Sometimes the smallest objects carry the heaviest histories. Eve Tagny’s In the Underbelly of a Kernel unfolded this summer at Westfälischer Kunstverein, examining how kernels, shells, and soil bear the weight of labor, land, and capital across time and space. The exhibition traced the hidden flows of resources that have been violently extracted in order to sustain global wealth, especially in this case, by former German colonies across Africa. Ranging from palm kernels in Cameroon to cowrie shells carrying centuries of trade and value, through these materials, Tagny has made tangible the enduring legacies of colonialism, private property, and racialized economies.
Under the curatorial guidance of Theresa Roessler, whose program in Münster foregrounds the entanglement of aesthetics, research, and social critique, Tagny’s show offered a sustained investigation into systemic extraction and dispossession. Connecting the work to Rosa Aiello’s current exhibition at the Westfälischer Kunstverein, Tagny’s conversation with Jeanne-Ange Wagne guides us through a reading of sensorial spaces and reflects on the world as it is and how it might be remade.
To start our conversation, could you break down the title of your exhibition at Westfälischer Kunstverein, “In the Underbelly of a Kernel”? From your perspective, what does it mean, and what is the central element you refer to when you speak of the “kernel”?
I first encountered the word “underbelly” while watching a YouTube talk by Stuart Hall about diasporas. I think he was speaking in the 1980s. He explained that the displacement and movement of people—driven by labor, survival, and capital—was the underbelly of capitalism. Not just capitalism, but the globalized system we live in today.
I was interested in how much we’re still embedded in these global economies. European colonialism set a precedent, and today we see incredible waves of extraction and the ongoing implementation of these systems. We’ve ruptured our vision of nature and culture as something we could manage responsibly. The idea that we could act as stewards, with reciprocity in our use of resources, is broken.
The kernel, for me, emerged through a personal encounter in Cameroon. A woman from my father’s family in Bafoussam showed me a tree and said, “These are the kernels we extract palm oil from.” She gave me a few, and I brought them back to Montreal. Then I started researching palm oil and realized that these kernels carry a deep history of capitalism: the devaluation of nature, people, labor, and time, and the transformation of natural resources into commodities.
I wanted to explore the advent of private property—the notion that one can own a tree or grow a business for profit. The kernels appear throughout the exhibition—they are the thread guiding the show. You crack a kernel open, and you enter this world of entanglements. That’s how the title came about.
Fig.1
Are the works in the exhibition all new, or do some revisit ideas from previous projects?
The exhibition bridges my research on private ownership over the past three years and it also explores new territories. Some ideas are recycled—like the textile straps around straw bales—but I reworked them to fit the specific research of this show. For instance, the piece in the window was designed to communicate with passersby who might not enter the space. Some bronzes began as works for a previous exhibition, but I expanded on them here. The show became a living research project, evolving as I developed it.
Do you usually work with specific materials, or does it vary according to the exhibition? Are you more drawn to the materials themselves or the histories and systems they represent, i.e., colonialism and exploitation?
It’s more general. I’ve worked a lot with soil—it recurs in most of my exhibitions. Soil anchors us, reminding us that even in cities, we are on land. It raises questions: who can access land, who labors on it, and who treats it as [a place of] leisure? This show was strongly influenced by returning to Cameroon for the first time in 12 years. As someone from the diaspora, I live in unresolved geographies, and identity is never settled. I wanted the exhibition to reflect multiple geographies and multiple threads. I focused on oranges, bananas, and kernels, and also included cowrie shells, which point to questions of trade, value, and currency.
Through the modification of raw materials?
Exactly. Cowrie shells, for instance, carry histories of trade, exploitation, and adornment. One earring from a friend—a pearl followed by a cowrie shell—made me realize how symbols of luxury merge with histories of value and exploitation. The exhibition isn’t easy; the research is opaque. The challenge was translating this into something sensorial, so people connect emotionally. Bodies are central to the work—how they move, where they come from. I wanted to provoke reflection without dictating interpretation.
Fig.2
Some of your works invite interaction or offer access points. You mentioned not over-describing things, which gives viewers space to encounter the works themselves. Walter Benjamin wrote that if art consciously interacts with its audience, it risks becoming unfruitful. How do you see your work in relation to this idea?
I hadn’t encountered that quote before, but I think Benjamin might hate this exhibition! We live in different times, and we hope artworks can engage differently now.
The social contract has been ruptured recently through pandemics, social movements, and global crises. Art can’t afford to be self-centered. I try to create spaces where visitors can reflect, leave capitalist time behind, and encounter a holistic experience. Whether these spaces succeed as conversation points or solace is uncertain, but they must exist.
Absolutely. Your work opens space for reflection and dialogue, which can be a way to dismantle systems.
Theresa Roessler, curator of the exhibition and director of the Kunstverein, emphasized this. She reminded me that the exhibition is more than the work itself. Programming allows for deeper engagement with specific topics, creating bridges with expertise beyond what the artworks alone can provide. That gave me freedom to focus on making work that doesn’t try to explain everything.
The quotes you curated in the exhibition also help convey these ideas. I’d like to share a few and hear your thoughts: Colonial racial theories—stretching to this day—to justify the subjugation of a given people; Vast imperial fortunes grown out of crops grown by artificially impoverished people. - Jim Endersby; An economy of private ownership producing racialized subjects. - Brenna Bhandar; Seizing control of natural resources turned into commodities by devalued labor [or: Where capital begins]. - Robin D.G. Kelley; The reduction of Man to Labour and of Nature to Land. - Sylvia Wynter.
I selected quotes both literally and conceptually. For me, these statements situate the origins of capital in the seizure and control of land and labor. Colonial methods of appropriation continue today—they are not just history. I wanted these quotes to mark the entry point of the exhibition, framing visitors’ experience of its aesthetic and sensorial aspects.
Fig.3
When you were in Cameroon, did you focus on colonial history in a specific way?
I knew I would have the show here, so I explored German colonial history in Cameroon. I only learned in Berlin that Germans colonized Cameroon—a well-kept secret, even in Germany. But for me, the core was really about private property and ownership, and how we relate to things and to each other. I’m not trying to rewrite history, just present fragments and points of entry, guided by aesthetics and pleasure.
Some of your works also function as archives. Yusuf Hassan of Black Mass Publishing suggests archiving can be a pathway to critical thinking. Do you see that in your practice?
“Framing” can be violent in itself—deciding what’s inside or outside. I work with images and archives in a way that tries to avoid replicating violence. For instance, I screenprinted some of the colonial-era images I used, and masked others under organza fabric. Archives become alive, revisitable, and intertwined with materials. Memory is not fixed, and I wanted to reflect that temporality in the exhibition.
Thank you so much for sharing these insights into your research, your process, and the exhibition. I hope readers find this conversation as inspiring as I did.
Thank you as well. It’s wonderful to return to language after making work, to name things and reflect on them.
Ah! the power of naming things…
//
- Images:
Cover: Eve Tagny, In the Underbelly of a Kernel, 2025, Installation view, Westfälischer Kunstverein, Photo:Thorsten Arendt
Fig.1 Eve Tagny, In the Underbelly of a Kernel, 2025, Installation view, Westfälischer Kunstverein, Photo:Thorsten Arendt
Fig.2: Eve Tagny, In the Underbelly of a Kernel, 2025, Installation view, Westfälischer Kunstverein, Photo:Thorsten Arendt
Fig.3 Eve Tagny, Entangled scores of the underbelly, 2025, Detail, Photo: Thorsten Arendt
