From textiles and photography to politics and self-expression, ‘Seydou Keïta: A Tactile Lens’ revisits the Malian photographer’s studio as a space where identities were imagined, performed, and preserved.
25 June 2026
More than three decades after Seydou Keïta’s work first captivated international audiences, ‘Seydou Keïta: A Tactile Lens’ offers the most expansive North American presentation of the Malian photographer’s practice to date. Bringing together celebrated portraits, previously unseen negatives, and a rich array of textiles and personal objects, the exhibition moves beyond the image itself to explore the material worlds, aspirations, and identities that shaped mid-twentieth-century Bamako. ART AFRICA spoke with Curatorial Assistant Imani Williford about tactility as a curatorial framework, the importance of collaboration, and the enduring power of Keïta’s portraits.
The exhibition centres on tactility. How did you translate the sensory quality of Keïta’s photographs into the exhibition space?
Imani Williford: The exhibition offers both a literal and figurative softer perspective on what Mali and arguably the African continent was and is. The advent of photography on the African continent coincided with the rise of colonialism during the mid-19th century and early 20th century. The first images that were coming out of Africa were not by or for Africans, and depicted them as objective anthropological, scientific specimens and took away their humanity. What African photographers like Keïta did during the mid-20th century rejected that perspective and offered something much more humanising. This is what the Tactile Lens means. Images of Mali, made by and for Malians in a way that showcases their individuality and beauty.
Given the photographs shown alongside textiles and personal objects, how did you balance historical context with an immersive display?
Our guest curator, Catherine McKinley, is without a doubt one of the most insightful experts on balancing the importance of Fashion and Photography in a manner that strengthens the value of each medium both separately and together. Much like Catherine, I am both a Photography and Fashion historian, so I immediately understood that this exhibition required a delicate balance of historical perspective and tactile curation. One of the ways she accomplished this was by having the majority of the textiles, jewellery, accessories and garments in a separate section appear towards the end of the show. We wanted the photographs to really breathe on their own, so that by the time you get to the last gallery, you can get a more dynamic perspective and understanding of the sartorial choices of the subjects. For the labels in that space, we put facsimile images of some of the photographs featured in the exhibition, including images that contain prints from the Dutch textile company Vlisco, one of the exhibition sponsors. They have a prominent display in this section because some of the subjects in the photographs are wearing their prints. Vlisco has been around since 1864, and since they occasionally reprint some of their older prints, we were able to track down the exact prints that some sitters wore in photographs. Having these prints was a great opportunity to add a contextual layer about the global reach and trade market of textiles when these photographs were taken.
How does the exhibition frame Keïta’s portraits within the political and cultural shifts of mid-twentieth-century Mali?
The portraits created during these political and cultural shifts grounded our curatorial approach to this exhibition. The show predominantly focuses on works from Mali’s pre-independence era between the late 1940s and 1960, which, for Mali in particular, was largely a time of self-determination. There was a lot of debate about what a postcolonial and independent Mali would look like, and ultimately, the portraits show us that there was no definitive vision of nationhood. Some people embrace certain “Western” aesthetics, some embrace “tradition,” some who do an amalgamation, some who just want to document themselves for family and friends or for special occasions such as weddings, birthdays, or rites of passage. Through Catherine’s selection of photographs, she really hones in on the fact that there was no monolithic vision or voice of Mali during this time of political and cultural shifts. It is really about a collection of voices and visions trying to figure themselves out.
Keïta worked closely with his sitters. How did this collaboration shape your curatorial approach to authorship and representation?
Catherine McKinley played a crucial role in this in ways that went beyond simple curating. One of our greatest collaborators for this exhibition was the family of Seydou Keïta. Catherine fostered and nurtured an incredible relationship with them when she travelled to Bamako, Mali, to meet them. She catalysed a great deal of trust, care and respect that made it possible for us to have their stories represented in the exhibition. She filmed a short documentary that’s featured in the exhibition, where they talk about Keïta, and they generously lent us negatives, Keïta’s cameras, glasses, and military medals. This documentary will be part of the 2026 New York African Film Festival. Having this more personal perspective about Keïta impacted how we chose to open the exhibition, which centred Keïta as a person through self-portraits and portraits of his family. In the documentary, Catherine interviewed Keïta’s younger brother, Abdoulaye Keïta, who talked about how he’d hold up the backdrop for some of Keïta’s photographs. This deepened my understanding of Seydou Keïta’s work because he was literally capturing his sitters with the same caring and watchful eye that looked after his family. This understanding creates a far more personal reading of his photographs and elevates his family as co-collaborators. We even have a section in the show called Keïta La, which is named after the family compound where Keïta lived with his family and photographed his subjects. Keïta La displays his personal effects and negatives that his family lent us. Catherine’s collaboration with Keita’s family gave this exhibition an invaluable personal touch, adding a depth that none of us expected when we first began working on this exhibition.
What new insights emerged from the inclusion of previously unseen negatives and materials?
One insight about the unseen negatives was Keïta’s skill. It was impressive to see how talented he continued to be even after he “officially” closed his studio in the early 1960s. A good portion of the negatives were from the mid-1960s to the 1970s, and it was amazing to see how discerning and distinct his eye was around the same time fellow Malian photographer Malick Sidibé was becoming popular. From a more technical standpoint, the greatest insight was the larger discussions we had about our role in caring for these unseen negatives and materials. When the family Keïta agreed to loan us the negatives for the show, we were delighted, but we also wanted to be respectful of their role within this show, so we had a lot of back-and-forth debate about how to present them. We decided it would be most appropriate to project the images from the negatives as a digitised slide show. Due to the fragile state of the negatives, we all agreed to make facsimiles of them for the exhibition, so the originals would not be damaged. Solving challenges in a manner that was respectful to the family, the artist and the work was incredibly insightful.
How does the exhibition move beyond Western interpretations of Keïta’s work to centre local context and meaning?
In the exhibition, Catherine created a specific subsection to address this called “The Pretenders.” Using the nickname given to them by their children years after these images were taken, this section shows sitters posing with Western items or clothing to “pretend” they had an aura of sophistication. Catherine felt there was a broader discussion to be had beyond the judgment this nickname implies. On one hand, there is some truth to that argument, but on the other hand, the same could be said for that same younger generation who embraced aesthetics from Rock n Roll, R&B, and Soul from the United States and the United Kingdom. One could argue they are also pretending to be something they are not and turning their back on “tradition” and embracing the “West.” Catherine was foregrounding the much broader universal theme that each generation creates new methods of self-expression and challenges notions of what is traditional or modern. Certain visual elements in Keïta’s photographs might just be what was trendy at the time because it was part of the local broader visual culture. Additionally, some sitters might take certain “Western” objects but infuse their own cultural lens into it. In the exhibition, we have a lot of photographs of women wearing traditional hair accessories that might be made of gold, copper, or mixed metals. We even have some examples in the last gallery with the clothing and textiles. We also have photographs of women wearing French gold coins in their hair in a similar vein as the more “traditional” styles because some Malians believed that the shine of the metal could ward off evil and protect the wearer. Additionally, sometimes when I do tours and talk about how some sitters created a sense of affluence by wearing “Western” style dress or “Western” style using props, I liken it to today’s world, with how people use social media. Just like some of the sitters in Keïta’s portraits or someone’s Instagram feed, presenting a certain type of lifestyle or persona is something universal.
Keïta’s studio was a space of self-expression and aspiration. How did you approach presenting this without losing its complexity?
When I was researching the show, I came across an old interview where Keïta referred to himself as a stylist because he would work with his subjects on getting the best poses that would show off their clothing or accessories. Keïta also provided props or clothing for his sitters if they wanted to show an air of sophistication by having access to imported goods such as bikes, radios, watches, clothing, etc. One of the reasons why we had a separate section for textiles, garments, and jewellery was so visitors could understand the role of sartorial self-expression and aspiration in Keïta’s photographs. For example, we have a cotton dress that was cut out with a stencil to mimic the appearance of European lace. Garments such as this are emblematic of how resourceful and creative Malians were. If they didn’t have direct access to luxury goods, they would find a way to create them. Sartorial expression was also an important means for people to get involved or express their political ties during this deeply culturally and politically sensitive time. One of my favourite photographs we have is of a woman with two children, who proudly displays a purse that says “V-RDA,” short for “Vive le Rassemblement démocratique africain” (Long live the African Democratic Rally). The RDA was a popular Pan-African political alliance during this time, with talk of independence on the horizon. This photograph, paired with the commemorative cloths people used to assert their political allegiances, highlights how close politics and clothing are intertwined during this time period. It is hard not to be in awe of the collaborative ingenuity present in Keïta’s studio.
What does the exhibition’s use of sound and installation add to our understanding of Keïta’s legacy?
We were very fortunate to have Nile Rodgers curate a soundtrack for the exhibition. When I was speaking with him about it, he said he wanted a sound that was emblematic of the cultural melting pot that is Mali. Bordered by seven countries, Mali was a crucial stopping point for people travelling between East and West Africa, and has always been a crucial place for trade, drawing people from all over the world. Niles’ selection is an audio collage of the melting pot that is Mali.
This exhibition was on view at the Brooklyn Museum in New York from 10 October 2025 to 17 May 2026.
