This arresting new photography book is a visual mediation on daily life in Indonesia

As with most projects born from the heart, photographer Farid Renais Ghimas began preparing for his first book, Angan-Angan Harsa, long before he formally began to shape it. The title, which translates to ‘Dreams of Joy’ in Indonesian, echoes not only his growth as an artist – shaped during an MA in fashion photography at Central Saint Martins in London – but also memories of his boyhood, growing up in a lush, island-strewn expanse between the Indian and Pacific oceans.

‘When I first left Indonesia as a teenager in 2018, I saw it as something to escape from – with all its flaws and the things that had always frustrated me. But the longer I was away, the more I longed for the things I once took for granted,’ confesses Farid.

That distance gradually ignited a renewed sense of connection to home. And, with encouragement from his course leader, Farid began to develop a final postgraduate project that would tell his personal story with candour, resulting in Angan-Angan Harsa, a visceral meditation on memory, place and belonging.

‘Angan-Angan Harsa’ by Farid Renais Ghimas

Against the backdrop of his birthplace, Bengkulu, Farid sought to revisit the halcyon days of his childhood, documenting the family, friends and community members who give this place its enduring sense of home. When asked what he missed most during his time abroad, he pauses before replying: ‘The comfortable silence [...] The feeling that I can just exist with the people closest to me for hours, and that quiet sense of belonging.’

Throughout the 92-page photo series, Farid assumes the role of observer – not as an outsider, but with the quiet intimacy of someone deeply rooted in place, tracing the rhythms of daily life and moments of stillness and joy. For him, coming home was at once familiar and strangely new. ‘I was returning to a city I had always known, but this time with fresh eyes,’ he reflects.

Although born in this province on the southwest coast of Sumatra, the photographer spent much of his childhood moving between cities – Pekanbaru, Balikpapan, and Jakarta. Yet Bengkulu remained a constant: a place to gather with family during Eid and his mother’s hometown. ‘In a way, I always saw it as my hometown too,’ he says. ‘Over time, I developed a quiet emotional attachment to it, feeling as though her home was also mine.’

Across Angan-Angan Harsa, primary colours hold sway of the viewer’s first glimpse – bold and immediate – before dissolving into softer hues, much like fleeting moments of kinship fade into the backdrop of everyday life. Farid’s lens moves fluidly between the personal and the communal, capturing not only those closest to him but also the wider community.

One such moment unfolds during the Tabut Festival, a long-standing tradition in Bengkulu commemorating the martyrdom of Husayn ibn Ali. Ornamental Tabut structures – symbolic coffins – are adorned in deep reds, vibrant yellows and floral motifs, standing in vivid contrast to the expanse of blue sky. ‘The streets were packed,’ he recalls. ‘Some people were watching, others chanting, waving flags, or taking pictures on their phones.’

His favourite photograph, however, was taken just hours after his return: children playing barefoot, chasing a ball beneath the golden light of late afternoon. ‘It was the perfect reintroduction to a world that once felt so familiar to me as a kid,’ he says.

It’s a fitting image, especially given that, early in our conversation, he recalls his happiest memories as those spent playing outside until the sunset set in.

In making Angan-Angan Harsa, which was shot during the summer of 2022, Farid was drawn back into the folds of family life, spending much of his time with his young cousins, Farell and Fauzan. These images capture the raw energy and innocence of childhood as if attempting to reconnect with the emotions that shaped his own.

‘Fauzan loved being in front of the camera – whenever I asked him to stand somewhere or wear something, he’d immediately start making funny faces and silly hand gestures. He was a natural,’ he remembers. ‘Farell, on the other hand, was much quieter. When he got home from school, he’d drop his bag and head straight out with his friends. By the end of the day, he’d return home with a tan from playing outside, dirt on his clothes, and barely a word to say.’

Farid concludes he’s not trying to make bold statements: ‘Angan-Angan Harsa is just me revisiting a place I call home, capturing the people, places, and moments that are part of me [...] And maybe, in these everyday scenes, others can find something that feels familiar too – a sense of belonging, memory, or the quiet beauty of ordinary life.’

faridrenaisghimas.com