Interview #187 — Patricia Casten

by james J. Robinson

Patricia Casten is a Filipino photographer and producer based in Naarm/Melbourne. Her work places an emphasis on storytelling through intimate and revealing portraits. She has worked on projects with Universal Studios, VICE Media, i-D, Acclaim Magazine, among others. She is currently the digital producer at Nura.

Patricia spoke to James J. Robinson about taking beautiful photographs, the perils of colourism, and proving oneself.

Your last solo show focused predominantly on landscapes. What draws you to landscapes?

We put a lot of pressure on ourselves as artists of colour, to have concept-driven and culturally sensitive work—but you know, sometimes I just want to take beautiful photos that aren’t conceptually dense, that are simply nice to look at. When I shoot landscapes, I’m not trying to artificially create light and setting, nor trying to impose a narrative into the frame. I’m exhilarated by the awe that a mountain or lake gives, and how you can be completely overwhelmed by the reminder of your insignificance.

My series Acclimatise features landscapes from my time hiking the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal solo for fifteen days. As I passed the peak of the hike I experienced an insane, unexplainable feeling of euphoria and transcendence despite being in complete physical exhaustion. The mountains became a representation of emotional healing through physical persistence and the wider series encapsulated the process of adapting to life’s new layers, one step at a time.

There’s the classic stereotype that Asian Australians are only focused on practical subjects in school. Has your family played a big role in inspiring you as an artist? Were they ever pushing you to do something else growing up?

I’ve never fit into the classic Asian stereotype of being hardworking, intelligent, compliant, and quiet. Plus, Filipinos are traditionally underrepresented in mainstream media, and because of this, we often don’t fit into the perceptions others have of us. My parents, for example, met at graphic design school, so they certainly didn’t fit the stereotype, and creativity was always around me.

They never really pushed me to do anything. If I ever wanted to quit something, they’d just let me quit. My parents always say to me, ‘If you’re happy, I’m happy,’ and I think this encapsulates their parenting style perfectly. They sometimes suggest becoming a lawyer, or doctor.... but ultimately, their perspectives are grounded in my personal happiness, not my career. Besides, I can still see the way they light up when I do anything creative.

While I sometimes do wish—selfishly—that they pushed me harder to be really good at one thing, they have allowed me to be discerning about what I don’t want, and challenge instances where I’m asked to do things simply because of social convention. Now, I just laugh when they attempt the ‘why aren’t you a doctor’ spiel.

Would you say you have a number of Asian peers in the photography world?
A few but we’re definitely a small percentage of the photography community in Melbourne so we’re all really drawn to each other and supportive of each others’ work (and mutually panic laugh when we’re the only people of colour at the exhibition opening.) Photography is pretty inaccessible for first-gen kids. It’s really (really) expensive. For most of us, our parents have moved here with nothing, so we don’t have the financial backing to support us with the costs of equipment. Also, our parents couldn’t be selective on where they lived, so often we’ve found ourselves in suburbs with no cultural history, or access to the arts.

I grew up in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne in the City of Casey. According to the most recent census the south-east is the nation's most culturally diverse community, covering 157 different birthplaces, with 64% of its population born overseas. The current Arts and Cultural development strategy in the City of Casey stated that a third of the community are travelling outside of home to be able to engage in arts and cultural activities, 67% of the community felt that the current arts and cultural activities did not make them feel motivated to do more creative things in the future; and 17% of residents wanted more provocative arts and cultural activities. A career in the arts wasn't presented to me as a tangible pathway, so I wasn’t able to learn how to make a start from anyone in my immediate community.

In Filipino culture, there is an expectation placed on you to live at home, and help your family with finances and chores, until you have a family of your own; it’s not uncommon for several generations to live under one roof. Moving to the inner city at 21 to follow a creative career path felt like a radical rejection of my family, despite moving out being a fairly common practice in Australian society. For many of my Asian-Australian peers, the comfort of being around family far outweighs the discomfort involved in breaking into the creative scene, where there is a lack of POC representation.

If you’re looking for Asian photographers to follow from Melbourne, check out James Robinson, Alan Weedon, Anne Moffat, Anu Kumar, Sam Wong and my brother, Tim Casten. Develop your film at part Asian-owned film lab Halide Supply. If you’re looking to create Asian teams, work with stylists Cecile Huynh or Jam Baylon and hair/makeup artist, Phoenix Ly.

There’s often pressure for artists of diverse backgrounds, especially women of colour, to amplify their ancestry in obvious, and sometimes unhelpful ways. Do you ever feel a pressure to be a particular type of artist, or to ‘prove’ yourself, simply because of your heritage?

I often find myself in all white teams and get turned to as a resource of “POC truth”. Some sort of racial wokeness bible, as though I have all the answers to represent all non-white people. The reality is, I don’t know everything. Diversity and issues of race are very important to me, and I will continue to do what I can to create more inclusive spaces both behind and in-front of the camera, but the responsibility shouldn’t lie on me to be the only person in a team championing diversity and being educated on topics around race. Educate yourselves, create diverse teams, and for god’s sake stop asking me if something is racist. If you have to ask, it probably is.

In my experience it’s hard to draw a direct correlation between being a woman of colour and the need to ‘prove’ myself. While I’ve experienced discrimination at work multiple times, and there’s no denying racial discrimination at work is a very real issue in Australia, it can often be subtle, hidden and indirect, and I don’t think I’ll ever really understand the ways it has affected me personally. I also need to acknowledge that I benefit from having Eurocentric features such as light skin, large eyes, an Australian accent and a white passing name, and that I am privileged to have avoided experiencing really overt racial workplace discrimination.

I remember you saying that people need to have a diverse friendship circle in order for you to be interested in them romantically. Is this still something that’s important to you, and does it apply to other areas of your life?

Hahaha—that’s one of my Hinge prompts. The people you surround yourself with are pretty telling of your character, so if your life experience has only been surrounded by those who look and sound like you then chances are your world-view is narrow and I’m not going to be the one to educate you. Some of my most awkward experiences of racism have been at the dinner table with white ex-boyfriends’ families. It’s my most dreaded place to be. My last ex’s dad made a comment about how the Melbourne suburb of Brighton is very white, then laughed, and said ‘and it should stay that way’ (this was in 2020). Another ex’s mum once screamed, ‘fucking asians, can’t do their fucking jobs!’ followed up with a polite ‘Oh, but not you sweetie, you’re a lovely Asian.’

I just want to know that you’ll call out your parents when they are being racist, and I just want to feel comfortable around your friends at your birthday party, and not be the only POC, you know?

What’s your relationship like with the people that you photograph? Is it important for you to have a connection with someone before you photograph them?

My style of portraiture is mostly documentary, so I work within an ethical framework, to ensure a fair representation of the people I shoot. I used to beat myself up about not being confident enough to take photos of strangers. I thought I was just too anxious to do it, but then I actively forced myself to shoot strangers through street and travel photography. Some of the images were really great and would receive praise, but I was just so disconnected from the people. I had neglected to understand or respect how my subject wished to be portrayed. It took a while to understand how it clashed with my ethics. I didn’t feel proud to call this work my own, I didn’t know how to talk about the work and felt embarrassed that I didn’t even know the person’s name in the image. I was benefitting from someone else’s struggle or appearance—for what?

It’s very important to me now that my subject has a complete understanding of the intent behind my photography and in what context it will be displayed, and that I understand the boundaries and story of my subject. Even if I have approval from a subject to be photographed I need to be continually checking in on their comfort and consent. Sometimes I will return to a place multiple times to get to know my subjects to build genuine trust and friendship before I even bring a camera out. On commercial shoots, sometimes I don’t get the chance to meet my subjects before the shoot— but it’s things like communicating clearly, making sure my subject is fed and warm and being respectful of their time which creates a safe and trusting connection. A comfortable subject always makes a more beautiful portrait.

For a long time, you haven't really settled on a single path for your photography career.

For years I juggled between working freelance, or as an in-house photographer for brands. Working in-house would have given me career security, but I’ve always grown to hate the work, as it ultimately made me incredibly disconnected from the work I was creating. Conversely, working freelance gave me creative freedom, but I’d be constantly anxious about my finances, and working myself into severe burnout. For photographers, freelance careers are glamourised and often portrayed as a benchmark of success—but I think it’s completely okay to want job security. This forced me to think about what was realistic in the long-run, so I upskilled in digital production and social media and landed a career in digital content production. It was very satisfying to let go of the expectations of being just a photographer, and in this, realising I can work in careers adjacent to photography. Now I get the best of both worlds of working a secure, creative career, whilst also having the freedom to be selective with the freelance photography jobs I take.

Did you ever feel any pressure to know exactly what you wanted to do?

I actually never felt pressure when I was younger. I went to a low-ranking high school so there wasn’t pressure to get a good ATAR score. My brother was a confused artist like me, so there wasn’t any older sibling comparison pressure. I’ve always been the youngest in my year level and workplace so I’ve always had this feeling that I’ve still got lots of time to figure things out. I’m not very ‘future-oriented’ and neither are my parents—I’ve always felt pretty comfortable sitting in the present without feeling the burden of the future. Honestly I’ve only started feeling the pressure of what I want to do in the last two years. Maybe the pandemic has forced me into feeling like I needed to be doing something with purpose. Or it’s the final chapter of your twenties, where people are popping out babies, getting married, buying houses, and I’m like, ‘Oh shit, am I meant to be doing that?’

Have you always been proud of your background?—Or, if I can ask: did you ever go through a period of wanting to assimilate to white Australia?

The Philippines is haunted by colourism. The lightness of your skin is a measure of wealth and beauty—a legacy can be traced back to Spain’s colonial caste system. I was equally as proud of being Filipino, as much I wanted to be white. My internally racist views were passed down from my own relatives, not white Australians. I was praised for having a fair complexion: ‘You’d be a model, or actress in the Philippines!’ When I was told I looked half-white, I viewed this as a compliment.

My fear was to look or sound too Asian; the whiter I felt, the more desirable I felt. In the recent film Minari (Lee Isaac Chung), a young white boy innocently asks David, a Korean boy, ‘Why is your face so flat?’ And David proceeds to deny this reality, saying, ‘...it’s not.’ I watched this next to Charli, my Filipino friend, and during this scene, we just looked at each other in a moment of mutual understanding and sadness.

Growing up, I was completely unaware of the ways I rejected my identity, and saw non-whiteness as flaws in myself and others. It took a lot of years of growing up to realise how fucked my perspective was and to unlearn these racist views and feel fully empowered in my Asian identity—and I still have a long way to go. It’s really sad, but also comforting knowing that all my Asian-Australian friends go through the same experience just trying to fit in.

What does being Asian-Australian mean to you?

Being Asian-Australian represents my parents’ sacrifice and my deep, everlasting love for my mum, dad and brother.