The Brooklyn Rail

Imagine sets of pantyhose stretched in every direction, reaching a point of no return—cut into pieces, dyed or painted different shades and colors, and affixed onto canvases in a manner that resembles flesh or scars. Ravenous, exhausted, carved open—these are some of the emotional responses the viewer will experience at South African artist Turiya Magadlela’s (b. 1978) survey exhibition In Our Barren Womb Boys Weep, presented by Kates-Ferri Projects in New York. The artist invites audiences to immerse themselves in the bodily experiences of women, to be tugged and prodded.

In Our Barren Womb Boys Weep presents nine distinct pieces, including two diptychs titled Theta Tati (Talk to mee father) I and II (2022). These large-scale works stand over six feet tall and are composed of pantyhose sewn together in a manner that feels almost Frankensteinian. They create a visceral sense of the womb. Gluts of pantyhose sewn together at the waistband and then stretched across the canvas, the works are quite literally a physical manifestation of the uterus. But what does the uterus mean in these instances? And how might different people—men, women, and people from different racial and socioeconomic backgrounds—experience the womb? Magadlela’s choice of pantyhose as a medium speaks to both the fragility and resilience of the body, creating layers that invite touch yet remain distant in a way many may find disconcerting.

Blue Composition (2022) suggests the look of blue and flesh-colored tiles fixed together; it stuns the viewer yet offers no immediate focal point, instead creating an immersive, all-encompassing experience whereby audiences are consumed by blue. Looking closely, audiences will eventually note subtle pineapple prints decorating just four of the work’s panels. A symbol of hospitality in America, the pineapple also carries stark colonialist undertones, and this layering of significance invites the viewer to interpret Magadlela’s work as they see fit. Izinyoni Ezintlane II (5 birds of prey) (2018) takes matters a step further, crafting a darker, equally womblike depiction of stitched nylons—this time in varying hues of black and gray, shades that resemble skin and envelop the viewer.

Works like Uthando Olungaka (2023) and Rockstar III (2023) are more fraught, with the artist’s signature pantyhose fabric stretched to its limits like putty, crafting shapes—and negative space—that resemble trees, internal organs, and bodily transformation. The manipulated fabric is disconcerting and fascinating in equal measure, pulling the viewer into the depths, blending neutral colors and more vivid tones in a chaotic swirl. The artist experiments with magentas and pinks, and on occasion the brightest possible reds, crafting worlds so filled with color the audience may eventually feel overtaken—or swept away by Magadlela’s visual interpretation of the womb. How The Garden Grows II and III (2024) illustrate this same development: the evolution of the female experience. In each, shape and color come together to produce a specific emotion. Luhlaza Okotjani II (The grass is always greener) (2021) offers soothing greens and blues, with occasional black or beige panels furthering the work's calming effect, while Bombing (2024) is more brash, with pinks and blacks resembling the brutality of manipulated flesh. By repurposing a material steeped in femininity, Magadlela reminds us of the precarity of female empowerment: an existence rife with torn fabric and varying shapes and colors. She highlights that while each woman bears her own personal experience, her figurative subjects share common threads: the ties that can bind women, and particularly Black bodies, together.

The title of the exhibition is up to interpretation. As societal norms shift—and the expectations placed on women evolve—society’s understanding of birth and womanhood becomes increasingly complicated. Creation is in this way overwhelming at times and serene on other occasions, as depicted in the pulling sensation Magadlela so expertly imbues in her material. Exploring this further, the exhibition title suggests a deeper relationship between women and men—represented by the “boys weeping in the barren womb”—and the impact of what a barren womb might be: a longing for physical pleasure, a place to destroy or celebrate or hide, a desire to return to the place where life began. The timing of Magadlela’s exhibition, right before an election in which a woman of color could be elected president of the United States and women’s rights are at stake, invites the viewer to connect with each work based on their emotional state, and based on the rips and stitches that resonate most with their personal interpretation of womanhood.