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MOMENTUM-LAGOS

ARTIST RESIDENCY

#13

thandiwe adofo

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1 – 29 January 2025

the practice of creative resistance

Artist Residency Presentation by thandiwe adofo

28 January 2024

KUNST SALON – By Invitation

the practice of creative resistance

Until The Danger Has Passed (2024-), collection of short stories, work-in-progress. Cover art by Omari Foote.

“Until the Danger Has Passed” is one story of a collection of stories that follows Ngweji, a boy in the Democratic Republic of Congo from his birth until his adulthood. Within this story, Ngweji is in the prime of his childhood being raised by two older boys in a Mai-Mai militia camp. The two young men raising Ngweji, Kasese and Fumu act as the primary characters in this story, attempting to find their own paths within the tradition and indoctrination of the militia as well as their own masculinity and their roles, active or passive within the violence. Ngweji acts as a secondary character, dealing with the abuse of power in the encampment and child labor as a means of providing for himself. “Until the Danger Has Passed” considers the roles played within a genocide, both internal and external and the realities of the situation occurring in the DRC.

– thandiwe adofo

untitled (ode to berlin) (2025), video installation with sound, original poetry, 1:59 on loop.

i took a walk aimlessly through berlin
my fingers graced the feeling of war for the first time
embedded into the scape living through tides of silence
bullet holes rest gracing the presence of
a woman and her friend share a rolled cigarette
in german they speak of
a lost lover and his new found virtue
or a man with his daughter in the trolley
chasing the ghost of her mother
bullets lay claim to the pads of my fingers
claiming another life
yes, i walk aim less ly throughout berlin
i feel cold
on the tip of my tongue
there is a certain permanence here within the wine they drink
and the tingle of a child’s laugh
as her father chases down death
or a the smoke of a rolled cigarette brimming with hope
it stays within them, a remembrance thou shall not forget
but bullet holes are still scars
not filled, not forgotten but
not solved– truly. because
the permanence of war
resides within the land within the buildings
both that stood and that fell within the cobblestones we walk upon
yet
it is still torn within the people they live on
with the torture of the past
residing within their bodies bleeding out like bullet holes.

untitled (i think of war) (2025), video installation with sound, original poetry, 2:01 on loop

i think of war
i think of war. sometimes.
of what happens when a bomb drops onto someone’s front lawn
one with plastic porch chairs and cigarette buts and beer cans
what is lost in that moment.
fruit flies, sitting in the sink she swats them
a favorite spoon round yet small, with a smooth ness
a set of keys
to a front door
with a lock with a catch
to a place that no longer has one
i think of war.
of the pain
when shrapnel and fire graces your skin
of evaporating rain as flame embraces air
of final goodbyes and kisses on cheeks that are now hollow
or of the last thoughts if death comes without a whimper or cry
if you can feel it
when it has been decided it is your turn
i think of war. i think of war.
sometimes.

untitled (on burdensome blues) (2025), video installation with sound, original poetry, 2:05 on loop

hands
tinted in a burdensome blue small yet blisters poking palms reminiscent of starry nights
the first time you bled gold
child,
your fingers
should be soft
with hints of crayon on their tips
learning how to write your name
before you learn how to pluck beads of color
for your family to eat
child,
step into the oasis
and allow the darkness
in which you work
to become your only light
for the richness
of your land
to be held of a man in western winds
child,
you know this ground you’ve lived within it since you could breathe
and you breathe out dust
lungs coated in that burdensome blue
because they have stolen your life
not the man in a uniform nor the man above him or the man above him
but the reds
have decided
you must breathe burdensome blues to power the whites

burdensome stone (2025), original poetry

poetically, i feel the weight of words on the paper. heavy like marble resting on your chest. as i talk
i write around myself, a swiveling symphony of words all of which avoid. and then it sinks.
i sink, within to my self. feeling the weight of the words on paper. heavier than black bodies being carried down to their graves. and this weight of words, suffocates me. i must act– sing– dance– write– read–
perform
within this.. weight. one day my grandmother told me, my great-great grandfather was lynched.
breath caught in my throat. a true dealing of cards that i did not know were so close, yet so removed.
it was just– as it was– he was lynched. he worked on the railroads, caused some trouble, perhaps he was
a drunk. or maybe he touched a white woman the wrong way at the right time. or maybe he had debts yet stashed money in his pockets. but she said, she said it, like it was
his fault. like the family knew, my grand mother, and her grand mother knew.. it was his fault. he had brought this weight upon himself and when he
could no longer breathe underneath the stone that sat on his chest. it was on him. the burden too big for
his hands, too choking for his throat, yes too burdensome to uphold. . . yes it was his fault. it must’ve been.
and so when i feel the weight of words on paper. in attempts to write what the mind can’t hold, what the breath can’t speak, what the hands can’t carry.
i remember, as a little black girl, i deal in burdens. i must too, carry. or it will be my fault when i am lynched too.

All original poetry reproduced above, courtesy of thandiwe Adofo.

For more fiction, poetry, essays, and film visit thandiwe adofo’s website HERE >>

The MOMENTUM AiR / LAGOS Berlin

ARTIST RESIDENCY

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LAGOS Mexico City / MOMENTUM Berlin

RESIDENCY EXCHANGE

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PHOTOS OF THE KUNST SALON