(CNN) — How do you capture the essence of someone who wishes to remain anonymous? This was one of the challenges French Algerian photographer Camille Farrah Lenain faced as part of her series on queer Muslim life in France. In her cinematic and dreamlike portraits, we see a figure partly obscured in a translucent pink veil, gazing into an ornate mirror. Elsewhere, a tightly-cropped image captures a transgender man’s mid-section, revealing a vertical scar and hand calmly resting against patterned pants.
The snapshots are part of Lenain’s new photobook, “Made of Smokeless Fire,” released by Loose Joints Publishing. “It’s important for me to understand the people I’m photographing to the fullest,” said Lenain of the six-year project which involved around 50 LGBTQ+ participants (identified by first name or initials only) from across the country. The photos are accompanied by poetic fragments of text from several sitters on their faith, desires and memories. While some have cut off all contact with their families, others have forged fragile paths towards reconciliation. The range of experiences is as varied as the participants.
Because many – though not all – participants preferred to remain unidentifiable, Lenain tapped into the rich visual grammar of Islam: henna-covered hands, white pigeons, an Amazigh (or Berber) symbol of freedom, and the recurring motif of smoke. In one image, a young sitter with the Arabic word for ‘justice’ painted on her cheek gazes sensuously into the camera, while flooding the frame with wafts of smoke.
The book title refers to jinn, the supernatural creatures described in the Qur’an as “made of smokeless fire.” “It’s common to believe that queer Muslims are the way they are because they’ve been possessed by jinn, even though these entities are neither good nor bad,” explained Lenain. Much like the way the word ‘queer’ has been reappropriated in recent years, Lenain wishes the same for LGBTQ+ Muslims and the term. “By reclaiming your own relationship to jinn, you stop giving power to others weaponizing it against you.”
A beloved uncle – and unanswered questions
The seed for the series was planted years ago, after Lenain heard a radio interview with Ludovic-Mohamed Zahed, the Marseille-based gay imam who founded Europe’s first inclusive mosque – and who later helped her recruit sitters for portraits.
But the one person who really set the whole endeavour in motion was Lenain’s beloved uncle Farid, a gay and HIV-positive man who passed away in 2013. One of her mother’s eight siblings, Farid was the glue that held the Paris-based side of her Algerian family together. “We spent an enormous amount of time together at dinners, celebrating birthdays, Christmas and Eid,” Lenain explained in a video call from the Solarium gallery in Marseille, during a launch event for the book. “Even though he was often ill, he was also radiant, laughed loudly, loved his Madonna tapes, always teased us, and was everyone’s favourite brother or uncle.”
After his passing, the family tasked Lenain with archiving his photos and scanning his visual mementos. She began mourning the conversations she’d never be able to have. “His homosexuality was not surprising for me,” she writes in the book. But as she began to question her own, she yearned to ask him: “did you believe in God? Would you have felt it necessary to come out to your parents? Were you able to feel fully gay and Arab in France?”
It’s unlikely that Farid would have answered yes to that last question. Despite France being home to one of the largest Muslim populations in Europe, queer Muslims are often rendered invisible, said Lenain, pointing to instances of normalized hate rhetoric against LGBTQ+ people, and rising Islamophobia. Last year saw a sharp uptick in anti-Muslim acts, according to French officials, up almost 90% on 2024.
“In France, there’s palpable stigma – it’s basically the rhetoric of the far right – this hatred towards Black, Arab and visibly Muslim people,” said Lenain, who is now based in the US, between New Orleans and New York. “For people to simply exist in society, on the streets or at work, can be an uphill battle. Add sexual orientation or gender identity to that equation and people often feel forced into silence.”
Trust is paramount
In recent years, Lenain has exhibited these portraits in partnership with grassroots organizations that support LGBTQ+ and Muslim populations. “I always make sure those who’ve shared their time and stories are involved,” she said, adding that could entail writing text for the book, speaking at an event, or presenting their work alongside her own. She cites two visual activists who inspired her social outreach: Nan Goldin and Zanele Muholi.
Both photographers founded collectives that respectively combat the opioid epidemic and champion Black LGBTQ+ visibility in South Africa. “Much like them, my process always starts with the collective,” explained Lenain. “Photography has in the past been guilty of exploiting marginalized groups, but it can also be a powerful tool for healing and empowerment.”
A great example of Lenain’s empathetic approach lies in one arresting portrait of a hand peeking through a thick, red curtain while holding pearl-white prayer beads. At one point during the project, the participant asked Leniain to remove the photograph. Even though the person was not recognizable, she said the image “felt deeply connected to a moment in their journey toward embracing their queerness – a journey that was still fragile, new, unfolding.”
While Lenain initially grieved the loss of the image, she consented. “The people I photograph should retain some agency over how the images we make together are used,” she said. “That means leaving room and time for change, conversation, and growth.” Ultimately, the person opted to include the photo – something Lenain sees as a progression toward embracing their full self.
Lenain dedicates the book to her uncle Farid, to a luminous sitter named Lamine, who passed away during the project’s lifespan, and to all “queered and racialized bodies – bodies in liminality.” Some of the book’s most moving images are intriguingly devoid of human presence. Such as a warm, ethereal photo of what appears to be a vacant, graffiti-scrawled seaside building in the suburban port just outside Marseille, made famous by post-impressionist painters like Cézanne.
“This is actually not water,” said Lenain, revealing that the wall opening frames a sliver of sunlit ground beyond. “But I love that people often think it is – a reminder that this work is not only documentary and invites viewers to use their imagination.”
Windows and doors are recurring motifs in the series, and Lenain sees them as representing “the constant in-betweenness of these queer Muslim experiences: whether to stay inside, hidden but safe, or outside, free but facing many obstacles and judgment.
“It is also the portal to our ancestors, to Farid, and the space between our world and the divine.”
The-CNN-Wire
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