Karla Hiraldo Voleau and Nyo Jinyong Lian in conversation with Francesca Hummler

The open call “Sisterhood in Practice,” launched for International Women’s Day, inviting artists to reflect on solidarity, process, and collective growth. While the online exhibition is running through April 8, we are extending this initiative and continuing our “Spread the Dialogue” series by bringing selected artists into conversation, creating a space where practices can meet, challenge one another, and unfold through exchange. In this edition, Karla Hiraldo Voleau and Nyo Jinyong Lian reflect on collaboration, intimacy, and the ethics of representation across different cultural contexts.

Jinyong Lian (Nyo)’s "I Hope Someday You’ll Join Us" unfolds from lived experiences of displacement and queer identity, where intimacy is shaped by negotiation and where trust is continuously constructed through game-like play within shifting social and cultural environments. Karla Hiraldo Voleau’s "Doble Moral" centers on abortion access in the Dominican Republic, developing through extended conversations with participants whose experiences are often silenced, and through a sociological process that prioritizes story telling. Together, their dialogue considers photography as a tool to form relationships and engage with the issues they see affecting their communities most.

Francesca Hummler: To begin, I would love for each of you to introduce yourselves and your practice.

Nyo Jinyong Lian: I am a visual artist originally from China, and I am currently based in Paris, where I completed both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees. My work moves between Paris, Shanghai, and New York, and I think this constant movement between places really shapes how I see people and how I approach photography. I often collaborate with friends, but also with people I find through casting or online. I am usually drawn to individuals who have a strong presence, or who seem to carry something within them that they want to express, especially through their body or through performance. I think I am interested in this space where something is not fully articulated yet, where there is still potential or tension.

Karla Hiraldo Voleau: I am a French Dominican artist. I was born in Santo Domingo, but I grew up mostly in France, and now I have been based in Switzerland for about ten years. At the same time, I travel a lot for work, residencies, and long-term projects, so I do not feel completely fixed in one place. My work is rooted in what I call performative and participatory photography. I am interested in intimacy, gender, the body, and questions around women’s rights, and my projects often begin from something very personal, something that I have experienced or struggled with myself. From there, the work expands outward, from the “I” to the “we,” and becomes a way of addressing something more collective or societal.

FH: I think what connects both of your practices is that you are working with people in a way that goes much deeper than a traditional subject photographer relationship. There is something about trust, but also something about vulnerability and collaboration that feels very central. I would love to hear more about how you each approach that.

KHV: For me, honesty is really the foundation of everything. I work with themes that can be very sensitive, so it is important that the people I collaborate with understand the intention behind the work. At the same time, even though my practice is collaborative, it is also quite solitary. I handle everything from the conceptual stage to the final presentation, so I am always carrying the project myself. What I call collaboration happens in fragments, almost like satellites around the work. There are moments of exchange, but ultimately I am the one holding everything together.

NJL: For me, collaboration works in a slightly different way. I often think of it as a kind of game. When I invite someone to participate, I do not explain everything in detail. There is always something that remains unknown to them. I think this is important, because it creates a space where something unexpected can happen. I might propose a simple action or a small challenge, something that feels playful, and from there we build something together. Sometimes people feel a bit lost in the beginning, but I actually think this is a good thing. It allows them to enter the process without too many expectations.

KHV: I think that is very interesting, because it connects to vulnerability in a different way. When people are not fully in control, or when they do not know exactly what will happen, they have to let go of something.

NJL: Yes, exactly. And I think vulnerability is often misunderstood. It is usually associated with weakness or failure, especially in a more patriarchal way of thinking, but I see it as something that can open new possibilities. When you allow for uncertainty, you allow for something real to emerge. You cannot fully control emotions or stories, and I think that is where the work becomes alive.

KHV: I agree, although I also feel that in the art world there has been a shift. Vulnerability is no longer necessarily seen as something negative. In some ways, it is even being used or capitalized on. But within the process itself, it still holds something genuine, something that cannot be fully instrumentalized.

FH: I would love to shift slightly toward the question of context, because both of you are working across different cultures, and often in places where you are not entirely fixed. Photography has such a complicated history when it comes to representation, so I am curious how you navigate making work in and between these different environments.

KHV: For me, this is something I think about constantly. Being bicultural means always feeling a bit split, like you are not fully one thing or the other. There is also a kind of guilt that comes with making work about a place while benefiting from another. For example, when I worked on a project about abortion in the Dominican Republic, I had to question my legitimacy all the time. My personal experience was not the same as the people I was working with, so I had to be very aware of that gap. At the same time, I came to understand that being between cultures can also be a strength. It gives you a different perspective, and perhaps a more complex one.

NJL: I feel something similar. Moving between different places has a big impact on my work. It changes how I see people, but also how I connect with them. In New York, for example, I found it very easy to connect with communities, especially within Asian and LGBTQ groups. There was a kind of openness. In Paris, it felt very different. People were more reserved, and it was harder to build those connections. I had to find different ways of approaching people, sometimes by explaining a very strong vision of what I wanted to create, almost like proposing a future that does not yet exist.

KHV: I also think that where you start a project from is very important. I try to avoid what is often called parachute documentary photography, where you arrive somewhere, take images, and then leave. I prefer to work with people and places that I already have some connection to, whether through my personal life or through networks that I trust. I also collaborate with local organizations, especially when working on sensitive topics.

FH: It feels like this approach becomes a kind of counterweight to that history, a way of grounding the work in relationships rather than distance.

JLN: Yes, and I think the process of reaching out to people is already part of that. For me, contacting someone online, inviting them into a project, and then building something together is already a form of connection. I try to present it as something playful, like a game, so that it feels open rather than formal.

KHV: I also use social media a lot, especially Instagram, and sometimes open calls within feminist networks. My work is very much rooted in a sociological approach. I am interested in understanding people through their lived experiences and emotions, and photography becomes a way to explore that.

FH: I think what you are both describing also connects to something political, even if it is not always explicitly framed that way. The act of reaching out, of involving yourself in someone else’s life, of building these relationships, it feels like a form of community building.

NJL: I agree. For me, the intimate space is already political. Even when the work is very personal, it is still connected to larger systems and structures.

KHV: Yes, I think everything is political, whether we acknowledge it or not. There is sometimes this idea that art can be apolitical, but I do not believe that. Saying that something is not political is already a political position. At the same time, I think it is important for artists to choose their focus carefully. We cannot respond to everything. It is better to engage deeply with one subject that really matters to you.

FH: There is also this strange tension where artists are expected to respond to very large societal issues, while at the same time being told to stay within certain boundaries or to only speak from their own position.

KHV: Yes, and that can create a kind of pressure or even a paralysis. But I think the key is to remain conscious, to keep questioning your position and your legitimacy, without letting that stop you completely.

NJL: I also think that the current moment has changed how people relate to these questions. There is a lot of instability, and people are losing trust in institutions, in media, in authority. But at the same time, this creates space for something new.

KHV: I have noticed that as well, especially when speaking with younger people. There is almost a default distrust. They question everything, which can be difficult, but also very important.

NJL: For me, this instability is something I try to work with. I think of my projects as a kind of rehearsal, a way to imagine different systems or different ways of being together. The present is already political, and the images we create are part of that.

FH: To close, I would love to ask each of you what you hope your work can offer moving forward, especially in relation to this idea of collective growth.

KHV: For me, the goal is to create connection. I want the viewer to feel something, to enter into an introspective space where they can reflect on themselves and their relationship to others. I think that is how change can begin, not necessarily through direct statements, but through emotional resonance.

NJL: I want to create what I call speculative rehearsals. Images that allow people to imagine futures that do not yet exist, especially in times of uncertainty. I believe that the future is built through acts of trust, even when trust feels fragile. Through these small acts, through these collaborations, we can begin to imagine new systems, new ways of living together that are more open and more playful.