Talking with Carrie Lee
Hey hey! Welcome to my publication and welcome to another appointment with Inside the Photo.
I am grateful for all the dedication you put in following me and for your support.
Now, hold on tight because today’s story is particularly moving and my guest is amazing in going beyond the (stunning) image to talk about emotion and life.
She is Carrie Lee, and this is a bit more about her
Predominantly a black and white photographer, I focus on creative and social issue-based photography. My style is bold and edgy, up close and personal. I like to shoot BIG. Visual storytelling, evoking thought, and capturing real life for real change is my thing. My work is my voice.
When you check Clee’s body of work, you will immediately recognize the power of her images. They fully reflect the message and the story she is telling. The black and white has a strong contrast, which combined to the subjects always looks like a shout to people’s conscience. Take this image and its story as a clear example.
© Carrie Lee
Beyond Pale: It Takes All Kinds to Make a World.
His skin was very pale. What hair he had was white. His eyes were pinkish and slightly crossed. For this, he was deemed different—stigmatized, discriminated against, and ridiculed. His name was Danish, and he had albinism. His difference was in his physicality, not in his intellect, his sense of humor, his ability to feel or love, nor in his humanity.
Before I photographed Danish, I had never met anyone with albinism. But I knew that people with the condition are often bullied, overlooked, and, in certain countries in Africa, subjected to social exclusion, violence, and even killings—simply because of a genetic condition.
Danish had agreed to be part of my Di-vur’si-te project. It was important for me to capture him in his true essence, so I photographed him mostly nude. Not only were the images striking—they symbolized his power, his strength, and his right to be seen. He had no pigment, no clothes, and he bared his soul to me.
Behind my lens, I truly saw Danish. It allowed me to connect with him in a way I never could have if we had just met for coffee. He was a captivating blend of awkwardness, shyness, and sweetness. He was witty, smart, and kind. Yet, it was clear he hadn’t gone unscathed. He had been the brunt of others—other humans—and his albinism had prevented him from having the same opportunities and possibilities that those deemed “normal” are given. That made me sad. And introspective.
I don’t understand why difference unsettles people so much. Why does it trigger ridicule, exclusion, violence, and hate? To me, difference is where all the beauty lives. It’s the stretch, the challenge, the thing that makes life richer and more layered. Whether it’s skin tone, beliefs, bodies, choices, or identities—why do we fear what doesn’t mirror us?
Recently, I wanted to do a follow-up photo session with Danish. It had been seven years since our shoot, and I thought it would be great to reconnect and see where life had taken him.
But I couldn’t find him.
I spent hours trying to track him down. The friend who originally connected us ignored my messages. I was confused. Then I understood why.
Danish had died.
I don’t know exactly how, but I found an article that hinted at the circumstances.
From my brief time with him, it seemed Danish was striving to live beyond pale. He was yet another reminder that difference should never overshadow the fact that we are all human.
This was very touching. One of those stories that leaves you that bittersweet taste and sort of leaves you impotent against what life puts you through. I recommend you to have a look at Clee’s website and also to subscribe to her newsletter. Her stories are always amazing.
Thank you so much, Clee, for sharing this powerful image and story with us today!
Take care and talk soon!