Can you tell me about your beginnings? How did you come to art and painting?
My first contact with art occurred at about five years old. I lived next to a sculptor who worked with leather. I would copy anything he did! I was introduced to painting later at about ten years old, when I came across an artist collective, at a new school. They would reproduce movie posters; Rambo or Delta Force One…I saw them doing this and I took an interest. I would sneak in and take their discarded paint palettes to practice on my own… I have been painting ever since.
Let me fast forward from this first to another first - your first international exhibition at the Dakar Biennale in 2014, which was quite an important launch pad for you, no?
Let me first explain how I got to Dakar. After I began painting and drawing, I decided I wanted to go to art school. My father was initially against me becoming an artist, but my mother was more supportive. One day, she took me to see the Académie des Beaux Art in Kinshasa, and soon after I enrolled. At the Académie, I honed my technical skills and mastered the art of painting on canvas, but as time passed, I realized that I wanted to do things differently. I grew bored of what I thought was a very traditional curriculum, and so I left the school and set up my own studio, M’Pongo.
What did you do differently there?
Well at the Académie, we were asked to paint in a classical, antiquated style. I wanted to do more conceptual work. My early work is on flip-flops, for example. I used them because they were familiar to me: my mother sold them at the market in town. These flip-flops eventually led me to do a residency in Brazzaville, where my work was put forward for inclusion in the Dakar Biennale. At the exhibition, which was organized by the renowned late curator, I was introduced to a woman named Gabriela Salgado, who oversaw selection for a show at the Saatchi Gallery in London. She obviously liked my paintings because soon after I found myself exhibiting at the Saatchi Gallery in London…
The Saatchi Gallery exhibition was hugely important for you because that is where you first exhibited your Mangebetu series, the beginning of a theme that would carry you through your next three series at least.
Well, the very first work of my signature ‘style’, Solitude, was made before Dakar! That piece was resold at Sotheby’s in 2018. But yes, the broader Mangbetu theme really took shape at Saatchi. It began when I met an older Congolese gentleman who spoke about the Mangbetu people from the north-eastern portion of Congo. Until then, I had only known the word ‘Mangbetu’ to be an insult. I learned that the word became an insult at the hands of the Belgians. The Mangbetu practice of elongating heads is believed to ‘elongate’ intelligence and distinguish an individual. The Belgians opposed this; as they would have it, an elongated head signifies a lack of intelligence…hence the insult. The Mangbetu lands were also used for industry during the colonial period, necessitating the employment of many locals. Unfortunately, those with elongated heads were forbidden from working in these factories, and as a result the tradition faded. There is much more to it, but this relationship between tradition and industry is key in my work. After encountering the story of the Mangbetu, I dove into their culture, making three series of works: Mangbetu in 2016, Les Objets Morts in 2017 and Fragile Responsibility in 2018. Each of these series explore yet another layer of this history.
Going back to this point about industry in Congo- the bodies of your figures are covered in your trade mark digital patterning. Why do you do that?
The digital patterning began when I noticed the circuitry of the silicone boards in my broken iPhone – I saw it every day when I looked down. This circuit board was unusual because it was black, not the green that you typically see. This is why I paint my figures in this deep black – it is exactly the background of the digital patterning that I saw in my phone. Later, I learned about the atrocities taking place in Congo to extract coltan, a metallic ore used in the production of consumer electronics like…iPhones! There was a link, and it was happening in my country! I knew I had to develop this. I began to amplify the electrical circuits on the bodies of my figures to reference the negative impact that the mining is having on the physical bodies of the Congolese.
I want to talk about the backgrounds – they are always grey.
The grey backgrounds allude to ‘grey zones’ in history. These are moments in history that are intangible, zones we cannot access. The idea came to me as a young boy when I was caught in a fog cloud. I could not move forward because my vision was obscured. This is how I feel about Congolese history, a history formed in silence, history put in a grey zone. I am trying to pierce through it, to understand this history.
Let’s jump to Ghost of the Present and specifically the four never-before seen works included in this exhibition. Can you tell us about the series, what makes its different than the others?
This series is the first the series that is related to me, looking that the relationship between myself and my parents, my ancestors, and, most importantly, the way in which I was educated. It is also different because it is the first not to draw thematically on previous series.
How did the Ghost of the Present series begin?
The series was inspired by a book from 1901 that I came across in a bookshop in Brussels. It was a book that held letters written by Catholic missionaries during the ‘Leopoldian’ period of Congolese history. I was struck by one letter, written by a Priest named Isidore. Isidore wrote about two children removed from their homes and placed in special missionary schools run by the Belgians. I was shocked by the normality of Isidore’s tone despite his story. The letter explained that they took the children from Mbandaka to Bas-Congo, a journey equivalent to the distance between New York City and Miami! This was done on purpose to completely cut off one’s links to family; executed totally by force. I began studying these schools and the children taken there, and later came across a passage by a colonial officer. He writes: ‘Our goal with these schools is to create a new society, a new Congolese generation that is capable of obeying the white man’. This is where the connection to myself begins…these children are my ancestors.
What is the link to the present and to you? The exhibition is called Ghost of the Present.
These schools were designed to create distance, both physically and culturally, between students and their families, traditions and identity. The Belgian practice of distancing individuals from their origins was so insidious that it was passed down through successive Congolese generations. For example, my parents rarely spoke to us about their hometowns or their background growing up. They were brought up with this culture of cutting ties; it was normal. The legacy of these schools affects modern life, from our outlook on the West to our local politicians. What is important to note is that these schools would eventually turn into Catholic Schools as we know them today.
Can you describe some of the more formal elements that characterize this series? What makes this series unique?
A few things! First, the cloth that I chose to paint differs from my earlier works, which featured Dutch wax cloth. Here, I reproduce fabric typically worn by Congolese domestic workers. I wanted to evoke school uniforms. Second, I have used the same two figures in every work in the series: my little sister (ten years old) and my little brother (eleven years old) … think back to that letter by the priest, Isidore, about the two children. Third, I introduce red bricks for the first time; a reference to the farm schools and the present-day Catholics schools, both made from these bricks. All the other elements of the work, like the furniture and table clothes are references to the farm schools.
The chairs make up the Ghost element of the series. Throughout my research, I noticed that chairs were always reserved for the school Priest. I decided to depict the chair empty; and the absence of the Priest haunts the painting. To put it simply, I show that the social effects of these schools remain lurking in the cultural fabric. Western influence in the DRC is still very much felt– it just manifests in new ways.
I want to focus on the portraits of the children. They do not seem sad, they actually seem rather emotionless. Why did you choose to depict them this way?
I wanted to create an absent yet profound gaze that speaks to you silently. I was inspired by the facial expressions of the students in archival photographs.
I see this look particularly in Repli de soi, where the young girl is sitting on the chair. That is a powerful painting. Can you tell me about why you decided to sit her on the chair?
This is a painting that is hugely important to me because it is referencing a moment of revolt! I came across a story of a school which experienced a large-scale revolt, all the Priests had fled and left everything behind. The locals took control of the school, sitting on the chairs that had previously been reserved for priests. The priestly chair used in that painting is a nineteenth century chair taken from a Catholic church which I bought from an auction in Europe. When I brought it back home, I decided to put my sister on the chair; a present day schoolgirl sitting on an nineteenth century chair used by a nineteenth century Catholic Priest.
Can you speak to me about the wrapped traditional figures, which is present in every painting?
The wrapped figures are objects bound for a long voyage. They reference distance, the distance that the schools put not only between families but between the Congolese and their sense of identity. In every piece I have put the wrapped statues in place of religious objects, like the thurible, which I placed on the floor. I did this as a symbol of change, the desire for a true connection between traditional Congolese values and the contemporary world. In Rencontre avec soi I take the desire for connection further and referencing Michelangelo’s The Creatin of Adam.
What is next for you? What are you working on next?
I am going to keep working on the Ghost of the Present series. There is another chapter, if you will, that I need to explore. That is the arranged marriages of pupils of farm schools, orchestrated by the Catholic church. The idea was to safeguard the transmission of the Belgian system to the next generation. It is going to be interesting.
