Hasselblad Award winner Zanele Muholi is currently the subject of exhibitions in Gothenburg and Stockholm. The South African photographic artist introduces us to Black, queer individuals through empathetic, playful, and glamorous images, writes Birgitta Rubin.

Zanele Muholi had their international breakthrough in 2019—one of several African and African American artists who, for the first time, received the recognition they deserved at the prestigious Venice Biennale. Muholi, who works primarily with photography, was represented by spectacular, monumental self-portraits—compelling focal points within the atmospheric exhibition halls.

Since then, their career has been on a steep upward trajectory, with exhibitions at leading art institutions around the world—most recently a major retrospective at Tate Modern in London, and a comprehensive introduction at Bildmuseet in Umeå in 2021. It was then that I truly grasped the magnitude of Muholi's work, both in terms of artistic quality and subject matter.

Zanele Muholi was born female in Durban in 1972, during the apartheid regime; they later came out as a lesbian but now identify as non-binary (or genderqueer).

Rather than an artist, they prefer to be called a “visual activist”—working tirelessly for social justice and to increase the visibility of Black individuals within the vulnerable and often marginalized LGBTQIA+ community. Furthermore, they are an educator, a founder of scholarship programs, a co-founder of various support groups and organizations, and deeply committed to collaborative creative work.

When Muholi received the news this past spring that they had been awarded the 2026 Hasselblad Award, their response was fitting: “This award is not mine alone. I carry with me the many faces, names, and stories that have been entrusted to me.”

The world’s largest prize for a photographer also includes a solo exhibition at the Hasselblad Center in Gothenburg, where we encounter a multitude of queer characters and heartbreaking life stories—individuals subjected to systemic violence, discrimination, and a culture of silence. “By combining political engagement with artistic precision, Zanele Muholi has become a central voice within global queer visual culture,” the jury stated in its citation.

Their major successes and growing resources underpin the immense significance they have come to hold for like-minded individuals in Johannesburg and Cape Town. Muholi travels with a large entourage of assistants and models, and frequently photographs in the very cities where they are exhibiting.

Seven newly created portraits of Black, queer individuals are now featured in the exhibition Faces and Phases: The Stockholm Edition at Eva Livijn Art Space, while the Hasselblad Center is showcasing a new self-portrait titled Mnotho I.

It is a South African first name (in the Zulu and Xhosa languages) that also signifies wealth or prosperity. Here, Muholi appears like a lady in an elegant headpiece, draped in a sheet tied like a toga, holding a potted plant. The figure is set within an oval frame, evoking the style of vintage portrait photographs.

Muholi draws inspiration from a wide range of sources—from classical portraiture and ethnographic visual traditions to fashion photography. They both play with and challenge stereotypical and prejudiced representations.

Also on display at the Hasselblad Center is a self-portrait titled “Vile” (from an earlier visit to Gothenburg). From a distance, it resembles a trendy fashion photograph; up close, however, it becomes clear that Muholi has constructed the look using black and white tape—applied, in part, directly onto their skin!

Most of their self-portraits are part of Somnyama Ngonyama (Zulu for Hail the Dark Lioness), a black-and-white series begun in 2012, about thirty of which are on display in Gothenburg. In my view, this is Muholi’s artistically strongest body of work—creative and playful, yet at the same time deeply serious.

Muholi stages themselves in imaginative role-plays, well aware of predecessors ranging from Claude Cahun to Cindy Sherman. The props and attributes are by turns personal and universal, and carry cultural or political weight.

Another important role model is Zanele’s mother, Bester, who supported the family for 42 years by working as a cleaner for white people. Muholi’s tributes to her mother are brilliant—clothespins and safety pins incorporated into decorative hairstyles, a floor mop used as a wig, and a tiara made of steel wool or vacuum cleaner hoses.

Muholi works magic with whatever is at hand—draping themselves in a lace curtain or a lampshade, fashioning hats from tree branches, or turning bags inside out. Some of these costumes allude to sadistic tests or methods of execution used during the apartheid era, such as rubber tires placed around the neck and shoulders.

This extensive series is also characterized by high-contrast processing. The skin appears pitch-black—evoking the racist practice of "blackface"—while the whites of the eyes are stark white, lending the gaze an intense sharpness.

Muholi is a technically skilled photographer; the images are consistently well-composed and beautifully lit, and the prints are expertly crafted. Their career as a photographer began at the turn of the millennium with the queer magazine Behind the Mask, and their photographic expertise was further developed under the guidance of another Hasselblad Award laureate, David Goldblatt, at his Market Photo Workshop in Johannesburg.

The artist has long used a digital camera, but the files are converted into black-and-white negatives, exposed onto silver gelatin paper, and developed using analog processes; the color images, meanwhile, are so-called C-prints.

There are also display cases containing printed materials and press clippings, as well astimelines. These trace not only Muholi’s personal development but also political shifts inboth South Africa and Sweden—highlighting both landmark moments in general history andevents specific to the community now referred to as LGBTQIAPN+.

This provides a helpful framework for interpreting Muholi’s images, which frequently contain references to South African history—from the era of colonization and the apartheid regime to the time of Mandela and the progressive legislation introduced by the ANC, which outlawed all forms of discrimination. Although the country legalized same-sex marriage at an early stage, this was followed by a wave of hate crimes. South Africa is an exceptionally violent nation, ranking among the worst in the world for rates of murder and rape.

The exhibition at the Hasselblad Center presents over 100 photographs from six series, the earliest of which is Only Half the Picture (2002–2006). It documents individuals who have survived hate crimes, including Muholi herself. Even though I have seen several of these photographs before, I find myself on the verge of tears. And yet, the images are restrained in their depiction of injury; only specific parts of the individuals’ bodies and wounds are shown. It might be a streak of blood, a plaster over a wounded nipple, or, at other times, more symbolic representations of suffering—such as a scar on a leg that predates the rape, or hands clutched tightly over the genital area.

This is the hallmark of Muholi’s early work: a respectful and empathetic portrayal of the victims. In South Africa, there exists a particularly heinous phenomenon known as "corrective rape," intended to enforce heterosexuality and gender conformity. In the worst cases, these hate crimes prove fatal, and Muholi has diligently documented the funerals of friends and acquaintances (though these are not included in the Gothenburg exhibition).

At the same time, the artist seeks to highlight community and love in series such as Being, which features lesbian couples in tender, everyday scenes. In the series Brave Beauties, the subjects are beauty queens—trans, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming individuals—posing proudly in stylish outfits. Among my personal favorites are Miss D'vine and three portraits of the striking trans person and performer Yaya Mavundla. In one group photograph, the contestants are captured on a sandy beach—a type of location that Black people were prohibited from entering during the apartheid era.

The series Queering Public Space builds on this theme, featuring models photographed in places that were long off-limits to them (including segregated beaches). These portraits are glamorous yet relaxed; the models acted as co-creators, choosing where and how they would be represented.

The Hasselblad Center presents a large selection of images from Muholi’s long-running project Faces and Phases, which began in South Africa in 2006 and has since become a global endeavor. The project consists of portraits that serve both as memorials for Black queer individuals and as documentation of people currently undergoing transition. The curators have selected portraits of 39 individuals, with Lerato Dumse being the only person to appear twice.

In an otherwise well-executed exhibition, I feel that the point of the series is lost here; rows of Muholi’s friends have been immortalized on up to three separate occasions, in order to highlight transitions from one identity to another.

The presentation at Bildmuseet was significantly more instructive, allowing the audience to follow several phases of transformation. Furthermore, the gaps between certain images indicated that a new portrait was to be taken, or that the individual had chosen to leave the project (due to threats and hate)—or had passed away.

In any case, it is an exceptionally powerful and multifaceted portrait series, in which every subject was asked to look straight into the camera—serious and with a palpable sense of poise. The subjects range from slender youths to imposing pastors, alongside individuals with elaborate hairstyles, tattoos, piercings, and trendy attire. For the viewer, these truly feel like encounters with individual people; the Hasselblad Center has also complemented the exhibition with a lavishly produced catalogue.

At the home of Eva Livijn, the audience encounters a large number of portraits from the same series—though only some will be recognizable from the Gothenburg exhibition (there are many hundreds to choose from). Curator Ulrika Flink has sensitively integrated 68 works into the apartment interior, including a dozen smaller-scale pieces from an edition.

The new portraits, taken in Stockholm—shot frontally in both indoor and outdoor settings—are elegantly grouped between two windows in the living room.

Thus, this is more than just a supplement to the exhibition in Gothenburg. The Stockholm presentation also includes a small bronze sculpture (depicting Muholi resting in a bed) and, most notably, several more complex compositions.

I observe that, in recent years, the artist has worked with more complex reflections (as in Aphelile XII), as well as symbolic light and shadow effects. Zanele Muholi is far more than an activist; they enable queer individuals to claim space and be represented on their own terms. Regardless of how they might choose to identify, “artist” is the label I would place above all else.

This article was originally published in Swedish in Dagens Nyheter on 24 October 2026 and has been translated into English. You can read the original article here.