The enormity of Yinka Shonibare CBE’s work cannot be overstated. He was nominated for the Turner Prize in both 2004 and 2008. He has exhibited across the globe with works held in the permanent collections of the Tate, the V&A, MoMA and the Smithsonian Institute. He was made CBE in 2019 and in 2022, the artist launched Guest Artists Space (G. A. S.) Foundation, a Lagos-based non-profit that fosters cultural exchange through residencies, public programmes and exhibition opportunities. His works are currently on view as part of the Nigerian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale. And now, after 32 years, the artist returns with a new solo show at the Serpentine Gallery, the very site of his debut in 1992.

Entitled ‘Suspended State’, the exhibition chimes so well with this year’s Venice Biennale’s theme, ‘Foreigners Everywhere’, that you could almost read the show as an extension of it. “Suspended States addresses the suspension of boundaries, whether psychological, physical, or geographical — all boundaries of nationhood are in a state of suspense,” Shonibare says. “This is an exhibition in which Western iconography is reimagined and interrogated, at a moment in history when Nationalism, protectionism and hostility towards foreigners is on the rise.”

Entering the space, you’re immediately immersed in Shonibare’s introspective world. At the heart of the first room stands The Wind Sculpture in Bronze IV, a tall billowing cloth rendered in bronze with a sense of motion that’s at once gentle and resolute. Its primary purpose? To make the invisible visible. The abstract bronze sculpture is meticulously hand painted with Dutch wax patterns in vibrant hues of turquoise, yellow and orange. It’s a continuation of the dialogue from many of his works, especially Nelson’s Ship in a Bottle. Commissioned for the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square in 2010, it saw Horatio Nelson's flagship, HMS Victory recreated in a 1:30 ratio and with the sails replaced by Dutch wax-printed cotton. The connection between the two lies in the significance of the trade winds that carried this ship and these fabrics across continents. It’s a force that’s both metaphorical and physical, has shaped the experiences of the diaspora and enslaved peoples throughout history.

Moving into the War Library installation will leave the word “wow” echoing through your mind. To make this breath-taking piece, Shonibare and his team meticulously gathered 5,270 books and bound them in Dutch wax. Many of them bear golden lettering, chronicling conflicts and peace treaties that directly or indirectly result from imperial dominion. Some books remain unlettered, symbolising conflicts yet to unfold. With War Library, the artist is shedding light on the global and historical ramifications of colonialism with its enduring impact on contemporary society. He’s also asking a crucial question about human memory and amnesia: Why, despite witnessing the repercussions of war, do we struggle to learn from it?

Emotions are heightened as you enter Sanctuary City. This dimly lit room is filled with scaled-down replicas of historical and contemporary buildings from around the world – places of refuge for persecuted and vulnerable groups. This timely piece underscores the fundamental human right to shelter and the innate need for safety. It’s particularly poignant amidst escalating socio-economic disparities and conflicts. Moving further through the space you arrive at the Decolonised Structure room to find a selection of London’s public sculptures and monuments scaled down to human size. Figures such as Queen Victoria and Winston Churchill are transformed from lofty, imposing figures to objects of curiosity. Each is meticulously adorned with gold leaf and Dutch wax patterns, reflecting the artist's intent to imbue them with a newfound complexity. A consideration of the role played by statues in contemporary society, Shonibare is challenging us to reconsider which should stand, which should fall, and what could rise up in their place.

Viewed as a whole, ‘Suspended States’ acts as a mirror to the myriad dilemmas persisting within our society today. It's an evocative reminder of the world’s ongoing conflicts and genocides, not to mention the recent passing of the Rwanda law in the UK allowing the government to forcibly remove asylum seekers from these shores. All of this contains a poignant truth: despite our interconnectedness, the illusion of ownership over the spaces we inhabit prevails. We all, in essence, are immigrants, yet we cling to notions of territory with fervour. Is this collective forgetfulness symptomatic of a deeper ailment? Do we, as a species, suffer from chronic amnesia, or is it a deliberate act of selective remembrance that’s sculpting our perceptions of reality and identity?