Fatherhood is such a wide spectrum that hundreds of books, movies, songs, and photos have been made in order to capture its nuances. No father is alike — just like their kids. Photographer Carlos Idun-Tawiah lost his father too soon, when he was just eighteen years old. Since then, he’s been navigating a melange of feelings including grief, loss, melancholy, and joy when remembering him. But he realised one thing: he didn’t have many pictures with him. “Now that he is no more, my memory of him is my only proof of the bond we shared, and that erasure feels scary,” he confesses in this interview.
To amend this, he’s been working on the series Hero, Father, Friend, a candid, honest, and vulnerable story that puts Carlos in front of the camera for the first time in his artistic career. Through fictional scenes, we see his exploration of Black fatherhood and sonship, and we realise it’s the ‘little’ things that are embedded in our memory. “I believe in the little things too, and how they make the big things what they are. To this day, I still remember my dad teaching me how to polish his shoes and how to fix a tie, so maybe those moments weren’t so little after all,” Carlos reflects.
As we saw in previous series like Sunday Special and Boys Will Be Boys, Carlos immerses himself in his incisive work, which takes him months. But after finishing them – especially such a special one –, he’s someone with a deeper knowledge — spiritual, artistic, cultural. Speaking on Hero, Father, Friend, he says: “Making this work made me appreciate fatherhood beyond a status symbol, but as a lifelong journey of handing down legacy in the most ordinary ways.”
Hi Carlos, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. We interviewed you a few months ago to get to know you and your work better, and today, we’re back at it because of your new series Hero, Father, Friend. Could you tell us a bit more about how and when it started?
Thank you for having me again, Arnau. It’s always a pleasure speaking to you and the team at METAL about my work. Over the past few months, I’ve been working on my new series Hero, Father, Friend, a biopic of my late dad and an ode to Black fatherhood and sonship.
My dad and I barely had any photographs together. Now that he is no more, my memory of him is my only proof of the bond we shared, and that erasure feels scary. That’s what deepened my urgency to materialise these lost memories of fatherhood — very mundane moments that never made the family album. With this work, I fell in love with the idea of photographic biopics, ‘self-portraiture’ of my younger self, and the role of fiction in filling the gaps in lost time.
My dad and I barely had any photographs together. Now that he is no more, my memory of him is my only proof of the bond we shared, and that erasure feels scary. That’s what deepened my urgency to materialise these lost memories of fatherhood — very mundane moments that never made the family album. With this work, I fell in love with the idea of photographic biopics, ‘self-portraiture’ of my younger self, and the role of fiction in filling the gaps in lost time.
The pictures are candid, sweet, tender, intimate — just really, really beautiful. As a photographer, you’re an external person observing the father-son relationships you portray. How do you approach the subjects you photograph, especially in such intimate scenes or moments?
It’s fun to sometimes treat my work as a social experiment, where I place my subjects in these scenarios and use my camera to observe what they will make of the plot. Though fictionalised, I try not to interfere so much, allowing my subjects to naturally respond to these characters and situations I assign them to. When they are at their most animated, I grab the shot.
From playing instruments to having lunch, to doing sports, reading in bed, going to church, or travelling, you’ve captured many different moments that build strong, solid bonds between fathers and their kids. I think these snapshots of everyday life really convey the message. You even make them more glorious. Why is it important to you to portray the ordinary as extraordinary?
I believe in the little things too, and how they make the big things what they are. To this day, I still remember my dad teaching me how to polish his shoes and how to fix a tie, so maybe those moments weren’t so little after all. I think portraiture has a tendency to be pretentious, where we all play dress up in front of the camera. This isn’t always a bad thing, but there is a danger in making the archives somewhat incomplete.
Across my work, I try to treat the monumental and the mundane with the same amount of care, and to allow my audience to see the beauty in the many in-between moments that rarely get the attention of the photographer.
Across my work, I try to treat the monumental and the mundane with the same amount of care, and to allow my audience to see the beauty in the many in-between moments that rarely get the attention of the photographer.
“My dad and I barely had any photographs together. Now that he is no more, my memory of him is my only proof of the bond we shared, and that erasure feels scary.”
With Hero, Father, Friend, you set out to explore Black fatherhood from different angles. What have you learnt about it during this process?
Making this work made me appreciate fatherhood beyond a status symbol, but as a lifelong journey of handing down legacy in the most ordinary ways. To me, this is probably one of the biggest privileges we have as men — an opportunity to shape our world and affect a generation beyond ours by showing up, every day.
I love how you’ve portrayed fathers that are present for their families and who’re actively involved in their hobbies, activities, and life. Many times, the fatherly figure is absent, either because he’s working all day and barely has personal time or because he simply walked away (which, unfortunately, happens too often). Did you ever think of including a more negative, absent figure in this series? Why or why not?
Absent fathers weren’t the main focus of this series, but I reflected on my own experience of losing my father at a very young age. I played with shadows as a way of expressing that void. 9th March, for instance, is a reimagination of the night my dad passed away. The shadow of the little boy on the wall was intended as a self-portrait of my uncertain eighteen-year-old self. In contrast, the photograph Dancing With My Father grapples with the bittersweet nostalgia of having a great father who passed away too early. Beyond fathers who walk away from their responsibilities, I considered how sons navigate the vacuum left by death and departure.
Working on Hero, Father, Friend must’ve been emotional and even hard sometimes. Would you describe this process as cathartic? What’s been the toughest and, on the other side, the most gratifying about it?
You come across a lot of cathartic moments working with the archives, and for me, it’s a gift to be able to reflect on and preserve memory with these fictional stories. I’d say research could be the most challenging part since you come across information that could make you uncomfortable, but that’s the beauty of it in the long run — digging through the canon with no idea what you may find, and questioning and reinterpreting those surprises through photography.
In this series, as you explain, you “seek to tell my own story by being both the photographer and the figurative subject.” What was it like to put yourself and your story at the forefront for the first time?
I’m gradually warming up to the world of self-portraiture and thought it’d be important to be more than just a fly on the wall with this series, where I introduce subjects as ‘cameos’ of my younger self. Sharing a personal side of your life with the audience could be difficult, but I’d say that vulnerability is necessary in keeping the work honest and selfless. I mean, now the world knows about the relationship I had with my late dad through my work, but if someone somewhere is touched by that, I guess that’s okay.
You’re no stranger to exploring the topic of family as we saw in previous series like Sunday Special and Boys Will Always Be Boys. What is it about this concept that attracts you both personally and artistically?
I think everything looks better in a unit. Be it plants, furniture, or humans, I believe we find deeper meaning in life when we stay connected. Focusing my gaze on family is my way of envisioning a world where the glory of the nuclear family system is restored. Photography is a powerful way to augment the value of the family in knitting society together, and sometimes I feel part of my purpose as an artist is to remind the world of the people who really matter.
To finish, I guess you’re working on bringing this series to life through exhibits. In the past you’ve toured the world and showed your work at places as renowned as Arles. Can you give us a hint of what you’re cooking?
I definitely look forward to touring with Hero, Father, Friend. I am currently set to debut this work at the Lianzhou Photo Festival in China this Christmas and in Bilbao, Spain, in summer 2025 as part of my Getxophoto Award exhibition (for which this series recently won first place).
Thankfully, there are so many good things on the way — can’t say now (laughs)! That goes without saying, a big thank you to the team that collaborated with me on putting this story together. I hope the world gets to enjoy this labour of love half as much as we did making it.
Thankfully, there are so many good things on the way — can’t say now (laughs)! That goes without saying, a big thank you to the team that collaborated with me on putting this story together. I hope the world gets to enjoy this labour of love half as much as we did making it.
