'We detect the presence of butterflies'
On 'To See the Earth before the End of the World' by Precious Okoyomon
At the end of The Milk of Dreams, I asked myself which room I would sleep in should I be trapped inside for just one night. The question sprung from the claustrophobic quality of the exhibition; I found it overwhelming to meet with old favourites and be introduced to incredible contemporary artists in such quick succession. Each room a portal to unlocking a different emotion; joy, distress, anger, and joy again.
I opted for Precious Okoyomon’s To See the Earth before the End of the World. The epitome of site-specific art, this living and breathing sculptural topography provided me with a great sense of relief as I approached the end of the exhibition. I’d just witnessed a film work centring the perspective of a man who had murdered his wife and kids, and I was both confused and happy to spot the small sign which read ‘We report the presence of butterflies’ at the entrance to Okoyomon’s presentation. Inside, a room of an old shipyard slowly being swallowed by kudzu vines.
An invasive species which originates from Japan, the cultivation of kudzu is now illegal throughout most of the United States. In 1876, the US government introduced it to Mississippi farms and it was planted extensively in the 1930s and 40s to improve local soil, which had been ruined due to the excess farming of cotton during the era of chattel slavery. For the New York based artist, kudzu represents ‘the entanglement of slavery, racialisation, and diaspora with nature’.
My visit to The Milk of Dreams was fortuitously timed. The above photograph was taken at the beginning of the installation’s lifecycle, in its early stages of growth. When I visited in early October, kudzu was climbing, flowering, dominating. Ahead of a ‘Meetings on Art’ talk on the queer and the eerie, the group of guest speakers including Okoyomon were also making their way round the maze-like exhibition. Okoyomon was reunited with their creation just as the butterflies were learning how to fly. (During the talk they endearingly commented on how they found this stage ‘relatable’ - me too). As predicted, they created an unpredictable ecosystem, and found an infestation of spiders during their visit. Nothing is unwelcome, and everything belongs.
Okoyomon ‘love[s] making things [they] can’t control’. Wild and unruly, On To See the Earth before the End of the World is first and foremost a rebellion, but it is also a generous offering from its creator. They make spaces for people to grieve. This reminds me of Alberta Whittle’s approach to art-making, in which she invites viewers to slow down in order to imagine what life could be like outside of white supremacy. She doesn’t want to re-traumatise viewers, but rather motivate us to change through art as a means of intervention.
I’ve been thinking about the mapping of The Milk of Dreams. I wanted to ask Okoyomon a question about this at the ‘Meetings on Art talk’, but I was feeling too shy. My question is around the importance of situating On To See the Earth before the End of the World at the end of The Milk of Dreams: On what note do you want us to leave with?
Hurled back into the bright light of the outside world, I am unsteady and altered by The Milk of Dreams.
[Quotes are from the wonderful exhibition catalogue as well as the Meetings on Art talk].