Virgo

Solo Exhibition

Escape Artist Studios

Las Vegas, Nevada

Light Chamber, Type IV

2019

In Virgo, I argue the photograph functions as a living tool, allowing us both to remember, and to call into question perceivable time and space. We see evidence of this duality in all forms of motion: for example, sound frequencies, although initiating at some specific point in time, continue to travel throughout our cosmos as new formations, seemingly rewriting our understanding of physical law. In this way, sound waves and light waves are one and the same; while expressed through specific moments in time, both forms of motion continually exist as new formations. Just as sound waves travel millions of miles throughout our galaxy - reaching new planets, local group clusters, even to the ends of the conceivable universe (i.e. the Virgo Supercluster), light waves expel notions of linear evolution. Through the photograph, specifically candid photography and the Decisive Moment (H. Cartier-Bresson, 1952), we are forced to question alternative pathways, outcomes, and the potential of causality. Simply, through the photograph we are left to wonder rather than to witness, we a left to imagine rather than understand, and we are left to hypothesize rather than to define


My Father's War                   

Light Chamber, Type III

2017

Re-purposing the last few undamaged Kodachrome slides from Paul-Jude father's tour in the Vietnam War, he revisits the drama his father has been unable retell since his time as a solider. Through the documentation of his father's own camera lens, Paul-Jude re-imagines the contextual hue of his father's war-torn and suppressed memory, in search of whatever may have been left behind.    


Never Let Me Go: Memory, Loss, and the Archive

Solo Exhibition

New England School of Photography

Boston, Massachusetts

Light Chamber, Type II

2014

Throughout this series Paul-Jude questions how loss encourages polarization. On one hand, he believes we are encouraged to forget, meaning: to ignore, to disregard, and, ultimately, to evolve, seemingly apathetic toward potential outcomes. Yet, Paul-Jude also believes the converse: every individual who has experienced loss in some way is also subject to ‘mourning’; meaning, simply, we are challenged to reflect, and to grow, in our own way.

A New Orleans native, Guillaume has had first hand experience with this polarization. In 2005, shortly after Guillaume transferred from Xavier University at Louisiana to Indiana University as a young undergraduate student, the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina forever changed the lives of his relatives - most lost their homes, and tragically, a few did not survive. Over the years material items that were damaged overwhelmingly were replaced - most things, except irreplaceable items like his grandmother's family albums. He began to wonder of their significance beyond just photographs. He wondered how these 'damaged' photos - their blurred contours, erased faces, and water logged backing - represented something more.

Never Let Me Go: Memory, Loss, and the Archive, highlights this communal experience, attempting to represent narratives of the familial archetype. Simply, using photographic materials from his, and other found family albums, Guillaume re-appropriates the family memento, attempting to find blended commonalities among loss, and methods of memory permanence.


South Bend Civil Rights Heritage Center (SBCRHC)

Solo Exhibition

Gelatin Silver Prints

2010

Influenced by Eric Etheridge’s documentary Beach of Peace, the South Bend Civil Rights Heritage Center Oral History Project and its’ sponsored photographic series by Paul-Jude Guillaume, highlight the local Civil Rights activists of South Bend’s Engman Natatorium. Built in 1921, the Engman Natatorium was initially intended to house swimming classes and for general community recreation. However, as African American residents began to relocate to this area, in the mist of segregation they found themselves unwelcome, denied by oppressive Jim Crow laws. In this heated historical moment of 1931, the Natatorium was a silent communal force, driving forward local civil rights ideology and legislation, and has since become one of the few remaining land-markers which retell its' historical importance so vividly. Simply, like “Beach of Peace”, at its core the South Bend Civil Rights Heritage Center Oral History Project and Guillaume’s photographs exist not only to document the importance of these remaining historical locations, but also to acknowledge the values, the struggles, and the courage of those who fought for basic human equality.