Olafur Eliasson and Sammy Baloji

A year of mentoring

Overview (Chapter 1 of 4)

Sammy Baloji’s mentoring year consisted of a series of short but intense encounters with Olafur Eliasson, mainly in Berlin, where Eliasson has his studio. The mentor declared from the start that he too wanted to learn from the process and the pair collaborated without a fixed plan, quickly building a strong rapport, combining intellectual discussion with clear advice for Baloji to develop his creativity across a spectrum of artistic media. Eliasson, known worldwide for his inventive art installations, was the ideal mentor to work with Baloji at a crucial point in the protégé’s artistic path, as he was creating his first installation for exhibition at the Venice Art Biennale. 

Olafur Eliasson and Sammy Baloji

A year of mentoring

First impressions (Chapter 2 of 4)

May 2014

A new aperture


Sammy Baloji is an artist and photographer working between Belgium and his native Democratic Republic of Congo. His powerful photographic series of his homeland has been widely exhibited in Europe, the United States and Africa. He hopes that working with his mentor, Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson, will inspire him to experiment with new creative forms.


Photography is an incredible medium for expressing life, but I actually started out as an illustrator. I began drawing and illustrating comic books in primary school. It was only when I wanted to take photos of objects and scenery, to record the details to draw them later, that my interest in photography began. My aunt ran a small photography studio, producing identity photos and the like, so I asked her if I could borrow a camera. I started off with a small Canon. It became a rather expensive hobby – buying the films and developing the prints, so I began taking reportage and wedding photos to subsidize the rest of my photographic work. Eventually I learned how to develop the photos when I was an intern with a photographer – Simon Mukunday –who became my technical teacher.

I admire the work of many photographers, including the Belgian photographer Marie-Françoise Plissart, especially her images of architecture, and Santu Mofokeng and Sam Mhlengethwa, both from South Africa. Mofokeng works with archive material and memoir photography, which is similar to my own work. I was also inspired by Mhlengethwa’s collages of painted images.

Third biennale
I am proud of being one of the co-founders of the Lubumbashi Biennale. It’s now into its third edition. When we began, it was a real struggle to get recognition and funding, but now even the national government has started to take notice. It gives a local perspective. It’s important that it’s there, not just for the artists, but also for the community, particularly in an area where unemployment is high, and an academic art education does not exist.

I was very happy to be given the opportunity to work with Olafur Eliasson, but I was a bit confused as to why Rolex had invited me to apply for the mentorship. But then I met him and began to understand why it would work. Olafur collaborates with artists from different disciplines and this is a big part of what I am trying to do. Then, in talking with him, I discovered that he already had an interest in Africa as he has been working with 30 participants from his Institute for Spatial Experiments in Berlin and the students at the Alle School of Art and Design in Addis Ababa on an educational research and art project there. He also holds a post at the University of Addis Ababa. It became clear that we have a lot more in common than I had originally thought.

I was astounded by Olafur’s studio in Berlin! When I visited, I was astonished by its sheer size. It’s like a factory – there are almost 80 people operating out of it! I had never seen such an immense collaboration between artists, researchers, craftsmen and architects – all under one roof and all working together. I was quite overwhelmed. Then the photographer arrived to take my photo – usually it’s me who is focusing the lens on others, so I found the whole experience rather surreal.

Experimental space
I really want to create an interdisciplinary studio in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I hope it will be an experimental space for me and other artists. A place to preserve ancient art forms of the area and one that corresponds to local reality and daily problems. It will be a place where we can discuss post-colonial identity issues and other subjects, such as how art can analyse local questions without it becoming just a commodity to be sold on a global market.

Up to now I have worked mainly with photography, video and illustration. I am looking forward to this mentoring year. I want to enlarge my artistic knowledge, to move forward with new ideas. I hope to discuss all this with my mentor soon. I am already inspired simply by seeing his studio!

Olafur Eliasson and Sammy Baloji

A year of mentoring

Six months with a mentor (Chapter 3 of 4)

June 2016

The present in the past

Sammy Baloji is a photographer and film-maker from Lubumbashi, the biggest city in the mining province of Katanga in the south-east of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Currently based in Brussels, he is best known for a series of photomontages which juxtapose photographs of Katanga from the period when Congo was a Belgian colony with contemporary images of industrial decay. He is being mentored by the Danish-Icelandic conceptual artist Olafur Eliasson.

What led you to make the photomontages? 
I went to the city's university to study communication because I wanted to make films, which I saw as a natural extension of my boyhood passion for making comic books. But the film department never opened because the university didn't have enough money. I ended up studying public relations, but I never wanted to be a PR man. I was always more interested in how images were used and how to deconstruct them, and I started taking photographs. 

The French Cultural Centre, which had been closed during the political crisis of the 1990s, reopened in 2002, and the director was keen to document Katanga's mining heritage. The Centre gave me access to industrial archive material. That's how my photomontages started. 

I felt the story of the colonial period hadn't been told. It was never taught in our schools. Even now you can find people in Katanga who will say the colonial period was better than the present. When I saw the archive pictures, with workers in chains, they shocked me. Also, looking at the city in 2004, the country had been almost destroyed, and I was asking myself why. We were independent, we were rich in minerals, what had happened? We could say it was the fault of Belgium, but they hadn't been there since 1960. What had we been doing since then? I was trying to show the two systems side by side. Under the Belgians there were masters and slaves, but maybe it was still the same. There are politicians and the population, and the population are slaves. Nothing has changed. You have corruption and foreign corporations that make their own rules.

How did you make your way as an artist? 
I started getting recognition for my work in 2006, a period when I started to exhibit works in international art shows such as Traces at the Biennale d‘Architecture de la Cambre in Brussels, Photoquai in Paris and the Bamako Biennale in 2007 where I won a prize. In 2010 I had a solo show at the African Art Museum in New York, and in 2012 an exhibition at the Smithsonian in Washington, so I was beginning to be known. 

When did you go to Brussels? 
I went in 2010. I was invited to a residency at the Tervuren Museum, where I did an exhibition. I had intended to go to Amsterdam for two years to work on my artistic technique but when that fell through I ended up staying on with the goal of finding another opportunity for studying. I am still involved in many things in Congo. I and some friends have opened an arts centre in Lubumbashi, where we have a programme with local artists. We are also running a biennale of photography and video. 

Do you feel a sense of mission as an African artist?
It's not a mission, but at the same time it's what I am. Even if I'm working on a mining topic or on exploitation or on the colonial past, I'm not just talking about that – I'm also talking about myself. 

Where is your work taking you now?
I am interested in the tangible and intangible vestiges of Congolese and pre-colonial African societies, and what you still see of it in the postcolonial era. Socio-political elements of identity such as scarifications or patterns, even the way of life and the way ancient societies used common space, serve as material to analyse urbanism as it is experienced by indigenous people. This process leads me to go beyond the photographic and videographic media that I had always used until now. It is the opening phase of a new dimension in my artistic expression.

I have produced installations for both the Central Pavilion and the Belgian Pavilion at this year's Venice Biennale [which runs until 22 November 2015]. The Belgian Pavilion combines a work I've shown before called Essay on Urban Planning that traces the development of Lubumbashi back to the Belgian colonizers' obsession with flies – they used to make each of the miners collect 50 flies every day and insisted on a cordon sanitaire between the white and black cities because of their fear of fly-borne diseases. I will show this work alongside eight copper plates on which I have superimposed the images of scarified bodies. Scarification [the etching of patterns on to the body] was very common in Africa in the first half of the 20th century, and was bound up with an individual's culture and sense of identity. I also see links between the shapes on the body and the way Africans map and navigate cities. 

I made copper panels with scarified images for the Central Pavilion. These have been welded together to form a dome based on a church in Liège that was built in the 1920s as a memorial to the First World War and constructed with 13,000 kilos of copper brought from Katanga.

Will your dome be an act of reclamation – almost a reverse colonisation? 
In a way, yes. The Africans killed in the First World War had no memorial built to them. Mine will be a memorial constructed out of Africans' identities. There are seven memorials to the Western war dead in Liège. This will be an eighth memorial – to the African war dead.

Your work is strongly research-based. 
I have been working with a Belgian anthropologist to try to understand how Congolese cities are growing. My work falls between documentary and fiction, and for me the most interesting part is when I am trying to link things together and make a new narrative without words. 

How do you and Olafur Eliasson relate to each other? 
The first day that I met with him he said that I shouldn't treat him as the one who knew everything. He also wanted to learn from me. There was no plan. He said it would bring what it would bring. If I started to expect something, then I would be lost. 

What does he feel about the way you use research?
He tells me I have to be both artist and archivist, but the research mustn't overwhelm the art. I have to be careful not to make it too boring. It's art, not a history lesson. 
 
What have you absorbed of his way of working? 
He said there was no rule: you have to experiment. He's not concentrated in just one field. He can make artworks with photography or video; he can make installations; he can make art with water; sometimes he makes paintings. I am trying to understand how he chooses one medium over another, and how he knows that the object reflects his thinking.

How has your work changed as a result of the relationship? 
Olafur has freed me up. I've learned that he really knows who he is. He can work with mathematicians, engineers, architects, but he always knows what he is doing as an artist. He is pushing me to be an artist rather than a documentarist, to explore and to work without self-imposed restrictions. Maybe the time I am spending with Olafur is my art school. 

Olafur Eliasson and Sammy Baloji

A year of mentoring

After a year of mentoring (Chapter 4 of 4)

November 2015

The art of creating new realities


Photographer and film-maker Sammy Baloji, whose stunning photomontages illuminate the past and present of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, takes a leap into installation art and brings his unique perspective with him, inspired and supported by his mentor, renowned Danish-Icelandic conceptual artist Olafur Eliasson.

By Stephen Moss

It is a Saturday morning in late February, at an artist's studio 10 km from Marrakech. All is peaceful; the pack of wild dogs whose howls punctuated the previous night are sleeping; the only sound is birdsong. Until the hammering begins.

The sound of mallets on copper plate means that Congolese artist Sammy Baloji is constructing his latest project. In the atelier of his friend, artist Eric van Hove, a group of Moroccan craftsmen under Baloji's supervision are fashioning a replica of the dome of a church in the Belgian city of Liège. Rarely have so many artistic tributaries converged on this Moroccan plain.

Baloji was born in 1978 in Lubumbashi, the biggest city in the mining province of Katanga in the south-east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He now lives in Brussels, but his artistic heart and soul remain in the DRC. Congolese life, history and politics underpin all his work, including his dome - the exhibit he was making for the Central Pavilion at the Venice Biennale.

He established himself with a series of collages juxtaposing photographs of labourers in Katanga at the turn of the 20th century, enchained (often literally) by their Belgian masters, with recent photographs of the province's decayed industrial landscape. "I felt the story of the colonial period hadn't been told," he explained at our first meeting in Brussels in December 2014. "It was never taught in our schools. Even now you can find people in Katanga who will say the colonial period was better than the present. When I saw the archive pictures, with workers in chains, they shocked me."

What had happened?
His photomontages are, though, as much about the present as the past. "Looking at the city in 2004, the country had been almost destroyed," he said, "and I was asking myself why. We were independent, we were rich in minerals, what had happened?

"We could say it was the fault of Belgium, but they hadn't been there since 1960. What had we been doing since then? I was trying to show the two systems side by side. Under the Belgians there were masters and slaves, but maybe it was still the same. There are politicians and the population, and the population are slaves. Nothing has changed. You have corruption and foreign corporations that make their own rules."

In December, Baloji was halfway through his stint as a protégé of Olafur Eliasson, the celebrated Danish-Icelandic conceptual artist. Eliasson's mentoring came at a critical moment for Baloji. He had completed the series of collages that established him as an artist. He was dividing his time between Lubumbashi and Belgium, where in 2010 he had taken a residency at Tervuren's Royal Museum for Central Africa. He now had a partner in Brussels, drawing him closer to his adopted country. Above all, he was facing the question: "What next?"

Critical juncture
Eliasson runs a large studio in Berlin with 80 staff and creates grand artistic concepts such as The weather project at London's Tate Modern in 2003 and The New York City Waterfalls in 2008. What would he have to say to an African photographer who was just making his way in the art world and had only a small office in his apartment in Brussels, suitable for retouching photos but not for producing the sort of installations involving textiles, models and screenprints which Baloji had started to develop at the Centre d'Art Picha in Lubumbashi? These installations and Baloji's move from photography to new media were to be at the centre of his exchanges with Eliasson after their initial meeting in January 2014, but how could the latter guide his protégé at this critical juncture?

"I chose Sammy [from a shortlist of possible protégés] because his idea of working was at a very early stage of gaining a formal language, but it had taken directions that I thought were inspiring," explained Eliasson. "He had chosen certain trajectories and was still working on giving those trajectories form, but I could see that it was interesting. It was not a traditional white-cube trajectory; there was a non-careerist element to it that was fascinating. His work did not in any way suggest that the market would carry him to success, but it had the potential to be really strong with or without the market."

Eliasson was also drawn to Baloji because he had "taken upon himself the role of communicating art - organizing exhibitions, making books, all the surrounding activities you have to engage in as a young artist". Baloji had co- created an art biennale in Lubumbashi, and was, Eliasson said, thinking both artistically and pragmatically. "He was dealing with difficult questions of making such an event happen in a place where culture is very marginalized, and was very well balanced in his respect for both the art and the city. I thought that was very rare and important."

An exchange
At the beginning of the mentorship, Eliasson made it clear that he wanted a non-hierarchical relationship; he was seeking an exchange. "I was not interested only in being the one who gives," he said. "I also wanted to be the one who takes." Nor was he looking to change Baloji. "I was not there to tell him what to do. I'm hopefully helping him to look more closely at why he is doing it. When making art we ask 'why?' and 'how?' Artists often forget the why and go directly to how, and then they become formalists. Eventually it becomes clear to everyone that the why is missing."

He felt Baloji had a "strong instinctive or intuitive relationship with why", but that their relationship might deepen it, not least by encouraging him to experiment. "Art is about being precise," he said, "but how does one measure precision and how does one measure quality?" In other words, what is the science of art? Though Eliasson saw himself as partner rather than teacher, it was evident he would subject Baloji's aesthetic to serious scrutiny.

Three months later in Marrakech, after a series of meetings in Berlin and Copenhagen, the partnership seemed to be having an effect. Baloji had winnowed down a range of possibilities he had been considering in late 2014, and embarked on the copper dome that he would show in Venice. The dome was his first installation, and it was very ambitious, constructed from more than 50 copper panels. On each he superimposed the image of a "scarified" body taken from a book he had unearthed during his extensive research of the Congo during the colonial period.

Different time frames
The way he was using scarification - the etching of a pattern on to the body, a practice common in Africa in the first half of the 20th century - was complex. "In my artwork, I often adopt a multilayered approach," he explained. "In my photocollages, there are several stories with different time frames set in a fictional context that I have created. I have used the same process with the dome."

Scarification, which was widely used in initiation rites, was a key cultural signifier in African communities, amounting almost to a map of an individual's identity. The church in Liège, a memorial to the Western dead of the First World War, had been built in the 1930s with copper brought from Katanga. By building a small- scale replica with copper panels decorated with images of scarified bodies, Baloji was engaging in an act of reclamation, almost a reverse colonization. "There are seven memorials to the Western war dead in Liège," he said. "This will be an eighth memorial - to the African war dead."

Baloji also showed related work, including another set of copper bas-reliefs using images of scarification, in the Belgian Pavilion at Venice. Taken together, these works reflect on the power struggle between colonizers and colonized. That struggle was evident even in the ways in which they built their separate districts in Lubumbashi - a subject that fascinates Baloji and underlies much of his thinking. While the Belgian colonizers preferred regimented streets, set well away from the African part of the city for fear of disease, the indigenous population kept to the geometric forms - echoing patterns common in scarification - of traditional villages. A cultural war was being waged between oppressors and oppressed, and half a century after that war ended Baloji is trying to untangle its meanings.

No rules
How did Eliasson influence him? "He didn't tell me which direction I should go in," said Baloji. "Instead, he showed me how he worked, and encouraged me to find my own way through. He said there was no rule: you had to try, to experiment. He told me I had to find ways of bringing my research material into the art field. I had to be both artist and archivist, but the research shouldn't overwhelm the art. It's not a historical document. I am using things that belong to the past, but it's about now. I am looking for traces of power relationships in society. My work is intellectual but I have to be careful not to make it too boring [he laughed as he said this]. It's art, not a history lesson. He pushed me to be an artist rather than a documentarist, to explore and to work without self-imposed restrictions. Maybe the time I spent with Olafur was my art school."

Eliasson divides his time between Copenhagen and Berlin, where his main studio is housed in a former brewery in Prenzlauer Berg, a mecca for artists, designers and fashionistas. There, in April 2015, a month before the opening of the Venice Biennale, Eliasson and Baloji met to pore over photographs of the completed dome, which was then about to undertake its journey by land and sea from Morocco to Venice, and to assess how far they had come together on their own artistic odyssey.

A forced marriage
"Our encounters have been short but intense," said Eliasson. "The more often you meet, the better you get to know each other and the better sense we get of each other's language. It's a little bit like a forced marriage." He was anxious to downplay his contribution to Baloji's evolution, and the latter's willingness to leap from photography to installation, but Baloji was having none of it. "He showed me other approaches," he said. "It was not just a case of listening."

Eliasson has no doubts about the power of art. To him, conceptual art is about remaking the world. "Being an artist is a responsibility that stretches through everything one does," he said emphatically. "Sammy's work is not about something, it is the something. Art is a reality machine, and making an exhibition introduces critical tools to the world." The breadth of Eliasson's vision, his urge to reimagine the world, was infectious. Baloji had always evinced a quiet determination and steeliness. During his time with Eliasson he'd added a layer of ambition and was working with greater confidence - almost abandon.

In reclaiming past lives and past identifies, Eliasson argued, Baloji was not just creating provocative artworks but forcing the viewer to rethink history. Art was not just an aesthetic statement; it was a revolutionary act. At the end of our session in Berlin, Eliasson picked up his longbow - he likes the concentration archery demands - and started firing arrows at a target on the other side of the studio, narrowly missing expensive artworks en route. "When I hit the bullseye," he said as the arrows peppered the target, "I always put it on Instagram". If this was Baloji's art school, it had been a wonderfully bracing and challenging - if occasionally dangerous - one.

Stephen Moss is a staff writer on London's The Guardian newspaper. He writes widely about theatre, opera, film and literature.