Photography, Memory and the Poetics of the Unexpected
Dominican-born photographer Eli Pimentel brings together documentary observation, magical realism and conceptual experimentation to explore the ways in which we understand identity, labour, grief and the environments we inhabit.
Originally trained as an economist and holding a PhD in Philosophy, Pimentel came to photography as a mature student. After beginning an online course at Falmouth University, she continued her studies at the Royal College of Art, completing an MA in Photography in 2023. She also holds an Associate distinction from the Royal Photographic Society.
Although her work is grounded in documentary photography, Pimentel resists straightforward representation. Her images often emerge through chance encounters, instinctive observation and an attentiveness to the strange or unexpected qualities of everyday life. Alongside traditional photographic processes, she works with film, photograms, embroidery and alternative methods of presenting the image.
Her practice is shaped by an interest in ambiguity, social structures and the relationship between personal experience and the wider world. Whether addressing the economic cost of care, photographing feminist protest or exploring grief through walking and landscape, Pimentel creates work that moves between the political and the deeply personal.
Are you self-taught, or did you undertake formal artistic training?
I initially considered myself self-taught. In 2021, I enrolled on an online photography course at Falmouth University, as it was one of two institutions whose courses would allow me to apply for membership of the British Institute of Professional Photography.
I had not realised that the course was effectively an introduction to a master’s programme. I completed the first year online before moving to the Royal College of Art, where I undertook an MA in Photography, graduating in 2023.
I also hold an Associate distinction from the Royal Photographic Society.
Interestingly, higher education did not necessarily provide me with technical photographic skills, but it certainly taught me to think outside the box.
How would you define your visual language or conceptual approach?
I began at the Royal College of Art as a mature student and had never previously attended art school. My background is in economics, and I also hold a PhD in Philosophy. At first, I found the idea of conceptual practice difficult to grasp, so I began by working with subjects I already understood.
I photographed feminist protests in central London, although these have become increasingly infrequent. One particular series focused on the economic cost of care.
When people have children, their working hours outside the home are often reduced unless they can afford to pay someone else to undertake care within the home. For many families, this cost is prohibitive. Parents were protesting to demand access to high-quality nurseries and early-years facilities so that they could return to work.
One tutor considered the subject matter not only banal but already resolved. Through my work, however, I could demonstrate that it was not, and still is not, resolved. In 2023, Claudia Goldin became only the third woman to receive the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences, recognised for her research into women’s participation in the labour market and the gender pay gap.
However, with my graduate exhibition approaching, I needed to find new ways of developing and presenting the work. I began creating physical objects and reinterpreting the photographic image through other processes. I embroidered text taken from protest signs onto translucent parchment and used the material to create photograms.
The work was presented as part of my Royal College of Art graduate exhibition and will be shown at Experimental Barcelona in July 2026, where it will headline the Collective Hubs exhibitions.
Can you describe your creative process from conception to completion?
I do not usually go out to make images with a fixed plan, particularly when I am shooting on film.
One idea that underlies the way I work is that reality can be very different from what we have been conditioned to expect.
The work submitted for FLUX developed while I was looking through my negatives. Something about the colour and strangeness of the imagery reminded me of the Augsburg Book of Miracles, a sixteenth-century illuminated manuscript depicting apocalyptic visions and celestial phenomena.
The manuscript reflects a fascination with divine signs and wonders, but it also reveals a desire to observe, record and make sense of the world. I recognised a similar quality within my own images.
Does narrative, symbolism or storytelling play a role within your work?
All three play a role in my work to a certain extent. The images often begin as observations, but they can also suggest stories, symbols and associations that are not immediately resolved.
Which artists have most influenced you, historically or contemporarily, and why?
At heart, I see myself as a documentary photographer. I do not stage my work and rarely undertake extensive post-production, other than straightening an image or recovering detail from the shadows.
I admire photographers who capture ambiguity, vulnerability and curiosity while maintaining a strong sense of technical elegance. I am drawn to imagery that contains strangeness and poetry.
Eve Arnold has influenced me through her documentary approach and her ability to capture intimacy and uncertainty.
I admire Graciela Iturbide for the way she explores ritual and identity through images that feel both poetic and unfamiliar.
Harry Gruyaert is also important to me because of his ability to balance light, colour and atmosphere so precisely within a composition.
What personal, cultural or environmental influences shape your practice?
I am from the Dominican Republic, and there is undoubtedly an element of seeing life through the lens of magical realism within my work.
That cultural perspective influences the way I observe ordinary situations and recognise moments that feel strange, poetic or slightly removed from conventional reality.
Where is your studio based, and how does the space inform your creativity?
My studio is my kitchen.
I worked primarily from home while my children were growing up. Now that they are at university, I have realised that I would not necessarily want to change this arrangement. I supplement the space by occasionally turning my bathroom into a temporary darkroom.
I also belong to a community darkroom, which is important to my practice. It gives me the opportunity to learn new techniques, exchange ideas and see what other photographers are developing.
Do you have any rituals or rhythms that anchor your studio practice?
Working at home is comfortable and cosy, although I can sometimes become completely absorbed in the work.
A significant part of the workflow is unavoidably digital, which is both a blessing and a curse. I make a conscious effort to go out and photograph, but these tend to become substantial trips. I may get in the car and drive somewhere specifically, or travel further afield, before returning with a large amount of visual information to process.
What bodies of work or projects are you currently developing?
I sometimes say that some of my best work is accidental, although that is not quite the right word. The image often emerges because I am already out photographing and something unexpectedly draws my attention.
Both of my parents passed away unexpectedly within a few months of each other in 2025. I spent a great deal of time walking, trying, as we all do, to make sense of what had happened.
There is a body of literature surrounding embodied worldmaking, as well as psychogeography. I understand these ideas as suggesting that landscapes and the spaces we occupy hold meaning. They can help shape how we understand our experiences and how we evolve through difficult situations.
I began developing a body of work that explores grief as something we can see and hold, rather than something we only feel.
The project developed across two years. I now feel that it has reached a point of completion. In some ways, the work became complete once I understood what I had been doing throughout that time: walking, thinking and mourning.
Where can collectors encounter or acquire your work?
At present, collectors can contact me directly to discuss available work and acquisitions.