Ways of
Seeing with
Campbell Addy
The Photographer Brings His Own Gaze Into Focus
- Text: Christine Ochefu
- Photography: Christian Cassiel
To be a photographer, Campbell Addy tells me, is to be a therapist, a soother, clairvoyant in a way. “I was born very sensitive,” he says. “I love an emotive; I can do the loud pop-y stuff, but it still has to have an emotional truth.” Take one image: Addy’s 2020 portrait of Fadhi Mohamed. The pomp is certainly there; clad in blood-red sequins, she stands amidst a set of unfurling flowers, as if playing the pistil. But something about Addy’s capturing begs we look beyond that. It is what her gaze silently communicates—her pride, contentment, tranquility—that creeps to the forefront in the end.
This natural gift is part of the lock-and-key formation needed to pull the color out of those he captures, and project it back to the spectator through the image. Addy’s cultural presence exists across spaces, between communities—London, Paris, Accra, New York—and with a portfolio full of the most formidable names in media—Vogue, Wall Street Journal, Time, Dazed—all garnered by the age of 29.
In conversation, the photographer has an almost playful energy. He toys with his hair, and is tempering through the screen. He has something of an all-seeing eye, as if he can sense nerves and aims to soothe in response.
Such is an apt skill for his work, recently collated in his new photo book Feeling Seen: The Photographs of Campbell Addy. It is not his debut project (that was Unlocking Seoul, a collaboration with Edvinas Bruzas exploring the city’s gay scene) but maybe his first one so wholly dedicated to self-documentation. Amongst famed photographs of the likes of Debra Shaw, Edward Enninful, and Tyler, the Creator, Seen exhibits his multidisciplinary craft through writings, transcripts, and poetry articulating race, sexuality, and overall personhood. It honors those he sees as creative stimuli for his own work: fellow Ghanaian photographer James Barnor and fine art photographer Ajamu X, continuing the deep-rooted West African practice of showing reverence to our seniors.
The story of how he would take to his craft is as humorous as it is prophetic. Stuck sorting books in detention as a child, a stack fell on him; he was hit by Nick Knight, Norman Parkinson, and Irving Penn. Where others might have imitated, Addy would take leaps: “On Norman Parker’s book, the image was out of focus,” he recalls. “I kept thinking, I’ve been told that if the image is in focus, that's the correct image. But this is an ‘incorrect’ image, and it’s on the cover of a book. It made me think, what else could I flip on its head, and not listen to to create work?”
And in the years since that rumination, his work has become an exercise in revealing himself whilst hidden on the other side of the lens. Known for showcasing Black models and other models of color, he brings community to the forefront of his work. With his eyes behind it, the camera becomes a truly radical object; a means of giving agency where it has long been stripped via the lens.
Throughout our conversation, the artist reflected on his book, his craft, and the motivations behind them. Addy often looked away whilst deep in thought. When he did hold eye contact, it was warm and brief, shielded by golden lenses that are like buffers for his intuitive gaze. I wondered if he was sparing me.
Christine Ochefu
Campbell Addy
What inspired you to collate the images from your career in this way?
I often disassociate myself from my work in order to be very objective. I have an issue with time; I've been obsessive with time most of my life. And I was coming to a point where I was trying to free myself. I said, “What would I want to see of Campbell if I was a Campbell Addy fan?”
What leapt out to me was that I like to be vulnerable. With this book, I wanted to show the beginning of me doing that; me being as vulnerable as I can be, or want to be.
The title outlines the running motif throughout the book, of presence and self-reflection. How did you conceptualize the themes you wanted present?
With any project that I embark on, I try to always make it as true to how I'm feeling in that moment. I had to look at all my work all the way back to A Levels to see what themes pop out, and what I am trying to convey. And outside of being a photographer, from Nii Agency to Niijournal, to writings or videos, I've always been highlighting myself and my community back onto the page.
Originally I was going to call it “Human Beings” because of the subjects I'm shooting, but then it felt too scientific, like a BBC documentary. Then I had to ask myself: If they're human beings, why do I see them as human beings? And it's because my body of work is all about just making people be, and for me to feel seen. So approaching that as OK, this has to be 100% me.
When I further broke down who I am, I am a combination of many loves and experiences. I don't just take pictures. To see me is to see not just my pictures or what I do, and I'd love to see people understand that. I think I'll always be pushing to feel seen, but more so in an emotional way. I don't want to be a celebrity [laughs].
It’s interesting you say that. Do you consider yourself a shy person?
I think there's many different Campbells. I think business and work Campbell is very outgoing, very Leo. When I'm in my safe space, I'm a bit more demure. I'm not shy, I just don't do well in inauthentic spaces. And I don't do well with pop culture. I think it would be very weird if I were in that situation.
You speak about capturing people in the moment, I guess that element of realism. Is there a technique to that?
I surprise myself sometimes. Some of my favorite pictures I don’t know I’ve taken until I've received negatives. I think photographers are often therapists; we’re huge people-watchers, we’re always looking. You naturally end up being the conductors of energy. There’s certain people where I'm like, “This image is going to be horrible, it's because your energy's off.” It doesn’t mean the picture is horrible, but there's not that same essence. So I think all photographers are mini psychic therapists using a lens to gauge. I don’t know if I’m making sense [laughs].
No, you are. As a writer when I conduct interviews it's the same thing, picking up on people's energies, knowing how to read them. I've noticed the images are mostly titled with the subjects’ names rather than the publication. Is that intentional?
Yes. I think in the history of the visualization of Blackness, often the people are left out. They’re dehumanized. Like when you look at the images taken in the Congo at the time of Leopold. These people became figures, they didn't become human. Their names didn’t matter, just what happened to them. Obviously my work isn't as horrific, but in the same way using a lens to capture the Black body and the Black ideal, I just wanted to make sure that not only is my idea or the photographer important, but the people themselves are. That's what makes the image great, the people who are in front of me.
It's as if you're subconsciously reacting to historical faults in the field in your practice.
Yeah. I'm a huge consumer of things I love; I love history, I love people. And I just want to make sure that I'm presenting people in a respectful manner, and not a degrading or objective way.
Your name is now associated with diversity, and I wonder how you take to that. I always feel that for many Black artists, it's not necessarily an intention to showcase Blackness or diversity. It's just a natural practice that emanates by way of being Black.
I think at the beginning of doing work from university and Niijournal, I was just excited to be seen. So when people would use words like “diversity” and “new wave” and “changing the beauty ideals,” I'm like “OK go off sis!” But in my mind, I was just reflecting ideas in my head, there was no prior motive or sense of “this is diversity.” I was just fed up and it was my response to feeling alienated.But when I think of diversity, I think it's not just down to race or models; it’s down to infrastructure, business, gender, and all those things. So if people are real about diversity, it wouldn't be down to photographers’ lenses to start that conversation.
How would you like the project to impact us?
If I'd had this book falling on me in school, instead of Norman Parkinson, I would be a less insecure artist. I know for a fact. I didn't see myself in any of those books, but I still liked them. I hope that this book just touches someone, so they know their ideas make sense. Or they think it’s shit and they want to create a better one! I want it to cause action. Not just a reaction.
Christine Ochefu is a writer, editor, strategist, and curator based in London, primarily working across arts and culture. Her work has appeared in W Magazine, i-D, The Guardian, GQ, The Fader and more. She is currently working on her first novel.
- Text: Christine Ochefu
- Photography: Christian Cassiel
- Grooming: Mata Marielle
- Date: July 27, 2022
