Misan Harriman’s Protest Photographs Become a Permanent Installation at Hope 93 in London
A basement gallery in central London is being given over, long-term, to the charged stillness of protest. “The Purpose of Light,” a body of black-and-white photographs by British photographer and filmmaker Misan Harriman, has returned to Hope 93 as a permanent installation, expanding on a widely visited presentation that first opened there last summer.
The project gathers images Harriman has made over the past seven years at demonstrations in the UK, the US, and South Africa. Among the works is a photograph shot on Westminster Bridge, with Big Ben looming nearby, in which a small group of young people hold a hand-lettered sign reading “Black Trans Lives Matter.” Harriman’s high-contrast compositions, polished yet immediate, translate street-level urgency into a visual language more often associated with fashion editorials — a sensibility he developed through high-profile commissions, including cover photography for Vogue UK.
Installed across Hope 93’s lower floor, the photographs now form a dense, immersive environment. More than 100 images are distributed across three rooms, hung from floor to ceiling against black-washed walls. The installation is being supported by private collectors who have agreed to place works they own on permanent display in the gallery’s basement, turning what began as a temporary exhibition into a long-term fixture.
Harriman describes the installation as an invitation to move through events he has “been able to bear witness to.” The photographs span multiple flashpoints and geographies, including protests following the death of George Floyd in 2020 and demonstrations responding to the death of Renee Good in 2026. The selection also includes images from “March for Congo” and Gaza protests in 2024.
Even as the pictures are rooted in specific causes, Harriman resists framing the project as a single-issue statement. “This exhibition isn’t about one cause,” he has said, emphasizing instead the broader social impulse to gather publicly during what he calls “a time of upheaval.” He also notes the complexity of photographing crowds whose views may diverge sharply from his own, recalling that he has documented people who “don’t see me as a human being as a Black man.” For Harriman, the through line is less ideological uniformity than the shared act of showing up — “a community of people who may not realise it but are in solidarity with each other.”
Hope 93’s founder, Aki Abiola, estimates that thousands of visitors came through the original presentation. The show was extended twice amid sustained interest before closing in January. In a testimonials book, one visitor, Andrea, wrote: “I came every time I needed these photos, like a mental support.” Abiola has described the earlier exhibition as a kind of refuge for repeat visitors, while characterizing the newly expanded installation as “more overwhelming and intense.”
Harriman’s approach draws on a hybrid practice that moves between editorial polish and documentary speed. He favors natural light and works with digital Leicas, applying the same technical rigor he brings to magazine assignments to scenes unfolding on the street. His visual thinking is shaped by cinema: he has spoken about studying the lighting of Stanley Kubrick’s “Barry Lyndon” as a student, and in 2023 his directorial debut, “The After,” was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Live Action Short Film. That filmic sensibility carries into the photographs, which often capture bodies mid-gesture, as if the frame has interrupted a larger narrative.
The artist’s preference for real-world settings extends beyond protest work. Harriman has said he dislikes studio shoots, even with celebrities, favoring environments where chance and movement can sharpen an image’s emotional temperature. “The lens is a muscle you have to use at will,” he has said, arguing for decisiveness in unpredictable conditions.
The installation also arrives amid renewed debate about cultural risk-taking. Pointing to Gaza and the backlash against diversity, equity, and inclusion policies in the US, Harriman has asked, “how brave are artists being?” He has framed the question as both ethical and practical, acknowledging the pressures that can make artists and institutions cautious. As chairman of the Southbank Centre in London, he has argued that the art world “inevitably reflects the wind of change” — a claim that “The Purpose of Light,” with its insistence on public witness, tests in real time.
With its permanent footing at Hope 93, Harriman’s project shifts from a momentary snapshot of recent protest culture to an ongoing public encounter — one that asks what it means to look, to return, and to recognize solidarity across differences.
