Caleb Wyatt
- Anna Lilli Garai
- 7 hours ago
- 5 min read
Caleb Wyatt builds portraits from trust. Their work begins with conversation, with learning how someone wants to be seen. In the studio, that becomes a kind of quiet collaboration — a shared space where small gestures matter. The tilt of a head, the set of a mouth, a glance that lingers just long enough. Their camera stays close to skin, to softness, to presence. It’s not about control, but attention. Each image reflects the care behind it, and the belief that showing up as yourself is more than enough.
Q: Your portraits are quiet but direct. What makes a moment feel worth holding on to?
A: I think you find it. The individuality of Black expression is what I’m after. In conversing with the models I work with, I tailor the experience of a shoot to them. The consistent goal is to find moments of resilience with each shot. These moments look different with each body and that’s what I’m interested in. Sometimes it’s a specific styling or gesture, often it’s a certain gaze in the model’s eye. A gaze that extends behind the lens and into the eyes of whoever is viewing the image. When a portrait shoot pushes past the medium and enters a space of rebellion is when I feel like I’ve found that moment.
Q: You stay close to skin, gesture, and detail. What keeps you coming back to that scale?
A: Afro-Pessimism states that Black bodies are solely that, bodies. Bodies to be abused and discarded. Conversely, in Toni Morrison’s "Beloved" she tells us to love our flesh in spite of those that hate it. She tells us to love it hard. I celebrate this flesh with my work. My work offers the humanity of Blackness by colliding the human with the flesh. Highlighting elements of Black bodies that are often forgotten or willfully ignored. This is what brings me back. The opportunity to explore and discover new ways to celebrate this flesh is what calls to me. This space of exploration is very palpable and you can feel it in my images. There’s a tension present because socially we, as Black Americans, haven’t been afforded the luxury of celebrating our skin. This tension exists as a defiance. Honestly, that’s also probably why I keep coming back to this scale. A defiance that says… "I’m here to celebrate me despite how you feel."
Q: Joy shows up in subtle ways across your work. How do you know when it’s coming through?
A: I don’t know if I ever do. It’s not entirely a conscious effort. I mean, you can hope that people find joy in your work, but it’s such a subjective feeling that it’s hard to account for. My focus is on the models that I work with and how they’re feeling. It’s more than just photography. It's about curating an experience that I hope to last with each model once we wrap.
An experience where they feel beautiful, one where they feel seen. Because that’s the heart of it. It’s all I can really hope for as a photographer.
The joy that you reference comes through as a byproduct of this experience, and in a political climate that continues to divide, this is my response. Finding ways to curate community on the micro scale with my photography as the vessel for it.
Q: Nothing in your framing feels accidental. How do you decide when something is finished?
A: Well… in all honesty, I used to be a control FREAK. I would get deep into the weeds and hyper-analyze every detail of a shoot to the smallest fiber of clothing. This is what originally piqued my interest in still photography. I was obsessed with the intentionality and, frankly, the control that came with it. Especially with studio shoots. Coming from a narrative filmmaking background, this can only go so far. There are far too many factors on a film set that warrant the level of control I was seeking, but with still photography, it came with ease. I soon realized that this mindset made my work entirely too rigid. It didn’t allow for discoveries and it definitely didn’t offer me the space to trust my eye. In deciding to let go of control, I’ve been able to trust those instincts more and play. Discover all of the things that I find resonant in my work today. I think that’s it, right? Trusting when something feels resonant… not finished. With this work, I’m not sure you can ever completely “finish” something. It just evolves and shifts.
Q: In "Porcelain," softness and structure are in tension. What pushed you to explore that balance?
A: The recent American election, truthfully. There was a sense of powerlessness that fell over my generation and specifically, my friends and collaborators. We wanted to respond to this.
We wanted to engage with our disappointment and uncover ways to find hope in the hopeless. Our wardrobe artist, Collin Grant, brings himself to the styling of Jasmine Aiyana Garvin in "Porcelain." As a queer Black man in an industry that continuously beats down on Black bodies, this shoot was a way to test those boundaries. Stylistically fortifying the message that two things that were deemed incompatible — woman and power — can truly coexist. As the photographer, I became very interested in the visual composition of it all. The imagery of this oversized blazer swallowing Jasmine speaks to a larger conversation about power in our country.
It’s suffocating and yet, every morning we find ways to breathe again. This photo captures that moment. The moment where you look inward and find the strength to push forward. There’s a tenderness prevalent in this photo because we as a society need a bit of tenderness right now.
Q: When you’re shooting, what kind of energy are you hoping to catch?
A: A sense of freedom. Lying at the center of my photography is a want for the models I work with to feel free. To feel as though stepping onto set gives them the space to explore however they’d like to show up on camera. That this expression is fully in their hands. Because it is. There are many things that I’m thinking about, both technically and historically, which I’ve discussed, but when it comes down to it, I hope that I’m capturing a sense of freedom. This extends past the models that I work with. The hope is that any person of color who comes across my work finds something that resonates with them. I hope that my images spark something inside them and that it inspires other artists to do the same. Inspires them to create rich worlds, take back their stories, and create art that defines and shares their experience. There has always been a drive in Black culture for reclamation. To tell our stories with our hands, with our mouths — and right now, there seems to be a shift in this zeitgeist. A shift that encourages artists to play. A shift that says Black art doesn’t need to look a certain way or fit into any kind of box. I want my work to champion this notion. I hope that my work, both moving image and photography, encourages artists to explore without judgment or censorship. To go as far as that exploration will take them — and then go a little more.
