Bernice Mulenga, LMK WHEN U REACH12 Images
In London-based photographer Bernice Mulenga’s own words, “to be lensed is to be loved”. If you were to look at the complicated and sometimes sinister history of photography, this adage may not hold merit. Yet, it seamlessly encapsulates Mulenga’s practice, which rejects racialised traditions of photography and prioritises community, kinship and love. Their latest show at London’s Auto Italia, LMK WHEN U REACH, showcases this very spirit of their photography through an attentively curated exhibit of their ongoing series #friendsonfilm. Celebrating its tenth anniversary, the series shines a light on Black queer life, dance floors, street parties, queer club nights, spaces of joy and the friends, family and familiar strangers that make up the scene.
In our conversation at Auto Italia, Mulenga likens their role in the community to a village scribe, archiving through images both the celebratory moments and day-to-day minutiae. “If you don’t have people like that, things will get forgotten, things will get lost. It takes one person to decide that something that is often ignored is worthy of attention to preserve memory for their loved ones. It’s nice to be one of the few who are paying attention and have been doing this work for the Black queer community in London,” they explain.
Bernice Mulenga, “Drift” (2023)Courtesy of the artist.
This inclination to use photography as a means to preserve memory, they tell me, is an extension of their mother’s own practices of archiving family history. “When my mum immigrated here from Congo, she couldn’t bring most things, but she brought photo albums from her life there,” Mulenga shares. “That’s a privilege in itself, as so many children of immigrants have one photo of their family when they were young or a singular photograph of their grandparents. I’m really happy that I can see images of my parents when they were young, with their parents and their siblings. My mother made it a point to save those images and also take lots of photographs of my childhood. It was her way of loving and remembering.”
I care about the people I’m taking pictures of. I care about the spaces I’m in – Bernice Mulenga
Alongside memory, movement, dance, and pleasure are central to the show, and Mulenga captures these aspects of nightlife with unfettered ease: a kick caught mid-way in the air, dancers spinning in fringe and mesh spinning, sweat-drenched hair and bodies. Even in what may appear to be a chaotic dance floor, there is a feeling of conviviality in their photographs; a sense that Mulenga has pulled their subject into a moment of softness. When asked about how they cultivate this sense of soft intimacy, they say, “I care about the people I’m taking pictures of. I care about the spaces I’m in. I don’t want to take pictures of someone when they’re really drunk or uncomfortable and not having a good time. I think it falls into how white people, especially white men, see our spaces and document us. It seems to me that sometimes they want to get the most outrageous photo for a reaction, instead of a genuine interest in the community.”
Bernice Mulenga, “P and M” (2021)Courtesy of the artist.
Their active participation in London’s and, more recently, Brazil’s Black queer scene further distinguishes their practice from traditional ethnographic tendencies. They host club nights, document beautiful friendships and use their camera not merely to observe but to build a connection and share themselves with their subjects. This, Mulenga asserts, is how they break away from a more colonial, white way of looking. “I’ve built up trust with my community. Sometimes I take a picture, and later I’m like, no, that’s not going in the archive, that’s not respectful. For me, it’s not about the best shot, it’s about the relationship between me and the person in the photograph.”
This philosophy has materialised in a body of work that is sentimental, in many ways mirroring a family album. This quality is evident in the second room of the gallery, where an installation of 350 photographs taken over the last decade is stuck onto what appears to be soft-grey perspex sheets. Amongst these, there are photographs of someone holding onto their loved one’s cheeks, sticking their tongue out while looking directly into the lens, and lovers staring into each other’s eyes. There is a sense of family and being at home in these photographs, despite very few images taken in a domestic space. Mulenga reflects on how often people can ignore nightlife as purely a pursuit of pleasure, and while that is important, they also see these dancefloors as not just a backdrop but a space where the identities of people, especially Black queer people, form and evolve. As depicted in Mulenga’s photographs, these spaces of nightlife are spaces of celebrating, moving, resisting, and even grieving. “There’s so much happening at the club, it’s where so many of us come together to complain, move our bodies, and take a breather.”
Scrawled behind most of the photographic prints in this room are handwritten notes written by the photographer. Notes include comments on the location, the names of their friends or reminiscing on how they felt looking at the picture. These annotations that double up as captions are nothing like gallery text you may be used to; instead, they read like text messages, Instagram captions, or something jotted down on the notes app. One reads, “Hottest sweatiest party ever. I swear I was going to pass out. Worth it. Everytime!” There‘s a playfulness to the language here which replicates the photographic material and the title of the show. “Texting someone LMK WHEN U REACH is such a tender and caring sign of affection,” Mulenga shares.“ But there’s a double meaning to the title, which reflects on reaching your true self. Through the show, I hope people can see how all these images and the people I’ve met pour into me and who I’ve become.”
Bernice Mulenga’s LMK WHEN U REACH is running at Auto Italia until 26 October, 2025.
