Cynthia Boll: Seeing the Human Story in a Changing World

Cynthia Boll is an award-winning Dutch photographer and filmmaker whose work explores how cities and their inhabitants respond to the pressures of climate change, urbanization, and inequality.

She is the founder of Visions for Change Foundation and initiator, together with journalist Stephanie Bakker, of Sinking Cities - a longterm global multimedia project that connects cities facing land subsidence and a changing climate. Through photography, film, and collaborative research, Sinking Cities links science, design, and human stories to reveal how communities adapt to life on unstable ground. By connecting cities such as Jakarta, Venice, Gouda, Mexico City, and Lagos, the project fosters exchange between citizens, scientists, and urban innovators - inspiring new ways to design, build, and live with water.

Boll’s work merges visual storytelling with cross-disciplinary collaboration, transforming awareness into action and helping cities around the world imagine more resilient and regenerative futures.

instagram@cynthiaboll

HM: Cynthia, let’s start from the beginning. Where did you grow up?

CB: I grew up in the Netherlands, in an area called De Bollenstreek — literally, “the bulb region.” It’s famous for its flower fields, especially tulips, and it’s in the western part of the country. It’s beautiful, colorful, and a little surreal in spring.

FINDING HER PATH

HM: And how did you become a photographer? Was that always part of your plan — something you felt destined to do?

CB: Oh no, not at all! It was a long journey — and a long delay, honestly — before I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. I went through so many ideas: at one point, I thought I’d become a doctor and work for Doctors Without Borders. Then I considered being a flight attendant. You name it — I probably imagined myself doing it.

Surrounding Gouda lie the lowest polders in the Netherlands. Centuries of drainage created the peat meadow landscape, now a national heritage site, but oxidation causes the soil to sink and release CO2. To meet climate goals, these peatlands must be re-wetted in the coming years.

HM: That’s wonderful — everyone loves to hear about that search for direction, because most of us have been there.

CB: Exactly. It’s a common struggle — trying to find what truly fits you. I always knew one thing, though: I didn’t want to do something just to earn money. The idea of working purely for an income felt like a trap to me. That mindset made me question every decision I made.

In the Netherlands, we have a layered school system, and I spent years bouncing between levels — always changing my mind, always looking for meaning. It took me nine years to complete what should’ve been a six-year education. When I finally finished, I thought, Maybe I’ll become a neurologist, because I was fascinated by the human mind. But biology wasn’t my strongest subject, so that door closed quickly.

Then I thought, Alright, maybe physiotherapy. I studied it for a year — until I realized I really don’t like touching people. (Laughs.) It’s not ideal for a physiotherapist!

So I pivoted again. I tried a one-year commercial marketing course, then an economics and business study, and eventually became a teacher of economics and bookkeeping at a high-school level.

At Nieuwen Bosch, a girls’ boarding school in a 17th-century abbey in Ghent, 115 students live and study within a world shaped by order and routine.

HM: That’s quite a list of careers before photography!

CB: (Laughs.) Yes, I’ve lived a few lives already. I even did my teaching internship in Curaçao, in the Dutch Antilles. When I came back, I still didn’t feel ready to settle down. So I bought a one-way ticket to Bangkok — and traveled for three years across Asia.

When I returned to the Netherlands, I was in my early thirties, living with my mother again, and completely lost. A friend who worked at a school offered me some teaching hours — just twelve a week — and told me, “You can’t live with your mom forever.” He was right. So I started teaching again.

At that time, I had always been drawn to what was happening in the world — politics, news, global issues — but I didn’t see myself as a writer. A friend suggested I try photography as a way to see and understand the world for myself. I borrowed a camera, took a basic three-year course — just two hours a week — and focused on local news stories.

After finishing the course, I quit teaching, took an internship at the Dutch Press Agency (ANP), and never looked back. That was 2007 — the real beginning of my career as a photographer.

FINDING HER LANGUAGE

HM: That’s an incredible journey. Many photographers say photography is their “language.” Do you feel that way?

CB: I wouldn’t say photography is my language — it’s more of a tool. For me, it’s one way of telling stories, but not the only one. I also do public speaking, write, and sometimes create short documentaries. Photography is part of a larger mission: to communicate something important about the world we live in.

HM: Did photography give you the confidence to explore all those other mediums?

CB: Yes, it gave me a way to reach people — a way to make an impact. Once I found that, the rest naturally followed.

In North Jakarta’s historic Kampung Akuarium, over a thousand longtime residents are evicted as homes are demolished to build a sea wall and transform the area into a future tourist site.

ON AFGHANISTAN AND ITS IMPACT

HM: How long did you spend in Afghanistan?

CB: I went back four times over two years—each trip about one or two weeks.

In Tarin Kowt, Afghanistan, women risk their lives to give birth in one of the world’s most dangerous places for mothers. At the provincial hospital’s women’s ward, young trainees are learning to become midwives, hoping to reduce the country’s staggering maternal mortality rate.

HM: My wife was in Afghanistan when she was nineteen, just before the Soviet invasion. She told me how she went out with a camera as the tanks rolled in, and a local man pulled her to safety. She said she wanted to capture “the moment.”

CB: That sounds familiar—it's exactly what we do. When you’re there, you feel compelled to document. Afghanistan is such an extraordinary place. The people are remarkable—generous, proud, and complex.

What struck me most was the gap between the educated and the uneducated, especially among women. Many girls I met couldn’t speak English, but we found ways to communicate—through drawing or gestures. Yet in rural areas, it was harder. Communication wasn’t just about language—it was about worldview. Educated women were curious about the world beyond their immediate circle. Others, not so much—not because they weren’t interested, but because they’d never been encouraged to ask questions.

The students live and work in the women’s wing of the hospital compound.

HM: That makes sense. In some parts of Asia, I’ve seen similar dynamics—people with no experience of the outside world, and yet so eager to connect. Did Afghanistan leave a lasting mark on you?

CB: Absolutely. It changed the way I look at stories—especially from a female perspective. At the time, it was frustrating because editors weren’t interested. For Dutch women’s magazines, it was too confronting—not glossy or comfortable. And National Geographic Netherlands rejected it too; they said they’d already run a similar story.

But a year later, they called me with an assignment because of that Afghanistan story. So in a way, it opened doors, even if indirectly.

IMMERSING IN COMMUNITIES

HM: What was your next major project after Afghanistan?

CB: I’ve always been drawn to hidden societies—places you don’t easily see. I spent time in an all-girls boarding school in Belgium and later lived with a South African farm worker in her community. I like immersing myself completely in a group, seeing how people live together day after day.

At the boarding school, girls from six to eighteen lived together 24 hours a day. I was struck by how they managed conflicts. When they argued, they’d say, “We live together, so we have to sort it out.” Such wisdom from fifteen-year-olds!

The girls arrive early Monday morning and return home on Friday afternoon. Twenty-four hours a day they are together – eating, studying, sleeping, and learning within a radius of just 100 meters.

Girls line up for the dining hall as headmistress Mrs. Dick checks off their names.

Girls use the washroom at fixed times, grouped by age.

HM: My sons went to boarding school—one thrived, one hated it. It’s such an intense environment.

CB: It is, and as a woman photographing there, I could access moments a man never could—private spaces, intimacy, trust. That access was crucial. Sometimes, being a woman photographer is a huge advantage.

Johanna -a seasonal grape picker- takes an empty grape crate from the contractor at Stellenbosch (South Africa).

In a small hamlet in South Africa’s Western Cape, mornings begin as grape pickers gather to be taken to the vineyards.

BEING A WOMAN IN THE FIELD

HM: Do you think women photographers bring something different, especially in conflict zones?

CB: I don’t think there’s anything women can’t do, but sometimes gender changes the dynamic. For example, when embedded with a unit of Dutch Marines—all men—you stand out. They need to arrange separate sleeping quarters, which makes you more visible, even a potential target.

So yes, being a woman can be both an advantage and a complication, depending on context.

SINKING CITIES: A LONG TERM VISION

**HM: Let’s talk about Sinking Cities, your long-term project since 2014. What drew you to that?**

CB: It began with curiosity about how climate change affects cities differently. I’ve been documenting places like Jakarta, Venice, and the Netherlands—how rising seas and land subsidence reshape urban life.

In Jakarta, land sinks 25 centimeters a year. You see it happening before your eyes. In the Netherlands, the change is slower but equally serious. The country wasn’t always below sea level—that’s a man-made situation. We reclaimed land by pumping water out, and now we must keep pumping to stay dry. But the more we pump, the lower we go. Infrastructure—roads, sewers—sinks. It’s costly and unsustainable.

The question isn’t just how to stop it, but how to live with it. Which crops can grow in saltwater? Should we move cities inland? Should Amsterdam even remain the capital? These are difficult questions, but they’re essential.

A mosque in Pluit, North Jakarta, has been surrendered to the sea. Behind it, a new wall protects the low-lying neighborhoods — now also a place where people gather to catch a breeze away from the crowded streets.

Muara Angke faces severe tidal flooding, called ‘rob’, with seawater spilling over the seawall into the low-lying area behind it. The area has sunk almost 4 meters in the last decennia.

HM: It’s the same everywhere. In the U.S., cities like New York or Los Angeles face enormous risk.

CB: Exactly. And political short-termism makes it worse. These are problems that need a vision beyond a four-year government cycle.

HM: Yes, in the U.S., everything depends on popularity and money. Climate policies shift with each election.

CB: That’s why countries like China can act more decisively—they can simply say, “No more groundwater pumping,” and it stops overnight. It’s not democratic, but it’s effective. Democracies struggle with long-term sacrifices for the greater good.

In Gouda’s historic city center, the groundwater level is high and the canal water nearly reaches doorsteps. During heavy rain, the sewer overflows, causing flooding in streets, gardens, and homes, and damaging historic buildings.

PHOTOGRAPHING THE INVISIBLE

HM: How do you translate such complex issues into photographs?

CB: I tell the story through people—how they live with these changes, the losses they face, or how they adapt. Some images show flooded streets or cracked soil; others focus on scientists or city planners searching for solutions.

I also use data and mapping visuals to make the science visible—translating numbers into images people can grasp emotionally.

Sewer workers Alex van Eck and Willem Eikelboom connect a house to the new main sewer built to reduce flooding. In Gouda, homes rest on wooden piles that must stay wet to prevent rot, as the rising groundwater and unstable soil threaten the city’s foundations.

HM: Where do you show this work?

CB: Mostly exhibitions. I currently have a large show at the Venice Architecture Biennale, focused on three cities. I also organize public meet-ups—bringing together policymakers, scientists, and residents. The conversations are powerful. People are shocked to see how different cities struggle with similar issues.

But publishing in magazines is harder. Editors often want stories with clear “solutions,” and this project doesn’t offer easy answers. Still, I believe awareness is a crucial first step.

NEW DIRECTIONS: WOMEN AND LEADERSHIP

HM: What’s next for you?

CB: I’m developing a new project about female leadership—exploring different types of women leading in diverse contexts, from politics to communities, even female gangs.

According to UN Women, it will take 132 years to achieve gender parity in global leadership. That’s outrageous. I want to look at what women bring to leadership that’s often missing from traditional male models—communication, empathy, cooperation.

A young family visits Ibu Kota Nusantara -the new Indonesian capital to be on the island of Borneo- with the presidential palace designed in the shape of the Garuda, Indonesia’s national symbol in the backdrop.

HM: Fascinating. Leadership isn’t just political—it’s relational. I once ran a company where most of our sales team were women, and they were extraordinary at building long-term relationships.

CB: Exactly. Women often bring a collaborative approach. But despite progress—more women in universities, for instance—the upper levels of power still lag far behind. And yes, social structures, family responsibilities, lack of support—all play a part. It’s a lifetime project to explore.

ON AI AND THE FUTURE OF PHOTOGRAPHY

HM: Photography is changing rapidly—especially with AI. How do you see that?

CB: I use AI for research—it’s efficient for gathering background material and sources. But for visual storytelling, not yet. I still believe documentary photography requires presence—being there, building trust.

AI images can be beautiful, but they often lack that lived connection. Maybe it’ll change, but for now, I find it more suitable for commercial or conceptual work than for long-term documentary projects.

A flooded Piazza San Marco is one of the low lying area’s of Venice and a major tourist attraction. Over the past century, the city has sunk 25 centimeters, primarily due to the extraction of groundwater for heavy industry.

ADVICE FOR YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHERS

HM: What would you tell young photographers starting out today?

CB: Do it because you love it, not because you expect success. You can’t predict what will work. Be curious, persistent, and positive.

Photography isn’t about who takes the best picture—it’s about who keeps going, who tells a story that matters to them. You can work in a supermarket and still make powerful photographs of your neighborhood.

HM: That’s beautifully said. Sometimes the most meaningful stories come from the most ordinary places.

CB: Exactly. Success isn’t only about fame or money—it’s about connection, understanding, and purpose.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

HM: Cynthia, your work reminds us that photography can make the invisible visible—whether it’s the sinking of cities, the quiet resilience of communities, or the subtle shifts in how women lead. Thank you for sharing your insights.

CB: Thank you. These conversations matter. They help us all think differently about the world we live in.