Richard Ffrench

Richard Ffrench is a Jamaican photographer and filmmaker currently enrolled at the USC Roski School of Art and Design program. Ffrench moved to the United States from Jamaica in 2012 where he has been living ever since, having spent a brief period in the U.K.. After receiving his Bachelor’s from Lafayette College, he moved to Los Angeles in pursuit of his MFA in photography. His fine work focuses on the relationship between masculinity and vulnerability. 

I met Richard in the Arts District during Roski’s Open Studios in January of this year. Upon entering the gallery space, his work was one of the first pieces to pull me in. The photos pinned to the wall portrayed a visceral rawness from the texture of his subjects skin to the emotions that bubble under. I stood there, staring at these images of men through a perspective I’d never witnessed before. Eventually I wandered into his studio where he was standing, open and honest. We chatted about the pains of people-pleasing and the transitioning landscape of bodies. Talking to him I felt I was in the presence of an old friend. Someone stopped by and mentioned the studios were closing and we parted ways. 

Weeks later we connected on a gloomy Sunday morning at a coffee shop not far from USC’s campus. I’d gotten there a few minutes before him, listening to the sea of cars pass on the freeway overhead. Richard arrived on his electric scooter, gliding in with the same sense of openness when we first met. We hugged, sat down for a chat, and explored his photos through themes of identity, queerness, and the honesty that goes into making them. 

Read the full conversation below: 

RR: Thanks so much for meeting with me! When we first met I wasn’t just drawn in by your work but I really enjoyed our conversation. So aside from wanting to know more about your art, I’m curious about you as a person. 

RF: Cool. 

RR: Cool. 

To begin, when did you first find photography and filmmaking as the medium that called to you?

RF: It was in the beginning of my undergraduate studies, my advisor was the head of the Art Department, I took a class with her and I loved it. She was the one who convinced me, - well it didn’t really take any convincing - she showed me I could take my art seriously and have it mean something. I loved the process of taking photographs and the culture of artistry, so I never looked back. 

RR: How do you think exploring themes of vulnerability in your art has changed the relationship you have with yourself and other men? 

RF: I feel like it changed my relationship with myself when I started to realize that it [taking photos] wasn't just a thing I was doing, it was my response to growing up in a socially-conservative Jamaican household where I didn’t have access to explore my bisexuality. It came out with the art, no pun intended. It wasn't until recently I realized that that was the thing happening, it just felt like the natural thing to do. 

It changed my relationship with men in the sense that I started to look at masculinity from a critical lens and a sociological standpoint. When I started to see it as a series of performances, I was like, “Wow, I will never be able to unsee this.”

I met some of my closest friends at these photoshoots. I generally like to photograph men I have never met before. I started out with friends but then I realized ok, that’s my comfort zone, I don't want to get too comfortable. I always want to challenge myself. 

RR: In your experience shooting subjects in different countries, what do you think the biggest difference is compared to the U.S.?

RF: It's really eye opening to see that masculinity is not just this one thing. It’s very malleable and liquid, it doesn't really have one state. That to me was kind of surprising but not really. I feel like with here versus overseas, it’s a whole different ball game. There is a whole new culture that raised men to think or to aspire to be a certain thing and it shaped queer men who don’t fit into that aspiration - whoever decided that to be. 

Especially coming from Jamaica, masculinity there is really soft in some ways but rigid in others, completely different from the kind I’ve experienced since living in America. For example, Jamaican men don't care about standing close to each other, we embrace each other. We’re more open with our feelings, whereas American men love their distance and their stoicism. Jamaican men are very emotional and I love that but - whew. The main source of rigidity I felt as a queer man going back to Jamaica is that the culture of homophobia is much more dangerous. The culture in America is more accepting. 

RR: Is there anything you trying to be more honest with yourself about right now? 

RF: I feel like this whole journey - I hate that word…

RR: Do you hate that word because it's so uwu?

RF: You know, I love the spirituality but I don't know…there is something so overused about that word. It's so true and it's so Universal but I can't help but cringe when I say it. We’re all on a journey. What makes me so special? 

RR: So much. 

RF: Thank you. 

I feel like this whole process of trying to improve my art was me trying to be more honest with myself and try to get in touch with my queerness. Trying to be more honest and accepting of it. Trying to unlearn the life of the Jamaican and American cultures that taught me I probably shouldn't be that way. I feel like I’ve never explored my queerness in relation to my familial dynamics. It's always informed my work but it's never been the subject matter of my work. I'm thinking there could be a source of honesty. It's gonna be an intense amount of honesty because that's really the source of this whole thing. 

I feel like the portraits I take of men have more layers that I can be more honest about. I guess my photographs are asking, “Who am I in relationship to these men and what does that mean?” That’s something I’m trying to figure out. The surface level is, I think they're hot but you know that’s so shallow. 

There’s certainly more to it and that's something I'm trying to dig deeper on. It’s not like I just ask these men and we do this thing and they just disappear from my life forever. I don't think that's ever happened actually. We either end up becoming friends or a little bit more. 

RR: And does your family know that you’re queer?

RF: They do. And whether they’ve made peace with that is not my problem. They do know so there is a certain weight lifted off my shoulder, I’m not closed or having to hide it so I have those kinds of privileges which I am especially grateful for. As I said before my parents are Jamaican, not even Jamaican-American, they’re Jamaican and they grew up in a culture that was so different from the one I was raised in or that they wanted me to be raised in; Regardless if it was in America or in Jamaica. 

I think that my queerness is something that can be a learning opportunity for them, you know like, gay people exist. Out of our entire family, all its lineage, I refuse to believe I'm the only one to be queer. I think of me being their son and telling them that, gay people exist and they’re closer than you think so you should probably learn about it and get with the times.