2025
·
Technique mixte
· 50 x 70 cm
Long before foreign ships tore the horizon, peoples would gather around a fire to tell the stories of their ancestors; their carved masks carried the memory of those who came before.
One day, the colonizers imposed a new mask, invisible but heavy upon African peoples. It was no longer a mask of spirit, but a mask of humiliation, silence, and submission. They made us forget our gods, our languages, our names, convincing us that the goal was to turn us into new men.
Africans had to hide their identity behind this foreign mask; thus, the white mask became the façade of a pain no longer seen. Yet, in the midst of pain and silence, songs were born (coded songs): masked prayers, cries hidden in the rhythm of drums. So, our ancestors left us with one final legacy: we did not disappear beneath the mask placed upon us; our souls continue to speak.
But the mask remains ever-present, for African children are still taught to be ashamed of their skin and to doubt their names. Africa was forced to wear a face not its own. Yet, in every gaze, every canvas, every sculpture, every garment, the soul refused to be silenced.
The masked Black soul is the memory of those who, behind the imposed masks, preserved the beauty, faith, and truth of their origins. Ancestors, slaves, the forgotten—those who, behind the masks forced upon them, breathed and kept the beauty, faith, truth of their roots, and their languages.
The shards of broken mirror represent the crushed roots of our ancestors beneath the mask imposed by the colonizers. The same mask that marked the beginning of the slave trade, continuing through colonization and persisting today in neocolonialism.
The speckled red on the black background of the work shows the blood of our forebears spilled on battlefields in the hope of achieving peace.
