The Distance Between Us: Bridging Cultures Through France Leclerc’s Lens
France Leclerc’s journey into photography wasn’t born from a childhood dream. It didn’t begin with shutter speeds or lighting setups. It began, instead, with a question: How do we understand one another, across all the invisible lines that separate us?
For much of her life, France studied human behavior in classrooms and lecture halls. As an academic, she was trained to analyze – to dissect patterns, question assumptions, and find meaning in human action. But eventually, she found herself asking: What if understanding people isn’t something you can learn through data? What if it happens face-to-face, in the field, through presence?
It was this shift – from theory to lived experience – that led her to photography. What began fifteen years ago as a casual class soon took root in her life in ways she never expected. The camera, once just a tool, became her second language.
Since then, she has traveled to over 100 countries – some repeatedly – to immerse herself in daily life, to witness, to listen. Her lens doesn’t look for the extraordinary. It looks for the deeply human.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the world – its diversity, its challenges, and above all, the resilience of people.”
For much of her life, France studied human behavior in classrooms and lecture halls. As an academic, she was trained to analyze – to dissect patterns, question assumptions, and find meaning in human action. But eventually, she found herself asking: What if understanding people isn’t something you can learn through data? What if it happens face-to-face, in the field, through presence?
It was this shift – from theory to lived experience – that led her to photography. What began fifteen years ago as a casual class soon took root in her life in ways she never expected. The camera, once just a tool, became her second language.
Since then, she has traveled to over 100 countries – some repeatedly – to immerse herself in daily life, to witness, to listen. Her lens doesn’t look for the extraordinary. It looks for the deeply human.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the world – its diversity, its challenges, and above all, the resilience of people.”
“The Camera as a Bridge”
France’s work is not documentary in the traditional sense. It’s not journalistic, nor is it romanticized. It lives in a quieter space – one where nuance matters more than narrative, and where empathy outweighs aesthetics.
She doesn’t arrive with a plan. She arrives with curiosity – and a willingness to let each place, each person, unfold on their own terms.
This approach is rooted in trust. And it’s slow. She often spends hours – sometimes days – sitting, talking, waiting. Letting people get used to her presence. Learning how they live, how they move, how they hold their silence. Only then does she raise the camera.
“Even when I do street photography, for me, the story is always the point.”
It’s about honoring it. Her photographs don’t shout. They carry the dignity of unposed life. A woman preparing food with her daughters. A boy lost in play beside a dusty road. A stranger offering tea beneath a crumbling roof.
These aren’t stories invented through framing. They’re stories encountered – and respectfully passed on.
She doesn’t arrive with a plan. She arrives with curiosity – and a willingness to let each place, each person, unfold on their own terms.
This approach is rooted in trust. And it’s slow. She often spends hours – sometimes days – sitting, talking, waiting. Letting people get used to her presence. Learning how they live, how they move, how they hold their silence. Only then does she raise the camera.
“Even when I do street photography, for me, the story is always the point.”
It’s about honoring it. Her photographs don’t shout. They carry the dignity of unposed life. A woman preparing food with her daughters. A boy lost in play beside a dusty road. A stranger offering tea beneath a crumbling roof.
These aren’t stories invented through framing. They’re stories encountered – and respectfully passed on.
“Life, Unscripted”
France calls her practice life photography, a term she uses to separate her work from more curated forms of image-making. She doesn’t seek perfection. She seeks presence.
Her favorite scenes are those that unfold naturally – unchoreographed, unplanned. Worship, work, celebration, mourning – all the rhythms of being alive.
This is why she’s increasingly drawn to the streets. In many parts of the world, life is lived out loud. It spills onto roads, into marketplaces, across thresholds. France walks among it – camera in hand, questions in heart.
There’s no distance in her images, even when they are taken halfway across the world. They pull you in. They remind you that strangers aren’t so strange. That you don’t need to speak the language to understand the look in someone’s eyes.
“Photography helps me learn. It helps me connect. And hopefully, it helps others feel closer to a world they may not otherwise encounter.”
Her favorite scenes are those that unfold naturally – unchoreographed, unplanned. Worship, work, celebration, mourning – all the rhythms of being alive.
This is why she’s increasingly drawn to the streets. In many parts of the world, life is lived out loud. It spills onto roads, into marketplaces, across thresholds. France walks among it – camera in hand, questions in heart.
There’s no distance in her images, even when they are taken halfway across the world. They pull you in. They remind you that strangers aren’t so strange. That you don’t need to speak the language to understand the look in someone’s eyes.
“Photography helps me learn. It helps me connect. And hopefully, it helps others feel closer to a world they may not otherwise encounter.”
“What Photographs Remember”
When France looks back at her images, what returns isn’t just the moment in the frame – it’s everything around it. The smell of the air. The way someone handed her a bowl of food. The laugh shared after a conversation through hand gestures and smiles.
“Each photograph has become part of my own story.”
And her story is about how each encounter reshaped her. How every place, every face, made her softer, more open. More willing to hold complexity. France doesn’t chase the exotic. She doesn’t romanticize poverty. She doesn’t try to tell other people’s stories for them. Instead, she lets the world tell its own story – and she pays attention.
“Each photograph has become part of my own story.”
And her story is about how each encounter reshaped her. How every place, every face, made her softer, more open. More willing to hold complexity. France doesn’t chase the exotic. She doesn’t romanticize poverty. She doesn’t try to tell other people’s stories for them. Instead, she lets the world tell its own story – and she pays attention.
“Against Fear, For Understanding”
At the heart of all her work is a belief: that fear comes from distance. And that if we shorten that distance – through presence, through empathy, through story – we just might remember how much we have in common.
“It might sound naïve, but I believe that the more we know about one another, the less we fear.”
This belief guides her – from the highlands of Papua New Guinea to the backstreets of Kolkata. From refugee camps to sacred rituals. From celebration to sorrow. It’s the same wherever she goes: people live, people try, people love. And that, she says, is what she wants to show.
Not the extremes. But the in-betweens. Not the spectacle. But the stillness. The way joy and grief often sit side by side.
France Leclerc doesn’t use photography to create distance. She uses it to erase it.
And that’s why she remains one of the Rare Storytellers.
“It might sound naïve, but I believe that the more we know about one another, the less we fear.”
This belief guides her – from the highlands of Papua New Guinea to the backstreets of Kolkata. From refugee camps to sacred rituals. From celebration to sorrow. It’s the same wherever she goes: people live, people try, people love. And that, she says, is what she wants to show.
Not the extremes. But the in-betweens. Not the spectacle. But the stillness. The way joy and grief often sit side by side.
France Leclerc doesn’t use photography to create distance. She uses it to erase it.
And that’s why she remains one of the Rare Storytellers.
The pictures and perspectives expressed above are those of the author(s) alone and do not represent the views of Rare Storyteller or its team.
to the world.