The inclusion of Bodys Isek Kingelez in In Minor Keys, the 61st edition of the Venice Biennale, unfolds as both a return and a reactivation of one of the most singular artistic practices to emerge from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Born in 1948 in Kimbembele-Ihunga during the final years of the Belgian Congo, Kingelez came of age in a period defined by political upheaval, independence, and the reconfiguration of national identity. His relocation to Kinshasa in 1970—then a rapidly transforming postcolonial capital—proved formative. It was within this environment, marked by both aspiration and systemic instability, that his lifelong engagement with the city as a site of imagination and projection took shape. Though he passed away in 2015, his presence within the Biennale, shaped by Koyo Kouoh, resists any framing as merely historical. Instead, his work operates with renewed urgency, offering a critical lens through which to reconsider architecture, modernity, and the speculative imagination.
Kingelez’s path into art was neither immediate nor conventional. After completing his secondary education, he supported himself as a schoolteacher while pursuing studies, before taking up a position as an art restorer at the National Museums Institute in Kinshasa. There, he worked extensively on the restoration of traditional African objects, particularly masks—an experience that sharpened his sensitivity to form, material, and craftsmanship. By the early 1980s, he committed fully to his own artistic practice, driven by what he described as an almost obsessive desire to construct. Armed with simple tools—scissors, razor blades, glue—and everyday materials such as cardboard, paper, tape, and repurposed commercial packaging, he began producing the intricate architectural models that would come to define his work. These constructions, which he termed extrêmes maquettes (extreme models), were conceived not as preparatory sketches but as complete, self-contained worlds.
At the core of Kingelez’s practice is a radical reimagining of the city. His models—ranging from individual civic structures to expansive urban environments—propose an alternative vision of urban life grounded in order, beauty, and possibility. Early works often focused on singular buildings fulfilling public functions—schools, cultural centers, monuments—reflecting his commitment to the public good. By the early 1990s, however, his practice expanded in both scale and ambition. Works such as Kimbembele Ihunga (1994), named after his birthplace, assemble entire cities composed of avenues, stadiums, parks, and high-rise buildings, articulating a vision of technologically advanced, harmonious urbanism. For Kingelez, the city was not merely a backdrop but a central protagonist: “For me, Kinshasa was The City,” he remarked, positioning it as both inspiration and point of departure.
These cities are utopian, yet they are not detached from reality. Rather, they emerge from a direct confrontation with the contradictions of postcolonial urban life—where rapid growth, infrastructural challenges, and political corruption coexist with immense creative energy and possibility. In this sense, Kingelez’s work can be read as both critique and proposition. His architectural fantasies stand in contrast to the failures of development models imposed through global systems, including those shaped by institutions such as the World Bank in collaboration with local regimes. Against this backdrop, his work insists on the power of imagination as a form of resistance and agency. The act of constructing these cities becomes a means of reclaiming authorship over space and future, proposing environments where ideals of democracy, peace, and collective well-being are materially and visually articulated.
Material plays a crucial role in this proposition. Kingelez’s use of humble, accessible materials—cardboard, paper, plastic, soda cans, metallic foils, and colored transparencies—anchors his visionary architecture in the everyday. These materials, often associated with disposability, are transformed into structures of precision and elegance. The surfaces of his buildings are meticulously composed, adorned with geometric patterns, vibrant colors, and intricate details that evoke both modernist design and local visual cultures. In later works, the incorporation of reflective and luminous elements further amplifies their futuristic quality, suggesting cities that are not only functional but sensorially rich. This transformation of the ordinary into the extraordinary underscores a central tenet of his practice: that the resources for imagining alternative futures already exist within the present.
Kingelez’s international recognition began with his participation in the landmark 1989 exhibition Les Magiciens de la Terre at the Centre Georges Pompidou, a moment that positioned his work within a global contemporary art discourse. Subsequent exhibitions at major institutions, including the Museum of Modern Art and presentations at events such as documenta XI, further solidified his reputation as a visionary artist whose work transcended conventional categorizations. Notably, he operated without commercial gallery representation during his lifetime, maintaining a degree of independence that is reflected in the autonomy of his practice. The 2018 retrospective City Dreams at MoMA, which included immersive interpretations of works such as Ville Fantôme (1996), reaffirmed the enduring relevance of his oeuvre within contemporary debates on architecture, urbanism, and artistic imagination.
Within the curatorial framework of In Minor Keys, Kingelez’s work finds a particularly resonant context. The exhibition’s emphasis on subtlety, accumulation, and non-dominant narratives aligns closely with the internal logic of his practice. His models demand close attention; their scale invites intimacy rather than spectacle. Yet within this contained form lies an expansive vision—one that operates across multiple temporalities. Rooted in the lived realities of Kinshasa, informed by modernist aspirations, and oriented toward speculative futures, his work collapses distinctions between past, present, and future. This temporal layering mirrors the Biennale’s broader concern with nonlinear histories and alternative modes of knowledge production.
Importantly, Kingelez’s practice challenges the marginalization of African architectural thought within global discourse. Rather than positioning African cities as sites of deficiency, his work asserts their capacity for innovation, imagination, and self-definition. His models are not escapist fantasies but deliberate propositions—utopian alternatives that seek to restore and rearticulate the unrealized promises of the postcolonial world. They ask urgent questions: how might cities be designed to better serve their inhabitants? What forms of beauty, order, and coexistence are possible? And how can artistic practice contribute to these visions?
In the context of the Venice Biennale, these questions take on heightened significance. Historically a platform for the display of national identity and cultural power, the Biennale is here reoriented toward quieter, more reflective engagements. Kingelez’s work, with its precise craftsmanship and expansive imagination, exemplifies this shift. It does not seek to dominate space but to transform perception, offering a model of artistic practice that is both deeply personal and profoundly collective.
Ultimately, the continued relevance of Bodys Isek Kingelez lies in his unwavering belief in the transformative power of art. For him, art was not merely representation but a form of knowledge and a vehicle for societal renewal. His cities—meticulously constructed, vibrantly imagined, and ideologically charged—stand as enduring testaments to this belief. In In Minor Keys, they re-emerge not as relics of a past vision, but as active propositions for thinking through the future of urban life, particularly within African contexts. They remind us that nothing is fixed, and that the act of imagining otherwise remains one of the most powerful tools available to us.
