Call for project application / contextualisation of an artwork in situ - painted plaster equestrian statue of King Leopold II at Art & History Museum Brussels

 

A proposal and text by John K. Cobra and curator Lara Hene

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Intervention

 

A geometric metal structure hinges around the equestrian sculpture, held together by the force of its own weight. On this structure rests an organic form made from tinted silicone, which moves in front of and around the statue of king Leopold II. The figure and torso appear to be embedded in an abstract, fluid mass, the color of which recalls living elements of the human body such as flesh, muscles, arteries, nerves, tendons, blood... The silicone is thinner in front of the figure's face, revealing its second layer. Five metal spikes placed on either side of the undulating rubbery form evoke African memorial sites (regularly in the form of anthropomorphic statuettes pierced with nails and other attributes that characterize their power). The form remains vaguely anthropomorphic without any particular reference to the physical characteristics differentiating the pseudo-categories of human races, but on the contrary emphasizing the characteristics uniting all human bodies, thus enabling a more neutral and egalitarian rendering. The sculpture is deprived of half its rigidity, and is thus projected into a whole new sphere of representation. 

 

Enveloped, engulfed in this silicone cocoon, it no longer exerts its power of control and domination over black individuals. Here, silicone - the synthetic twin of rubber, the Congolese wealth that Leopold II claimed for himself and which symbolically represents the destructive power of racial capitalism - is transformed into a medium, a material, a cement with the power to build a new, fluid, non-racialized Afro-European reality.

 

Development

 

In his book “Critique of Black Reason”, Achille Mbembe reminds us that statues and colonial monuments are not aesthetic objects intended to embellish cities or the living environment. Rather, they were sculptural extensions of a form of racial terror. At the same time, they were the spectacular expression of the power of destruction and theft that animated the entire colonial project. They renew domination over colonized populations and keep individuals in a kind of permanent trance.

 

It was from this reflection that John K. Cobra developed his thoughts on “trance architecture”. This architecture, made of stone and steel frames, exudes rigidity, characteristic of a hierarchical capitalist society. Society, imbued with a rigid urban landscape, is then classified according to norms linked to origins, gender and sex...

 

To offer and re-contextualize this trance-architecture, Roland Gunst suggests: “Fluid forms, however, have the potential to break down static, oppressive architectures. The traumas caused by these architectures can be healed by monuments in motion, which enable a constant (re)positioning of identities.”

 

By creating disruptive hybrid concepts and media, he challenges the boundaries that define human bodies, identity, culture, the human condition and history. His aim is to develop thinking on the unification of social and architectural space without any further forms of discrimination, and to transform architecture so that it becomes organic in the image of the human being.

 

To symbolize this vision of transcultural, sexual, gender and national fluidity, where, according to him, sites of negotiation and liberation reside, John K. Cobra uses a tool called Kwanga (the name chosen by the artist to designate this material). Kwanga, which is Congolese bread made from manioc (kwanga means “bread” or “life” in Kikongo) refers to the concept of daily bread. This concept is present in both African and European cultures (in Europe, bread also has a Eucharistic notion). Kwanga has the same characteristics as Congolese white rubber: it can be moulded into any shape and can meta-physically return to its liquid state. It is a resilient and resistant material that does not alter the original monument.

 

The use of latex and silicone, two synthetic materials manufactured to imitate and enhance the appreciated qualities of rubber, carries an important symbolism in relation to the history of the artist whose father worked for over 40 years in a white rubber production factory, but also in relation to the history of rubber tree cultivation in the Belgian Congo. The use and rehabilitation of Leopold II's rubber is linked to his family history and inspired by the anti-racist corporate culture his father installed in the company. In turn, the artist uses this same rubber, and its double silicone, to negotiate and redistribute power and respect.

 

Congolese memory sites are mostly represented by Congolese power figures called Nkisi Nkondi (or Minkisi in the plural), who are generally anthropomorphic and have received special treatment to receive their power, being inhabited by spirits and spiritual forces. Nganga Nkisi priests (spiritual masters initiated into the handling and use of Nkisi Nkondi) place substances.

 

These figures are concrete examples of the “spaces of correlation” between Europe and Africa, and evidence of similarities in the beliefs and cultural practices of the two societies. More specifically, in the way ecological, human and animal rights activists (e.g. Black Lives Matter) manipulate places of memory by reactivating them with synthetic, biological or mineral materials. Both Nganga Nkisis and activists activate places of memory through words, songs, texts and symbols, etc...

 

It is through these places of memory that individuals or communities establish a critical dialogue with society, ideologies, institutions or ancestors, in order to negotiate human rights or heal a social ill such as racism. Embedding metal objects in a place of memory means that a healing pact is sealed between the two parties.

 

The proposed intervention on the statue of Leopold II aims to install a dialogue with society as a whole, but also with our ancestors, in order to criticize and dismantle the racial capitalism in which we live.