Against All Odds
From a distance, the exquisite assemblages in Moffat Takadiwa’s Second Life, on view at Nicodim, radiate opulence. With their cascading strands of pearls, shimmering iridescent mosaics, and undulations of densely beaded coils, the compositions are a testimony to craftsmanship, but they are also an illusion. With a step closer, any given work will begin to dissolve and distort. Much like with an Impressionist painting, proximity changes one’s perspective. Up close, the materials of Takadiwa’s compositions reveal themselves as refuse. Keyboards, bottle tops, buttons, toothbrush heads, and pen caps are just some of the recycled elements used to create his sumptuous displays.
Although they are made of debris, the beauty of the works is not a deception—just different than what one may have imagined. Of course, there are all too many maxims about value and the unexpected. The transformational “rags to riches,” or the more unassuming “one man’s trash is another’s treasure,” where worth is in the eye of the beholder, would be easy to use in referencing Takadiwa’s work. As the show’s title, Second Life, implies, the once-discarded items become revitalized in their new context. However, beneath the splendor runs a dark undercurrent of the systems of consumption and disposal that have made these works possible.
Takadiwa is not the first African artist to use salvaged materials as a pretext for geopolitical dialogue. In both form and substance, Takadiwa’s work draws on that of the famed Ghanaian artist, El Anatsui. Like Takadiwa, Anatsui crafts from discarded materials to create tactile and topographic sculptures resembling textiles, using works as a catalyst for conversations on colonialism, consumption, waste, and the environment. The similarities extend to the fabrication process: both Anatsui and Takadiwa have established studios that employ assistants to help realize their work, but also serve as art centers for local communities. The parallels between the two artists are many, but in their differences, the horizons of the conversation broaden. Anatsui’s works are crafted largely from metal—aluminum cans, bottle caps, cassava graters—all of which are retrieved from local recycling sites. Takadiwa’s pieces, crafted more recently, are almost entirely composed of plastic. The shift tells of a sinister evolution.
Takadiwa’s raw materials are foraged from an expanse of dump sites across his hometown of Harare, Zimbabwe. Colonial legacies of exploitation have transformed Harare’s once-flourishing natural landscape into a terrain dominated by post-consumer litter from abroad. Ultimately, the items repurposed in Second Life are just a small fraction of the ten thousand tons of plastic waste imported annually to Zimbabwe. The US, along with other countries in the Global North, have long taken to the practice of sending off our waste to be processed, or simply discarded, elsewhere. From clothing donated to charity shops to recyclable plastics, the well-intentioned second life we imagine for the items we discard is a fantasy. The reality is that most rubbish produced in the Global North finds its way into sub-Saharan Africa where it creates vast toxic wastelands. The impact on the environment and communities such as Takadiwa’s is devastating, yet the artist remains steadfast in his optimism, as he explains: “this body of work represents the strong belief I have in humanity and a possible second chance to make a difference.”
Perhaps the best adage to describe Takadiwa’s work would be a phoenix rising from the ashes. While there are no wall labels that accompany the works in Second Life, scanning a QR code at the door pulls up the exhibition checklist. Generally, the works are titled according to their primary component: Buttoned Up for a work made of buttons, Bhiro ne Bepa (pen and paper) for one of gel pens, Propaganda Devices for one made of keyboards. Takadiwa not only has hope—he also has a sense of humor.
Moffat Takadiwa: Second Life is on view at Nicodim from May 6 through July 3, 2025.