Phumelele Kunene explores grief and memory in her new exhibition
I now know the ins and outs of Victoria Yards, a creative hub tucked into the heart of Lorentzville, Johannesburg. This knowledge came from an unplanned journey on a Sunday afternoon, when I found myself walking aimlessly in circles, desperately trying to locate Unit 7I3.
After a few loops around the sprawling compound, I found myself in the company of a bar owner, his strong Spanish accent thick with determination as he too sought out the elusive space.
After weaving through shops and aisles, we eventually stumbled upon the unit — our eyes meeting, us sharing the quiet realisation that we weren’t alone in our confusion.
It was a small comfort, though, for a few of us began to recognise one another, exchanging smiles and nods as we admitted the unspoken truth — we were all lost. If only we’d known, we might have formed an impromptu club to search harder for this particular gallery space.
But such is the serendipity of creative spaces such as Victoria Yards — they hold a unique charm that requires a certain amount of exploration to uncover their treasures.
As I stepped into the gallery, the familiar face of photographer Tshepiso Mazibuko greeted me.
She wasted no time introducing me to Phumelele Kunene, the woman of the hour — the artist behind the exhibition on display.
Kunene was poised and graceful, wearing a white, draped dress that moved fluidly around her.
What immediately caught my attention was the film camera she carried with her, almost like an accessory, a symbol of both her profession and her personal connection to the subject matter she was about to share with us.
Kunene is participating in Art After Baby, an initiative supported by the National Arts Council South Africa’s Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme.
This timely, pioneering programme is designed to address the structural barriers faced by artists, particularly women, who juggle caregiving responsibilities with making art or are impacted by trauma.
Art After Baby creates space for these artists to focus on their work, offering them a rare opportunity to prioritise their craft in an industry often dominated by competing demands.
Phumelele’s exhibition, titled In My Element, is an intimate and poignant tribute to the memory of her late mother, Thoko Kunene.
As I walked further into the gallery, I could feel the weight of her grief, but also a quiet, steadfast strength in the images adorning the walls.
The photographs were of objects — things that seemed insignificant at first glance but which carry much meaning for Kunene.
As I moved further along, I began to notice portraits of a woman who looked strikingly like Kunene.
The images span different periods of her life — moments of quiet reflection, a school picture, a shot of her standing outside her workplace and some taken at home.
In each, her presence is powerful, yet tender — beautiful, strong and undeniably a woman who had lived a life full of hard work, care and love.
It was only later that I learned that the woman in the photos was her mother, Thoko.
These photographs weren’t merely reflections of a life lived — they were a way for Kunene to preserve the essence of the things her mother left behind, the very objects that now connect her to the woman who shaped her.
“Those are my mother’s records,” Phumelele explained as she pointed toward the pile of vinyls stacked next to an old record player, the soft hum of bubblegum music filling the air.
“I wanted them to be part of the exhibition so that her presence could be felt all the way through.
“I even photographed the records themselves — and I felt that adding sound would give another layer to the show.”
In In My Element, Kunene captures tangible and intangible traces of her mother’s life. Each object, each image, is the marker of a moment — a story she is telling in the only way she can.
The exhibition is a tribute to both life and loss, a story told through photographs that speak as much to Kunene’s healing as they to her grief.
“I photographed these photos at home,” she explained, “and, for me, the word ‘element’ represents a space where I am comfortable — a place where I feel safe.
“That was my mother’s house. The house she left me.”
As I took in the images around me, I began to understand the depth of what Kunene was sharing.
The objects — scattered, seemingly insignificant items — became symbols of a relationship that had been altered by death but never severed.
I noticed how each object carried with it a story, a memory that she had painstakingly preserved in photographs.
“This scarf you see in the picture,” she continued, pointing to an image of a delicate fabric, “is a scarf my mother bought for me a couple of months before she passed away.”
Another photograph featured a simple dress.
“This is the only dress that was left after the family had taken what they wanted,” she said quietly.
And then, her voice wavered as she pointed to a bracelet in another photo: “This bracelet reminds me of her. I still have it.
“She wore it all the time, and when I was undressing her body after she passed, I was the one who took it off her deceased body and put it on myself for safety.”
At that moment, as Kunene spoke of the intimate act of undressing her mother’s body, I felt the weight of her grief and her strength.
It was an unbearable paradox —grieving a loss while simultaneously raising a young child.
Her son, who had been playing nearby, came over, and without hesitation, asked questions about the people in the gallery, about the exhibition, about the meaning of the space.
I watched Kunene slip seamlessly from the artist to the mother —navigating both roles with grace and conviction.
“What I was thinking about when I was photographing the work,” Phumelele explained, “is that, right after my mother passed away, my son was born.
“I couldn’t ask her the questions I needed to ask, nor could I see her. So, the work became a way for me to feel her presence again.”
This duality — the simultaneous experience of profound loss and the birth of new life — was central to Kunene’s healing process.
The photographs became more than just images of her mother’s belongings; they were a way for her to reconcile the spiritual and physical aspects of her relationship with her mother.
“Most importantly, the way she raised me is how I raise my son. She did a good job with me,” Kunene laughed softly.
She went on to explain how In My Element had played a pivotal role in her emotional recovery.
“I’m not sure I can sum it up in words,” she said, “but I think having to confront the emotions I was feeling, instead of running away from them, was essential. I chose to sit with them, understand them and bring them into the physical realm through the photographs.”
Kunene’s In My Element is not just an exhibition; it’s an invitation to experience the raw complexity of grief, memory and healing.
Through her lens, she has captured not just the physical things her mother left behind, but the essence of their relationship — a bond that transcends death and becomes something spiritual.
It is an act of remembrance, yes, but also one of profound healing.
In the end, In My Element is a testament to the power of art to confront, heal and transform pain into something beautiful.