The upcoming Aichi Triennale 2025 considers what it means to exist in ‘A Time Between Ashes and Roses’ (Adonis, 1970). Under artistic director Hoor Al Qasimi (president and director of the Sharjah Art Foundation) and her curatorial team, over 60 artists and collectives from 22 countries will gather at this pioneering Japanese arts festival to form a dialogue on healing the degraded relationship between humans and the environment. And an undoubted a highlight of the programming will be Faustin Linyekula. The esteemed choreographer and dancer from the Democratic of the Congo uses his practice to create a living archive that rebuilds his country’s memories and futures. Linyekula has toured around the globe, from MoMA to Tate Modern, while nurturing the creative hub Studios Kabako in his home town of Kisangani. And now he performs in Japan for the first time, bringing ‘My body, my archive’ (2023) with him, an intimate work calling to his matriarchal lineage. Nataal hears from the artist on the power of creativity to shape hearts, minds and imaginations.

Where do we find you today?

I’m in Abu Dhabi, where I’m a visiting professor at New York University Abu Dhabi and tomorrow is our first day of class. What’s really great is seeing these young artistic minds trying to figure out their own journey. Just being by their side is quite exciting.

What appeals to you about participating in Aichi Triennale 2025?

I’ve known Hoor Al Qasimi since she invited me to participate in the 2015 Sharjah Biennale and we’ve had an ongoing dialogue ever since, which I’m grateful for. Having toured like crazy for 20 years, I now want to be in these kinds of spaces where there is a network of support and a curatorial curiosity in my practice. In the fragile world we live in today, it's really what we need.

What is your response to this edition’s theme, ‘A time between ashes and roses’?

In the Congo, you’re constantly negotiating between this sense of living in ruins and trying to make something blossom. Between ashes and roses is hope – this is our life – so I feel close to this theme. It reminds me of something I read by Italian thinker Antonio Gramsci about a need for the pessimism of the intellect with the optimism of the will. Congo is a burnt land but we’re still dreaming of changing our world. It takes will to stand in the middle of ashes and ask, what can I plant? So as long as I’m alive, I refuse to give up.

Can you tell us about the piece you will be presenting, ‘My body, my archive’ (2023)?

It was originally born out of an invitation from the Metropolitan Museum in New York to propose a performance in 2017. The first thing I did was ask to see all the pieces from the Congo in their collections. Because wherever I go, I'm always searching for the Congo. The Congo is a broken mirror that was shattered by history and the parts have been scattered across the world. And in the Met’s collection, I found a Lengola wooden statue from my mother’s ethic group. There’s always big talk of restitution of stolen cultural goods from the continent. So, I asked, if this statue, representing the ways our ancestors had found to archive their history, was brought back home, would people still remember its traditions? I travelled to the village where my maternal grandfather was born, with my mother, my uncle and my cousin. It became a family affair around an artistic project. And what we realised is that this past is not dead. It's very fragile, but it's not dead and that gives me hope. These were the findings that shaped the first performance.

At the same time, I discovered a lot about my family history but it was striking that the only names that I kept hearing were men. So, this piece became a way of me saying, if history cannot remember the women, let the poet re-enact them. I asked respected sculptor Gbaga to create new sculptures representing eight generations of women – statues that are traditionally used for ceremonies to give a shape to your ancestors, allowing you to communicate through them. These informed the second iteration of ‘My body, My Archive’ in 2023 – two humans on stage, myself and US-based trumpeter Heru Shabaka-Ra, with the statues. He tells his story, reflecting on how he feels when he stands in front of the Atlantic where his ancestors lie. And I tell mine, and we meet somewhere in between.

What are your expectations for bringing this work to Aichi?

I've never been to Japan before but have long been fascinated by Japanese contemporary culture, specifically Butoh dancing. Known as the dance of the dark, Butoh was invented by people trying to grapple with life after the atomic bomb. In it, I see this attempt to rise from death and that’s something I deeply connect with. So, we’ll find out if my work resonates. All you can do is to be as true to yourself as possible, hoping that it will open the possibility of an encounter.

How does this work sit within your wider practice and current preoccupations?

For a long time, many artists on the African continent have built our work as an almost exclusive dialogue with Europe. This is the result of colonialism, which proposes that its ideas are the only ones that are valid. So, I ask, what kinds of form would I come up with if I wasn’t face to face with Europe? And this shifts how I look at myself as well as my ability to support other artists back home to think like this. So, the right time for me to be coming to Aichi as I’m looking in different directions and considering different economic models. There is no fixed point of reference and we live in a multipolar world.

In the context of working in Kisangani, I’m asking, what if art was more than just making an object, a show, a sculpture, a painting, but a way to bring a community together and inventing possibilities? In a country where we only hear news of doom, how can being an artist shift the ways we see ourselves and change life around us, even on a very tiny scale?

Which brings us to the heart of Studios Kabako. How did you originally establish your centre?

I am a choreographer, a dancer, but I find it easier to say that I’m a storyteller and the stories that inspire me are from the Congo. So, after being away from my country for eight years, first in Kenya and then working in Europe, it became clear that I needed to go back. That was 2001, which was in the middle of the war, so Studios Kabako was a way to not be alone in a hostile environment. I had to set up an ecosystem and train other artists. I also had to train an audience to engage with this kind of work.

It was based in Kinshasa for the first five years and then we moved it to Kisangani in the north-eastern Congo where I grew up. It was a challenge to move away from the centre but from a post-colonial attitude, there are as many centres as there are perspectives. Here, we have expanded from dance into a studio for creativity. If you’re a musician, filmmaker, musician, actor, you can find a home here and try things out. In fact, in our manifesto, we wrote that Studios Kabako is somewhere where being elegant is more important than being efficient.

What are the centre’s main objectives going forward?

Everything ties into the quest for new perceptions of ourselves. So today we’re putting more energy into film and running workshops with young people where we give them cameras to roam the city with and then ask questions. Would you show these images to someone from outside of here? Who are your heroes and can you find them here? It’s simple but effective.

The project we’re most known for in the city though, is a water treatment plant. We are in a community with no running water, no electricity. So, we set up a little plant just for our own consumption and then realised we could produce enough clean drinking water to supply 1,000 people every day. This is in this district of 300,000 people. Of course, it's a drop in the ocean, but it's a small step.

Another project looks at the forest. Kisangani was built inside the forest but over time, we’ve managed to chase it away. Many children don’t know the forest so we ask them to ‘Draw Me a Forest’ and we have a tree nursery where they can follow the journey of planting and caring for a tree. This has led to acquired 700 hectares of degraded forest with the idea of developing a reforestation project. Maybe we can use it developed more sustainable ways of producing food for a city of 1.5 million people where there is a food deficit.

This is all Kabako. Is it art? Does it really matter? There’s a saying attributed to Confucius that goes something like, if your project is for one year, grow rice. If it is for 10 years, plant trees. If it is for 100 years, educate children. And adding that, make art. Because art is the space where we can face our joys and fears and reinvent ourselves. This is where Kabako is heading.

Aichi Triennale 2025 takes place from 13 September - 30 November, 2025 at Aichi Arts Center, Aichi Prefectural Ceramic Museum and across Seto City. Discover more information here.