A golden dusk drapes over the worn-out field. At the centre, a boy, shirtless and barefoot, pivots his body towards the air, gaze locked on the ball soaring above him. Miles away, along the shore, silhouetted figures move against the gradient blue backdrop of the ocean, their outlines softened by the fading sunlight. Amidst a game of football, their bodies are suspended in momentary stillness as they savoured the last light of day.
These are the ways photographer Farid Renais Ghimas remembers Bengkulu—a province on the Southwestern coast of Sumatra, where he was born and still returns to visit his grandmother and extended family.
Captured on a Contax G1 film camera as part of his project for his postgraduate course Fashion Image at Central Saint Martins in London, the series “Angan-Angan Harsa” or “Dreams of Joy” offers a tender glimpse into the everyday scenes that unfold in his mother’s hometown. “As an Indonesian living in the UK, I wanted my photographs to carry a certain Indonesian quality,” the 25-year-old shared. “In my class, everyone was doing very high-fashion photography, with very impressive set designs and designer pieces. And I thought, who would want to engage with simple, family portraits from a small town in Bengkulu? I mean, it’s very ordinary.”
But his work moves away from such territories, instead it anchors in something quieter—a sentimental gaze that delicately frames in-between moments and gestures.
It was Adam Murray, writer, and Pathway Leader for the course, who convinced Farid. “He was definitely a big influence, and a big reason why I applied to the course in the first place. At the time, my understanding of fashion was still quite conventional,” he admitted. “He reminded me that although it appears like they’re just wearing everyday clothes—it doesn’t mean it’s not fashion.”
At that point, Farid had already spent three years in Leeds pursuing a Fashion Communication and Promotion degree. The more time he spent away, the more he was aware of this tension in the relationship he has with home. “When I left home [for school], I definitely saw family as something I wanted to escape from,” Farid said. “But the distance gave me the space to reflect on my identity and the value of belonging. It’s a complicated relationship, because whenever I was away, the thought of returning and being with family really grounds me. Yet once I was back, there was a quiet urge to leave again.”
“Returning home with a full roll is a very successful day for me. Some days I’ll get one or two shots, some days none. But it’s about earnestly looking and waiting for that opportunity.” – Farid Renais Ghimas
It was this increasingly growing sense of longing and reconnection that naturally guided the project. For a full month in the summer of 2022, Farid wandered through Bengkulu, sometimes on foot, sometimes in his uncle’s car with the windows rolled down—allowing the simple ‘everyday-ness’ to guide the direction in which he pointed his camera. Much of his process, he emphasised, is about patience. “Returning home with a full roll is a very successful day for me. Some days I’ll get one or two shots, some days none. But it’s about earnestly looking and waiting for that opportunity.”
Still, photographing his own family came with unexpected challenges. “My family and a lot of people [in Bengkulu] still associate getting their pictures taken with big celebrations, like birthdays or Eid, so at first they were under the impression that they needed to dress up and look their best.”
But his work moves away from such territories, instead it anchors in something quieter—a sentimental gaze that delicately frames in-between moments and gestures. A portrait of his aunt seated at the dining table, her airy floral dress like a mirror to the patterned tablecloth. The soft folds of his great-aunt’s emerald-green headdress, adorned with floral embellishments and fraying threads that stand out against her black-and-white polka dot dress. Then there’s the familiar presence of his great-uncles in his grandmother’s backyard, cracking jokes over cigarettes.
The photobook is full of such instances. Intimate and unguarded, each frame holds the quiet weight of memory, narrated through Farid’s distinct language of light and shadow—a craft that he hones in the darkroom. “I gravitate towards warm and optimistic colours, which I try to bring out through the hand-printing process.”
It’s a quality that didn’t go unnoticed by Jordan Marzuki, graphic designer and founder of Jordan, jordan Édition, who designed and debuted the updated version of the photobook at Tokyo Art Book Fair 2024. “If you look closely at Farid’s photographs, his framing often feels spontaneous—not too ‘tidy’ or too structured,” Jordan shared. “I wanted to reflect that in the book design. The title alignment on the cover shifts between left and right to mirror this energy. Towards the back of the book, the index page is playfully disrupted by scattered photos, breaking up the writing. There were also a lot of images that captured the playful energy of children playing football, so I wanted the text to sort of ‘float,’ rather than be too precise.”
As personal as Angan Angan Harsa is, perhaps its power lies in its simplicity—a visual meditation of home that is both deeply specific and universally relatable.
Immortalised on the book cover is his little cousin Fauzan—his expression caught off guard, his eyes squeezed shut as if making a silent wish to an invisible birthday cake, the deep blue of his shirt a darker reflection of the sky. “I think the photograph perfectly captures the series,” Jordan explained. “When I think of Angan-Angan, I think of the act of wishing and dreaming so hard your eyes close in quiet hope.”
As personal as Angan-Angan Harsa is, perhaps its power lies in its simplicity—a visual meditation of home that is both deeply specific and universally relatable. In Farid’s images, home is not bound by a single fixed definition; it exists in the merriment of a neighbourhood coming together to celebrate the country’s independence, in the quiet comfort of gathering with relatives over hot tea and fried fritters, and in the warmth of a football game at dusk.
