• Q: I read that you utilise your art as a form of activism. What are your thoughts on the role of the artist as an activist?
     
    A: For me, art and activism are deeply intertwined. I see the artist not only as a creator but also as a witness, a challenger, and a healer. In societies where certain truths are hidden or silenced, art becomes a vehicle through which to speak the unspeakable. Whether confronting colonial legacies, systemic inequality, or mental health stigma, I use my practice to open up conversations that challenge dominant narratives. Activism does not always have to be loud — it can be intimate, gentle, and deeply personal. I believe that kind of vulnerability can be just as powerful in shifting social consciousness.
     

    Q: You wrote that the aim of your work is to “go beyond the wall”. What do you mean by this?

     

    A: “Going beyond the wall” is my way of saying that art should not be confined to institutions or galleries — it should live in the real world, in dialogue with everyday people. It is about breaking down barriers between artist and audience, between private pain and public discourse. My work is not just meant to be seen; it is meant to be felt, questioned and  lived with. I want it to provoke conversation, to unsettle, to comfort, to challenge — and in doing so, to create something lasting beyond the physical frame.

  • Q: In your artist statement you mentioned contemporary artistic reflections on post-apartheid South Africa and the history of the African...
    Q: In your artist statement you mentioned contemporary artistic reflections on post-apartheid South Africa and the history of the African continent - how would you say that art engages with political discourse and the global political climate?
     
    A: Art has always reflected and responded to its time. In a post-apartheid and postcolonial context, art in South Africa often acts as both a mirror and a provocation. It interrogates what has changed, what has not, and what justice truly looks like. My work — such as Onye Ji Onye N'ani Ji Onwe Ya — engages with the global political climate by using local symbols and histories to address universal issues such as corruption, surveillance, inequality. When we tell our stories with specificity and honesty, they resonate far beyond our borders. Art becomes a form of resistance, memory, and reclamation.
  • Q: There is a series of work that depicts your struggles with mental health, particularly depression. I have two questions in this regard. 

    a) As a woman of colour, may I ask how did you manage being vulnerable and overcoming the fear of stigmatization when deciding to share your story publicly? 
    A: It took time. There is a great deal of shame associated with mental health in many communities of colour, and for a long time I internalised that. However, creating When Water Covers Your Head was a turning point. I realised that hiding my story only isolated me further. Vulnerability became a form of protest — a refusal to be silent about what so many of us endure. By sharing my story, I hoped to create space for others to feel less alone. The fear never fully disappears, but the purpose outweighs it.
     
    Q: Do you agree that Western psychiatry, and more broadly biomedicine, tends to pathologize bodies of colour, without giving consideration to social and cultural contexts?

    A: Yes, I do. Western psychiatry often treats mental illness as a purely individual issue, detached from context. But for people of colour, our mental health is inseparable from histories of trauma, displacement, racism, and economic inequality. When these systems fail to take that into account, they end up misdiagnosing, over-medicating, or ignoring our pain altogether. I believe in approaches to healing that are holistic, which includes spiritual, communal, and cultural understandings of wellness.

     
  • Q: Which artists and writers inspire your conceptual and photographic work? A: I draw inspiration from a wide range of...
    Q:  Which artists and writers inspire your conceptual and photographic work?
     
    A: I draw inspiration from a wide range of voices. Writers such as Chinua Achebe have deeply influenced my thinking, particularly in their use of proverbs and storytelling to convey political critique. The work of Fela Kuti has also been instrumental—his fearless critiques of power and corruption are echoed in my own reflections on South African politics. Visually, artists like Zanele Muholi, Carrie Mae Weems, and Lorna Simpson have shaped how I understand portraiture, identity, and memory. Their work affirms that photography can be both art and archive. 
  • Q: Would you agree that the Black queer body faces double oppression - both through sexual orientation and race?

    A: Absolutely. The Black queer body exists at the intersection of multiple marginalisations. In many spaces — be it social, religious, political — queer bodies are often either hyper-visible or entirely erased. There is an expectation to fragment oneself - that is to be Black but not too queer, or queer but in a way that does not disrupt the mainstream. My work, particularly O Jele?, explores the radical beauty of acceptance and chosen family within a community where queer identities are often sidelined. The double oppression is real — but so is the double resilience.
    Q: In many of your visual series, you are both subject and muse - drawing from your lived experience and placing yourself in front and behind the camera. Can you please elaborate on this?

    A: Placing myself in my work is both a political and personal choice. It is about agency — controlling my own narrative and refusing to be reduced or spoken for. It is also about intimacy. Whether in When Water Covers Your Head or COMPLY— COMPLY— COMPLY, I am not performing a character, rather, I am offering a piece of myself. This blurs the line between artist and subject, between observer and participant. It’s my way of saying, “I am not exempt from the stories I tell.” The duality of the role allows me to access a deeper honesty in the work.
  • Q: Referencing your work “Comply-Comply-Comply”, but also your work in general, would you say it presents a critique against respectability politics?

    A: Yes, very much so. COMPLY — COMPLY — COMPLY is a direct critique of the impossible standards to which Black women are so often held — standards rooted in colonialism and patriarchal control. Respectability politics frequently demands silence, compliance, and perfection in order to be deemed worthy. My work pushes against that. It is about claiming space as you are, not as who you are expected to be. I reject the notion that survival or acceptance should come at the cost of authenticity