Karla Hiraldo Voleau, A Man In A Public Place
Karla Hiraldo Voleau’s photography has an arresting quality that sits unsteadily, and excitingly, between improvisational and meticulously rehearsed—which translates visually into an invitation to look again, to look longer.
Her images, which include gestures of performance, documentary, and personal narrative, are alive with the residues of authentic processes—of gleaning, of transformation, of reflexive journaling—all of which bring an irreproducible texture of authenticity to her projects, enriching them with complex intimacy and vulnerability. Process, in this sense, becomes an organic aesthetic, as opposed to mere surface edits, touch-ups, or filters; rather, in Karla’s images, the process is the filter.
Karla’s first book Hola Mi Amol was shortlisted for the 2019 Paris Photo–Aperture Foundation PhotoBook Awards, and her work has been featured in Another Magazine, 1000 words, Foam Talent 2020, and many other publications and organizations which have noted and praised her work for its subversive tenderness and the bold narrative risks she takes in disrupting traditional photographic modes with auto-fictive performance and self-portrait. Across all her work, Karla makes glaringly transparent the inescapability and culpability of her own gaze—and, by extension, ours.
In our conversation over email, she indeed confirmed that her process in pre- and post- is considered, methodical, and selective, whereas the shoots themselves are more fluid and subject to chance, experimentation, and discovery. Read her interview with TSUKI for more about this series, A Man In A Public Place, as well as her interest in taking risks, building trust with the viewer, and “…the final boss of art.”
TSUKI: I’m wondering first up what gear you used, less so regarding the technicality or specs and moreso about how discreet it was? For a previous project, Hola Mi Amol, you used a variety of cameras, including your phone camera—since it offers more discretion, intimacy, and spontaneity. What did you use here, and why?
KARLA HIRALDO VOLEAU: I used a couple of classic digital cameras: one for the inside self-portraits (mounted on a tripod, and with the use of an external shutter release) and one for videos outside. When I was performing outside, I needed yet again to make the camera invisible. The quality of the image and other technicalities are still totally boring to me, as I consider my cameras and other recording devices as replaceable tools that are just there to testify to a story, or in this case, a performance. For A Man in Public Space, I hired an assistant and she followed me through the city. I placed her and framed the shots in certain places in the city, and then she would stand still and record videos of me walking and interacting in the streets. It was only afterwards that I took screenshots of the important moments in the video and made them into still images. Since my assistant’s presence and the camera’s presence had to be discreet, they would be placed a bit farther away; therefore the images look like they are from a surveillance camera, and this was basically the goal: an objective, non-intrusive, and non-aesthetic point of view.
TSUKI: Do you predetermine the photographs before you even pick up the camera, or do you discover them in the process of looking, shooting, and performing?
KARLA HIRALDO VOLEAU: Before and after a shoot I’m a planning cuckoo, and very strict with myself, but during a shooting I think I look almost clueless—which I’ve learned to love. I used to be insecure if I didn’t know exactly what to do during every second of a shoot. Now I know from experience that preparation and plans are just there to create a mental frame, and confidence—but in the end I’ll follow random events, emotions, and the people around me. For example, in this shoot I thoroughly planned to walk and shoot in a few particular streets, but they ended up being either super boring or super packed, and very quickly I let go of all that planning—the frames, the angles, the story of that street, and so on. I told myself a better spot would show up, because I worked to create the right mood: determined but flexible.
I learned to let go like this while shooting Hola Mi Amol in 2018. That project was depicting real life events, and on top of this, it was deeply rooted in intimate feelings and personal history. How can you plan that? You just have to go with your research, your angle, an idea, and then just hope for the best. I know it almost sounds passive, but on the contrary, I become sort of obsessive: taking every opportunity, following every lead, interacting with anyone crossing my path, and most importantly, recording everything like a maniac. Again, with any reachable device: a pen, a phone, a camera.
Recording everything is also the key here; whenever something “goes wrong” (for example, I couldn’t shoot for the first day of this performance) it’s OK, record the failure anyway. The make-up didn’t go well on that first day either, the prosthetics didn’t react the same as when we were testing it with Amelie Zoe, the make-up artist. It looked wrong and super obvious. So instead of losing one full day of storytelling, I documented this very hiccup and then used this “day off” to improve my body language, play with my image in my apartment, and make a lot of self-portraits. That day I made one of the key images of the project—the one with the tripod. Plus, this little self-portrait session became a tradition during the whole week, like a rehearsal before going out to shoot in the street. All in all, this minor problem became an important moment, and I made sure to include it in the final series.
Finally, what I’m looking to capture defines itself in the process of editing. Every night during that week of performance I would look at all the pictures quickly and without too much thought, and then put aside the images that looked interesting. In this way, a body of work created itself, and along with it emerged an organic storyline that helped me shoot the following day. Working this way, it’s as if the projects are forming on their own, and I really enjoy that feeling.
“Bodies and spaces are not exchangeable, they are part of my story and experiment, which can only happen at that time and place.”
TSUKI: Performing, identity, evidencing, posing, proving—these feel entirely baked into photography’s DNA, i.e. the idea of “playing up” to the camera. How do you see the camera (or photography generally) as part of the ways in which we crystalize or destabilize ideas of ourselves or others? And why is it important to build a degree of transparency about your process back into the images?
KARLA HIRALDO VOLEAU: For the inside images, the setup was completely different, as I was making self-portraits in the morning, while I was transforming. Therefore, the camera is visible, it’s my companion, a part of the process of changing my image. Showing the camera is like breaking the fourth wall; it’s a way of saying, very clearly, to the viewer: “I see you.” This way, I take the viewer with me, behind the scenes, and the process becomes as important as the outcome. This is, to me, what makes a project performative. Bodies and spaces are not exchangeable, they are part of my story and experiment, which can only happen at that time and place.
Showing the camera is also a way for me to say “This is not a lie”, or better said, “This is not fake.” It’s an invitation to trust me, as there is no army of assistants or re-touchers or art directors—just me and my camera. This trust is reinforced by the use of handwritten texts: the uniqueness of it, the time that it takes, and the mistakes that are shown while writing. All of this make the viewer closer to me. I definitely try to find ways to distance my images and my work in general from the reproducible essence of photography.
TSUKI: Your work generally takes and invites risk: aesthetic, artistic, and personal. And taking risks means building trust. Your written texts give the work a confessional dimension. What are some other ways you build trust with a viewer?
KARLA HIRALDO VOLEAU: I believe these “behind the scenes” moments I was just talking about are also a way to build trust with the viewer. Integrating these moments into the narrative helps define a space around/behind the camera, and not just in front of it—therefore it automatically places the viewer somewhere in the scene. Also, integrating self-doubt and failed tryouts into the final piece usually helps break the fourth wall. It also makes the content more relatable, which is one thing I aim for: relate with the viewer and their own experience.
“The undocumented performance to me is like the final boss of art.”
TSUKI: Do you think you will ever risk a performance or artistic idea that goes undocumented, or unphotographed? Or is exploring and reviewing these ideas of documentation, proof, and testimony something that you’ll keep exploring?
KARLA HIRALDO VOLEAU: The undocumented performance to me is like the final boss of art. Maybe down the road I’ll find the confidence and selflessness to do performative work exclusively for the present moment, “happenings” style, because they’re something I truly enjoy watching live, or reading about. But for now I’m still too obsessed with the process of recording.