Written by Renaé Mangena
A couple of years ago, I was having a conversation with someone. I can’t really remember what prompted it, but we spoke about the notion of being called to do something, and how certain people are called into their being, there is genuinely nothing else that they should or could be doing with their existence. Their passion and means of existence are linked to what they do, and they are living in their passion.
I can honestly say that Raphandu Maphoto is one such person. The way in which he speaks about his work, his practice, and his means of approach follows an elastic nature, one that can form many shapes. It can expand when needed, and it can truly formulate itself into an amalgamation of things. What truly made our conversation a lot more special was an insight that brought me to think about the notion that he creates from a place of wanting the world to see and understand his worldview, rather than creating work that simply speaks to his view of the world. It is such a breath of fresh air to experience a person so rooted in the work they create, whose passion is met with an equally strong ambition and work ethic.
Let’s start at the beginning. Where did it all begin for you?
I’ve always been curious, very visual as a kid. Around 15, I picked up my dad’s camera and started documenting street culture in Johannesburg, where I’m from originally. At first, it was just about capturing what felt cool, creative culture, events, moments with people. But over time, it became more intentional. I became more aware of what I was putting out and developed a deeper interest in African stories. By 17, I started recording more seriously. A big part of that shift came from wanting to challenge what I was seeing on TV, especially how African stories were being represented. I felt like I wanted to participate in changing that narrative. It wasn’t an easy transition. Moving from documenting culture to addressing social issues felt like a leap. But I kept putting my work online, and opportunities slowly started coming in. There were setbacks too. I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped in matric, and a lot of opportunities fell away. But a close family friend of mine, SJ Myeza asked me a simple question: Do you want to be a photographer, or do you want to be a director? That moment clarified everything for me. Even after he passed away, I think he had already opened doors. I ended up in Cape Town, starting out as a camera trainee, learning on set while also trying to deepen my understanding of storytelling beyond just the technical. Then in 2020, I made a one-minute film for an International Emmys competition and won. That moment shifted things. But even then, I knew I still had a lot to learn.
If you were speaking to your younger self now, what would you say?
I’d tell him that it’s okay to be scared of your dreams, especially when you don’t yet have a clear reference for what you’re becoming. I didn’t really have a clear reference for what I wanted to become. I’d also tell him that trusting God and committing to learning would carry him through. Those have been my biggest anchors. And I’d remind him that being different isn’t something to fix, it’s something to trust.
Your work has shifted from documenting culture to engaging more deeply with social themes. What prompted that evolution?
I think as I’ve grown within commercial work, I’ve become more intentional about holding onto what made me fall in love with storytelling in the first place. For me, the work becomes meaningful when it feels lived, when it reflects something real. That’s when it becomes healing, not just for me but for the audience too. Emotion is always my entry point. Culture is the backbone, but if the work doesn’t feel human, it doesn’t matter how cinematic it is. As my work has grown and reached wider audiences, I’ve also become more aware of the responsibility that comes with that, what I’m saying, and how I’m saying it.
There’s a strong sense of movement in your work, your camera feels alive. Is that intentional?
Movement for me, is everything, how dynamic I can get with the camera is something I’ll always try to explore. I remember, even back in my street culture days when I was 15, I wasn’t just walking around taking photos, I was running, chasing moments, trying to find something. So it’s always been dynamic, even before I had any formal camera training. That instinct has stayed with me, but it’s also been shaped by the agencies that represent me. Being withEyeforce, which has a strong focus on sports and outdoor work, you’re exposed to fast-paced environments, quick cuts, high-energy visuals, and very technical execution. That’s something I’ve intentionally tried to absorb and bring into my own process and journey.
But at the core, that movement has always been there. Even when I look back at my first Emmy Award-winning piece, I can see it, that sense of motion, that energy. It’s almost like a dance. That’s how I connect with the audience. I don’t like to pause too much.
That said, I’ve reached a point where I’m learning to slow down a bit and allow for more emotional beats. I explored that in my short film”Threads of Love” because at that stage in my career, I realised there was an absence of stillness and reflection in my work. I needed to slow down to properly hold and shape the story.
But overall, I still see it as a dance. I like to move with the characters I’m telling stories about. I don’t want the work to feel robotic. That’s why a lot of my work exists outside of the studio. Even when I do shoot in the studio, there’s still a sense of pace and movement, it’s just part of how I see and create.
Let’s talk about “Threads of Love”. What made that story important for you to tell?
That film came at a time when I felt disconnected from filmmaking.I wanted to create something that spoke directly to my peers, young creatives navigating uncertainty, pressure, and identity. It was also a love letter to the community of Observatory in Cape Town, a space that held me during some difficult moments. We shot it in a single day, with friends. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. And that honesty brought me back to why I started.
If you had to choose one film to represent humanity to an unfamiliar audience, what would it be?
There’s a project I worked on called Beats of Benin featuring Amémé, the director’s cut, which hasn’t been released. It captures something deeper about African identity and history.
