Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.
E M Forster
Introduction
We are social creatures and our relationships one with another are important, be it family, community, a common history, or a shared vision of the future. But, as with any behaviour, human connection has many aspects. It has its dark obverse when the tight-knit inward regard of one group leads them to demean or reject another. And, while those so rejected may draw on the solidarity by which such alienation is resisted, the danger is of mounting fragmentation.
As another year draws to a close, Talking Pictures asked twelve photographic artists from around the world to consider the nature of human connection, selecting an image that, for them, spoke to the theme. Their perspectives are diverse, and their interpretations of connection are likewise nuanced and multifaceted. Seeing their images and reading what they each had to say, I was reminded of E. M. Forster’s famous declaration: Only connect…
In those two words, Forster condensed a cluster of ideas that go well beyond simple interpersonal relationships. The phrase expresses a moral, psychological, and social imperative to unite things that modern life increasingly tends to keep apart. Through the voice of his heroine Margaret Schlegel, he urges us to connect personal emotions with moral action, imagination with reality, and the inner life of the individual with their outer life in the world. Only connect… is a call for authentic human relations founded on listening, empathy, and genuine understanding. To connect across class and culture, past and future, and resist the fragmentation of a society that sets money and technology ahead of humanity. To create together a shared life that is coherent, compassionate, and generous.
Alasdair Foster
Edgar Alvarez
Colombia
In Necoclí, Colombia, on the shores of a sea that seems to blend hope and uncertainty, Haitian migrants pause before continuing their journey toward the United States. They arrive carrying small backpacks and enormous dreams, trying to hold in their hands everything life has allowed them to keep.
Necoclí is not just a place of passage, but a territory where dreams take root. The sound of the waves reminds them that a horizon is still possible, that every movement forward is an act of faith in a different future. The connection between the migrant and the space where they dream is born here, in this mix of uncertainty and will. And, although their destination lies far away, beyond borders and jungles, it is in this corner of the Colombian Caribbean that hope becomes a compass.
More about Edgar Alvarez and his work here…
Antonio Briceño
Venezuela
The Tunupa volcano, located on the edge of the Uyuni salt lake, has a mythical history that has evolved over the centuries. Millennia ago, the volcano embodied a masculine power, a mature god who was violent, protective, but severe, associated with lightning and eruptions. In the myth, the god is finally banished and dies in the sea. With the passage of time and the succession of cultures, the vision of the volcano was transformed into a young goddess who taught humans agriculture and the cultivation of quinoa, the use of the loom, and peaceful coexistence in society. A nurturing goddess whose spilled milk is manifested in the white and infinite salt flat. The two gods thus represent a mirror image: an old man and a young woman; a god of nature and a goddess of culture; a severe god and a benevolent goddess; a god who dies and a goddess who lives forever.
More about Antonio Briceño and his work here…
Renée C Byer
USA
In this photograph of Luther cradling his dying wife Claire’s fragile body from the shower to their bedroom – one image from a series documenting their lives – connection and disconnection unfold as the couple confront twin tragedies: a fatal illness and looming foreclosure. The stark tones heighten the urgency, while his tender gaze reflects the love that sustained them, even as society initially overlooked their plight. By documenting this intimate moment, the photograph exposed gaps in our healthcare and financial systems and allowed Claire to fulfill her dying wish: to remain in her home before the bank reclaimed it. It also inspired the community to raise $20,000 for Luther, underscoring the power of visual storytelling to reveal the unvarnished reality of life, uphold dignity, and spark meaningful change.
More about Renée C Byer and her work here…
Boris Eldagsen
Germany
Photography is a handshake with the world: you meet whatever is in front of the lens and try not to lie too much. AI, on the other hand, is a handshake with your subconscious – slightly sweaty, slightly awkward, disturbingly honest. It turns image-making into a psychological excavation, where each prompt exposes another layer of who I am, or who I fear I might be. In this sense, AI isn’t a detour away from reality; it’s a shortcut into the inner swamps. Connection becomes introspection: an opportunity to recognise the stranger wearing my face.
More about Boris Eldagsen and his work here…
Elena Givone
Italy
In this portrait of Dilbar, a seven-year-old refugee living in a tent, I hear the echo of a city left behind – Aleppo, her home, her friends, her first world. “I wish to have a new home and many friends,” she tells me, carrying this wish like the small seed of a future, not here, not yet, but still bright enough to warm her through the night.
Connection, for her, is memory threaded with possibility – a bridge from what was to what may be. In her eyes, we find ourselves: fragile, luminous, reaching outward to that bridge of which she continues to dream.
While working in a Syrian refugee camp, Elena Givone led an art workshop called Hopes and Dreams. She told the story of Rafi, a small refugee rabbit looking for a new home. The children then shared their hopes for the future through their drawings and ideas. After which they took Rafi bunny to their tent, where she photographed them together. More about Elena Givone and her work here…
Li Aixiao
China
As daily life becomes increasingly virtual in the post-pandemic era, I keep circling back to one question: how do we resist alienation?
Working at a funeral home, this man knows death too well, too young. Added to this, he lost both parents in a little over a year. A silence still lingers in their home. He told me he once tried to leave this world, but the moment passed. Now he says he drifts toward neither death nor life, just following the body’s basic rhythm, the walking dead.
For this photograph, we stood on his parents’ bedroom balcony. The sun was bright. Of the plants they once carefully tended, only a few drought-resistant ones still stubbornly cling to life. I put on his clothes. In that moment, stepping into his role, I felt a sudden unbidden urge to hold him. He said he no longer needed an embrace, that it was like food arriving only after the hunger has passed. Yet he didn’t pull away from this ‘other him’.
In her ongoing series ‘I Am with Me’, Li Aixiao explores the personal spaces of strangers. They chat and do everyday things together, and then the stranger lends her their clothes to wear. Within in this space of private connection and mutual trust it is as if they have started to ‘become’ each other. More about Li Aixiao and her work here…
Diego Moreno
Mexico
Taking self-portraits was a peaceful ritual that filled our nights, and so you left, little by little. I don’t mention you as much anymore, nor will I do so outside of this verse. Now I just look at our photographs on my cell phone, on the dresser, stuck to the mirror in my room. It’s the only thing that allows me to anchor myself to the present.
It’s late, and I think that mentioning you and looking at our photographs is another way of knowing that you exist, that your weight was on my body, that your voice is in the dripping of the shower, in the murmur of the birds, far away. Because one way of not saying goodbye to what was, to what was loved, to what blossomed and ignited and connected life, is to treasure their name, to say it. Mamá Cleme.
When he was three years old, Diego Morena’s parents abandoned him with his maternal grandmother Clemencia. They did not recognise him as their son until he was fifteen. More about Diego Moreno and his work here…
Xiangjie Peng
China
Over the past two years, the Migulu community has grown to include twenty drag queens living in the city of Chongqing, China. They are very active and frequently connect with other queer communities in mainland China to organise performances and parties, of which Halloween is an annual highlight. However, this year the authorities banned the parties citing unspecified “force majeure” and the performances in Chongqing and Shenzhen had to be cancelled. Only in Chengdu was a costume party successfully held – underground and in secret. Here the queer community came together in joyful celebration of their solidarity in diversity and resistance to suppression.
More about Xiangjie Peng and his work here…
Allison Plass
USA
What does it feel like for boys and men to have only been given one story? Countless times, I bring my partner and two teenage sons to the generative space of the garden, a threshold leading us into another world. Here, softness, intimacy, the longing for connection – between brothers and fathers and sons – are nurtured through repetition, re-enacted and reimagined, taking root over time. That is my hope anyway.
In this picture, I give my son a mirror, a frame within a frame, wanting to see what he will create. Something is being born in this new generation of boys and men, or is it an undoing? The father leans into his son’s story and I wonder if he sees himself differently in this new lens, a form of awakening for him too. I like to picture the emotional connection reclaimed between fathers and sons everywhere, a vision for the future.
More about Allison Plass and her work here…
Steve Reeves
United Kingdom
I saw ninety-seven-year-old Michael at a bus stop and photographed him because I liked his smart overcoat and shiny shoes. That brief meeting led to further visits, and it soon became clear he was struggling alone. I began helping with small jobs and visiting regularly. Michael is now a hundred, is virtually housebound with dementia, and I have become his primary carer. My connection with Michael taught me more about patience, memory, and dignity than I ever expected. What began as a street portrait became a friendship that changed my whole view on ageing in our society.
More about Steve Reeves and his work here…
Agnieszka Sosnowska
Iceland
I am an elementary school teacher. I immigrated to Iceland twenty years ago. I teach at a small countryside school. Martin came out as trans to us when he was in the sixth grade. He was accepted by all in the school. I truly believe that this level of tolerance far outweighs any measure of scholastic government testing. In this photograph we were on our annual field trip. The students hiked twenty to thirty kilometres over two days and slept together in a mountain hut. These long hikes help build school spirit for the start of the school year.
More about Agnieszka Sosnowska and her work here…
Lara Wilde
Germany
If there were a way to plug our hearts directly into another human being – no small talk, no performance, no delay – we still wouldn’t use it. In all our hunger for touch, in the ache of loneliness and the craving to feel truly seen, we drag behind us the wreckage of every encounter we’ve ever had. We know we need other people, to share resources, intimacy, companionship. And precisely because we know this, we panic at the thought of losing what little connection we already have. So we freeze, holding ourselves at arm’s length, even from the ones we need most.
What would it take to let ourselves be truly seen by others? The only situations that feel honest are apocalyptic, the free fall of vulnerability. We say the words we’ve been swallowing for years. We hold each other, not delicately, but like a lifeline.
The world already feels one step away from several endings. So why not borrow the courage of ‘no tomorrow’ today?
More about Lara Wilde and her work here…
