A Conversation with Jehane Mahmoud: On the Sacredness of the Everyday

Hello Jehane! As we speak, where are you, and how are you?

Hi Flora, I am in Marseille, with you. I am fine, hamdoullah. Summer is over, but September is hot and intense. I have PMS, and even though I am very happy with the opening of our exhibition and confident with what is coming, I am also deeply affected by what is happening in the world right now, with the ongoing genocide in Palestine and the murder of Demartravion Trey Reed. 

In a world where violence is part of the daily life of so many of us, you use photography as a talisman and artworks as protective icons. When we enter the exhibition space, they are watching us. The way you share your work with the audience carries a ritualistic quality. How does this mirror your working methods?

I love all things, from the dew drop to the stone, from the camera to the print. I find in objects an aspect of the soul that fascinates and captivates me. I believe that everything can be marvelous depending on how we relate to the world. There are powerful energies in things and people, and that's how I see photography: a combination of almost everything I love — nature, light, objects, bodies, the relationship between bodies. I ritualize everything in my life, and every encounter with people I love takes on great importance. So the whole process of photography is a bit like the alchemy of all these things together, and what's more, the still image is a unique object, charged with all these things. It's like when you consider a stone or a tree as a combination of time, history, biology and aesthetics; it's powerful and therefore holds power, so inevitably it acts. I take my photos in friendly, intimate settings, taking my time: it's like a slow choreography, the beginning of a ritual. Photography is an object that contains this ritualistic process because it contains within it a moment that is past, a moment that is future and a moment that is frozen. It is the object that we have kept, that materializes them. And it's also full of wonderful little details of life. That’s why I think it's a beautiful, magical object.

Is this ritualistic dimension, this sacrality, specific to photography or do you find it in other aspects of your practice? I’m thinking in particular of writing, which you seem to use as a way of repairing memories.

Writing is the practice that goes back the furthest. I started writing quite early, around the age of 11, and I've always loved it. I think it's the main connecting thread and my best means of expressing myself and creating images. It's also what I aspire to in cinema. In fact, the word sacred is quite accurate because I find that sacredness is a good explanation for beauty and the relation between the beautiful and the profound. So, for example, when I write, I put myself in a certain state; there's an instinctive dimension to what my body and mind produce together. It's also a kind of ritual, something that I personally feel quite connected to God. What about you, what's your relationship to writing? 

For me, writing is a place of honesty. Starting to write feels much harder than it used to, perhaps because I’m more aware of the responsibility that comes with putting words to reality, and of how important it is to choose them carefully when explaining or translating others’ ideas, work, and lives. My texts draw on the intimacy I create with artists, their works and the conversations that arise from them. Maybe that’s where we meet? For your work is indeed rooted in intimacy: the scenes you create in your photo, films or clip often feature your close ones. Can you tell me more about your relation with your models/protagonists? 

I deeply cherish people and enjoy fostering strong friendships. My most successful photographs are captured during moments of trust and serenity, both for the model and myself. This is something I strive to establish even before taking photographs; I require harmony and for everyone to feel comfortable. My work is often associated with intimacy, and I think that for me, intimacy comes through modesty and slowness, which allow for wonder and attention to detail (laughter, light, wind blowing through hair). For me, an encounter is always meaningful, and I think I can look at people quite well. I consider them and therefore listen to them. It's about considering all the aspects that come into play: how the person feels in their body, how they feel when being photographed. I don't question them, but observe, listen and adapt as much as possible, and quite easily. The question of casting is central for me, because it's also a matter of ethics, in the choice of people we work with and the representations we create. I consider models to be equal collaborators.

This ethic of caring for others is also to be found in your relationship with viewers: in your films, you whisper secrets to us; your photographs can be touched and caressed; we can curl up in your installations. Can you tell us about the sensorial experience your works offer to the audience? Is this related to your own very physical relationship with your works?

I guess it's in line with what I've been saying about objects and the wonder I feel every day on earth. My favorite sense is sight, and I think that when you look at something, sometimes you want to touch it. 

 Personally, I need to work lying down or in a very comfortable position. Ever since nursery school, I have never been able to sit still on a chair without moving every two seconds. This is why I believe it is important to make people feel comfortable by offering a wide range of seating options and ways to relax. Nature is designed to make us comfortable and is often ergonomic, and my number one inspiration is nature. Animals are almost always comfortably settled, which brings flexibility and relaxation. I want the same thing for the people who are listening to me. Capitalist society is rough, rigorous and restrictive. I am an anarchist and I really like soft and shiny things. 

 My work is built on a daily relationship with people and practice: for a long time, I was constantly taking pictures, always carrying my cameras with me. Then I switched to medium format photography and my relationship with production changed, it became slower. Film photography has this ritualistic dimension, requiring discipline and attention when working in the darkroom. The total darkness of color printing, the solitude, the magic of the process — all of this is very sensory and has trained me to feel my body in space in a way I had never learned before. It feeds my meticulousness and my taste for finishing touches, but it also highlights the scarcity and preciousness of each image. By switching to photographic printing on fabric, I have transferred my touch-based connection to the works, the pleasure of holding the images, to the public. And for my part, I continue to make each image unique by incorporating hand-finished details, embroidery and small beadwork. 

Your work is shaped by the idea of repair: the repair of beings and the repair of memory. How does this desire translate into the images you produce and the representations they convey?

The people I represent are often those I identify as my peers — often women, people of color. What I'm about to say is fairly standard, but I couldn't relate to the way films and television portray minorities – each in their stereotypical roles, marked by racism and fetishism. All of this damages us. My imagination moves along a totally different path, inseparable from my way of seeing reality. Naturally, my images evolved in the same direction, reflecting my own situated gaze and giving space to the protagonists' agency.

Speaking of broadcasting images, I’ll move on to my final question — the one I ask everyone I interview for Tide: what do you watch when you’re online, scrolling through social media?

I recently deleted Instagram, but I still follow Palestinian journalists and “Islamo-leftist” medias such as Blast, Le Média, Histoires Crépues and Parole d’Honneur. 

I also watch a lot of chefs and recipes related to hormonal issues and women's health. At one point, when I was pregnant, I learned a lot about childbirth and obstetric violence through Afro-feminist accounts. And of course I love Emotional Support Dyke memes, even though I'm a total straight girl.

¹ Jehane and I collaborated on an exhibition, To become 2: Là où poser sa tête, which features her work and Camille Soualem’s in Vidéochroniques, Marseille (August 30th - December 20th, 2025). To become 2 is a curatorial research platform dedicated to feminist collective practices. Founded in 2022, it allows me to develop long-term collaborations through exhibitions, fanzines, and gatherings. Its name is inspired by the book To Become Two: Propositions for Feminist Collective Practice by artist Alex Martinis Roe, in which she documents her research into the genealogy of certain political practices within specific feminist communities in Europe and Australia since the 1970s.