Mallory Lowe Mpoka’s practice is a testimony to the layered histories that live in soil, in archives, and in the body itself. The conversation unveils the ways in which home, for Mpoka, is a journey through love, ancestry, and the multitudes of identity that cannot be contained within borders. As the artist unfolds her creative journey, she becomes the matriarch, not only of her family but of an entire archive of intergenerational knowledge, weaving together personal and collective histories.
Portrait of Mallory Lowe Mpoka, courtesy of the artist
Mistura Allison: Your biography and artistic practice reflect a kind of duality of living between places, doesn’t it?
Mallory Lowe Mpoka: Yeah, I was born and raised in Montreal, in Canada, but I also spent a lot of time in Cameroon when I was younger. So, I’m sort of in between continents, but I mostly live in Montreal now. For me, home is fluid. It’s not one specific place or state of mind. I like to think of home as a psychological space, a place of love rather than something defined by borders or frontiers.
So, love is the key to making a home?
Exactly.
How did you first encounter photography? Was there a specific moment that sparked your interest in art?
Yes, I think my first encounter with photography was when I was about four or five years old. It wasn’t so much art as it was family albums. My parents had just immigrated to Canada, and these albums were the only link I had to my family, to my grandmother and cousins back in Cameroon. The way my family captured life through photography – whether it was the way they dressed or carried themselves – was a huge influence on my identity growing up. I realised early on how powerful visual documentation could be, especially in preserving memory.
Mallory Lowe Mpoka, “First Screenprinted Prototype”, 2021, cotton and acrylic, Lian varnish, Milanese cotton thread, 30 x 35 cm, courtesy of the artist
I imagine those albums were more than just pictures – they were stories, weren’t they?
Yes, absolutely. Even though the photos were just kept in boxes around the house, for me, they were treasures. I still go through them today, and each time I do, I find myself in conversation with those moments, asking my parents questions. Even though they might not see the significance, to me, those images hold immense meaning.
The power of family albums. Even if the moments seem staged, they encapsulate so many stories. It reminds me of how my grandmother and her friends used to get dressed up for portraits in the studio before attending parties in Nigeria. These photos became markers of time and memory.
Exactly. And that’s where my connection to photography grew. As a shy child, the camera became a lens for me to interact with the world. It was a way to engage with people, without having to speak directly, and that’s how I started taking pictures and connecting with others.
Mallory Lowe Mpoka, “The Matriarch: Unravelled Threads”, installation view in Toronto, Aga Khan Museum, courtesy of the artist
You’ve mentioned studio photography before. Could you talk about how this practice shaped your work, particularly during the pandemic?
During the pandemic, I couldn’t access studios, so I started taking self-portraits in my room. It was a pivotal moment for me because I also started my BFA around the same time, and I was researching the history of African studio photography. I was deeply inspired by the works of Malik Sidibé and Samuel Fosso – especially Fosso’s ability to transform and perform different identities. This resonated with me, especially as I explored my queer identity. At the same time, my father gave me some old family photos from the 60s, and that really tied everything together – my research, my family history, and my art practice.
At what point did these personal archives find their way into your artistic practice?
It was during my residency in Cameroon. That’s when I dug deeper into my family’s photographic archives. I started working with textile – transferring these images onto fabric, dyeing them with red soil from Cameroon. When I moved to Villa Lena, I continued this process, blending image transfer with screen printing and dyeing. The soil, which I carried with me from Cameroon, became a fundamental material in my work.
Mallory Lowe Mpoka’s work in Villa Lena, promotional video extract, courtesy of My Queer Blackness My Black Queerness movement (MQBMBQ)
How was your experience at Villa Lena? What was it like to be part of that residency?
It was incredible. It was my first international residency, and it gave me the space and time to fully focus on my artistic practice. I worked on a large textile fresco, incorporating fabrics I brought from Cameroon and dyed with red soil. This was a precursor to my Matriarch installation, which would later evolve into something even bigger.
Let’s talk about Matriarch. What does that work represent for you?
Matriarch is a very personal piece. It’s made from red, fertile soil from Cameroon and over 120 linen and cotton panels dyed by hand. The circular installation is suspended by wooden hoops, with a light at its centre, creating a kind of halo effect. The piece is symbolic of my grandmother, who passed away recently. She named me the matriarch of our family, which, in my culture, means I’m now the keeper of our family’s memory and history. It’s not a role of power, but one of emotional and psychological responsibility.
Mallory Lowe Mpoka, “The Matriarch: Unravelled Threads”, work in progress and research at Villa Lena Foundation, courtesy of the artist and Villa Lena Foundation
So, in a way, this installation is a form of self-portraiture, even if you aren’t physically present in it. You’re carrying those memories, those stories – it’s an embodiment of your role as the matriarch.
Yes, exactly. It’s become an anchor for me, something I can return to as I process my transition into this role. The installation isn’t just a piece of art – it’s a labour of love, a meditation on memory, and a way to bridge places and times. It’s been exhibited in Toronto, and will be presented in a larger format next year.
I love how you’ve described Matriarch as a living, evolving piece. It carries so much intergenerational knowledge, and the way you’ve woven memory into fabric is incredibly powerful. It’s monumental, not just in scale but in meaning.
Thank you. It’s an ongoing process – each piece of fabric, each stitch, is a moment of reflection and connection.
Mistura Allison
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