WE CANNOT HARVEST ALL THE WORLD’S WEALTH
Dakar biennale 2022
It is official: Earth is experiencing its sixth mass extinction.
Life is gradually disappearing, and the planet is warming. The IPCC’s scientists confirm that this is no longer a hypothetical future — it is the reality we are already living.
This crisis is not an accident; it is the result of three centuries of political and economic decisions based on exploitation and domination.
Since the Industrial Revolution, Western modernity has been built on a logic of extraction and conquest. From colonial plantations of the past to today’s coltan mines, from the transatlantic slave trade to carbon credits, the same pattern repeats: take without limits, assuming the planet is inexhaustible.
Under the guise of progress, this worldview has reduced all living beings — human and non-human — to mere capital. Even today, as resources run out, societies retreat into themselves: walls rise, borders close, as if we could protect ourselves from the consequences of our own actions. It is in this context that the work “We Cannot Harvest All the World’s Wealth” was created, echoing a phrase pronounced by Michel Rocard, french politician, in 1989:
“We cannot welcome all the misery of the world.”
This sentence, which has become a symbol of barricaded Europe, inspired an intentional inversion: if we cannot welcome all misery, we cannot take all wealth without responsibility.Facing the ocean, I erected a monolith four meters high and six meters wide, bearing this inscription. Its seaward face acted as a barrier against the horizon. At its base, the waves deposited debris, nets, plastics, and life jackets carried by the currents, tangible remnants of human tragedies in the Mediterranean. Two weeks after installation, the wall was toppled by local residents. Subsequently, sea spray and time reduced the materials to rust and dust.
This destruction is considered an integral part of the work.
Above all, it serves as a reminder that the system we have chosen — based on unlimited exploitation, accumulation, and retreat — is itself bound to disappear, one way or another, with or without us.
The wall no longer exists physically, but the reflection and awareness it provokes remain
IDY AFRICANUS
Villa Romana, Firenze 2018
The history of humanity is, above all, a history of passage and cultural exchange. In the 8th century, the Moors crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and, in 711, occupied the entire Iberian Peninsula. This led to eight centuries of coexistence and exchanges between East and West. Christians and Jews, considered “People of the Book”, were granted the status of Dhimmis, protected individuals whose religious practice was respected. Together, they transcribed texts from Antiquity, already translated into Arabic, enabling Europe to rediscover treatises on philosophy, medicine, and mathematics. The importation of papermaking techniques by the Muslims made this endeavor possible and enduring.
Yet, despite this long and fruitful period of exchange, we are today unable to preserve the memory of thousands of lives lost at sea. Since 2014, more than 32,700 refugees have died or gone missing in the Mediterranean (IOM). The lack of names and faces for these thousands of human beings contributes to their dehumanization, reducing real lives to anonymous statistics floating between two waters.
During my artistic residency at the Villa Romana in Florence in 2018, the story of Hassan al-Wazzan, known as Leo Africanus, kept returning to my mind. Born in Granada around 1494 and a refugee in Morocco after the Reconquista, he was kidnapped in 1518 by Sicilian pirates and presented to Pope Leo X. Renamed Jean Léon de Médicis, he learned Italian and Latin, taught Arabic in Bologna, and wrote the famous “Cosmographia de Affrica”, the first Western geography of Africa, which served as a reference for centuries. On March 5, 2018, in Florence, Roberto Pirrone, 65 and heavily in debt, left his home intending to commit suicide. He ultimately turned his gun on Idy Diène, a Senegalese street vendor, killing him with six shots. The following day, a large demonstration of more than 12,000 people in honor of Idy provided the occasion for me to perform a happening. The image of this event appeared on the front page of the local newspaper, and I incorporated this front page as an integral part of a triptych.
Juxtaposing the story of Leo Africanus with the thousands of anonymous refugees lost in the Mediterranean reveals the regression of intercultural dialogue. Walls continue to rise higher and higher between people, in the name of a system that devours itself by denying the other.
This work was made possible thanks to the contribution of Aliou Diack, a Senegalese painter who shared the residency with me.
THE TRAGEDY OF AFRICA IS THAT AFRICAN MAN HAS NOT FULLY ENTERED [OUR] HISTORY
On July 26, 2007, Nicolas Sarkozy, the french presidant, addressed Senegalese students at the Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar, declaring: “The tragedy of Africa is that the African man has not fully entered History.” This speech, delivered at a university bearing the name of a man who devoted his life to proving the opposite, is strikingly paradoxical. Cheikh Anta Diop, historian and anthropologist, demonstrated that Africa was central to human history. African civilizations, notably ancient Egypt, have profoundly shaped science, art, and culture across the world.,
Sarkozy’s statement reveals a persistent coloniality of thought, framing history as if Africa had never contributed to the development of the modern world. By saying “History” instead of “our history,” he implicitly excludes the continent from the collective narrative. This paradox is the core of my artwork. The installation consists of a billboard displayed directly in front of Cheikh Anta Diop University, quoting Sarkozy’s phrase but modified to read:
“The tragedy of Africa is that the African man has not fully entered our history.”
The billboard, visible to all, confronts the official discourse with Diop’s legacy and transforms public space into a site of critical reflection. This subtle but radical textual modification acts as a conceptual subversion, highlighting Africa’s historical exclusion and reminding viewers that this “absence” is not African, but a construction of Eurocentric narratives.The artwork questions how history is told, taught, and reproduced in collective imagination. It emphasizes that official history is never neutral: it reflects choices, omissions, and biases, often erasing African contributions to global civilization. By placing this modified phrase in front of the university, the installation creates a tension between memory, politics, and public space, inviting viewers to reassess collective memory and challenge dominant narratives. It affirms that Africa is both a heir and an actor of human history, and recognizing this truth is essential to deconstruct enduring Eurocentric perspectives.
THE LOGBOOK
Moleskine collection – 2019
The logbook — traditionally the register in which a ship’s captain records each event of a voyage — becomes here the accounting witness of a contemporary tragedy. Page after page, month after month, it lists the estimated number of migrants who have disappeared in the Mediterranean since 2014 — over 31,367 to date, according to IOM figures. This notebook does not tell stories — it counts lives. It turns human drama into a sequence of data, where the existence of thousands of men, women, and children is reduced to statistics. Behind every number lies an erased name, a suspended story.
The sea, once a space of passage and exchange, has become an Excel sheet of death, where humanity fades into calculation.
Through its migration policies, Europe has turned distance into a moral duty: to rescue is now an act of defiance.
The potential savior becomes an observer — a witness compelled to quantify the unfolding disaster. Inside the book, a raised fist emerges from an ocean of numbers. A symbol of unity and resistance, it clings to what remains of a “lifeline”: a gesture of refusal in the face of the normalization of loss. The book is covered with a fragment of a life jacket from the ship Grande Nigeria, registered in Palermo. These used vests, found in Senegalese markets, are the very ones purchased by migrants before embarking on their long journey.
The object, both archive and relic, embodies the tension between the coldness of data and the absent warmth of the lives it conceals.
On the beach, facing the ocean, a screen made of mosquito netting stands light and porous. Its texture lets light, wind, and landscape pass through, allowing the projected image to blend with the background: life jackets floating on the surface of the sea, drifting slowly with the current. This installation examines our relationship with the world and the images that mediate it. Media outlets and our phone screens constantly interpose a filter between us and reality, dulling our perception: tragedies become numbers, deaths become statistics, faces disappear. Saturated with information yet unable to truly see, we grow desensitized. Many of these lost lives are climate refugees, fleeing lands made uninhabitable by drought, rising seas, or depleted resources. Their drift embodies that of humanity itself, oblivious to the greatest crisis it has ever faced. The screen protects as much as it distances; it softens horror, makes it bearable, almost ordinary. By blending the projection with the landscape, the work confronts us with this collective anesthesia and invites a lucid Carpe Diem: to grasp reality, feel the urgency, and recognize the fragility of life before it disappears into the endless stream of images and notifications.
CARPE DIEM
2024
(P)RESIDANT – THIS IS NOT A PHOENIX
Dakar Biennale 2016
“You must love your leader;
you must teach the people to love their leader;
this is the only most important thing”
General Idi Amin Dada
This art project is a poignant commentary on over 60 years of independence in Africa, viewed through the lens of absolute power. The series critiques the enduring challenges that plague the continent, including nepotism, corruption, clientelism, and the manipulation of constitutions for personal gain.
The project encapsulates the allegorical representation of the various perversions that have emerged post-independence, emphasizing the troubling persistence of autocratic rule. It also sheds light on the role of former colonial powers, which continue to exert influence in many African nations, often supporting leaders who prioritize their own interests above those of their citizens.
Each artwork in the series features a multitude of symbols and objects, collectively referred to as “les présidents résidants,” reflecting the tendency of these leaders to cling to power indefinitely. This naming highlights the inherent irony of a democracy that often devolves into dictatorship, as leaders refuse to step down even when their time has long passed.
The creation of “(P)residant” was sparked by recent events where several African leaders sought to extend their reign by altering constitutions, sometimes with the tacit approval of their former colonizers. This leads to critical inquiries: How can such behavior persist in contemporary society? Why is it still possible for individuals to manipulate governance structures for their benefit? These questions prompted a deep dive into the political history of Africa since the 1960s, examining the legacies of figures like Mobutu Sese Seko in Zaire, Idi Amin Dada in Uganda, and other notable dictators. In analyzing these characters, the project identifies four distinct archetypes of African dictators: the military man in uniform, the traditional leader donned in boubous, the westernized president dressed in suits, and the outsider who defies conventional attire. For instance, Mobutu enforced a dress code that prohibited Western suits, promoting his own uniform instead, which became a symbol of his regime.
The project features golden thrones, particularly inspired by Emperor Bokassa I, who famously emulated Napoleon’s coronation but with a distinct twist. In this series, a pigeon replaces the phoenix as a symbol of deception, referencing the French expression for someone easily fooled. The full title, “(P)residant / This is Not a Phoenix,” echoes René Magritte’s famous work, “This is Not a Pipe,” urging viewers to question the authenticity of what they see. Though these individuals may appear to be leaders, they often lack the qualities that define true leadership.
While the social message within the work is not overtly intentional, it emerges from the artist’s personal concerns and inquiries. The images serve as visual question marks, inviting viewers to engage with the complex realities of governance in Africa. During the recent Dakar Biennale, the installation was displayed at the Old Palace of Justice, a setting that enhanced the thematic resonance of power and justice. The inclusion of audio excerpts from dictators’ speeches created an immersive experience, prompting the audience to reflect and record their thoughts in a visitor’s book titled “vox populi.”
The artist aspires for this installation to travel across the continent, gathering diverse perspectives and fostering a collective dialogue about leadership and accountability. By unsettling viewers and challenging their perceptions, “(P)residant / This is Not a Phoenix” aims to stimulate critical conversations about the nature of power and its implications for Africa’s future.
PROJECT OCEANIUM
Dakar 2022
The Oceanium of Dakar is a pioneering Senegalese organization dedicated to the protection of marine and coastal ecosystems. Founded in 1984 by Haïdar El Ali, a Senegalese ecologist of Lebanese descent, the institution gained new momentum when he took its leadership. Under his guidance, the Oceanium became a major force in marine conservation, environmental education, and the sustainable management of natural resources. Haïdar El Ali is also recognized for his reforestation efforts, particularly in Senegalese mangroves, and for his fight against overfishing and plastic pollution.
In collaboration with thousands of villagers and with support from the Livelihoods Carbon Fund, he initiated the world’s largest mangrove reforestation project. Since 2006, this initiative has planted more than 152 million mangrove trees in the Casamance region, transforming areas threatened by deforestation into resilient ecosystems capable of withstanding climate change.
At the same time, the Oceanium conducts regular underwater clean-up operations to remove ghost nets — abandoned or lost fishing gear that continues to trap marine life. Every year, tons of these nets are recovered from the ocean, helping to protect biodiversity and safeguard marine ecosystems.
The photograph presented is the result of a collaboration with the Oceanium, aimed at raising public awareness about the scourge of abandoned nets and the urgent need to protect our oceans.