Currently on view at the
Norton Museum of Art,
certain silence marks artist
Fabiola Menchelli’s first solo museum exhibition in the United States. Running through March 23, 2025, the show offers an immersive exploration of photography’s materiality, challenging conventional notions of perception and image-making.
Comprising more than 20 works—including previously unseen pieces—Menchelli’s ethereal compositions unfold through a meticulous process of folding, exposing, and developing light-sensitive materials. Created without a camera or negatives, her works blur the boundaries between control and chance, revealing intricate layers of abstraction and poetry. Through this interplay of light and form, certain silence invites viewers into a meditative space where perception itself becomes the subject of inquiry.
As part of the exhibition, Menchelli is currently serving as the Norton Museum’s Mary Lucille Dauray 2025 Artist-in-Residence. Throughout this month, she is engaging with the West Palm Beach community through a series of public programs that offer insight into her practice and artistic philosophy. We asked here a few questions about her creative process:
All About Photo: Fabiola, congratulations on your first solo museum exhibition in the United States! Can you tell us about your inspiration behind the title certain silence? What does it mean to you in the context of your work?
Fabiola Menchelli: Thank you for the invitation to discuss my work with you and your readers. It’s a great honor to present my first solo museum exhibition in the United States at the Norton Museum in West Palm Beach, Florida. Working with everyone at the museum, especially Lauren Richman, the curator of photography, has been an incredible experience.
The title certain silence emerged from a negotiation of oppositions—we wanted to invite the viewer to consider photography in a different way. There’s an inherent tension in the phrase; for me, it reflects the deeply interior nature of my process. When I’m working in the darkroom, the outside world fades away for hours at a time, and silence becomes an essential space where intuition takes over—where the body knows more than the mind. In that quiet, attention sharpens, much like in meditation.
We hope this exhibition encourages viewers to slow down, engage their senses fully, and be present with the work—experiencing not just what they see, but also what they feel in the space.
Your work is known for its unique engagement with the materiality of photography. Can you explain your process in more detail, particularly your approach of working in complete blindness in the color darkroom? What role does touch, memory, and sound play in creating your images?
I work with photosensitive materials and light—you could say I found a way of working inside the camera between the photosensitive material and the lense. To do this, I work completely in a lighttight darkroom, without the typical red safe light seen in cinematic darkrooms. Since color paper is sensitive to all wavelengths of light, absolute darkness is essential. This darkness creates a silent, still space where my other senses become heightened—almost as if my body awakens in the absence of sight.
The process itself is a physical search for meaning, requiring a complete reorientation of the body. I create the work by folding photosensitive paper and exposing it to colored lights. Each color records a different temporality in the work—unlike a traditional photograph, which captures a single moment, my images are formed through multiple exposures, layering time in a different way. The process is akin to choreographic improvisation, where movement, light, and space interact dynamically. Every shift in the folds of the paper changes the way it receives light, altering the final image.
Sound is also essential—it becomes my primary guide in the dark, helping me locate materials and navigate the space. Memory, too, plays a crucial role, but not in a conventional way. It’s a physical memory—my hands remember the folds, the way the paper bent, where shadows formed. The final image is the result of a continuous flow of touch, movement, and decision-making, the physical liquidity of the process is recorded in the light-sensitive material.
Certain silence includes works that test the limits of perception, often through abstraction and unexpected outcomes. How do you want viewers to experience these photographs, and what do you hope they take away from your exhibition?
I want my artwork to engage multiple senses and create immersive physical experiences. The photographs I create function like sculptures, unfolding in space. The way light interacts with the folds of the photosensitive paper produces a dynamic, shimmering effect—one that feels alive, constantly shifting with the viewer’s perspective. These works exist between object and event, carrying a sense of anticipation.
To me, the work needs to be experienced in person. They don’t just capture light; they emit it, responding to the presence of the spectator. It’s in that encounter—where light, space, and perception meet—that the work truly comes to life. I hope that when you engage with it, the experience unfolds over time, revealing something beyond what words can fully capture. If you allow yourself to be fully present, the piece has the potential to create a deeply personal and meaningful exchange.
Your creative process goes against traditional photography norms, such as working without a camera or negatives. How do you think this approach expands the possibilities of the medium?
This work challenges established norms, aiming to expand our perspectives—not just in photography, but in society as well. In many ways, I see it as an act of resistance, breaking conventions to discover new ways of seeing and creating. Observation can extend beyond vision; it can be soft, generous, and open—countering photography’s historical ties to violence in the language of shooting or capturing an image. Instead, by turning the lens inward—or even working without a camera—I allow the physical structure of the medium to define itself, in a state that is expanded, unstable, liquid, open, and multiple.
To create new possibilities for the future, we must first unlearn many of our preconceptions and imagine new alternatives. Art plays a crucial role in this process, giving form to different ways of existing in the world. I hope my work invites viewers to experience photography not just with their eyes, but with their whole bodies—to reconsider how we perceive, how we make meaning, and how we engage with what is given to us. If we allow ourselves to see differently, we create space to imagine otherwise—to ask how things might be reshaped, rethought, and redefined.
The exhibition will showcase previously unseen works. Could you share a bit about these pieces and what makes them distinct from your earlier works?
The exhibition features more than 22 works, most of which I created exclusively for this show. It includes some of the largest pieces I have made in the darkroom —works that hold the light in a way I had not seen before. Through this process, I found new color relationships that I am excited for you to experience firsthand.
You’ve spent much of your career investigating light, color, and perception. How have these elements influenced the way you create your photographs, and what do they represent within the broader scope of your artistic journey?
My work has aimed to challenge how we perceive and understand reality. While photography has historically been linked to capturing truth, our perception is a complex process involving physical and chemical reactions in our bodies. We construct our social and political worldviews based on these sensory inputs. However, it's crucial to recognize that perception itself is a construct. By understanding this, we open ourselves to the possibility of changing and expanding our perceptions. This realization can lead us to discover new ways of existing in the world. Ideally, this expanded awareness will make us more compassionate towards different viewpoints, allowing our own experiences to grow as we learn from others. In essence, the work invites us to question established perceptions, encouraging a more open and empathetic approach to understanding both art and the world around us.
I find mistakes and accidents more exciting than the plans I could envision, as they become new opportunities to learn from. The paper becomes the tool and the support to make the image and the prints record the movements and experiences of making. The process feels like a choreography of unrehearsed movements,—a dynamic interplay of steps and variables that I improvise with and learn from each time. The uncertainty inherent in this process frees the work from my expectations, allowing it to become something beyond what I initially imagined. It’s a constant cycle of learning and unlearning, experimenting and failing over and over again. By surrendering control, I allow the work to reveal itself on its own terms. That unraveling—that act of becoming—is what excites me most.
The exhibition coincides with your residency at the Norton in March 2025. What does this residency mean to you, and how do you plan to engage with the West Palm Beach community during this time?
I am so grateful to the museum for the incredible support they have given me and for inviting me to be the Mary Lucille Dauray Artist-in-Residence at the Norton Museum. During my time at the residency, I’ll be conducting research and experimenting in the studio, particularly with Lumen prints, this time working with photosensitive materials in the sunlight. I’m also thrilled to engage with the community through a series of workshops at the museum, one of them is a Lumen print workshop I'm really excited about. It’s a wonderful opportunity, and I’m excited to see what unfolds through this experience.
Looking back on your artistic career, how do you see your evolution as a photographer, and where do you envision your practice heading next?
There are so many projects I hope to bring to life, but some take longer than others. I try to stay present, working with the resources available to me at the moment. Rather than forcing the work to fit a specific vision of the future, I find it far more exciting to leave possibilities open—to allow the process to unfold naturally. We'll see where life takes us.
