Constellation of Exploitation
How Otobong Nkanga Presents the Multilayered Nature of Colonialism in Unearthed: Midnight
By Saska Bourgoin Haspérue
Far beneath the waves, a line taut with tension flows by, dragging with it semi-robotic, almost doll-like arms. Behind it, a giant net is loose in the current, and jellyfish narrowly escape its deathly pull. Vertically crossing the composition, jagged orange lines connected to minerals are visible. The whole tapestry shimmers, almost as a memory does. This piece is called Unearthed: Midnight, and is the second of a four-piece tapestry series, respectively named Abyss, Midnight, Twilight, and Sunlight. When I first came across them, they were being exhibited at the Musée d’Art Moderne de Paris in the exhibition I Dreamt of You in Colours. They are monumental, imposing works, and fill the room with a calm but jarring and undeniable energy.
The artist behind them is Otobong Nkanga. She was born in Kano, Nigeria, in 1974, and grew up in Lagos. As a teenager, years after her father passed away, her family moved to Paris for her mother’s work. She went back to Nigeria to begin her studies, and later continued them in Beaux-Arts in Paris. As a child, she used to draw images using mica dust she found on the sidewalks in Lagos; a clue to what she would later focus on as an artist. Now, as she participates in exhibitions throughout the world, her interesting, multifaceted and multidimensional works often incorporate topics of exploitation of land, and its inextricable entanglement with colonialist domination. Unearthed: Midnight exemplifies this; with her work, Nkanga depicts the relation between colonial exploitation of people and of environments and minerals.
Arms hang loosely on a thick rope as they are dragged through an aquatic environment. Some arms have spikes instead of hands, and the arms look artificial, which creates a factory-like image in the viewer’s mind. Perhaps Nkanga used this to portray the exploitative and ideological construction of white and western domination.
This scene is also a clear allusion to the enslaved people who died (or more accurately, were killed) at sea during the long travel from Africa to the “new continent”. Depictions of drowning enslaved people often used flailing arms as portrayals, for example in the famous painting “The Slave Ship” by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1840). Additionally, a common depiction of a fate many enslaved people endured was the violent cutting off of hands; this was a form of extreme punishment on Caribbean plantations, as well as in Congo under Belgian colonial rule. Some enslaved people also cut off parts of their own hands to try to escape enslavement. Nkanga alludes to this practice, portraying arms without hands, or with stakes burgeoning from the wrist. Some of these stakes skewer minerals. In this case, arms with protruding spikes may also signify the machine-like nature of working in the mines, and the dehumanisation enslaved people experienced. Nkanga’s work is so intricate that every time I come back to it, new meanings appear to me, and new details I had previously ignored call my attention. Her work is almost like a movie; at first sight it provokes such emotion and awe that some details go unnoticed.
Starting in the 16th century, enslaved people were brought from Africa to South America to mine minerals like copper, silver, and gold. Vestiges of these extractions can still be seen, for example under Ouro Preto in Brazil, where enslaved people dug galleries in search of gold. The tunnels that remain are clear examples of colonial exploitation of land concurring with colonial exploitation of people. Otobong Nkanga represents this relation through the arms skewering the minerals, as well as through the orange mineral lines piercing through the landscape.
Behind the rope and the mineral lines, a wave-like net unfolds over the composition, almost resembling a topographical map. Continuing with the theme of ground-exploitation, the use of the map creates yet another link between the active narrative of the tapestry, and the historical context behind it, presenting colonial brutality as multifaceted, impacting the very appearance of terrain.
The calmness of the blue scenery, paired with the orange arms, jagged lines, and the sickly yellow highlights of the net, overcome the viewer with a feeling of anxious tranquility. It affects the viewer in the way holding one’s breath underwater does: the calmness of noiselessness and distance from the world, coupled with violent heartbeats and aching lungs. The association of these vibrant colours, opposite each other on the colour wheel, depicts a clashing, jarring tragedy. Nkanga often works with tapestry; it’s another way for her to physically present the interwoven nature of exploitation of land and people.
Overall, Otobong Nkanga’s work is the epitome of reflection, and not one detail is redundant or meaningless. As Henri Matisse says in his essay “Notes of a Painter” (1908), “A work of art must be harmonious in its entirety: any superfluous detail would replace some other essential detail in the mind of the spectator”. Every aspect of Nkanga’s tapestry has a clear meaning, even details the viewer may not notice at first glance – take, for example, the small circles that blend into the work, which can represent open wounds caused by violent extractions. All details carry meaning, used to relate violent mining practices to colonial brutality. This is what I deeply admire about her work; it acts like a precisely tailored story, enveloping the viewer and staying with them, lingering even when they leave the exhibition.
Finally, Otobong Nkanga creates a constellation of meaning, mapping out colonial violence under different lenses to explain its multidimensionality and ongoing effects. Through Unearthed: Midnight, Nkanga presents the wound of colonial violence as actively open, and still bleeding into current experiences.
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