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‘Through our collective desire to rediscover or reconnect with the ancient practices of our lost ancestors, which have inspired many artists around the world, such as Pablo Picasso. And through numerous research projects, collaborations, and residencies in Lusanga with artists from Kinshasa, Lubumbashi and from around the world, who we’ve worked with to create an extended international family of artists. I’d like to stress this: in our collective, everyone is a teacher and everyone is a learner at the same time. The innate talent in each of us has been greatly enriched by working together and connecting with others both inside and outside the DRC. This openness to the world, to ourselves, and to others, has enabled us to embrace the present and live in harmony with our ancestors and the earth.’

‘We’re trying to reconnect with what we’ve lost but which is still hidden within us. This loss has disconnected us from our ancestors and our land. We needed to rediscover our own connection in a language that is familiar to us and is included in our present. We want to move forward with the world while staying connected to our ancestors, our culture, and our land. Our sculptures connect us to ourselves, our ancestors, and the world.’

‘Our conceptual framework is collective and original. It’s called Luyalu. This concept clashes with that of Renzo Martens, actually. The colliding of our meta-concepts creates a clash of ideas from which spring not only questions, but also proposals for solutions to the common ills of humanity. This clash creates a space for thinking and acting sustainably on the inequality and exclusion that disqualifies plantation workers around the world, even in museums that have been funded by the profits of the same plantations. It makes the struggle of Congolese plantation women to free themselves and achieve their autonomy possible, both individually and collectively.’

‘Luyalu is the vital force in our lives, in nature and our relationship with the earth, which we express through art. This force is interwoven with the reality of our lives in the ruins of the plantation in Lusanga. Its strength animates life and enables us to find our own strength thanks to many years of practice and generations upon generations of experience in spirituality, art, and connection with the earth passed onto us by our ancestors. This is the Muzindu (depth) that has enabled our group to connect with our allies and ancestors, drawing inspiration from them to create the kikungika ya mbasi (composition of the future), based on the inspiration revealed by the unsuspected depths buried in each of us, brought together to share life. We are Mosi (one), and together we form the Luyalu ya Mosi (the strength of the whole as one). That is Luyalu: our collective methods of thinking, acting, working and sharing everything, from art to the land, in connection with our ancestors.’

‘Renzo’s “meta-concept” is limited to the idea of “reverse gentrification”. In short, this is the idea that it is plantation workers who should enjoy the benefits of artistic critique against inequality, rather than well-connected artists, in well-located museums, for their well-located audiences. It’s a rather theoretical proposition. The only thing it has created for us is the opportunity to play on a level playing field with the rest of the world. Luyalu and CATPC’s work goes much further.’

‘The temporary loan of Balot is only one stage in what we consider restitution. When Balot travels to Lusanga, we are going to recover the force destined for the sons and daughters of the plantation and return it to the earth. This will open a serious debate about the future of this sculpture and others incarcerated in the museums of the North. Certain questions stand out for us: To whom should this sculpture be returned? Can we restitute these objects without creating new divisions between peoples? And what else should be restituted, and to whom?
We believe that this piece of heritage, like others still incarcerated, belongs to today’s humanity and tomorrow’s generations, without excluding anyone. These works bequeathed to us by our ancestors should be able to circulate, to go anywhere in the world, so that all peoples can benefit from this knowledge, not just in Richmond or Lusanga, but also in the plantations where the violence actually still takes place. Wherever this sculpture goes, it will start discussions, not only on the restitution of art, but also of land. This loan is just a first step in the process of what we understand by restitution.’

‘The artworks themselves have always been of great value to us, since it is thanks to them that we have arrived where we are today. They tell us about the reality of our lives, about ourselves in the past, present, and sometimes also in the future. The personal stories we share in our art are often testimonies that we feel are important to tell everyone in the world.
There’s also no difference in our attachment to the sculptures whether they are rendered in clay or in chocolate. They are always our ideas, conceived and created from our home in Lusanga, and converted into materials from the same earth that allowed the fruit harvested by our plantation workers to grow, to pass on our message to the world. Whether in clay or chocolate, they remain “Luyalu Original Sculptures”.’

‘In a nutshell, it means: the tree of the future planted in the clay head of the ruined plantation, which grows into a sacred forest where humans live reconciled with nature. This forest is a supermarket that feeds us and cures us of disease for free. This same forest also protects us from climate change.’

‘Our post-plantation is progressing well and today there are more and more of these clay heads in which we are planting the seeds of the trees of the future. Our project is managed by us in Lusanga, but the number of our partners is growing every day. The trees are already bearing their first fruits and our community can now look forward to developing itself, gradually turning our land into a paradise where man and nature live in harmony.’

‘The post-plantation is an autonomous project, run democratically by its members. By criticising the plantation systems that still keep entire families in severe poverty, as well as the art institutions that [through sponsorship deals with companies like Unilever, ed.] benefit from forced labour on the plantations, we have taken a big step, but we have never claimed to have reached the end of the road. The fact that we, as plantation workers, have access to these privileges that others on the plantations do not, is a bad thing. It only becomes a good thing when we agree to share them with all, communally. That’s Luyalu.’

‘These new works complement our previous works to form the story we want to share with the world and awaken consciences that are still asleep. We’re certainly exploring several directions.’

‘We are questioning the fact that there is still no Congolese Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, where Congolese artists can express themselves to the world. This is proof of the exclusion suffered by our country, despite its considerable contribution to art worldwide. Congolese art has inspired entire movements in Western art history. Renowned artists such as Picasso drew from Pende art to build a career and a name for himself. The fact that our museum in Lusanga is twinned with the Dutch Rietveld Pavilion allows our remote “Congolese Pavilion” to participate, albeit from a distance, in this international art event from which we have always been excluded.
We feel entitled to express ourselves in the Rietveld Pavilion, given that plantation workers have contributed enormously and unwittingly to the existence of museums across the world. The fact that this space has been lent to us as plantation workers and as an art collective living and working in the Congo, is a partial reparation for just one of many long-standing injustices. With my own eyes, I saw gigantic quantities of cocoa arriving in the port of Amsterdam and I said to myself: If the fruit produced on our plantations is welcome, then our ideas and art should be too.’

‘The artists-planters in Lusanga are calling for greater solidarity, collaboration, and partnerships, and are inviting everyone – museums, artists, curators, and especially those funded by slave labour on the plantations – to give their voices back to the cause of our indigenous peoples. To decolonise the plantations that have financed your museums, to reforest our lands, so that the sacred forest and our well-being can return. No museum can claim to want to decolonise itself if the plantations are not also decolonised.’