the transformative power of carnival
What happens when you carry too many creative ideas for too long without expressing any of them? My mind tends to tip into chaos.
And that’s exactly what happened during a photowalk with @lxphotocommunity at the “Colombina Clandestina” carnival, themed “Give grace! A Public Act of Laughter.”
Colombina Clandestina is an independent collective of artists based in Lisbon. They believe the street and the joy of celebration can transform both people and culture.
So… did I feel transformed?
On my way to meet my photography group and find the carnival, I ran into a group of Brazilian women who had already started celebrating. Before I knew it, we were walking toward the carnival together. Along the way, one of them shared a bit of its history.
I had always associated carnival with Brazil, but it turns out it’s also deeply rooted in Italy—and a quick search suggests it may even trace back to ancient pagan spring festivals in Egypt.
After the impromptu history lesson, I reached the start of the carnival, greeted the other photographers—ranging from beginners to pros—and I heard myself say:
“I’m going in.”
So there I was, smack in the middle of a crowd of women on stilts, thinking, oh no, what have I done? My brilliant plan: to look above 3 o’clock while squatting right next to someone, suddenly screamed rude. And the music? So loud it was like trying to think inside a jackhammer.
Time for a pivot: pray to the F10 and ride the chaos. Honestly, what is a plan anyway if not a flexible suggestion, ready to be twisted, bent, and thrown out the window when the moment demands it?
I was moving in and out of the epicentre of the carnival, being flooded by so many impressions of sound, people and movement, the light being so different at different angles. At times the crowd was so tight that I wasn’t able to move my arms at all and still there were so many expressions that I felt compelled to capture. So I just reminded myself „This is the street, the moment is the important thing here“.
I was dancing the photo, forgetting myself, no thinking taking place, just experiencing an impulse of needing a break now and then. Regulating the overwhelm by going in and out again from where the action was to spending time with the bystanders. Realizing there was just as much to capture there as well.
I have a soft spot for people’s authentic expressions - whether we consider them acceptable or not. Capturing that authenticity is something I crave, but I often hesitate, asking myself, “Would I want to be photographed like this?” And too often, the answer is… “no”.
But what better time to step out of my shell than at a carnival? Seeing as a carnival serves as a reversal ritual: social norms are temporarily suspended, roles are flipped and costumes create a sense of equality and mystery at the same time. I felt as though I was backstage at a play—except the stage was the street itself.
And even if I don’t appear in any of the photos, my eye, my experience, my life is woven into this story.
The main thing was: It was so much fun. And did I feel transformed? Yes, absolutely!
I was suddenly transported back to childhood—3, 5, 7, or 9 years old—celebrating Norway’s Constitution Day, running around like a maniac, legs tired, overindulging in hot dogs and ice cream, feeling the thrill of all the games we would play, including walking on stilts. These visceral, bodily memories had been tucked away for years, but the carnival unlocked them.
It turns out this kind of pure, chaotic fun is timeless. Music, dance, celebration, photography—and, of course, the carnival—just make it all the richer.
