (which also housed other anti-apartheid groups) was bombed. There were police surveillance, spies, and direct threats. Laws became more restrictive, designed to fight "the public relations nightmare the apartheid government was experiencing overseas, namely, images of white police officers brutalising unarmed black civilians". The mainstream press avoided running stories that seemed to be opposing the government policy and censored itself to survive since their revenue came from the white readership that was already complaining about boring and annoying headlines "about the experiences of Black South Africans". These experiences were not appealing to advertisers, either (via).

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photograph (COSATU Cultural Day 1987, (c) Anna Zieminski) via

Trabold, Bryan. 2018. Rhetorics of Resistance: Opposition Journalism in Apartheid South Africa. 23. University of Pittsburgh Press: Pittsburgh.

Trabold, Bryan. 2018. Rhetorics of Resistance: Opposition Journalism in Apartheid South Africa. 43. University of Pittsburgh Press: Pittsburgh.

Trabold, Bryan. 2018. Rhetorics of Resistance: Opposition Journalism in Apartheid South Africa. 43. University of Pittsburgh Press: Pittsburgh.

Pretty, Please. By Allison Morris

"This series of self portraits intends to emphasize and question the outlandish and nonsensical nature of 'feminine' objects and traditions - everything from hairstyles to body modification - the purpose of which is to shape and alter the feminine body, and maintain a firm grasp on an otherwise fleeting youth. Through the ironic and overindulgent use of these oddities, I aim to draw attention to their absurdity and the barrier they create between the person subscribing to them, and the outside world. This work intends to draw attention to these objects in a humorous and satirical way, allowing us to identify the absurd notion of the ideal female."
Allison Morris

photographs via 

Beauty Recovery Room. By Ji Yeo.

"Back home is a culture where men are judged on their financial balance sheet and women by their beauty. The male-dominated media endlessly reinforces its model of the ideal woman."
Ji Yeo

“I have been struck by the clear distinction between the women I photographed in Korea and Westerners who seek surgery. Whereas in America, women often focus on altering their bodies (breast enlargements being the most popular), in Korea most women focus on facial adjustments such as: making their eyes bigger and wider, minimizing their cheekbones and jaw lines, and making their noses higher and narrower. Whereas sexiness is highly emphasized in America, in Korea, notions of childlike femininity and innocence reign supreme. It is this difference that compels me; regardless of geography or body type women are willing to spend thousands of dollars and endure extreme cuts, bruises, and scarring in order to achieve beauty.”
Ji Yeo

Ji Yeo tracked down women undergoing plastic surgery and asked them to sit for her series "Beauty Recovery Room", a series showing them immediately after their procedures, not in their "new, enhanced" state. 

The idea of recording the moment when they look their worst: showing their bloodstained bandages, bruises, surgical guideline marks, and swollen body is not part of the fantasy of transformation.
Ji Yeo

The women who were willing to cooperate with Yeo were women who did not have support from friends or family. Yeo made a deal by guaranteeing that she would take care of them during the period of transformation (drive them to surgery, pick them up, cook for them, go to the pharmacy etc.) and, in treturn, they would sit for a portrait. Yeo was somewhat shocked to see how pleased the women were immediately after the surgeries (via).

During the photo shoots, even though they were in extreme pain, I could feel their excitement, the excitement of hopes realized. They seemed not to have the fears that I had; in fact, most of them were planning other surgeries in the near future. 
Ji Yeo

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photographs via and via and via and via

Tyler Mitchell's Sense of His Own Historical Moment

Tyler Mitchell's photographs are "a counterpart to the pernicious stereotypes that have long dominated visual culture" by showing Black people in different ways they might "look, dress and act", for instance, enjoying leisure time. Probably due to their soft light, pastel colours, and settings, Mitchell's photographs do not look politicial at first glance (via).

Mitchell was born in Atlanta in 1995. Skateboarding led him to photography, he then studied film and television at New York University and, in 2015, self-published a book about skaters in Havana. Three years later, aged 23, he was commissioned to photograph Beyonce for a Vogue issue. He became the first Black photographer to shoot the cover of Vogue (via).

This idea of my community and my friends, young black men and women, being able to enjoy pleasure, or leisure time — that’s revolutionary. I think about the pleasures and the freedoms we’ve been denied historically — or the way that free time and leisure time, for us, have been framed as something potentially violent.
Tyler Mitchell

Mitchell seems to have "a clear sense of his own historical moment". He believes that being a Black photographer carries a different weight since just a short while ago Black people could not afford cameras (via).

I’m indulging myself in the way that making pictures for me is a form of protection. I’m able to create and live out these little moments or small figments of dreams in which Black people exist within the space of a frame where they are unencumbered. They’re not having to be hypervigilant about social and political dangers, the hypothetical threat of a white gallery space, or any of these things that remind them to get out and stay out.
Tyler Mitchell 

Mitchell's work was partly inspired by Tumblr where he noticed that most of the images of free and sensual young people showed whites. He uses the documentary approach to capture Black identity "in an equally close and vulnerable light" (via).

People like Ryan McGinley and Larry Clark were just two examples of images that seem to proliferate the most on those types of platforms. They seem to get the most re-blogs or people would always repost them. Their most iconic images would usually be white youths, very sensuous and beautiful, enjoying life in groups in Paris or on road trips, you know So I’m thinking about my experiences and trying to make art about my experiences in the South. Being black and middle class, I think about the self-policing that has to happen within our community here. It’s baked into our psyche that we’re maybe not allowed to, or that we’re not supposed to, behave in those ways outwardly in society or perform those sentiments of joy… Obviously, we do enjoy leisure time, that’s a global thing. But my work is about bringing forward these ideas of leisure and play as radical things, because we’ve societally, politically, and within ourselves—in our psyche—been prevented from enjoying those freedoms. Utopia, by definition, isn’t achievable. Photography, by definition, is about constructing an image and framing an image and a point of view on the world. I’m playing with these ideas, the fantasy of things that are not real, or that I would want to be real.
Tyler Mitchell

I think the images suggest [a] core fundamental resilience, radiance and full human agency that Black folks command, even in environments that tell them otherwise.
Tyler Mitchell 

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photographs by Tyler Mitchell via and via and via and via and via and via