Melanie Issaka is a visual artist from Ghana who lives and works in London. Through her art, she explores her own identity using herself and her body parts. Issaka creates abstract representations of the body by skilfully layering shadow, vibrant colour, and physical matter. The resulting forms are unique and serve as an archive of her life at a specific point in time. Her work raises questions about self, identity, and her position as a black woman from Africa living in Europe.
How did you become a photographer?
I’ve been passionate about art since I was young and pursued graphic design and art in a technical college where I got experience in different types of practices. I continued my studies at Brighton University, where professors were very encouraging in exploring and collaborating with people and working outside the box. I made collaborative projects with illustrators. At that time, I became immersed in photography, initially using it as part of my creative process; I was documenting what I was doing. Over time, I delved into learning about photography through self-teaching and pursuing a photography-focused master’s degree. I was so interested in not only the picture, but the way that the camera works.
You still have an analytic or scientific approach to creating art.
When I first got into photography, it was a new venture for me. I developed a deep connection with my cameras, even giving them names, and spent time understanding their mechanics. During the COVID lockdown, I isolated myself, I started to focus on introspection and my relationship with photography, reflecting on its power dynamics and the manipulation of reality through editing. I also explored deconstructing and reconstructing the camera itself, creating photograms that document my personal moments. While the images are abstract, they still reflect me in a way. The photograms have also allowed me to create a distance from myself which helps in analysing who I really am.
In your photos the body can also be seen as an object to observe, and also as a human being to be connected to. What do you think of the duality of the objective subjective dimensions?
I'm still trying to navigate this aspect. Every time I go back to my projects, I realise that I can only tell my story. I don't want to speak for anyone else. However, reading other people's perspectives and life experiences has been eye-opening. African-American, British, Black, African or Ghanaian writers share their experiences, which gives me permission to share mine. This proves that everyone's experience is different and subjective. I want to create a portrait that is allowed to change, as my opinions and ideas are also growing and evolving over time. The photographs I have can represent \me at any point in my life; they are not frozen in time.
How can the narrative appear in your works?
When I create artwork, it's a playful and experimental process. I aim for complexity within simplicity, allowing viewers to bring their own narratives. For example, my titles reference other works, adding layers of meaning. The title ‘Dark and Lovely’ may evoke nostalgic memories for black viewers who used specific hair products during their childhood to straighten their hair, creating a shared experience and emotional connection for many viewers.
‘Dark and Lovely’ reminds me that your works are very sensitive both in terms of materials and concept. How do you operate this notion?
As I work on these portraits, I've realised that the more I reflect on myself, the more insecure I become. I struggle with the desire to document and celebrate my identity while questioning whether I am the right person to do so. I have had long conversations with myself about femininity or being black, experiencing moments of confidence as well as times when I feel like a vulnerable child in need of reassurance.
When I make images or take photographs, I think about who I am creating them for. It's mostly for myself to archive these internal dialogues and have references that connect with my thoughts and readings. I strive to create work that is rich and diverse, allowing for multiple points of engagement without alienating anyone.
In most of your series, we see your own body which has a very vulnerable aspect. Why did you decide to use your own body instead of a model?
I enjoy photographing people, including friends and family. I understand some people feel uncomfortable in front of the camera. For a long time, I didn't like being in front of the camera either. It was a challenge to include myself in my work and my art practice. Creating artwork of a certain size was important because it helped me explore my discomfort. Working in front of the camera or being the subject was vulnerable for me, but this process pushed me to challenge my self-imposed limits, understanding my fears and discomfort in putting myself out there.
Your work contains numerous dualities. For example, 'Blueprint: Black Skin White Mask' navigates between visibility and invisibility.
I was born in Ghana and grew up in the multicultural environment of Peckham, London. Surrounded by a diverse community, I never felt out of place. However, when I moved to Brighton for university, I encountered a stark contrast. Being one of the few Black students in a predominantly White setting, I became acutely aware of my racial identity. I often felt hyper-visible—expected to embody or discuss Blackness—yet simultaneously invisible as individuals saw me through stereotypes rather than as an individual.
This sense of duality extends to my visits to Ghana, where I face questions about my origins and belonging. My experiences highlight a constant struggle with identity and acceptance. My work often grapples with this desire to belong and the complex feelings of being both seen and unseen, visible and marginalised, which are deeply intertwined with my experiences as a Black woman navigating different cultural spaces.
Where do you belong to? What feels like home to you?
My sense of home is evolving and often depends on the context. To me, home is where I feel safe and connected, whether that's with family, friends, or in solitude. In London, where I have a large and supportive family, I feel a strong sense of belonging and never feel alone. Similarly, in Tema, Ghana, I also experience a profound sense of home because I can be myself without pretence or performance. For me, home is a space where I can simply exist, whether that means sharing joy with loved ones or sitting in silence.
What does Black Joy mean to you?
Black Joy, to me, is capturing photos of my friends and family. A joyful moment that comes to mind is being in Ghana during 'Detty December', where the party never stops, and participating in the Kakamotobi Fancy Dress Festival in Tema. This festival is a vibrant celebration where people dress up in colourful costumes, wear various masks, and parade through the streets. It's a week-long event where participants can express themselves freely. As we sing and dance through town, I feel a sense of joy and belonging, as if I am an integral part of the community. It's a wonderful feeling to be amidst a crowd and still feel safe and valued within the community.
Your art is about self-narrating and self-discovering but not only from the point of view of blackness, but also from the point of view of female existence so maybe we can see them in a sexual or gender aspect as well.
While creating my artwork, I contemplated how one constructs an identity or the body. We constantly consume images on TV, social media, and magazines, which subconsciously and explicitly dictate what is desirable. I wanted to create images that conflict with these messages. This is why I show parts of myself that I may feel uncomfortable showing.
When creating works for blueprint black skin white mask, I initially felt that some of the images were too sexual and didn't want to share them with the public. However, after some contemplation and encouragement from my peers, I decided to include them as they referred to the ways women's bodies are policed, displayed, or even censored.I find it interesting when the female body is the main theme in an artwork. I often question authorship and consider how the creator's gender might influence the portrait we make.
You have the series called ‘Of Boys and Men’ which focuses on black male figures. What is the idea behind these photos?
The series "Of Boys and Men" is a personal project that stems from my childhood experiences growing up with my male cousins in Peckham. We went to the same school and spent a lot of time together, but as we grew older, I moved away and saw less of them. This series is my way of reconnecting with them and reflecting on our shared childhood memories.
I’ve always been interested in gender theory, starting with femininity, and then moving on to masculinity. In this series, I explore how our experiences differed as we grew older, particularly how society perceived us. For instance, I could take shortcuts through certain areas without being questioned, but my cousins couldn't do the same without being viewed with suspicion. This disparity really struck me and became a focal point in my work.
The project is also significant to me because of a house flood that caused my family to lose many photos. This series serves as an archive, preserving our memories and challenging traditional representations of black bodies in photography. I want people to look beyond the stereotypes that often surround images of black boys and men. Through these photos, I’m not just spending time with my cousins but also introducing a sense of playfulness to how society views black male figures, encouraging a broader and more nuanced understanding.
In this series and in your work in general, light and shadow play an important role. What does the opposite of light and dark symbolise?
In ‘locating the personal’ and my work in general, light and shadow hold significant meaning, and the interplay between them often symbolises the journey of self-discovery and identity. The opposite of light and dark, for me, represents the tension between how we see ourselves and how we are seen by others. Society teaches us to view ourselves through the gaze of others, which can leave us feeling like strangers in our own bodies. This discomfort, especially under the gaze of my camera, led me to create a body of work that explores my relationship with myself and the rooms I inhabit.
In the process of making photograms in my bedroom, I come into direct contact with photographic paper, which becomes a surface to express my emotions. These moments of illumination, where the image is created, allow me to expose my true self. It’s about playing with my identity on my own terms, embracing the ambiguity and complexity that come with it. A lot of my work revolves around understanding who I am beyond the physical body and how I navigate the world. I want my work to reflect not just who I am, but also the broader societal context. Identity is fluid, always evolving. I believe that light in my work symbolises the space where we can explore and embrace our full selves, allowing for play and the acceptance of ambiguity.
The ‘Blueprint: Black Skin, White Mask’ reflects a duality using different layers, like the body and the print which can be read as the memory of the body.
I explore the concept of duality through layering elements like my body and the cyanotype print serving as representations of memory. I’m drawn to layering because it introduces ambiguity and depth to the work, reflecting how we perceive ourselves and others. When you first meet someone, they should appear as a blank slate, but we often project our own ideas and assumptions onto them. My goal was to capture moments where fragments of the self are revealed—not necessarily in full, but in glimpses.
Layering also serves as a means for me to reflect on and navigate my personal history while connecting with the histories of those who came before me and those whose experiences differ from mine. By using sanitised blue fabric, I reference architectural blueprints, symbolising the contrast between plans and the reality that unfolds. This interplay between layers, history, and perception adds a rich complexity to the work, inviting deeper reflection and understanding.
And cyanotype also has a very painterly dimension. So I think your series are very close to paintings as well.
In creating my cyanotype prints, there's an inherent painting element involved. You apply UV-sensitive chemicals onto a surface—fabric or paper in my case—and then expose it to light to produce an image. Typically, photography is seen as a medium that captures reality, documenting real events. In contrast, contemporary painting is often viewed as a way to convey emotion and expression. I'm deeply intrigued by the intersection of these two mediums—merging the factual precision of photography with the expressive freedom of painting. My process involves using chemicals that react to exposure time and movement, making the creation process quite delicate and unpredictable. This fragility becomes central to my work, as I embrace a collaborative relationship with the materials, allowing them to shape the final outcome.
Cyanotype is a very traditional, analog, camera-less technique. What is your purpose in using it?
I was excited to explore working with fabric and harness the striking blue tones of cyanotype to create large, folding, and draping pieces. Although my workspace at home was somewhat constrained, I still wanted to produce work that was life-size and engaging. Fabric offered the flexibility I needed to work on a larger scale and experiment with its physical properties and colours. Cyanotype was the perfect medium to achieve these goals.
What is the role of photography and art in general in the age of
virtuality, of AI, of NFT?
Currently, my focus is on traditional, hands-on processes—working in the darkroom and mastering photographic machinery. I value tangible objects for their enduring nature and sentimental significance. As AI and NFTs reshape the landscape of art and photography, I believe it's essential to explore alternative production methods that are accessible to those with limited resources. I'm also excited by the possibilities that new mediums offer, especially in digital and VR spaces, and I look forward to experimenting with these innovations and collaborating with others to push the boundaries of artistic expression.
What are you actually working on?
I am currently working on several exciting projects. One of my main focuses is collaborating with a designer to create artist books for my series. I have also been spending time in Ghana and plan to develop more projects there. However, I am concerned about the anti-LGBTQ+ legislation approved this year, which criminalises the promotion and education of LGBTQ+ rights. I want to create a project that captures people's experiences affected by this law, but I am also deeply concerned about their safety. Many individuals I have spoken with are apprehensive about returning to Ghana due to the fear that their very existence might be jeopardised.
Additionally, I am delving into psychogeography, a study of how environments influence our thoughts and emotions. I plan to explore various cities and landscapes, documenting my experiences through photography and collecting intriguing objects along the way. Balancing these projects with facilitating workshops and managing a full-time job is demanding, but I enjoy working in the darkroom and experimenting with light keeps me motivated to keep creating.
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