Most people take photographs to remember where they’ve been. For Umaima Tanweer Khan, photography has become a way of making sure we don’t forget where we’ve come from. Whether she’s wandering through Lahore’s Old City, documenting pre-partition architecture, or spending time with artisans whose crafts have survived generations, she’s always thinking about the same question: what happens if nobody records this?
It’s a question that consistently runs through her work. Her photographs aren’t simply about beautiful light or striking compositions, they’re about preserving fragments of Pakistan’s cultural memory before time, urbanisation and changing lifestyles reshape them beyond recognition.
“I’m often thinking about memory,” she says, “What will remain, what will be lost, and how a photograph can preserve a fragment of that experience for the future.”
It’s a thoughtful perspective, especially considering photography wasn’t always part of the plan.
“My journey into photography began quite unexpectedly,” Umaima reveals. “I had no formal background in photography and had never imagined it would become my profession.”
Like many life-changing stories, hers began almost accidentally. Armed with nothing more than an iPhone 5, Umaima photographed a street scene while walking through Lahore’s Old City. There was no expectation that the image would travel beyond her phone. Instead, it was selected for the THAAP International Photography Exhibition before going on to Malaysia, where it received a Gold Medal.
“It was the first time I realised that an ordinary photograph could carry a story powerful enough to travel beyond its place of origin.”
That single photograph changed the course of her life. She went on to study Visual Arts at the National College of Arts (NCA), adding another layer to an already unconventional academic journey that included degrees in Mathematics and Accounting & Finance.
Today, Umaima’s photographs have been exhibited internationally, featured by Sony Middle East and Canon Asia, recognised by National Geographic Your Shot, and honoured with multiple Gold Medals at the All Pakistan Photo Contest, alongside Dawn’s Photographer of the Year award. Yet despite the international recognition, her camera has never wandered very far from home.
For Umaima, Pakistan isn’t simply where she works. It’s an archive in motion. Every journey leaves her wondering what might look different the next time she returns, whether an old haveli will still be standing, whether a family workshop will still be open, or whether another piece of cultural memory will have disappeared.
“I believe Pakistan is still full of stories that remain unseen,” she says. “There are remote communities, artisans, craftsmen and traditions that deserve to be documented before they disappear.”
It’s an urgency that becomes obvious when you spend time with Umaima’s work. She isn’t chasing postcard views or dramatic spectacles. Instead, she’s drawn to the details many of us barely notice: an elderly shopkeeper waiting for customers, sunlight spilling across weathered brickwork, a woodcarver completely immersed in his craft, or a fleeting exchange between strangers in a narrow alleyway.
“Light is often the first thing that catches my attention, the way morning light gently touches an old façade, or how shadows create layers and mystery within a frame, can completely transform an ordinary scene.”
But beautiful light alone has never been enough…it’s clear that she’s not simply photographing people, she’s documenting ways of life that are becoming increasingly fragile. Change rarely announces itself. Historic neighbourhoods evolve, younger generations move away, workshops close, and traditions that once defined entire communities slowly begin to fade. By the time we realise something has disappeared, there may be little left to remember it by.
Perhaps that’s why one of the defining moments of Umaima’s career came not on the streets, but inside the Lahore Museum. Working with the Citizen Archive of Pakistan (CAP) and the Government of Punjab, she helped digitize the museum’s collection, photographing thousands of historic artefacts to create a lasting digital archive.
“It was much more than a photography assignment, it reinforced my belief that photography has the power to preserve culture and create access to knowledge.”
The experience also changed the way she thought about preservation itself. Museums safeguard the past, but outside their walls there are living traditions that receive far less protection. Every individual that she photographs represents knowledge that can’t simply be replaced once it’s gone.
“I would love to document more of Pakistan’s disappearing crafts and the communities that sustain them. These traditions carry histories, identities and collective memories, and preserving them through photography is incredibly important to me.”
Our conversation eventually turns to photography itself, and whether the medium has changed in the age of social media.
“I think contemporary photography is losing two very important things,” she states thoughtfully. “Patience and authenticity. The pressure to constantly produce content for social media and algorithms often leaves little time for meaningful engagement with subjects and stories. Many photographers are encouraged to create images that perform well rather than images that genuinely document reality.”
Her own process is deliberately slower. It starts with conversations, with returning to places, with sitting quietly and paying attention. The photograph comes later. As a woman working in the field, Umaima also speaks candidly about the challenges she has encountered.
“Photography is definitely not an easy profession. Beyond the creative challenges, there are many structural and social barriers photographers have to navigate. As a female photographer, I’ve often felt that women are not always given the same encouragement or opportunities as their male counterparts.”
She points to the industry’s lingering biases, from being underestimated by peers to seeing talented women overlooked for partnerships and ambassadorial roles by major camera brands. Yet rather than allowing those experiences to define her career, she chose to let the work speak for itself.
“Every project, exhibition, publication and documentation effort has strengthened my belief that perseverance matters more than validation from others,” she says. “The biases haven’t disappeared, but they’ve made me even more determined to contribute to the visual and cultural documentation of Pakistan on my own terms.”
When I ask what advice she would give to the next generation of photographers, she states: “I’d tell them to remain curious, be patient, and remain true to your own voice. It’s easy to follow what’s popular, but the most meaningful work often comes from genuine personal interest and long-term commitment.”
Then she returns to the idea that has threaded its way through our entire conversation. “Pakistan is filled with stories waiting to be documented… I would encourage young artists to look closely at their own surroundings and engage deeply with the communities they photograph. The goal should not just be to create beautiful images, but to create work that preserves memory and contributes to our collective cultural heritage.”
She pauses before adding one final thought; “Never underestimate the value of documenting ordinary moments. What may seem ordinary today can become an important historical record for future generations.”
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