For generations, many Indigenous cultures have preserved their traditions through stories passed down by word of mouth, shared during intimate nighttime gatherings. The demands of daily life—long hours of labor from dawn until dusk—leave little time for reflection. But when the sun sets, the night offers a sacred pause, a time for loved ones to reconnect, unwind, and prepare for a new day. These heart-to-heart moments under the stars lighten the weight of the day, making much needed night rest come easier. After a hard day’s work, elders would gather children and young adults beneath the moonlight, weaving tales filled with wisdom—stories of what it means to be human, parables designed to shape the next generation. Each story carried a moral lesson, a quiet gift passed from one heart to another.
While conversations happen throughout the day, there’s something about the night that deepens their meaning. Darkness brings an intimacy that daylight cannot—an air of mystery, depth, and boundless possibility. These very qualities are captured in Neti È Kon, the latest photographic work by Fidelio Faustino Ferrier. Through striking contrasts of light and shadow, his images give voice to the unseen corners of Suriname, where these moments unfold.
Night photography is a fascinating art form, requiring both technical skill and a keen creative vision. Ferrier’s work exemplifies this balance, drawing the viewer into his subjects with a quiet, observant gaze. His photographs don’t just document the night; they invite us to feel it—to step into its stillness, its stories, and its profound beauty. There’s also a deep sense of comfort that can be both seen and felt in these images—something truly worth highlighting. Nighttime often carries an element of uncertainty, even danger, yet the photographs in Neti È Kon evoke a feeling of home, of warmth, and quiet connection. As you move through the series, you can sense an unspoken welcome, an invitation to step into these moments and experience them firsthand. The choice to shoot the entire project on film adds another layer of intimacy. Film demands patience, presence, and trust in the process. One can only imagine the calm, collected mindset Fidelio must have embraced—carefully composing each frame, waiting for the perfect moment, and allowing the night to reveal its quiet stories. This deliberate approach makes the work feel even more personal, as if each image holds not just light and shadow, but a heartbeat.
Usually, we start the interview by saying “Introduce yourself: Tell us a little about your upbringing and where you call home”, but it is a bit different this time with the style of work you sent in, and your motivation letter also acted as a good medium of being introduced to you, so instead we will take a different route and ask you this: Since you began moving between your motherland in Suriname and Amsterdam, where do you prefer to call home these days?
My name is Fidelio Faustino Ferrier, an Amsterdam-born, Surinamese-raised artist now based between Paramaribo and Amsterdam. After 2023, moving between these two worlds, I often felt caught between them. Living in the West made me feel as though I was never truly present, no matter where I was. Adjusting to Caribbean time after Amsterdam’s fast pace was a challenge, but it taught me patience and allowed me to live more presently on land that I feel deeply connected to. Here, I have the space to drive around town photographing, connect with my environment, friends, and family, devote myself to God and my ancestors—all in a place that genuinely supports wellness as a way of life. Of course, it’s not perfect and requires a different approach than life in a European city. But at this stage, I allow myself to make choices that align with my values. Eventually, I’ll move back home for good—no doubt about that—but for now, I’m actively building towards that reality.
Can you tell us about the day the idea for Neti È Kon came to you, what were you doing?
The idea for Neti È Kon came to me one evening while I was in Suriname, sitting outside with family as the night settled in. Someone mentioned the phrase, and it immediately transported me back to childhood, when my grandmother would say it to call us inside. That moment made me reflect on how nighttime in Suriname carries a unique energy—the streets come alive, conversations flow, and there’s an unspoken connection between people. I started thinking about how these nighttime gatherings are not just social but deeply cultural, even spiritual, and how they’ve travelled with us to the diaspora. Returning to Suriname after years abroad, I saw these same dynamics still shaping our communities, both here and in Amsterdam. That’s when I knew I wanted to capture this through photography: the way spaces, people, and rituals of the night create a sense of home and belonging. Through this project, I want to explore how these moments of togetherness persist across generations and geographies, reflecting the resilience of our cultural identity.
The streets come alive, conversations flow, and there’s an unspoken connection between people.
According to you, you want to challenge the European gaze that has limited your understanding of Afro-Caribbean identity and it begs the question: what are some of the new truths you have discovered about your identity since you began the journey of re-discovering Suriname (and yourself), how has this influenced your way of seeing and style of photography?
Through my journey of re-discovering Suriname and reconnecting with my roots, I’ve learned to appreciate the subtleties of Surinamese culture that were previously overlooked or misrepresented by European perspectives. For years, I struggled with how ‘Caribbean culture’ was depicted in visual culture—whether through TV, music videos, ads, or news stories. I never felt that representation captured the full, complex reality of our lives. Reflecting on this within my studies, I realized that Eurocentrism, racism, and the legacy of slavery have deeply shaped how we are portrayed, often reducing Afro-Caribbean identity to a static, primitive past. Living in Suriname has allowed me to confront and peel back these layers, offering me a more authentic view of myself and my community. I’ve come to see our culture not as something fixed or defined by the West, but as dynamic, evolving, and deeply tied to history, spirituality, and resilience. This has directly influenced my approach to photography. I now aim to capture the vibrant, multifaceted reality of Afro-Caribbean identity, focusing on intimacy, connection, and the lived experience. By doing so, I hope to contribute to a new aesthetic—one that is shaped from within the community, and not through an external, limiting lens.
In the series of images you sent us, which is your favourite and what is the story behind it?
Choosing a favourite from the selections is tough, but I would say the fifth one is the most sentimental for me. I wrote an anecdote inspired by it, as it takes me back to my childhood. The image reminds me of a specific memory: I stand on the quay. My cousins are half in the light brown water, their nets ready to catch kwimata, caimans, and anything that moves. Suddenly, a cry breaks out from across the river. The sound is raw as if someone is trapped with a log on their leg. Startled, macaws fly off in panic, while the howler monkeys in the distance sound their warnings. I look into the distance, searching for answers. The sky behind the forest begins to turn dark green at a furious pace. The echoing sound of water falling on leaves slowly grows louder. It sounds like an immense shower has been turned on somewhere deep in the rainforest. The storm that’s coming our way is promising. I reach around, trying to fish my slippers out of the water. Looking around, I see that my cousins have left everything behind and have decided to sprint ahead. I hobble after them, not sure whether I’m running harder from the rain or the dogs that seem to be chasing us. The chaos makes everything blurry. The storm lasted three days. Everything was flooded, and the rain sent all the manja fruit falling from the trees.
Are there photographers whose work you draw inspiration from or you’re simply self-taught?
I’m an autodidact photographer, and over time, I’ve developed a work process that feels most authentic to me. For this project, I consciously choose to work with analogue photography, as it slows down my thought process and forces me to carefully consider each image I want to capture. This approach helps me develop deeper insights as a photographer and be fully aware of the message I want to convey through my work. The limitations of analogue technology push me to work with more focus and precision since each shot is precious and cannot be instantly reviewed like in digital photography. This process enables me to craft stronger narratives and truly think about what I want to capture. As for inspiration, my biggest influences have always had a significant impact on me: Dana Lixenberg, Gregory Crewdson, and Deana Lawson, who have developed a unique photographic language over the last thirty years.
What makes a photograph great, or maybe even a good one? Or if you prefer that we phrase it this way: The images that you decide to share publicly, what qualifies them as the good ones to share?
A great photo, for me, is one that feels like a complete piece—, not only an aesthetic statement through an individual image but a story that unfolds from start to finish. The way I choose and arrange images within a series is what gives the story strength, guiding the viewer through a visual experience. Curating a photo series isn’t just about technical skills; it’s about understanding composition, themes, and how to structure the narrative so that the final result connects meaningfully with those who see it.
We hope that your limited edition print sale was successful, and also congratulations on your artist selection to be on the panel of Beyond Borders: Diaspora and Representation hosted by Photo Vogue, what are the next steps for you, are there other projects that you are working on that you need our community to be aware of, more exhibitions, a photobook? We are curious.
I’ve been brainstorming how I want Neti È Kon to evolve. I really want to take this project as far as I can, exploring new aspects of the Caribbean landscape through installations, exhibitions, film, and photobooks. A project that deeply inspires me is Dana Lixenberg’s Imperial Courts. What resonates with me about her work is the time and attention it took to develop a body of work. That’s the focus I want to have. Eventually, I’d love to expand the project beyond Suriname to other Caribbean islands. At the moment, I am writing the screenplay for Neti È Kon, which will culminate in a video installation to be presented during my solo exhibition.
