There is something disarmingly honest about the way Tunisian photographer and visual artist Bachir Tayachi sees people. He builds his work around emotion and is less interested in how things look (though they often look striking) and more in how they feel. His images allow people to exist as they are, without performance or expectation.

Growing up on the outskirts of Tunis, in an environment where difference was often met with resistance, he learned early on what it means to feel out of place. Being seen as the “black sheep” shaped not only his resilience but also the way he approaches others — with attentiveness and without judgment.

Why and how did his artistic journey begin? Who played a significant role in his path? And how would he describe his approach to photography? We spoke to Tayachi to find out.

— Bachir, let’s go back a bit — how did your creative journey start? Did your family play any role in it?

— I was born and raised in Tunis, in a small neighbourhood called Douar Hicher. I have two sisters — I am the youngest, and the only boy in the family.

My mother played a big role in my creative life. She used to draw a lot, not just for herself but also for kids in the neighbourhood. They would come to her for help with school drawings, and that is how I first started learning — just watching her and trying to do the same.

My first real encounter with a camera happened through my sister. She had this small, old vintage camera, and I remember taking it and experimenting with it on the rooftop.

— Rooftop?

— Yes, I spent a lot of time there growing up. My neighbourhood wasn’t always the safest, so my mother preferred that I stay home. The rooftop became my playground.

Later, I went on to study architecture. I kept drawing and exploring different forms of art, but photography wasn’t the focus yet.

Then one day, I entered a drawing competition — and I won a camera.

That changed everything. It was the first time I had a camera of my own, and I started taking photos of my friends, just experimenting, sharing things on Instagram. Through that, I began connecting with people from both the art and fashion scenes.

So as you can see, I didn’t plan to become a photographer — it just happened.

— You said, “your neighbourhood wasn’t always the safest”. What was it like growing up there?

— There is a place in Tunis called Hay Ettadhamen. It is one of the most densely populated areas in Africa, and it is known for being both very vibrant and very challenging. It has a reputation for poverty, crime, and danger.

I grew up right next to this neighbourhood, and that environment shaped a lot of my experience.

People in Tunis, especially back then, could be quite strict in their expectations. It was difficult to be different — whether you were creative, sensitive, or simply didn’t fit into what was considered “normal.” If you didn’t play football or act like the others, you could easily become a target for bullying. My mother did her best to protect me, and I am really grateful for that.

Because of this, I spent a lot of time at home. My playground was our rooftop. I would draw on the walls and just create things. In a way, it was isolating, but also very formative. It wasn’t all bad — I had friends — but it could be a difficult environment for someone who saw the world differently.

Things started to change when I was about eight. I began going to a place called Maison de la Culture, a space where children could explore art. We were a small group with a theatre teacher, and we spent a lot of time creating and performing together.

I spent nearly all my time there. Theatre became a huge part of my life for about eleven years, from primary school through high school.

Later, I moved to the city centre of Tunis to attend lycée. Around that time, everything started to feel more open. I had an incredible teacher who recognised my interest in theatre and encouraged me to apply to Lycée Pilote des Arts — a unique high school where you follow a standard curriculum but also dedicate time each week to an artistic discipline.

Being there opened up a completely new world. I met different people, discovered new perspectives, and felt less confined than before. At that time, social media wasn’t really present yet, so these spaces were even more important.

— Do you think the environment you grew up in shaped you in some way?

— It definitely made me more resilient. It also shaped the way I think and what I believe in.

When I was growing up, in my family and neighbourhood, there were very strict ideas about how people should behave. I never understood that. To me, it was simple — everyone should have the same freedom.

People were often shocked by the way I thought. From a young age, I was seen as different — the “black sheep” in a way.

One thing that really helped me to live there, surprisingly, was films. In Tunis, we had channels like MBC2 and MBC3 that showed a lot of American movies. Now, looking back, I can see their flaws, but at the time, they carried powerful messages. They showed different ways of living — ideas about freedom, self-belief, becoming your own hero, and even empowering women.

— Do you remember any film that inspired you?

— One film I have never forgotten is Billy Elliot. I loved it so much, and when I watched it again later, it still hit me just as deeply. It is still one of my favourite films.

Cinema made me feel like my way of thinking was valid. It gave me a sense that I wasn’t wrong to see the world the way I did.

Even now, I still get very emotional about these things. I remember watching Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl performance — there was a moment where he gave an award to a child, and it really moved me. I ended up crying.

— If you could meet your younger self today, what would you give him?

— I would give him a hug.

And I even gave him something I never really had growing up — a room of his own.

As a child, I didn’t have that. My “room” was actually the living room, which I shared with my father.

So, I had created a space for him. A room where he can just be — run around, make art, make music, and exist freely.

— Let’s talk about the In My Room project. As I understand it, the exhibition unfolds in three stages, each reflecting a different moment in your life. Is that right?

— Yes, In My Room is an installation that began from a deeply personal place — a breakup, and the emotions that came with it.

The project explores what it means to grow up in an environment where certain roles are clearly defined, and how that can impact the way you see yourself. Over time, it became a reflection on self-acceptance, empathy, and the importance of creating space for individuality.

The installation is designed as an immersive journey. Each element carries personal meaning, but the experience is open to interpretation. Visitors are invited not only to understand the narrative but to connect with their own emotions and experiences.

The journey unfolds through three stages — emotion, reflection, and healing. Each room represents a different moment in that process.

In the final room, there is a figure created from childhood images — a representation of the younger self. It invites a moment of reflection, of understanding where we come from, and how we grow.

Ultimately, In My Room is about navigating emotions, questioning expectations, and finding a way to move forward with greater awareness and compassion — both for ourselves and for others.

After this exhibition, I felt that I had to take some distance from the art scene. I needed time to reset, to take care of myself, and to think about the next step. Recently, I have been focusing more on my health, spending time with friends, and learning to slow down.

For now, the most important thing is to move forward gradually and to open a new chapter when the time feels right.

— There are so many creatives and photographers trying to get noticed today. You have already worked with major magazines like Vogue Arabia and really built your presence. Do you remember a turning point in your journey — maybe a person or a project that helped you gain visibility and start getting clients?

— There were two key people who really supported me early on.

The first was Laurence Touitou. She is an incredible woman — French-Tunisian, a former music producer, and the founder of La Lise Tunisienne. She is also known for discovering Massive Attack. She played a very important role in my journey.

Through her, I was introduced to Saif Mahdhi, a Paris-based manager who is very well-connected in the industry. He has worked with major names, including Rita Ora and Kate Moss.

He was the one who helped make my Vogue Arabia Men cover happen and connected me with a wider network of people.

I am deeply grateful to both of them — and to everyone who supported me along the way, whether it was through opportunities or simply believing in me from the beginning.

— How would you describe your approach in photography?

— I am drawn to authentic spaces, real moments, textures — things that feel alive. What matters most to me is capturing the most beautiful version of a person, not just how they appear, but how I see them in that moment.

I care deeply about aesthetics. I know the idea of “beauty” can be complex, especially in the art world, but for me it remains important. I want my images to feel beautiful in my own way — something slightly elevated, almost magical, while still grounded in reality. It is about creating a moment where the person in front of the camera feels seen.

And also, I am especially drawn to editing. Since the very beginning, I have been interested in creating something between photography and painting. I was learning composition and light, but I would spend hours working on a single image — adjusting tones, colours, and atmosphere.

— Your work feels very distinctive — each image carries a story, and each person feels like a character. Is there one that stands out to you the most?

— Yes, there is one image that remains very close to me. It is a portrait of a friend of mine from Senegal. We met while he was studying, and we worked together on a few photographs. He had an incredible presence — there was something truly striking about him.

A month after we took that picture, he passed away.

That image became very meaningful to me, not only because of our connection, but also because it is completely untouched. It is raw, straight from the camera. One of the rare moments where I didn’t feel the need to edit anything.

— You have mentioned your mother and sisters. Would you feel comfortable sharing something about your father as well?

— I would rather not talk too much about him. I didn’t have a perfect relationship with my dad. I had a wonderful mother, but things with my father have always been complicated, and I prefer not to go into it. But I would definitely like to create a project about this relationship.

— What will it be?

— At one point, I also started developing a more conceptual project inspired by interactive storytelling. The idea was to create a video game-like installation where the viewer could choose to experience the story either as a child or as a father.

It was inspired by formats like Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, where the viewer makes choices that shape the narrative. In this project, those choices would reflect different scenarios.

At its core, the project was about exploring complex family dynamics, particularly the relationship between father and child. It came from a personal place, but it was also meant to open a broader question: how do we relate to each other, and how do patterns of behaviour repeat across generations?

It is not about judging, but about understanding — why we act the way we do, how we respond to one another, and whether those patterns can shift.