Forgotten World by Blue Kizozo

Blue Kizozo doesn’t shy away from shocking the viewer, as they capture the raw intensity of navigating a world ridden with systemic discrimination and injustice. In their works, Kizozo’s creative expression feels as vital as the air they breathe — art becomes woven into the very fabric of their experience, as a way to convey and process it. Portraying marginalised social ecosystems around them, Kizozo’s commitment to creating politically charged work feels like a refreshing wake-up call. Intentional absurdity in their photographs becomes a vehicle to highlight the absurdity of the world itself – and push the viewer to confront it. Through their lens, they don’t just observe; they aim to foster genuine community and connection, using each photo as a statement on resilience and belonging.

In an industry that perpetually commodifies the ‘underground’, Kizozo carves the space for those who actually embody it. From building up a network from local skate scenes to opening their own casting agency, Kizozo’s practice balances the personal and the global – bringing warmth and youthful fearlessness into the art world.

Let’s bring it all the way back – do you have any specific memories of when taking a picture felt right?

It started quite early. I did photography at A-levels when I was 16, and found it really hard at first. We just had to take pictures of plants to get the visual jargon of photography. And then we had this one specific assignment about photographing identities. I went to Pride for the first time and took a picture of this beautiful drag queen. I immediately thought, ‘Oh, this is doing something for me’. The fact that I could connect with someone just by asking to take their picture sparked a creative curiosity in me. 

Your work has such a strong individuality in itself – your unique identity only amplifies that of your subjects. In this process, would you say photography has also been a medium to explore your own identity? 

Yes, 100%. When I look back now, I realise I need to live and experience things to truly understand the concepts I want to show and how I want to present them visually in the world. Especially, if it comes to portraying something around political issues, or just myself trying to process things I don’t really understand. I use photography to help me deal with reality. 

Would you describe your practice as documentary? 

I think there’s a certain feeling — a kind of political despair that I want to show. I photograph the reality of what happens in the moment, then exaggerate it with props or by introducing the beauty of absurdity. I don’t know if I can call myself a documentary photographer, but I’m always photographing people who are living the very things I’m trying to convey. 

Absurdity is probably the main word I associate with your work. How do you achieve that state within yourself and your environment? 

Absurdity is something that’s always been in me. I’m not afraid to make people uncomfortable – because the world is uncomfortable. Especially coming from my own experiences of being marginalised and then finding a whole social ecosystem of people who live against the system. I think it’s a good place to develop absurdity. Absurdity becomes a survival instinct.

Sometimes it’s the only state your mind can exist in.

Yeah. There’s something going on right now, which is why I want to make people feel and to trigger conversations. I want them to ask: Why is that there? What does that mean? Where does this come from? As long as it’s part of a creative process, then it’s also coming from the environment around me.

Tying into that, let’s talk about the Forgotten World series. What has the intention behind the project been?

This is so silly, but shooting in a landscape format opened up a whole new world for me in Forgotten World. I had a story to tell, and I didn’t want to use only people as a vehicle for that – rather I wanted to create a scene. I want to photograph people in their own environment. Forgotten World is a project that really explores our dissociation with our own humanity. Also, just drawing from the state of the world – for example, there are so many young people who can’t afford a place to live. I’m just trying to survive from sublet to sublet. Forgotten World is about existing in this world being marginalised and placed ‘under’, the constant thinking about taxes and paying, the not being able to voice oneself… It’s leaving this world and tuning into your inner world, asking who are we beyond the system? This is where empathy comes in, and we become human again. 

In what ways has this been a creative departure from your earlier series, Demons of Love?

Demons of Love was something that changed the way I wanted to go about Forgotten World. I put in more effort into props – for example, I’ve built my own cross, which I had never done before. My friends are incredible poets and they always inspire me. For example, a friend once told me – “anxiety is the dizziness of freedom”. I immediately knew this was something I’d wanted to explore. 

This is such a beautiful semantic illustration of a very complicated feeling. You also write a lot of poetry yourself and extend your concepts in written language, too. How does it work in tandem with your visual creative process?

It depends. Sometimes the visions come first and the words later, other times it’s the opposite. When it comes to photography, I just need to close my eyes and I can visually understand a concept. Poetry is a process that can only happen when I’m connected to myself and safe. For me, photography is the chaos and poetry is the building the peace up again. 

I feel like this chaos / peace circularity is also very much echoed in Forgotten World. From isolation to community, you don’t shy away from stark imagery.

I really wanted to rip myself open up for this project – to be profane and get right to the point of. A big theme was the experiences of Black women. I lived in London before and now that I’m in Marseille, I see how Black women are treated in France. It’s a whole different story. The world is so directly harsh, so I decided to do the same with my photographs. Forgotten World is not afraid of controversy – it’s just as controversial as the nature of this world.

I definitely connect with your work the most when I myself descend into this state of angst and chaos – especially observing all the political lunacy we live in. How do you approach creating while seeing what’s happening in the world, in your surroundings and globally?

I come from a dramatic background, systemically and personally. Chaos is something I have always understood. It’s always been kind of my rhythm. The feeling of dissociation – as bad as dissociation is – is the state where I can really digest things. You can see your thoughts clearly and the world is so out of the picture, as scary as this near-psychotic state is. That’s how it rolls when I’m at the pinnacle of my chaos. Then the mechanism of peace comes, and art responds. That’s how I survive. 

Our bodies dissociate to protect themselves. Healing dissociating would mean healing a million underlying things. 

Very true.

With your practice being so embedded in your community, how has your audience been reacting to and receiving your work?

Now it’s a very diverse group of people, of all ages and backgrounds. It’s nice to be able to speak to them – some say they don’t like my work, some say they do. As much as my photos are shocking, there is also a warmth of wanting to have a community and connect with people. I think the revolution is that art has to become accessible. I made an installation for an exhibition in Marseille – it was in my bedroom and I used the photos as posters. Some people still wouldn’t come in, because they perceived it as art and that you couldn’t interact with it in that way. But I wanted them to get the feeling that my friends and I had in that typical London room. The most intimate place where I create is my bedroom, and I wanted to show that.

The elitism of art is such a scam, and it’s so important for us to adopt this perspective of inclusivity.

Art can be intimate. I become friends with every person I photograph, then they become friends with my friends. We then work on new projects altogether. There is a momentum of community that happens through art.

A word that comes up a lot in descriptions of your work is ‘underground’. I find it so funny that it’s become such a commercialised buzzword which doesn’t have much behind it. What does the underground mean to you?

Absolutely. To me, underground is something that is so disgusting, but so needed, ha-ha. For example, my mum is so shocked when she sees my pictures. But that’s how some people live. It’s disgusting, but it’s true. And truth is necessary. 

I’d love to know more about Blue Agency as well! What made you get into casting?

I watched the movie Kids. I hated the film – but I loved the casting. I thought we need more people like that in the media. Young, expressive, strong identities. The more I started getting to know the industry, the more I hated everything about it – the process, the culture, the way people talk about people’s bodies. And I thought this was very weird. With my photography, I was already doing casting without realising it. Say, when I went out to skate, I would see a person that I thought was cool, and go up to them and talk. That’s how I started making friends. 

That’s so true – you train your eye and learn to appreciate people’s uniqueness so much as a photographer already. Especially how you seem to approach photography, casting feels like a natural step forward. 

Yeah! At the time, a lot of my friends were homeless, so I thought to myself – I have all these beautiful connections, why not start something with my friends and uplift our community? My friends are so striking and break the paradigms of beauty. Beauty in a traditional sense is an insult to them. It’s their raw energy, an essence that they have – that’s what I wanted to see in visual literacy. The agency then started to grow in such a graceful way. I then ended up taking a break because it felt as if the ‘underground’ beauty was becoming a trend, and I needed to figure out how to make my platform sustainable. I decided to be openly political and always vocalise things on the agency page. To not be afraid of unprofessionalism but rather focus on creating a real community. We’d hang out at my house. We’d go to raves together. This humanity is what the industry needs. It’s just so cold for no reason.

There is such a culture of disposability – of trends, of people, of projects… It’s refreshing to see someone actually trying to foster a long-term community in their work. 

We are literally making art that will live longer than us, why be so cutthroat? You work with one person and then move on to the next as if you’re changing pants.. 

Being so opposed to how the industry operates, have there been any particular challenges you’ve encountered in your journey?

I’m very vocal, and being neurodivergent, sometimes a lot of casting people think I’m being rude. But it’s not the case – and I’ve really put an emphasis on building up real relationships. In that industry, you just value human connection so much more. It’s changed my perspective, even in my real life and how I talk to people in general. I’m more aware now. 

On a complete side note, I’m curious – why did you hate Kids?

Probably because of the outcome. Someone in my family has HIV, and we watched Kids together. While the skate culture is portrayed accurately, and it’s still similar today (in London at least), I feel like some things could be explored differently. If the director really wanted to talk about the social climate, the risk and reality of HIV, he could’ve put more of an emphasis on it. 

I see that. My final question, where would you see your work developing in the future?

I want to make a movie and write a book! That’s my DREAM. Maybe a Forgotten World book, a hundred pages long. Also, I’m really trying to put music out!