Words by Fatima Njoya

Lina Iris Viktor: In The (Black) Fantastic

“It’s all about the stories we tell and how we visualize them,” says Lina Iris Viktor, who explores concepts and ideas “lesser known” within her creations. Her visually striking multidisciplinary artworks are a commentary on various subjects that invite curiosity – or can be embraced as beautifully immersive experiences.

Syzygy, 2015, Courtesy of the artist

The Liberian-British multidisciplinary artist is hard to grasp. A wide range of influences seems to drive her, both as an individual and in her multifaceted creations. Ancient African history, mythology, cosmology, modern-day futurism, and her transnational upbringing are some of the influences found in her work. Born in London, Lina first studied film in New York. She later completed a foundation course in Photography and Design at the School of Visual Arts, followed by further education in fine arts and classical traditions at Central Saint Martins in London. While people usually want to compartmentalize, Lina leaned into a more diverse practice regarding her materials and techniques. Through paintings, sculptures and installations, she explores different narratives, pushes boundaries, and plays with multiple dimensions and layers. The underlying conversations in her work are centered around identity, myth, displacement, race and belonging. That makes her paintings somewhat of a personal reflection that can be interpreted as a broader commentary on cultural, historical, and even political issues. One might believe the artist herself is engaged in a dialogue or large discussion with different entities – transcending our timeframe and sometimes our understanding. Especially in her paintings, one can see an iconographic approach, an almost divine and ethereal feeling, offering a new visual understanding of the African diaspora. While it is easy to get lost in the futuristic and visually captivating realm, you can always feel an underlying intellectual layer. Moreover, she infiltrates the traditional art scene in many ways, gaining attention for her aesthetic that pushes the imagination toward the art practices of diasporic cultures.

Due to her unique and challenging perspective that intersects all the previously mentioned topics while adding otherworldly references, Lina is regarded as an important voice in contemporary discussions on the representation of African identity.

Eleventh, 2018, Courtesy of the Artist

Fatima Njoya: Let’s talk about “Blackness” and its universal implications: What does it mean to you personally?

Lina Iris Viktor: As one of the two extremes of the spectrum, black is the full absorption of color while containing all colors. To me, black is infused with many ideas. It is a visible value or hue utilized throughout our daily lives. It has emotional resonances and elicits certain feelings, sometimes of loss and the nebulous, sometimes of potency and power. It has potent cultural and social significance. It is the closest approximation of how we speak about the surrounding cosmos, the proverbial “dark matter.” And finally, it has racial connotations for those of African descent – though this is a misnomer, in my estimation.

Speaking of cultural and social significance: How significant are your heritage and Blackness, and the identity and values that come with them, to your work?

It’s important as it does inform my worldview to a degree, but it is not the only defining aspect of myself and my work. The conversations around Blackness, African heritages, and their value have drastically changed in the past ten years since I started my journey. When I began, there was a feeling of a vacuum within the arts, where certain voices were not fully represented. This void has been filled in recent years. As a result, the urgency to make that the sole focus of my work has lessened. I’m hoping to have a more nuanced approach now.

What are those nuances?

I am interested in knowledge and in exploring concepts, ideas and stories that are lesser known. I want to bring hidden or unexplored histories to light and make them more accessible to the mainstream. For example, in my new works at Soane, a key jump-off point for me was the various myths, religious narratives, and architectures of the Dogon of Mali. Three works on paper entitled “Shonan, Seko, & Toguna” were an exploration of the architectural impulse of Soane, but through the lens of architectural idioms and devices employed by the Dogon in their settlements and villages.

That sounds interesting and adds to the fact that you are celebrated for your emphasis on a “non-Western aesthetic that pushes the imagination beyond the Eurocentric bubble towards art practices of sub-Saharan African cultures.” Does that make your art sociopolitical or yourself activistic?

My work is sociopolitical, as it provides commentary and hopefully furthers a discourse on lesser-known subjects within our paradigm. But I don’t view it as activism by any means. I would never want my work to be didactic; it’s more exploratory and opens a door for discovery.

Third, 2017-18, Courtesy of the artist

Is that why you are constantly pushing boundaries and playing with multiple dimensions and mediums?

I seek to find the symbiosis in disparate modes of thought. When I create, I think about merging worlds, materials, ideas and histories that may seem at first contradictory. I enjoy taking factual histories and imposing myths from another era or locale onto them. For example, with my series “A Haven. A Hell. A Dream Deferred.”, I explored the founding of Liberia that ties into the abolition of slavery in the southern states of the US, my focus mainly being New Orleans, which ostensibly didn’t have as explicit a connection to the formation of the West African nation as other states such as Virginia. I then employed imagery from the Libyan Sybil – a prophetess of ill-fated futures from Greek mythology, who had also been employed during the abolition period by freedom fighters such as Sojourner Truth and various writers and artists of that era. The links were there, both real and imagined.

Mythology is a recurring subject in your work: Where does your interest come from, and how does it influence you?

Myths are almost always parables – they teach us the archetypal lessons of how to approach the world, how to coexist with one another, how to live correctly and navigate life’s hurdles. Myths also traverse the space between reality and fantasy, with the distinction often blurred. Therefore, I think they retain their value in their application now, but also leave a window open for questions and the imagination to fill in the gaps. As humans, we love stories – that is why we read fiction, watch films, go to plays, and fully immerse ourselves in something we know is not quite real. I like my work to be seated in reality but leave space for the mind to wander and imagine.

In addition to the often mystical or even futuristic subjects, you focus on raw and tactile materials such as clay, gold and silk – materials linked to ancient art forms and diasporic traditions. What does it mean to you personally?

I like knowing that my work continues the traditions and rituals of the past as I use these same age-old materials. I have recently been playing with materials that usually don’t coexist together. Silk with bronze, bronze with ceramic, rope with wood, bronze on paper, commingling many together. And then come the layers. It represents a timelessness: They will still be used in the future and will stand the test of time. I view my work as part of a long chain of human creation, inquisitiveness, experimentation and storytelling.

…and a collection of various references. You studied film before becoming a multidisciplinary artist. How did that influence your perspective?

For me, my photographs are performative. I use myself because I come from an acting background. It feels natural to me, and directing yourself is always easier. Additionally, the process is deeply personal – working alone allows me to be most vulnerable.

Mythology is a recurring subject in your work: Where does your interest come from, and how does it influence you?

Myths are almost always parables – they teach us the archetypal lessons of how to approach the world, how to coexist with one another, how to live correctly and navigate life’s hurdles. Myths also traverse the space between reality and fantasy, with the distinction often blurred. Therefore, I think they retain their value in their application now, but also leave a window open for questions and the imagination to fill in the gaps. As humans, we love stories – that is why we read fiction, watch films, go to plays, and fully immerse ourselves in something we know is not quite real. I like my work to be seated in reality but leave space for the mind to wander and imagine.

In addition to the often mystical or even futuristic subjects, you focus on raw and tactile materials such as clay, gold and silk – materials linked to ancient art forms and diasporic traditions. What does it mean to you personally?

I like knowing that my work continues the traditions and rituals of the past as I use these same age-old materials. I have recently been playing with materials that usually don’t coexist together. Silk with bronze, bronze with ceramic, rope with wood, bronze on paper, commingling many together. And then come the layers. It represents a timelessness: They will still be used in the future and will stand the test of time. I view my work as part of a long chain of human creation, inquisitiveness, experimentation and storytelling.

Lina Iris Viktor in her studio in Italy in front of Procession of the Solar Angels, 2024, Courtesy of LVXIX Atelier

Each Day we drink of the Sun, The Great Deluge... No VI, 2017, Courtesy of the artist

…and a collection of various references. You studied film before becoming a multidisciplinary artist. How did that influence your perspective?

For me, my photographs are performative. I use myself because I come from an acting background. It feels natural to me, and directing yourself is always easier. Additionally, the process is deeply personal – working alone allows me to be most vulnerable.

Is that where your interest in self-portraits comes from?

I’ve never classified my works as self-portraits. Self-portraits are reflexive acts, and I believe their purpose is to reveal something hidden about the subject to themselves or the audience. My portraits are neither about myself, nor are they self-revelatory. When my body is painted in different stages of black in the “Dark Continent” series, it represents a universal figure. The conversation is about the form and the surrounding black environment. At times, they are unified, playful, ominous, or in conflict. This series is a tongue-in-cheek reflection on the 19th-century prevailing narrative of Africa as a monolith and a dark continent — a wild, savage land with peoples that needed to be acculturated by European influence. It also addresses the politics of the ethnographic photography of the time.

That’s a beautiful but heavy meaning. Especially as a Black woman in art, you infiltrate the Eurocentric and male-dominated scene in many ways. Do artists always have to push or aim for something “more,” or is that something that happens when people try to contextualize their work within a certain cultural moment?

I don’t think in these terms – I am just a creative person. Being both a woman and Black neither particularly hinders nor propels me forward, nor is it wholly defining. I’ve never really cared much for the social mores and classifications when it comes to identity because those are usually placed upon you rather than being self-generated. I think life experience is far more indicative of how I navigate the art space.

Can you elaborate?

I grew up in the UK and South Africa, spent half my life in the US, and now live in southern Italy. I feel there is much to glean from European and Western cultures. But the proverbial “West” also has much to learn from other cultures, given that its dominance has made it blind to a lot, and I feel that I am just adding to that conversation. But I don’t feel at odds with my environment. As for the fact that the art space is dominated by males, that isn’t a point of contention for me. Men and women have different things to offer.

With your exhibition in Sir John Soane’s house, did you try to fit in your work, which leans into the rich culture of African traditions, or did you try to find a way of adding a new layer to a predominantly Eurocentric collection of artworks?

I view the exhibition as a conversation. It definitely adds a new layer of a more neglected narrative to the collection, but again, I don’t view this as being confrontational. I respect the timeframe and cultural norms of Sir John Soane’s time and his voracious appetite to acquire as much as he could from the cultures that enthralled him. You could talk about appropriation, but it can all become quite tedious.

Tedious?

After all, you cannot rewrite history, and there is no point in being combative with what cannot be changed. But I do think I added a distinctive mark while also riffing off of Soane’s architecture and visual references. Let’s say Soane’s collection was on the periphery of my creative process, but I felt utter freedom to explore and add a variety of sources and references because his taste was so eclectic.

This might sound controversial: Does an artist automatically tend to a degree of megalomania? After all, they create (intentionally or not) something that, in most cases, outlasts their own life, and in doing so, they immortalize their names and visions. What do you think about that?

Not controversial at all. I think it’s only natural that creatives ponder legacy at a certain stage in their development. Speaking for myself — my work tends to play with the notion of time. I think my vision of potential futures for both my work and myself are inextricably linked, but that is by no means an incentive for creating in the first place. The creative process almost demands that you leave the recognition of an external gaze and the notion of your work surviving you at the door. I don’t think you can create powerful work with that as your focus. I can’t imagine creating within a certain zeitgeist while pondering how future generations might receive my work – especially given how quickly cultural and social norms evolve. But, of course, some artists do tend toward megalomania, as do some architects, professional athletes, scientists and musicians. That is not exclusive to any particular field and says far more about the person.

Materia Prima II, 2015, Courtesy of the artist

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