Behind the Lens of A Political Cinematographer

November 30, 2021

Optics are everything. We’ve come to process others by the images they share— whether public figures or personal friends. New modalities of TV and video, and social media have rewired the general public to pursue truth in an increasingly deceptive medium. In this age, the internet has become the site for a new kind of democratic process, with infographics that can only scratch the surface, and comment section debates so passionate they tend to miss the point.

Jabari Canada has worked as a director of photography on Elizabeth Warren’s presidential campaign, and Jon Ossoff’s senate campaign, and supported in creating newly-elected Boston Mayor Wu’s launch video. Each campaign historic in its own right, Canada approaches projects with the intent to center the stories and experiences of constituents, exploring how imagery can build a new kind of rhetoric.

Text by Kenna McCafferty
Interview by Kenna McCafferty and Cassandra Jekanoski
Photos by Jabari Canada

Though politics has long since concerned itself with optics (and sometimes illusion), its rhetorical tradition lies in language. The political giants of the past are immortalized in fragments and phrases:

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself…”

“Ask not what your country can do for you...”

“Speak softly and carry a big stick…”

These phrases convey policy and personality implicitly. Carefully crafted, and honestly orated politicians used language to create checkpoints of cultural recognition, and connection while their personal lives remained largely private. With increased media technology (first in radio, then TV, and, now, the all-encompassing internet), politics has become increasingly more personal, and its language less austere. Leaving us with a new kind of cultural checkpoint:

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman…”

“There's an old saying in Tennessee—I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee—that says, 'Fool me once, shame on... shame on you. Fool me—you can't get fooled again...”

“Do not come…”

In building public presences from our personal lives, our politicians have become more human, and more visibly flawed, making appeals to a public that has become less susceptible to the aggrandizement of others. Instead, we pursue authenticity, the crafting of which (however paradoxical) is central to any successful political campaign.

One of the main conveyors of authenticity is video. There is nothing more personal than seeing and hearing, the stories of individuals. While they may not have the repetitive power of a good slogan, or turn of phrase, video creates deeply personal worlds through which the public can understand policy.

Canada’s interest in politics was spurred, by force (or foresight) of his mother. In high school, Canada’s mom encouraged him to intern for Congressman Elijah Cummings in Baltimore. The experience “opened [his] eyes to how a politician like Elijah Cummings had to deliver for his district,” and, by way of answering all the calls that came through the Congressman's office, Canada “got to really understand the issues that were affecting people in the area.”

From there, Canada studied Visual and Media Arts in college, moving into commercial work post-grad. Living and working in New York, Canada became burnt out on commercial work, and, at the offer of a college friend, jumped at the opportunity to join Warren’s 2020 presidential campaign. Traveling the country across rural and urban communities to hear the stories of the people most impacted, and often least heard, in politics, Canada tapped into the creative reservoir which would inform his work going forward: people. “When you're talking to people, who are actually dealing with the problems, it humanizes the issue. It's not just a quote-unquote policy. No, because it's more than policy. It's about people.” Canada’s people-first approach centers individuals who have been historically marginalized. In doing so, Canada builds relationships with viewers, pushing some outside of their own experiences to remember they’re voting for more than themselves or the candidate, and finding ways for others to feel seen, heard and reflected in a previously exclusionary discourse.

It's not just a quote-unquote policy. No, because it's more than policy. It's about people.

Canada’s intent both works within and subverts the rhetorical context of social media, where most (but not all) his videos are shared. Knowing how algorithms prioritize pictures of certain people, and censor posts with certain phrases, Canada has learned to work within and around the limitations of these primary platforms for political discourse. “When crafting or telling stories we have to be very aware of this and convey them in a way that doesn’t allow for algorithms to hide these stories, especially if it’s about the people most affected by the issues, the algorithm will hide it from them.” Social media has undeniably reshaped the way rhetoric is processed and proliferated, creating polarization across political spheres. “On the other side, the algorithm will choose to put other kinds of media or visuals on someone’s timeline, because it knows that it will enrage them, so they’ll end up spending more time on the platform, and the platform will sell more advertisements.”

That’s why sharing physical space with people is intrinsic to Canada’s work. On “social media, everything's highly polarizing and politicized. But then when you actually go into other people's communities and talk to them, and break bread, you realize that we have a lot more that brings us together, then tears us apart.” Giving root to otherwise intangible ideals, the landscape of a video can communicate the physicality of political divisions.

Canada found a stark example of this in his visit to 48217, the most polluted Zip Code in Michigan, for Warren’s presidential campaign. Canada recounts seeing an oil refinery and steel plant right next to a recreation center, church and kindergarten, and realizing the physical toll of a life lived within this scene. “I remember seeing all of these elements together and hearing about the rising asthma rates of kids and cases of cancer in the neighborhood, but somehow, somewhere, someone in power was just okay with this.”

Canada’s approach pulled from this storied space to flesh out the narrative shared by Senator Warren and Congresswoman Rasheeda. Pulling wide shots to highlight the looming presence of the refinery. “One of the activists told us that when they brought up these issues to their local politicians, their response was to plant a few trees between the toxic oil refinery and recreation center. Visually, the giant plant was towering over these little trees that were meant to be the solution.”

To illustrate Canada’s approach, we asked him to walk through a few stills from Mayor Wu’s launch video, in light of her recent win.

“In the first image is mayor-elect Michelle Wu, in front of Boston City Hall. When this video came out, it was a really challenging time during COVID. I feel like the video offered a slice of hope during a pretty dark time. And this photo right here, it just, it feels really positive. It feels hopeful. You know, she's looking off-camera, it looks like there's something around the corner that we're waiting for. And thinking about City Hall.. everyone in the city has a different relationship with the space. Some might see it as a large, unwelcoming brutalist building. But I think with the mayor proudly standing in front of it. She's looking to make this space accessible, and also to build a Boston for everyone—to build a city for everyone.

The second image, this one is one of my favorites, just because she does take the orange line. And getting the shot with the motion blur in the background, I guess the movement signifies some of the changes that people have been waiting on.

In the last image In this image, she’s helping a mother by adjusting the mask on her son. At the time, we were only a few months into COVID, still figuring things out, but Wu and the mother were working together so the child would be safe and comfortable while playing in the park. It highlights the care and attention to detail that mayor-elect Wu would incorporate into her COVID response. And seeing everyone masked in this image, and throughout the video, different generations - it communicates that this is a problem that affects us all.

In the video, I was happy to incorporate some 16-millimeter footage. Some people find that nostalgic or more personal because of connections that they might have to video, their family, and archival footage. So I always enjoy just shooting some portraits on 16mm."

Canada’s cinematography does feel deeply personal, conveying a comfort and rawness that often feels absent, or forced in campaign imagery. “I think with cinematography, the camera just lets you get closer to people, and the camera takes you different places.” To Canada, documenting a campaign is not about its eventual success necessarily, so much as paying respects to the stories wrapped up in each election. His goal for each project: to respect, reflect, and uplift. “I want to respect whoever I’m working with. I want them to feel comfortable. I think that’s really important.”

The camera just lets you get closer to people, and the camera takes you different places.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

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Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.