Nondumiso Nkosi

Artist Catalogue

Virtual Exhibition

Lashona lilanga

In loving memory of Petunia Mndawe Nkosi (1979-2007)

Grief is a universal experience. It is a response to the loss of someone or something we truly loved. For the first time since my mom died in 2007, I heard her voice in a video recording. It sounded different to the voice I had always imagined in my head. The sound of her voice triggered a void, a part of me that was lonely, longing for her. Therefore, in dedication to my mom, this exhibition addresses the trauma I faced with a stigmatised loss. It is a quest that reveals and confronts my experience with my mom's death. In addressing these undealt emotions, this exhibition liberates me through vulnerability. The artworks are an act of self-care so that I can finally heal as a black woman and be the most beautiful and authentic self I can be.

In taking the form of a sound performance in my exhibition, my mom’s voice is played within the space. She sings the type of song a mother would sing to her children. As she sings, her voice starts to slowly fade away to silence. As the viewer listens to the silence, my voice singing the same hymn slowly fades in. It speaks to the motherly role that I adopted in the family when she passed. I point to my mother’s absence by utilising the form of a photo album, where she is cut out of the photographs that I own.

The cut-out figures become black silhouettes painted to emphasise her absence as it moves below the surface of the album paper. It conveys the feeling of emptiness and loneliness that speak to the incomplete and unanswered questions from those of us left behind. The photographs are protected and safe inside the cover, hiding behind the ‘strong black women’ facade. However, once the inside is taken out of its cover, it is exposed and fragile. Through the alterations of these pictures, my mom and I become vulnerable. I use the curtain as an act of inviting people from the outside into my life. It also becomes a signifier of the ending of life. The way it flows makes it look fragile however, its strength is violent.

I realised that the feeling of shame I feel about my mom’s death is a response that, as a black woman, she failed to be strong. However, her decision to take her life might have been an act of liberating herself from the pain. She had to set herself free. Healing takes place when we acknowledge the pain and hurt that come with the traumas we face. I created a series of carved woodblocks as an illustration of the memory I have of the last day I was with my mom—a day of trauma. In choosing relief wood carvings, I choose to be in this moment of trauma and heal from it. The process of carving is important, for it is an act of relieving myself. An act of acknowledging that I could not save her. An act of healing. So, in accepting the loss of my mom, I bring dignity to her death by creating a memorial of her on a timeline of large portrait lumen prints. My sister and I refer to my mom as our sun, so lumen prints are important because they are a photographic process that relies on the direct sun to make a print. She is the sun that gave life to me, but every sun must set. Ulilanga lelishonile (meaning: she is the sun that has set).