Nkhensani Mkhari for Gibela by FEDE Arthouse
Nkhensani Mkhari (b.1994) is an artist moving in the interstitial spaces between Joburg, Cape Town, Hamburg, and Magoebaskloof. Mkhari is an artist whose work explores the concept of identity and subjectivity in a unique way. Drawing inspiration from bantu-cosmology and a triadic understanding of being, Mkhari challenges epistemic erasure and traditional notions of personhood. Their work is not simply a reflection of their personal experiences but rather an invitation for viewers to engage with their own understanding of self and the world. Through their art, Mkhari encourages us to consider the complex and interconnected nature of existence. His work has been recently exhibited at the Oregon Contemporary Center for the Arts curated by Home School, the Fellbach Kleinplastik Triennale, and Goethe Institut.
To start, could you introduce yourself and your practice?
I describe myself as a post-disciplinary or anti-disciplinary artist. Even the term “artist” feels slippery to me.
Why is that?
Because my work aims to subvert the Western idea of what art is. I draw from different canons and lexicons that challenge the established art history narrative. My practice as a curator, writer, and artist is deeply rooted in subversion—of roles, forms, and ideas. I see each role as putting on a different costume. At the center of my work is this Trojan Horse-like approach: using familiar structures—a performance, an installation—to question their essence. For example, I made a piece last year called Only Devils Know the Answer as part of a series called Umsamo. It explores African mysticism and metaphysics, integrating pre-colonial cosmologies into contemporary art. Writing plays a huge role in my practice too. Writing has magical correlations: spells, grammar, binding. When I write, I’m casting ideas into the world, connecting my family history and broader South African history to pre-colonial philosophies.
Your work explores identity and subjectivity through a lens informed by Bantu-cosmology. Could you share how these philosophies manifest in the pieces you’ve included in this exhibition?
Let me start with a brief introduction to contextualize everything. I describe myself as a post-disciplinary or anti-disciplinary. Even the term “artist” feels sketchy and slippery to me. Because I try to use a specific lexicon and canon in my work—one that subverts the Western idea of what art is. A lot of my work is rooted in subversion. My practice, whether as a curator, writer, or artist, is about challenging these predetermined notions of art.
What tools do I use for subversion? How do I challenge the status quo? My practice spans multiple mediums—lecturer, curator, writer, artist—and intentionally complicates these roles. I see each role as a kind of costume. At the heart of my work is the idea of being a Trojan horse, using familiar formats—performance, installation, writing—to challenge established narratives.
For instance, I made a work for an exhibition on AI artists in Hamburg. It was called “Only Devils Know the Answer.” It fell under a series I’ve been developing since 2021 called “Umsamo,” which explores African mysticism, metaphysics, and pre-colonial cosmologies.
In what ways do you address or resist epistemic erasure in your art, particularly within the framework of a post-colonial or decolonial narrative?
Writing, for example, is inherently magical. We cast spells with words, bind books, and use grammar, which mirrors the mystical process of binding or invoking. When I write, I aim to cast spells and present highly personalized ideas rooted in family history, South African history, and colonial loss.
One ongoing series, “Narcissus,” emerged from my travels last year across 12 countries. I photographed water bodies and light to capture their unique qualities—light in Shanghai is different from Lagos or Johannesburg. These photographs evolved into paintings that rendered the essence of these places. This project connects to the “Dikenga Cosmogram,” a concept from Bantu cosmologies that maps life cycles and separates the ancestral and living realms with water. Water’s symbolic forms—flow, ice, steam—are central to this exploration.
The exhibition references Kwaito as a cultural phenomenon of negotiation and identity assertion. Do you find parallels between Kwaito’s ethos and the narrative of your art?
Kwaito is a subculture deeply reflective of Johannesburg, a collage city where different influences collide—American, Italian, Zulu. Kwaito is genre-defying and anti-disciplinary, much like my practice.
It reminds me of how Black artists have historically subverted established systems. Jazz, for instance, took classical instruments like the saxophone or trombone and created something entirely new through improvisation. Hip-hop did the same with DJing, transforming vinyl records into tools for creation. Kwaito embodies that same spirit of resistance and reinvention. My work mirrors this, drawing from various influences to create a collage-like practice.
How do you navigate the tension between tradition and modernity in your work, particularly when engaging with audiences from diverse cultural backgrounds?
To be honest, my audience isn’t as diverse as one might think. It’s primarily European. My work often critiques coloniality and confronts ideas shaped by the perpetrators of colonialism. So, it feels like my work is more for them than for South Africans.
The South African art world is very market-driven and leans heavily on figuration. Conceptual or research-based art, which is what I do, doesn’t get much attention here. But in Europe, my work sparks discourse and challenges their frameworks. South Africans often view my work online or through lectures rather than exhibitions. That said, I’m preparing for a solo exhibition in March, and I’m curious to see how it’ll be received locally.
How do you navigate the tension between tradition and modernity, especially with such a broad range of audiences?
For me, the tension doesn’t really exist. My work isn’t rooted in traditional South African audiences. It’s about confronting colonial and Western frameworks. I’m less interested in the victims of colonialism and more focused on addressing the perpetrators.
South Africans sometimes critique my work, saying it’s “Black stuff for white people.” But that’s a fundamental misunderstanding. I’m subverting the spaces I occupy, disrupting their norms and expectations. While my work draws from African spirituality and mysticism, it’s designed to challenge established narratives, particularly those shaped by colonial systems.
The idea of cultural resurgence is integral to the exhibition. How do you perceive the role of your work in relation to a broader movement of cultural self-acknowledgement in contemporary South Africa?
I’ve been deeply involved in promoting African culture and critiquing colonialism through exhibitions, publications, and public engagements. Cultural resurgence must first grapple with heritage and resistance. True resistance, as seen in subversive genres like kwaito, rejects normative frameworks entirely. However, I’m cautious about the corporatization of culture, which often dilutes its radical potential. Still, I hope exhibitions like this one foster meaningful resistance and dialogue.
