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Gioncarlo Valentine: Exposures

Premiere: 6/3/2025 | 18:13 |

See how documented intimacy is a radical act of self-exploration for photographer Gioncarlo Valentine as he leaves behind a formative chapter of his life, turning the lens inward as he searches for home.

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About the Series

Gioncarlo Valentine: Exposures is part of In The Making, a documentary shorts series from American Masters and Firelight Media follows emerging cultural icons on their journeys to becoming masters of their artistic disciplines.


Zeshawn Ali’s director statement

I first met Gio through a computer screen. It was for a virtual screening of my film and after talking about our shared love of black and white cinematography, we quickly realized we lived in the same neighborhood in New York. Soon after that, we met for coffee in our neighborhood in Harlem. We talked for hours, walked through familiar neighborhood blocks, telling stories of our pasts, trying to catch the other up to speed on our lives so far. Gio instinctively took out his camera- “don’t move” he said calmly as he focused his lens. He took an image, and in that moment I felt like time was stopping. Like I was being looked at by a familiar friend I had known for years.

Gioncarlo Valentine’s photography radically transforms intimacy as a tool of documented care.

Images captured in lush black and white, centered on the tenderness of moments between a person and themselves or a person with another. The images continue to reveal their complexities over time, like a photograph from a childhood album you can’t get out of your head. There’s a  lived-in feeling grounded in the way Gio takes a moment and holds it tenderly behind the lens of a camera. Each image is precisely soft, expertly framed, and deeply heartfelt. These are not merely portraits, but they are love letters to old friends and new strangers who feel like someone you’ve known in a past life. Heads leaning on heads, hands touching hands, eyes staring longingly past the lens in deep reflection.

Looking at the scope of Gioncarlo’s work leaves you breathless- archives of photographs of moments of real intimacy. Photographs ranging from notable public figures to friends met in the soft shadows of morning light- deep, genuine smiles and longing stares that make each image feel just as intimate as the next. Images that stay with you long after they first cross your eyes. Over the years, Gioncarlo has continually proven himself as a photographer who can make any person feel authentically seen in front of his lens.

For Gioncarlo, growing up in West Baltimore as someone who is Black and queer was inherently an exercise of feeling the complexities of identity on a daily basis. Chapters of life filled with longing, loss, and the continued search for comforts and care. The memories of this chapter of life fill the stretches of neighborhood blocks with moments that linger in the air. In many ways, tenderness was the act of trying to stay grounded, otherwise getting swept into the turbulence of those years. Masculinity in particular was something that he observed through many different complicated lenses- through deep friendships, losses, and desires. But in the ways in which he depicts queerness, Blackness and masculinity through a lens of softness, we see the ways he has slowly worked to reframe and reclaim those identities through his art.

When setting out to make this film, I hoped to explore the ways documented intimacy is a radical act of self exploration.

For Gioncarlo’s photography and writing, that has been present in the work he’s done to document his life through many lenses- queer love, the journey of self acceptance with his body, and the ways to hold grief and loss that is compounded over time. All of these reframings have forced him to reckon with the idea of tenderness- both in its importance but also its fragility. But more importantly, the goal of this film was always to center Gioncarlo’s personal journey- from his early years in Baltimore to today, and how finding his voice and lens behind the camera has been a way to document intimacy, masculinity, queerness, and BIPOC communities through a softness that feels more important than ever before.

Artistically, I wanted to take the lush visual world of Gioncarlo’s photography and bring it into motion. Tender moments alone in reflection, combing through the archives, laughter shared with family as they are photographed in the quietness of their homes. In between moments with Gioncarlo at work, the film moves through the archives of his work as well as captured composed video closeups bringing his work to life. This tapestry of moments of work, moments of observation, and a reflection of the years of work pull together a visual landscape of how tenderness is a tool, and Gioncarlo’s vision and voice is a throughline.

The film ends as we see Gioncarlo setting up a shoot to take a series of portraits of himself, stepping immediately into his own world that he has crafted for others. To me, ending with this moment is foundationally important because it’s an understanding that Gio’s work feels so personal because it is. So much of his formative years shaped the longing felt in his art. But his ability to see these moments as reflections of parts of himself is an essential way to see his journey. Tenderly, he looks into the mirror and takes himself in through his reflection and clicks the shutter. The same way he and his images invite you to return to them again and again- like a caring hand extended by a familiar friend.

More about Gioncarlo Valentine

Gioncarlo Valentine (b. 1990) is an award-winning American photographer and writer. Valentine hails from Baltimore City and attended Towson University in Maryland. Backed by his seven years of social work experience, his work seeks to examine issues faced by marginalized populations, most often focusing his lens on the experiences of Black/LGBTQIA+ communities. Through writing and photography, Gioncarlo aims to broaden conversations around masculinity, culture, gender, and belonging.Select Publications/Clients include: Rolling Stone, The New Yorker, Apple, Vogue, WSJ, TIME, The New York Times, and Propublica.

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PRODUCTION CREDITS

Directed by Zeshawn Ali. Produced by Sarah Ema Friedland. Cinematography by Zac Manuel. Production Sound by Sade Norton and Ben Sands. Edited by Colin Nusbaum. Original Music and Mix by Michael Beharie.

This program was produced by Meerkat Media, which is solely responsible for its content. A production of Firelight Media in association with The WNET Group.

For IN THE MAKING, Executive Producers include Michael Kantor, Stanley Nelson, Marcia Smith, Monika Navarro and Joe Skinner. Supervising Producer is Robinder Uppal. Production Coordinator is Myrakel Baker. Audience Engagement Consultant is Chang Fuerte.

About American Masters
Now in its 39th season on PBS, American Masters illuminates the lives and creative journeys of those who have left an indelible impression on our cultural landscape—through compelling, unvarnished stories. Setting the standard for documentary film profiles, the series has earned widespread critical acclaim: 28 Emmy Awards—including 10 for Outstanding Non-Fiction Series and five for Outstanding Non-Fiction Special—two News & Documentary Emmys, 14 Peabodys, three Grammys, two Producers Guild Awards, an Oscar, and many other honors. To further explore the lives and works of more than 250 masters past and present, the American Masters website offers full episodes, film outtakes, filmmaker interviews, the podcast American Masters: Creative Spark, educational resources, digital original series and more. The series is a production of The WNET Group.

American Masters is available for streaming concurrent with broadcast on all station-branded PBS platforms, including PBS.org and the PBS app, available on iOS, Android, Roku streaming devices, Apple TV, Android TV, Amazon Fire TV, Samsung Smart TV, Chromecast and VIZIO. PBS station members can view many series, documentaries and specials via PBS Passport. For more information about PBS Passport, visit the PBS Passport FAQ website.

About The WNET Group

The WNET Group creates inspiring media content and meaningful experiences for diverse audiences nationwide. It is the community-supported home of New York’s THIRTEEN – America’s flagship PBS station – WLIW, THIRTEEN PBS KIDS, WLIW World and Create; NJ PBS, New Jersey’s statewide public television network; Long Island’s only NPR station WLIW-FM; ALL ARTS, the arts and culture media provider; newsroom NJ Spotlight News; and FAST channel PBS Nature. Through these channels and streaming platforms, The WNET Group brings arts, culture, education, news, documentary, entertainment, and DIY programming to more than five million viewers each month. The WNET Group’s award-winning productions include signature PBS series Nature, Great Performances, American Masters, and Amanpour and Company and trusted local news programs like NJ Spotlight News with Briana Vannozzi. Inspiring curiosity and nurturing dreams, The WNET Group’s award-winning Kids’ Media and Education team produces the PBS KIDS series Cyberchase, interactive Mission US history games, and resources for families, teachers and caregivers. A leading nonprofit public media producer for more than 60 years, The WNET Group presents and distributes content that fosters lifelong learning, including initiatives addressing poverty, jobs, economic opportunity, social justice, understanding, and the environment. Through Passport, station members can stream new and archival programming anytime, anywhere. The WNET Group represents the best in public media. Join us. 

UNDERWRITING

Original production funding for In the Making is provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, Rosalind P. Walter Foundation, Anderson Family Charitable Fund, The Marc Haas Foundation, The Charina Endowment Fund, Ambrose Monell Foundation, Kate W. Cassidy Foundation, Sue and Edgar Wachenheim III, and Philip & Janice Levin Foundation.

Support for American Masters is provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, AARP, Rosalind P. Walter Foundation, Burton P. and Judith B. Resnick Foundation, Blanche and Hayward Cirker Charitable Lead Annuity Trust, Koo and Patricia Yuen, Lillian Goldman Programming Endowment, Seton J. Melvin, Thea Petschek Iervolino Foundation, Candace King Weir, Anita and Jay Kaufman, The Philip and Janice Levin Foundation, Kate W. Cassidy Foundation, The Blanche and Irving Laurie Foundation, The Ambrose Monell Foundation, Ellen and James S. Marcus, The Charina Endowment Fund, The André and Elizabeth Kertész Foundation, The Marc Haas Foundation and public television viewers.

TRANSCRIPT

(gentle upbeat music) (camera clicks) - [Gioncarlo] What color are your memories?

Another way of asking, "If you think of me often."

Mine are a feverish orange hue, what a photo director once termed a honey hibiscus haze.

But, do you think of me often?

Some things that I search for in photography and in my writing is the everyday.

For Black life, the everyday has been told through the lens of white photographers, has been devalued, has been exploited in a particular way.

So I'm creating a body of work that tells really simple stories about regular people who are special and unique and have had, like, really fulfilling lives, and that being kind of enough.

(graphics clicking) Okay.

- How you been?

- I'm good.

- Yeah?

- How have you been?

- I'm good.

- Welcome home.

- Thank you.

Feels good to be home, just like fall.

- [Assistant] Are we loaded up?

- All right, this is beautiful.

Don't move.

Three.

Two.

One.

(camera clicks) All right.

- Should I be funny?

- Don't be annoying.

- Okay.

(laughs) (camera clicks) - All right.

Soften it up a bit.

Turn your head a little bit, please.

Eyes right in the camera.

Nice and big.

Beautiful.

Three, two, one.

(camera clicks) I am Gioncarlo Valentine.

I'm a photographer and writer from Baltimore.

When I moved to New York in 2014, I was making a very particular kind of work.

I wanted to photograph fashion.

(calm music) The following year in 2015, when Freddie Gray was murdered, I went to Baltimore for the protests and I just noticed there were cameras everywhere, film crews everywhere.

People were knocking on people's doors.

It just felt really invasive and violent.

All the photographers were white.

I was chanting as a photographer and as a Black person from Baltimore, but the photographers weren't.

They were just kind of focused on the image and I felt a real strong anger and disconnect from that.

That community wasn't being imaged properly.

When Freddie Gray died, the one thing that I was really crushed by was that the only photo that came out of him was horrible.

It was bad quality.

It looked like it was taken, you know, years before on like a phone, and it was it.

And I was like, this is the representation of a person's whole life.

My work started to shift around then, so I went back and started making portraits, thinking about how everybody kind of deserves to have a nice photo of them.

I was offering that service and trying to impose on people how urgent it was to make images.

(calm music) With my photographs, I think the through line is Blackness and elevating blackness and being black and angry and being angry about the ways that Black people are mistreated.

Photographing with care and photographing care is valuable to me specifically because so much of the Black experience is a group of under-resourced people caring for each other, building community together and like pulling together to make something and create a world for themselves that is not just suffering, but that is something else.

(soft mellow music) And I think around 2016, people started to take notice of my work in New York.

Newsweek reached out and wanted me to photograph Faith Ringgold and it would be my first assignment.

She's like a legendary artist.

Got to spend a day learning about her life.

I felt like just having tea with a girlfriend out back.

And I was so proud of that.

And I think I met with the New York Times three or four months later and then I started working kind of from there.

(gentle music) (photographs clicking) (gentle music fades) (wind gently whooshing) Grandma.

- Yeah, baby?

- Come here, please.

Go ahead and sit down.

- [Joan] Oh, you talking about the light light.

Okay.

- And bring your eyes right over here.

Look into the camera for me.

Look straight ahead.

Nice.

Two, one.

(camera beeping) (camera clicks) When we were young, we grew up chronically homeless and my mother was kind of a presence, but she was coming and going a lot and we were going through a lot and it was very unhappy.

Around that time, I used to go to Rite Aid and steal cameras, like steal point and shoot cameras a lot.

(Joan chattering) It was rare that I had the money to get 'em.. but I would like photograph us going to Save A Lot or photograph us like sitting on the porch.

(Joan humming) It, for me, was very intentional just to kinda capture some of that joy that we were feeling in those fleeting moments.

It felt a little bit like stopping the trauma to create ceremony.

(camera clicks) I did what I could do with this sadness.

I ate it, cracked my teeth open chewing it.

It is all I could muster, all that came out when I tried to speak.

(soft somber strings music) (water boiling) Mom, look at the camera and put your glasses on your face.

Thank you.

Beautiful.

I love this hair back.

I was gonna tell you to bring it down, but I think You love wearing your hair in a ponytail.

You know, as a queer person, my family was really supportive, but school was really tough and I think because of my queerness, I was ostracized often.

So I like got lost in television a lot.

Those were windows into another world and I would fall in love with other people's lives.

(gentle ambient music) - You all right?

- Mm-hmm.

- I think a lot about the women who really came to my rescue over and over again when I was growing up.

I know that I simply wouldn't have gotten through these very particular periods.

- [Lolita] Okay.

- On-- there we go.

Okay, she's playful... She's at home.

- No.

- She's-- (laughs) She's feeling young girl in her room energy.

This is cute.

(camera clicks) I was always just very loud and very feminine.

I loved women and I marveled at my mother's beauty.

I thought that her doing her ponytail in the mirror was truly spiritual for me to watch.

(camera clicks) (gentle strings music) (gentle strings music continues) (water gently splashing) (machine beeping) I met Reginald in 2019.

I was photographing Kamala Harris when she was running for president, and we hit it off and for years talked about collaborating together.

In 2023, decided on me accompanying him and his company, Freedom Reads, to various prisons throughout the country to photograph people on the inside.

And this picture that I'm developing now is actually from the first day.

And I did not have a perspective, but I was trying to keep my eyes open to what the culture and the climate was there.

It was terrifying.

I was like very uncomfortable, as a queer person in that space.

I felt very distant from the people that The few men that wanted to be photographed kind of came over to the side, and this guy was very, very lovely, but very stoic and very quiet.

Let me make a portrait of him.

(water gently splashing) I don't know.

It's been a lot to hold.

We photograph people indiscriminately, so we don't know anything about what they've done.

We have no context for who they are.

They simply sign up to come to the event and we make portraits of them.

And we've been able to photograph really remarkable, kind, bubbly, hilarious people who are in prison.

And I know that, you know...

I don't know.

I just found that to be remarkable.

(calm music) When I think of our community's issues, the people who cause the most harm intercommunally tend to be Black men; and if I'm gonna talk about those harms, if I'm gonna talk about toxic masculinity culture and our unique experience of violence in our community because of our histories, I have to kind of focus my camera on the people who are involved.

So I photographed Michael B. Jordan and Jonathan Majors for the New York Times, and they went viral.

The commentary was like rooted in a very bizarre kind of elementary school homophobia of like should men even touch.

And it was weeks and weeks of feeling completely invisibilized, like having my name never spoken.

The context of that work fits within the context of all of my work about masculinity, intimacy, and vulnerability between Black men.

But I think that having a queer photographer would've made it too on the nose or like the image would've had a different life.

It would've been queer already inherently.

And then, Jonathan Majors got arrested for assaulting his partner, and immediately the narrative switched to, "You should stop sharing this photograph.

You should take this photograph down."

It was nightmarish.

It was very depressing.

It was just a strange thing to invisibilize me because I think making me present as the image maker would've facilitated the conversation properly.

And I think that this idea that Black people, Black men particularly have to be perfect in order to have value societally, I think my prison project extends to this idea too.

Because this is the actual place that we banish all of the bad people from society to.

It's so strange the idea that when people go to prison, that it's this cliff that people go off of into a nowhere place, but life happens on the inside.

Love continues on the inside.

Families suffer on the outside.

So I think the desire to like disappear this photo is part of the chorus of the Black American experience of needing to be a perfect person in order to have any real value.

(somber music) Black straight men are a big focal point in my work and I love them, and I love them in my work.

And I love Black women in my work just the same, but it is different, there's a different urgency.

Aww!

Look how big.

Hello.

- He got big from last time you saw him, right?

- Yeah.

How old is he now?

- Six.

- Okay, it's been five years then.

- Yeah.

- How you doing, Quest?

You ready to get some pictures?

You want a banana?

You want some granola?

- What is a granola?

- [Gioncarlo] I don't know how to explain that.

A couple of years ago, I was working on a body of work that was to destigmatize facial tattoos.

I was waiting in line at a fish fry place in Harlem and I saw Jonah and I went up to him and I was like, "Hey, I'd love to make a photograph of you."

He was like, "Yeah, right now, let's do it."

And I was like, "Maybe let's schedule a time.

I don't have a camera."

And so he had to bring Quest, who was only a few months old, with him to the park.

It just became one of my favorite images in my archive.

So I had the idea to make an updated photograph.

Three, two.

(camera clicks) Good.

Hold on.

It feels like what is important that this be a document that is ongoing, that the work is a breathing, living archive, that people are participating and collaborating in the images, that you're building connections that continue for long periods of time.

It's affirming beyond anything technical or like beauty-based.

Quest will grow up with this document and we'll probably photograph him again and again and grow up with an archive of his own.

(camera clicks) (bright piano music) (bright piano music continues) I make an image.

Try to catch my breath again.

I am breathing with my camera.

I'm erupting with the bittersweet, so I keep moving.

I catch a second wind to get away from it all.

(gentle music) (gentle music continues) (Gioncarlo humming) (camera knob clicking) Self-portraiture has been this really quiet spiritual practice almost.

It is a practice of seeing oneself.

There are people who are treated a particular way in society where they don't want you to exist.

They do not want queer people to exist.

They do not want fat people to even be clothed.

People don't even make clothes for fat bodies.

Being constantly told that I'm unbeautiful when I know that I'm beautiful, that I'm unlovable and unloved when I know that that's not true.

It is a radical act to kind of push back on that every chance that I get.

I started this body of work specifically after realizing that I had stopped looking in the mirror, literally.

Like, there was a period of years where I had actually disengaged with the mirror.

I feel beautiful when I photograph myself and that is a practice of like reminding myself that I am incredibly beautiful, that I that I actively go out of my way to care for my body and for myself.

Because it's important for me to know where I have been as an artist.

And it is so important to me that I do not disappear.

I cannot describe how much like myself he made me feel, how inside my body I felt when he called my name.

Gioncarlo, his voice would thunder.

Gioncarlo, a name that I gave myself but that I never felt was suddenly all flesh, was all I could feel around me.

After a moment, silence.

No cars, just sunset.

He called my name and it echoed off the mountains.

I made a small exposure and the earth held its breath.

(camera clicks) (calm music) (calm music continues) (calm music fades) (clapperboard claps)