Donna Cyril
- 3 days ago
- 6 min read
Stories from Everyday Life
Donna Cyril photographs with a keen sensitivity to the relationships that keep a place alive. Her work stays attentive to people, to space, and to what takes shape between them. At the fish market in Mumbai, the centre of the frame shifts towards sellers of flowers, vegetables, and everyday goods, opening onto a map of small economies and different ways of making a living. In her work, a series gathers what a single frame can only touch upon. It is within that sequence that scenes, relationships, and gestures become legible. In this conversation, she reflects on how such stories emerge and develop, why she is drawn to film as a medium, and how sound expands her understanding of atmosphere.
How did photography first become part of your life, and when did you realise it was a medium through which you could truly express yourself?
My journey with photography began when I was around 15, after my father bought a Canon DSLR. I’m not entirely sure what led him to get it, but from the moment it was there, I was drawn to it. I started by taking simple photographs of plants, textures, and small details in nearby gardens, just exploring without much direction.
Everything shifted when I asked my best friend to model for me. That experience made me realise how much I connected with capturing people and moments, and it felt instinctively right. From there, I began teaching myself through YouTube, slowly building both my technical understanding and creative perspective. That period of curiosity and self-learning is what shaped my passion and showed me that photography was a medium through which I could truly express myself.
In the work you made at the fish market in Mumbai, how did you find its true focus as you were making it, and when did you realise that a story larger than the place itself was beginning to emerge?
If I’m being honest, I didn’t arrive at the fish market with a fixed idea or the intention of discovering something new. I simply wanted to observe, photograph people, and understand how the space functioned in its natural rhythm.
As I began moving through the market, I noticed that it wasn’t just about fish. There were people selling flowers, vegetables, and other everyday items, something quite common in Indian street markets. Yet in that setting, it felt unexpectedly striking. That contrast is what stayed with me.
At that moment, my focus shifted. I moved away from documenting fish vendors and instead became interested in the lives of those selling other goods. I found myself questioning why they chose this space, what drew them there, and how they carved out a livelihood within it. That’s when I realised the story was no longer just about a fish market, but about people, adaptation, and the many ways life unfolds within a single place.
What is it in a seemingly ordinary scene that makes you stop and look?
For me, it’s always a sense of human connection. I can look at a person or even a small detail on the street and feel drawn to it if it resonates with me in some way. I tend to see people and moments through a lens of relatability, imagining the stories behind them and how they connect to my own experiences.
Growing up as the daughter of someone in the armed forces, I moved frequently and was constantly adapting to new places and people. That experience shaped the way I observe the world. I became more aware of human behaviour, expressions, and the subtle ways people connect. I think that sensitivity is what makes me pause.
It’s that feeling of connection, however small, that makes an ordinary moment worth noticing.
When you photograph people at work and in their everyday lives, what do you most want the photograph to preserve?
What I most want to preserve is the authenticity of the moment, the honesty of a person simply being themselves in their everyday life. Every photograph carries a story, even if it is quiet or easily overlooked, and I’m interested in holding on to that sense of truth and intention behind the image.
I hope my work allows viewers to remember the people and spaces I photograph, not just as subjects but as lived experiences. I want there to be a sense of connection, so that someone can look at an image and find something familiar, something they can relate to in their own way.
At the same time, I don’t believe impact always has to be grand. Even a small emotional response or a moment of pause is meaningful. Ultimately, I want my photographs to feel genuine, both to the viewer and to myself, and to remain rooted in the joy I find in the process of creating them.
Alongside photography, you also work with film. What particularly draws you to that medium?
My interest in filmmaking naturally grew out of my passion for photography. During my bachelor’s degree, I had the opportunity to take a short filmmaking course, which introduced me to the process behind creating films. What fascinated me most was the realisation that something we experience in a few hours on screen often takes months or even years of careful work and precision to bring to life.
As I became more involved, I began to appreciate the depth and complexity of storytelling in film. It pushed me to think beyond a single frame and consider narrative, time, and emotion in a deeper way, which ultimately led me to pursue a Master’s in Filmmaking.
Over time, I’ve found myself particularly drawn to sound design and mixing. I’m interested in how sound can shape emotion and create atmosphere, often in ways that are subtle but powerful. This connection to sound also influences my photography. I often listen to music while shooting, as it helps me build an emotional rhythm and deepen my connection to the moments I’m capturing.
When you are working on a series, how do you know when a story is beginning to take shape rather than simply a set of standalone photographs?
I usually approach a series in two ways. At times, I begin with a clear idea in mind, a theme, a mood board, and a visual direction that I try to follow while shooting. Even then, I remain open to unexpected moments, because observation is at the core of my process, and sometimes the most meaningful images fall outside what was planned.
At other times, I work more intuitively. I choose a location without a fixed concept and simply start photographing whatever draws my attention. It’s often during these unstructured moments, like a walk or a photo outing, that a pattern begins to emerge. I start noticing connections between images, and gradually a theme reveals itself.
For me, that’s when a story begins to take shape, not when I impose it, but when I start seeing a natural thread linking the photographs together.
How do you feel your work is evolving at the moment, and what kinds of stories are you most drawn to now?
I think my work is gradually becoming more intentional while still holding on to the sense of curiosity that first drew me to photography. Earlier, I was focused on observing and capturing moments as they came, but now I find myself thinking more about the deeper connections within those moments. I often think about how images relate to one another and what they collectively say. At the same time, I still value spontaneity and allow space for unexpected discoveries, because that remains an important part of my process. I want there to be a sense of connection, so that someone can look at an image and find something familiar, something they can relate to in their own way.
Lately, I’ve been especially drawn to stories rooted in everyday life, particularly those that explore work, routine, and human connection.
I’m interested in people, the environments they inhabit, and how even the most ordinary spaces can hold stories of resilience, identity, and belonging.
I also feel that my engagement with filmmaking is beginning to influence how I see and capture images. I’m becoming more aware of rhythm, atmosphere, and emotion, not just within a single frame, but across a series. Moving forward, I want to continue exploring these connections and sharing stories that feel honest, immersive, and deeply human.
In Donna Cyril’s work, a series gathers what a single frame can only touch upon. Only within that sequence do scenes, relationships, and gestures come together as a whole and take on fuller meaning.
Donna Cyril
