The Conversations Captured via Photography
Based on an episode with Carl-Phillipe Juste 🇭🇹🇨🇺
Welcome to Latinx in Power, a podcast aiming to help to demystify tech, the way we do that is by interviewing Latinx and Caribbean leaders all over the world to hear their perspective and insights.
In this episode, we talked with Carl-Phillipe Juste (he/him), a photojournalist and art space operator with 30+ years of experience. He is the co-founder/owner of Iris PhotoCollective, IPC Visual Lab, IPC ArtSpace, and IPC ArtStage. Carl specializes in visual storytelling, focusing on human interest, entertainment, science, politics, sports, and documentary photography.
During our conversation, we discussed Carl Juste’s artistic journey and delved into his approach to visual storytelling. We explored how he balances the integrity of photojournalism with his unique perspective as an artist of color.
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How do you feel connected with Latin American culture? Do you consider yourself a Latino?
Well, if you consider French and Spanish to be Romance languages, then I am Latin. I’m a francophone. My mother was born in Cuba, so she was fluent in Spanish, as is my father. My sister also speaks Spanish. However, we share a common culture. Therefore, I can navigate and switch between identifying as Caribbean and as Latin.
The possibility of being both at the same time is not something that’s impossible. So, I consider myself with one foot in each place, but it’s a part of my identity because I cannot completely divorce myself from it. My mother was Cuban, so I consider myself both Latin and a francophone.
Did you always speak French and Spanish, or mostly French?
I mostly speak French and Creole, but as a matter of practice, I feel most comfortable in English, of course. However, I understand Spanish, although I’m not fluent in it. Living in Miami, you cannot avoid being exposed to it. Both my parents were fluent in Spanish, French, Creole, and English. The traditions we observed, like eating grapes on New Year’s Eve and attending Midnight Mass, felt familiar to me. So, as I mentioned earlier, I can’t completely detach myself from the influence of Spanish or Spanish culture, as I was raised in it. The music that filled our house included artists like Julio Iglesias and Cachao, so there was a lot of Latin-Afro-Cuban music. I don’t think it’s something I own; rather, it’s something that’s ingrained in my genetics, and I embrace it.
I’m also a person of African descent, so I celebrate that part of my heritage as well. Nowadays, it seems like everyone is trying to fit themselves into boxes, but I believe it’s much easier to be fluid. You can be many things at the same time, and it’s not necessary to pigeonhole yourself into one category. What’s important is being truthful to yourself and how you conduct and live your life. Personally, I enjoy dishes like arroz con pollo and chuletas, but I also appreciate griot and legume. They all have the same source, and I can recognize the common thread, originating from Africa. That’s the space I truly embrace.
There’s a fluidity in our identity, not just in terms of accepting multiple aspects of it but also in acknowledging that it doesn’t have to be a perfect 50–50 split. In this country, the fixation on race is rooted in its history, as it was founded and built on racial distinctions. Race served as a means to dehumanize people and justify inhumane treatment. However, many people, especially immigrants, no longer want to hide in the shadows. They don’t want to be defined solely as refugees or immigrants because they can be all those things and still retain their humanity. My parents taught me the importance of meeting people where they are, not imposing what you want them to be, but respecting what they tell you they are. This is how I try to treat people when I travel. I’ve been to Brazil and all over the world, and I seek to find a piece of myself in every place I visit. To do that, I can’t confine myself to a box because my humanity spills over the edges and merges with something new in each place I explore.
Living in the United States, a diverse country with power structures often focused on specific groups, sometimes I find myself as the only person speaking Portuguese in a room. In those moments, there’s a sense of social isolation. However, as immigrants, we’ve learned how to surmount those barriers because we need to connect with others. Being part of a collective is incredibly important. I believe that’s what makes this country great — its immigrant population. Just as in Brazil, you have Japanese, European, African, and indigenous influences blending together. It’s like a beautiful coffee that can be as rich and dark as well as light as milk, but it always tastes wonderful.
When I go to Brazil, I see people of all shades, practicing diverse customs, yet there’s a strong sense of identity and pride. Diversity doesn’t diminish one’s identity; it actually enriches it.
My office is named after my parents, and they even have a street named after them because they were highly active and influential in the immigrant community. My parents were bicultural, tricultural in some aspects, and even quad-cultural as they could read in four different languages. They navigated various communities and spaces with ease. I recall my father taking me to places where I was the only person with dark skin. At first, it bothered me, and I asked him why we were always in such places where nobody looked like me. He explained that we attended gatherings with people who looked like us too. We went to Haitian parties, Puerto Rican parties, Dominican parties — where everyone looked like me. However, he stressed the importance of understanding that the world is not solely about me. I had to learn to engage with things that might seem foreign and find similarities even in different places. He never wanted to see me with my head down or feeling ashamed because my crown had been paid for, and I needed to wear it with pride. He reminded me that we came to this country for freedom, a place where we could speak our minds, even if we didn’t have full liberty. My parents were deeply involved in advocating for equity, not just equality, as they believed that we all have the same value, but our expressions of equality vary. They raised me to understand that every day is a miracle, and I consider myself fortunate each day, as it’s a second chance to do better and correct mistakes. I try not to have bad days, and even on those few occasions, I find a sense of gratitude.
How did your journey as a photojournalist begin?
I had a deep passion for visual communication. Images always held me in fascination. Album covers, in particular, would captivate me. When I listened to music, I could vividly imagine the visuals. Then, when I was in high school, my brother-in-law happened to have a camera, and I borrowed it. That was when I started capturing images. I’d rush to get the film developed at the corner drugstore, eagerly spending every bit of money I had just to see my images come to life. Later on, I entered college as an engineering major.
One day, by sheer chance, I was sitting and waiting for another class when a guy noticed me looking at my pictures. I had recently taken some shots of friends, and he said, “Man, you’re really good.” I responded with a modest “Okay.” But he insisted, “No, you’re really good. You should consider taking some photography classes.” Initially, I hesitated, thinking, “Nah, I’m too busy.”
He persisted, saying, “You’re good now, but if you take classes, you could become a photographer for the newspaper and yearbook. I went to the University of Miami.” I replied, “Well, I have two or three jobs; I can’t find the time for that.” He encouraged me to at least take one class. Eventually, I agreed and enrolled in a class. I performed exceptionally well in it, even though I had to miss many classes due to my multiple jobs. My professor initially thought I was so talented that I didn’t need to attend class, but I was too embarrassed to explain that I couldn’t afford to attend regularly because I had to work to pay for my books.
Photography was my true passion. I never watched the clock when I was studying it, capturing images, or discussing the process of image creation. It was like having an endless conversation with the most fascinating person you’ve ever met. The dialogue never grew tiresome. This visual conversation took me to over 30 countries, accompanying me through numerous civil disturbances, earthquakes, hurricanes, political campaigns, Super Bowls, and more. The locations didn’t matter as much as the conversations I could capture through my lens. That was what held the greatest significance for me. In a way, I didn’t choose photography; it chose me. I shaped my entire existence around it, or at least my creative expression.
I was also a psychology major, and I could see many of the concepts I was learning in psychology being reflected in my imagery. I cherished traveling, meeting people, listening to their stories, and engaging in conversations with them. The camera became my passport, opening doors that I would never have encountered had I chosen a different path in life. From street hustlers to those begging for money on the corner, to Presidents of the United States or other countries, I never perceived a fundamental difference between any of them. If someone had something to say that resonated with me, I was willing to pivot and listen. Interestingly, my friend who initially encouraged me to pursue photography eventually changed course himself and became a firefighter. We still joke about it, and we’ve remained great friends for over 40 years now.
How do you approach visual storytelling, particularly when focusing on human interested stories and documentary photography?
My approach has always been to extract the familiar from something that appears different. To take the known from the foreign and make the foreign seem familiar. I’m constantly seeking the fundamental, the shared common ground among us, because pain in Paris is the same as pain in Persia. When someone cries or laughs, if you close your eyes, it sounds the same — it truly does. I believe that visual language aligns perfectly with these universal cues. When you look at a picture of someone who’s angry, the last thing you ask yourself is what languages they speak; you just know they’re angry.
Visual language is our first and primary language. We all become bilingual, first learning the visual language and then the language we speak and write. But what connects us in art, what moves people when they listen to Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture,” an Arabic melody, or bossa nova, is that international visual language. When we hear music, read a book, or watch a film, there’s something we connect with that transcends the artificial boundaries we’ve drawn for ourselves to create comfort, the boxes we’ve constructed.
What enables me to do my work is tapping into that innate conversation that we all share. Our humanity expresses itself in remarkably similar ways, and I witness this in many places I visit. I may not speak the language, but I hear things, and my ears guide my eyes to where I should look. I gravitate toward it. If I hear beautiful music drifting from a window or a doorway, I’m almost certain someone is either dancing or listening, engaging in an activity I would do. So, I want to capture that. I seek that common ground; that’s what draws me.
Photography is the only medium through which I can make people stop and pause. My name alone doesn’t have that effect, but when I create an image, I can’t even begin to describe how many different things people see in it. And that brings me immense joy.
How do you balance preserving the integrity of photojournalists while expressing your unique perspective? As an artist or color, how do you balance those two things?
I don’t believe I’m invisible; rather, I often feel irrelevant. I don’t consider myself a mere observer, like a fly on the wall. I perceive things through various lenses — both physical and cultural — viewing them from slightly different angles. Two people can look at the same event and extract two different images, and I think that’s the magic of photojournalism. It’s not about the final product; the art lies in the process.
So, I don’t enter a situation thinking, “I won’t have any impact.” I know I do. I’m a Black man with dreadlocks in the middle of Estonia. People definitely notice me when I pick up my camera and start taking pictures — there’s no denying that.
What I aim for is to become irrelevant to the extent that they don’t care that I’m there, or they trust me so much that my presence is no longer a concern. I engage with people; great pictures are born through conversations. All my images do is retell a story; I don’t tell stories, I retell them. With this approach, it’s a bit more challenging because I’m not interested in the quick “snatch and grab” style of photography. I want to understand why something is happening, who is involved, when it occurred, what happened before, and what might follow.
A single frame, a well-captured moment, speaks volumes about what transpired before it and raises questions about what might occur afterward. That frame is always expanding, and that’s what makes it magical — it’s like visual alchemy. I believe that, at times, photojournalism is akin to visual improvisation. You can drop us into a dark place with no flash, only the ambient streetlight, and somehow we find the light, convey a mood, and express the essence of a space. We utilize shadows, highlights, and other elements to retell a story — a story rooted in truth but focused on revealing the unseen and bringing it to life. It’s a beautiful struggle, at least to me, because I hear it. I hear a woman crying somewhere or someone shouting, and I run towards it. I hear the sirens of firefighters, and I run toward them while most people run away. I hear the subtle trembling of the ground followed by a crash, and I run towards it. Or I hear someone giggling. If you do your job right, you can hear a smile as well as see it. You can perceive it in different forms. Some of the best pictures, in my opinion, not only put you in a place but transport you to a time as well. It’s almost like experiencing a three-dimensional presence. Great pictures do that; they place you inside that frame, allowing you to enter and exit at will, while also challenging your values.
What role do you believe art and photography play in fostering, understanding, and empathy among diverse communities?
I believe that art is the gateway to understanding. Without art, the world would be a more violent and primitive place. Art allows us to pause, reflect, and reconnect, not only with each other but with ourselves. To me, art is as essential as breathing; it’s not an extracurricular activity but a daily practice, like brushing your teeth or washing your clothes. It is an integral part of our existence. If you truly appreciate it, art can teach you how to live.
Art is a connector. It can be as powerful as a hurricane-force wind or as profound as the relief of a gentle trade wind on a hot day. It can embody multiple meanings simultaneously or none at all. I believe that art is the greatest gift bestowed upon us by the divine. In my view, art is a form of divinity itself.
Do you have any future projects that you want to share with us or any initiative that you are excited about?
I have a book coming out next year called “Havana Haiti.” It explores the connections between Haitians in Cuba, highlighting their shared history and impacts, as well as the differences that are sometimes exaggerated or manipulated to create hierarchies.
I recently completed a movie, and I’m featured in an HBO documentary called “Endangered.” It’s available on HBO Max and produced by Loki Films. The documentary follows the lives of four artists, including a writer from Brazil, a photographer from Mexico, myself from Miami, and a writer from a British paper, during the year 2020. It’s a powerful exploration of storytelling through documentary filmmaking.
I’m also working on a significant project to establish an institute with a focus on Latin America and the Caribbean, set to be officially launched in 2025. I can’t reveal too much about it yet, but it’s going to be something remarkable.
In addition, I have several art shows in the works. One of them, titled “A Call to the Ancestors,” will debut in September. This exhibition delves into the transition from earthly existence to whatever comes next, touching on themes of race, social justice, traditions, cultural connections, and identity. It explores these topics from the perspectives of Native Americans, African Americans, Haitians, and Latinx communities.
I also run an art space, and we have a show coming up during Basel called “Defiance.” It focuses on the events of the summer of 2020, which I refer to as “The Summer of Protests.” I’ve been working on curating this exhibition for the past year and a half, and now it’s time to prepare it for Basel.
As an artist, you can’t stand still. You may pause or linger at times, but you’re always striving to move the conversation forward. This doesn’t always involve negative topics; it’s also about celebrating the beautiful aspects of life, like black joy. Art is a means of connection, engagement, and expression, and it has played a crucial role throughout history.
I encourage everyone to embrace art as an integral part of their daily lives. It can be as simple as reading a page from a book or listening to music for five minutes each day. Start with those five minutes, and you’ll discover that your engagement with creativity can expand over time. Art has the power to enrich our lives and make us better people. It is indeed divine.
Lastly, let’s not just celebrate my achievements but our shared experiences. I’m delighted that you have this podcast, as it allows us to connect and share space. If you’d like to follow me, you can find me on Instagram . I’m not very active on Facebook, but you can also find me on LinkedIn.
If you happen to be in Miami and find yourself in Little Haiti, look up my name or IPC ArtSpace, and you can find my address. If you come by on a Friday or Saturday afternoon, ring my bell, and I’ll always open the door if I’m here.
I hope you enjoyed the podcast. We will have more interviews with amazing Latinx leaders the first Tuesday of every month. Check out our website Latinx In Power to hear more. Don’t forget to share comments and feedback, always with kindness. See you soon.
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Additional Reading Mentioned in the Interview
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