“Mooncatch” taken in 2022, captures fishermen in Apo Island preparing to catch fish during a full moon. Courtesy of Tarzeer Pictures.
It’s best to visit Hannah Reyes Morales’ exhibit when it’s quiet.
On the gallery floor, the silence urges you to slow down and stay still with the photos, allowing for a longer look. There in the silence, stories from around the world reveal themselves slowly, intently; a contrast to the constant buzz of news that’s normally fed to us through the screen.
“I was telling someone earlier that I think I wanted to make sure that the first time I would show work in this way would be back home in Manila,” Morales shares on her exhibit’s opening night. “I’d always wanted a space for photography where I could see photography in a different way beyond my phone, like actually have the experience of images on a wall, feel the image as object. I feel I’ve been waiting for a space like Tarzeer […]when I was starting out when I was younger.”
In Morales’ first exhibit in the Philippines, Home Holds Still, the photojournalist revisits a decade of fearless reportage filled with both grit and hope. In staging photos from her previous assignments from the Philippines to Liberia, Senegal, and more, Tarzeer Pictures gives these stories second wind and looks into what new narratives can form through fresh eyes.
Over the course of her career, Morales’ eye for the softer, tender moments amid stories of violence (from former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte’s drug war, the 2017 Marawi siege, and the Filipino comfort women of World War II) rise to the surface. She shares with Vogue Philippines that her intention as a photojournalist is to provide a fuller representation of her subjects.
Lensing a Malaya Lola’s hand holding a dragonfly, a mother in Liberia waiting for her son to fall asleep, or a Tagbanwa navigator with his head tilted to the stars, Morales captures a point of view that might have been obscured before. They are parts of a news story on her assignment; but they are also mothers, sisters, and family to others as well.
Vogue Philippines talks to Morales about her first photography exhibit and how her craft might continue evolving through the years.
What does it mean for you to have your photos be exhibited in Tarzeer?
I’ve been so grateful for this whole process—in a way, this show has been in the making for years. When I moved to Paris in 2022, it was the first time that I had a critical distance to the day to day grind of documentary photography, as well as critical distance from the Philippines. It was the first time that I was seeing—with some regularity—how artists say things in a space. At the same time, through a fellowship I had in Columbia’s Institute for Ideas and Imagination, I began to see the value of my work beyond assignments. I became more comfortable with the idea that documentary photography—including my own—should find homes, a life beyond publication.
I’ve shown my work around the world but not with the same careful thought and consideration that we’ve done here. Tarzeer has been the space I had always hoped would exist in Manila, and I’m so grateful that my first solo is here.
In our earlier interview, you mention craving physical spaces that allow people to slow down. What’s the difference between seeing your photos online versus seeing it in person in Tarzeer?
Lately, I’ve found that I feel most myself in offline spaces.
Day to day I’ve found myself feeling really lost and disjointed, waking up, checking my phone, scrolling, and knowing that an algorithm decides where my attention goes.
For me, being in physical spaces—whether they are art spaces, cinema, the outdoors—helps me reclaim where I put my attention. It breaks up what I form in my inner world, it helps me feel again.
Seeing my images in a physical space reminds me of why I fell in love with photographs in the first place. A moment happens in front of you, and later on you can hold that moment in your hand and stay with it. It’s almost the opposite of how we consume images these days—quickly, and all at the same time. Images of genocide next to a video of a baby border collie next to an eyeliner tutorial next to a fire burning an entire shanty community. I find it maddening. As an artist I find it much harder to make sense of what I am trying to say when there is so much noise.
Here, we took time to consider the space, the light, how we frame it, how the images speak to one another. Online, an article, an image might reach a million readers, but the images won’t hold them in the same way that this space might.
I’m hoping that in some small way, what we’ve put together here might resonate with people who might be hoping to lift their gaze a bit. It was brought together with a lot of intention and care.
Can you tell me about the choice to include “Wash Away,” a personal photo in between assignments, in this exhibit? What’s the story behind the photo and how does it tie in with the rest of the images selected?
When I am on assignment I try to remember to make photos for myself. One day for my editor, one photo for me. I loved this moment—there were birds flying around the water and it felt like magic and I was the only person there for a while. I just listened to the water.
The exhibit is able to bring your past assignments to life again, while also seeing new narratives form now with fresh eyes falling on it. Can you tell me more about that experience and how you feel about it?
I started editing this work, particularly my work in the Philippines, with photographer Geric Cruz in the summer. I often have a hard time editing my own work, and it took me a lot of time to understand how to see it all together. I had always been a bit of a faithful translator when it came to my images, sometimes being very literal because of my background in editorial photography and reportage. It felt like a voyage going through this process, and trying to imagine a life for the images beyond their initial publication.
Since I started, I’ve really just been trying to find answers to my questions about home. I’m still looking.
As a photojournalist, your identity behind the camera and your access to stories matter. I’d love to know your experience as a Filipino photographer across your assignments over the decade.
I’m so proud to be Filipina, even when I’m on field. I’m not sure whether it makes it easier or more challenging, since it’s all I’ve ever known, but outside of the Philippines it’s often a surprise to people so I’m met with some curiosity. I think often I see a connection, meeting people from other ‘global south’ countries, and having an understanding of different places from a non-Western perspective.
How has being a mother affected your life and your craft? You previously mentioned that seeing your old photos feels almost dissonant, since you’ve just been in this space of childbirth.
Recently I had to give a talk in Bristol in the autumn. I was looking at the photos I took so I could write to them, and I felt so homesick. I couldn’t remember the warmth of the water. Following labor, it’s sometimes hard for me to imagine what life used to be like on the road, but I’m slowly making my way back.
Do you think that now, as a mother, the way you take photos or see moments will change?
As in loving, I am hoping how I see will expand too, but who knows what will happen?
