Interview: Laylah Amatullah Barrayn

By Lia J. Latty

Published April 2nd, 2021

LaylahBarrayn_Glow_Headshot

Did you always know you wanted to be a creative and a photographer?

LAYLAH: I knew from early on that I did want to use the camera to express myself and to document. So I knew I wanted to do that. I knew the camera needed to be in my life in that way. I saw its power. I saw its healing power. I saw its power to fortify and create identity. I saw its power to be empowering. I knew that very early on and I wanted that to be close to me. I knew that I wanted to create, I knew that I wanted to be an artist. I grew up understanding the power of art, particularly how art was used through activism. Growing up in the eighties, one of the big events was with the divestment of apartheid. You had political activists, but also you had artistic activists speaking and working toward the divestment and eventually the dissolution of apartheid. I saw those things in real life. I just felt very artistically inclined since as long as I can remember. I knew that I wanted to do that when I grew up and have that be a part of my career.

How do you define your relationship with photography?

LAYLAHI have a pretty healthy relationship with photography. I feel that the medium is democratic enough to fit my needs. It’s also democratic enough to allow me to explore. I feel very free when I am holding the camera and creating, it’s never a tool that I’m bored with. I just have so much space to learn, play, evolve and grow, so I feel like it’s a pretty good relationship. With me being very curious and loving history, it has pushed me towards learning about the history of photography, how photographs were used, how to create photographs, what work was developed, and also associating that with how it relates to us as people of color and as black folks around the world. I feel even more empowered knowing that history and approaching the photographic medium, the camera and the ideas around photography. It kind of gives me a one-up as a photographer and also creates an even more healthier relationship because I know the context.

What is your process like when you’re working with the people you photograph?

LAYLAH: It depends. Regardless of the situation, I like respect to be present, agency to be present, some type of sentiment of collaboration, just something where exploitation is not there. I do a lot of assignment work and I do my personal projects and sometimes those circumstances are different. Sometimes I only have five minutes to photograph someone when I’m on assignment. Sometimes I get a week and if I’m doing something long term, I’m revisiting the story or the project. I like for the people that I’m documenting to know what my intentions are with creating the story and the dissemination of their photographs, how it’ll look and how they’ll be represented. So a lot of transparency.

Mike Griffin, community organizer and Minneapolis resident, shares his feeling of being stuck in the navigation of two brutalities– COVID-19 and police abuse– both of which are felt intimately by himself and those he loves.
Mike Griffin, community organizer and Minneapolis resident, shares his feeling of being stuck in the navigation of two brutalities– COVID-19 and police abuse– both of which are felt intimately by himself and those he loves.

As a Black creative, how have you navigated the photo world/industry?

LAYLAH: I’ve always powered through the boundaries in some kind of way. For example, if I have an idea, it will leave my head and be manifested someway, that’s just who I am. That’s the Leo in me. I’ve always been very driven, and so if I do a project and I can’t get it published, I know I can exhibit it. I know that I can have it exist in the world in some kind of way. For a very long time I prioritized exhibiting my work. I didn’t even think about approaching a paper or magazine or anything like that. I went straight to the exhibition. I knew possible spaces in my community where I can show my work, I knew how to write grants, I knew how to fundraise, to print and frame the work; everything associated with mounting an exhibition. That has been one big way where I felt like I have won. There were so many gatekeepers to keep me out of being published or to keep me out of having the world engage with my work. And I felt like that has been very successful. With exhibiting my work, it was easier to then publish the work. Making my own way, making my own opportunities through exhibiting the work first has been one really successful way of me navigating the no’s and the hesitation and the second guessing that Black creatives can come up against. What I’m saying is to be resourceful and enterprising and lean on your community because a mainstream paper may not have published my work, but a local gallery exhibited my work, our local community arts center exhibited my work. It’s still able to be produced, impact people, and engage in the same effect as publishing your work in a sense. People are looking at it, they’re engaging it, they’re questioning it and all of that stuff. So just thinking about different ways to disperse your work, identify your goals and thinking about different, unconventional ways to achieve them.

How has the impact of MFON evolved since its release?

LAYLAHI’m so happy we did that book. We did a limited edition run of the book. I’m very proud of that. Of course a lot of people bought the book but one of the bigger objectives of ours was to have the book be present in institutions, libraries, archives, etc. Like that was huge for us, and that’s what happened. It’s present in the collections of so many universities, institutions such as MoMA, Harvard, Howard. Libraries in Europe and universities in Europe. So that was a great thing. Soon after we went to speak, so we spoke at Harvard, we spoke at the Tate in London. We spoke at the MoAD in San Francisco, just all over the country and at various points in the world. Then we started to exhibit works from the book at various locations, so we exhibited at Photoville in New York City and Photoville in Los Angeles. We exhibited it in Rwanda at the embassy. We were able to take the works form the book and mount exhibitions based on the book. We also did a fun exhibition at the Biennale de Bamako, which is one of the longest running biennials out on the African continent. We did an exhibition at the PH Museum, we did an exhibition at MoCADA museum, I mean we were able to just grow from the book to the exhibitions. During that, we’ve done a lot of talks with some of the artists associated with the book at the Magnum Foundation, at the Schomburg, also in Rwanda and London and D.C., and we’ve done some stuff online.

So, you know, it’s doing everything we want. There’s many things that have grown out of the book, which is great and eventually we’ll do another book, but the book exists in the world and that’s what we wanted. It is there. We’re happy about that. Now we’re moving into some of the programs that are dealing with archiving and legacy and all of those things, because one of the big components in naming the book MFON was that she was a friend of ours, who was from Baltimore. We wanted people to remember her. We wanted people to remember her work and we wanted people to know. We wanted to increase the visibility of Black women photographers in that way in book form to be present in the archive. There’s many different ways to increase the visibility of Black women photographers, but this is the way that we felt strongly about. We love books, we’re very concerned about the archive. We’re concerned about visibility, and we love exhibitions. We did a huge exhibition in Philadelphia, it was the largest exhibition of Black women photographers ever. 54 Black women photographers at the African-American museum last year, so that’s the kind of thing that we do.

Sammy's Avenue Eatery, one of only a handful of black-owned restaurants in the city of George Floyd's death, glows in eventide, providing free sandwiches for the likes of the Freedom Fighters and other community protection organizations.
Sammy’s Avenue Eatery, one of only a handful of black-owned restaurants in the city of George Floyd’s death, glows in eventide, providing free sandwiches for the likes of the Freedom Fighters and other community protection organizations.

Making my own way, making my own opportunities through exhibiting the work first has been one really successful way of me navigating the no’s and the hesitation and the second guessing that Black creatives can come up against.

When did you become a member of Kamoinge? What is it like? Has being a part of the collective had an impact on you in any way?

LAYLAHI became a member of Kamoinge in 2017. It came as a surprise. I wasn’t expected to be recruited for the group. You know, I knew of them. Of course I was inspired by the members and their individual works, now inspired by the collective work that they’ve done. It was something that I watched from afar. Anytime they had a show, I went. It was like being around Black royalty, Black photographic royalty, really incredible. I was really grateful to live in New York and have access to the works that they do firsthand, that they were doing at this moment. It was great, so when I was supposed to become a part of it, I was just like, wow, that’s pretty unexpected and interesting, so I accepted. I had to present my work and, you know, the Kamoinge Workshop a big on their reviews and critiques. That’s a big part of the experience of being in the group, so I was so happy to have that experience. Sometimes when I’m working, I don’t get a chance to have people look at the work and think about it and critique it before I put it out in the world. So it was really nice to be present in that practice and have my work be looked upon and engaged by some of the greatest photographers and printers, street photographers, set photographers; you have an array of mastery in that group. I love saying that I’m a part of Kamoinge. That really was a nice addition to my bio, and I love that they’re still around and that someone like me is part of it and can be part of it. They started in 1963 and they’re still around, some of the founding members are around and that gives me hope for the work that I want to do. I’m looking at the longevity, and seeing an example of how something can be sustained and be present decades later. I think that has been a good example for me. Knowing that the work that I do, the vision that I have can not only be manifested, but it’s still possible for the generations to come to still be engaged in the work that I’m doing presently.

What do you hope people take away from your imagery?

LAYLAH: That’s so interesting, ’cause I’m thinking of all the pictures I’ve taken that I’ve made and they all have a different message. Honestly, I hope that people look at my work and feel some sense of soothing. I want people to feel good and I want people to feel like they’ve learned something, or something was clarified or something was verified. I want people to see the beauty of Black folks. I primarily do storytelling around Black diasporic folks and African folks, African people, Black diasporic people…so I’m interested in the nuances around our lives and our traditions, identities and cultures. I want to amplify that and celebrate those things. When people look at my pictures I want them to feel like they are part of a celebration of Black beauty, Black excellence, Black intellect and Black joy.