Sacredskulls Co / Heritage
When I first stepped into a small conservation studio in Accra, I was struck by two things: the sound of conversations as much as the smell of starch and wax, and the quiet authority of a space run...
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I first encountered a migrant-run radio documentary tucked away on a community station’s archive while researching oral histories for a museum project. It was raw, urgent and stubbornly intimate:...
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I remember the first time I ran my hands—carefully, with cotton gloves—over a length of handwoven kente in Accra. The colours were stubbornly vibrant despite years of sunlight and handling; the...
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I first encountered a project like MemoryMap while researching community archives for a feature about contested neighbourhoods in post-industrial cities. What struck me was how a simple interface —...
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I remember the first time I saw a ritual object displayed beneath pristine gallery lighting at an international art fair. It looked spectacular: lacquered surfaces, intricate beadwork, and a history...
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When I first began talking to textile workers in Lagos about the idea of an archive, the question that kept coming back was not simply whether their work could be sold internationally, but whether...
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I remember the first time I stood in front of a protest banner that had been part of a living campaign — its fabric still creased from repeated folding, the paint slightly faded where hands had...
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When a ritual mask returns to the village from which it was taken—whether after a museum deaccession, a restitution campaign or the quiet work of dedicated curators—it does not simply re‑enter...
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I’ve been watching the surge of virtual exhibitions from grassroots collectives for several years now, and each project seems to ask the same, quietly provocative question: can a loosely organised...
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I remember the first time I stood in front of an object whose label told me almost nothing. A carved figure, beautiful and worn, with one sentence: “Unknown origin. circa 19th century.” I felt...
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