ZA :

Your work seems to closely traverse between ideas of self, as well as the impact of relationships and interactions with others. Be it lovers, companions, strangers, friends, or acquaintances; I notice a strong sense of intimacy in your bodies of work. Would you say that this photographic method is a form of self-reflection and discovery?

DRC :

You are right. It is a form of both self-discovery, and self-contemplation. Through the work, I try to establish a certain proximity with those I photograph, and in doing so, I want to understand and even question the notions of identity and gender and their relation to where I am currently. How identity is perceived in the West, my position as an immigrant, and what being queer means today as a form of challenging not only heteronormative gender binaries, but a radical anti-capitalist mode of being. As cliché as it may sound, how I photograph, who I photograph, why I decide to make a photograph all would be an extension of life itself. How I started this process was not so well defined. It still is not. Initially, it was a form of reconciliation, finding a space between personal grief and desire, and trying to understand myself through photographs better. Eventually, it evolved into this more extensive diary that grapples with these layers of both personal and collective experiences.

ZA :

There is a strong confrontation about identity and the belonging of oneself within your projects. Has image-making or artistic expression brought you closer to answering these questions/contemplations?

DRC :

I'm not sure if it brought me closer, but the process of making this work helped me find my position in relation to those I have photographed. There is always a sense of curiosity and wrestling with the thought of identity and belonging/non-belonging in the spaces I inhabit, which perhaps I only complicate through my work. I adopt anonymity and ambiguity throughout a significant part of this to further provoke us to think of the self-other binary through a different lens. During the process of this work, I also embraced my own queer identity that was repressed for a long time. Photographing the self and the other and being subject to someone else's gaze was strangely comforting; it also helped me reclaim my position in the world. Has image-making brough me closer to myself? Has it been able to eliminate that feeling of alienation and despair and violence that I once confronted? I am still searching for the answers as all these questions might take us a lifetime to unravel, but this was a start.

ZA :

In your work 'The Weight of the Earth (2018-2024)' you are also interested in what you call - "the economy of desire." Could you elaborate on this idea, and the execution of it within your imagery?

DRC :

For me, we are all functioning in this economy of desire. Desire that, I would say, is generated and even amplified because of the material and metaphysical conditions of our personal and collective experiences. This desire is sometimes the life force and sometimes causes our destruction. At an individual level, this could be something as trivial as the push and pull between lust and restraint, and at a larger scale, this could be the thirst for power and socioeconomic validation. For me, coming out was a way to challenge this economy of desire. Coming out is a logic that many of my friends from home learned from the West. Do we genuinely become free when we claim our gender identity to the world? What does that even mean when so many of us cannot? These are questions that I am starting to consider. Many of us still live a dual life, and not all the reasons are due to political legislatures and governments. Many survive in this economy by performing for this desire, the desire of the gaze, the desire of the other, and the "desire" of the desire itself. It makes them feel alive and safe and needed, even for a moment. I try to find this by photographing the other. By using a spontaneous and conversational approach and often photographing the same people, I try to understand them and how they grow and transition over time. Through the affects of their gestures, their skin, face, movements, they all became part of my own being in this process.

ZA :

While reading your work, I'm drawn to the fantastical treatment of imagery for integral conversations such as queer identity, personal trauma, and the socioeconomic relationship with a foreign land. Can you touch upon this style of photo-making for themes that are hard-hitting and steeped in everyday reality; and still how you manage to make them look fluid and surreal?

DRC :

Thank you for the thoughtful words. I never really thought about it that way. For me, the treatment has always been a balance between being too rigid and losing control of the moment. To confront your trauma is a lifelong process, and perhaps it never goes away. Grieving is a non-linear process, too. Today, possibly years after I realized what happened, I may be able to put some of these feelings and thoughts into a few cohesive words/images. As I mentioned, many people in these images live vulnerable and complicated lives. Two of my closest friends, one I photographed during the first year of her transition as a trans woman and during her time of healing as a recovered addict. The other is a gay man and a survivor of physical abuse. I met both around the same time that I was lost and angry at myself. These are just a few instances. I do not wish to dramatize suffering and trauma. What I wish to talk about is love and hope, too. There are many layers to this and adopting mystical elements was an efficient way to create a safe space for everyone in my work and journey. Most of the images are individual portraits, not taken in group settings or in the company of other people. This intimacy and trust were necessary to build the elements of fluidity throughout. The individualization, I would say, is also perhaps a subconscious response to my position as an alien, a foreigner in this land who had to go through some difficult situations here including being unhoused. I wanted to portray the darkness but not lose sight of the silver lining and mystery and surrealism to an extent helped me shape my own reality.

ZA :

Would you be able to share some of your take-aways from conversations with collaborators during the making of 'The Weight of the Earth (2018-2024)?' As an artist, how did you create a safe space for these interactions?

DRC :

My relationship with the participants in this is varied. Developing these relationships takes time and involves completely giving yourself to the other, not knowing where the encounter will take us. A certain amount of emotional intimacy is necessary for me before I can photograph a person. I am a good listener, or at least I try to be and show up for people. That is how relationships develop, and we feel safe in each other's company. I have learned and continue to learn to go out into the world without any judgments or preconceived notions. As humans, we might on the surface seem like complicated beings, but at a very elementary level we share similar desires and fears; the hope to be loved, and to love is what brings us closer. These shared feelings help me to establish a sense of solidarity with everyone.

ZA :

Photography is often seen as a lonely pursuit, but your imagery is based in collaboration. Do you think this might be a popular fallacy within the artform?

DRC :

I think this notion of photography is changing now. Many lens-based practices involve collaborations with individuals or communities, which is beautiful. To what extent a photographer as an author can share that agency in every collaboration is something we should keep questioning. Yes, photography was a way to observe the world as it is, and in that sense, it becomes a lonely pursuit for a traveller through time and space. But collaboration in photography or any artform can help us reimagine our futures and formulate new paths to build a community and are honestly anti-capitalist at its core. As cliché as it may sound, capitalism promotes individualism, and perhaps somewhere deep down for me to resist this, I had to find a way where I work with people without the logic of any transactional exchange other than love and friendship.