Words by Heta Fell. Photography by Brad Ogbonna.

Cassi Namoda is an artist born in Mozambique. She grew up travelling the world with her parents’ work and now divides her time between Los Angeles and East Hampton, Long Island. You can see the traces of these different cultural landscapes through her work, from post-colonial Mozambique’s Maputo Bay to the rest of the world. Her deep interest in history, philosophy and the poetic possibilities of paint reveal themselves not only in the work but also in the titles of her exhibitions—Little is Enough For Those in Love at Pippy Houldsworth Gallery, London and To Live Long is to See Much at Goodman Gallery, Johannesburg. 

The care with which she approaches her painting is mesmerising. It manifests in vibrant colours, and enigmatic figures holding mystical gazes. She brings her visionary eye to these subjects in their everyday moments, cross-pollinating symbols with her characters to forge complex narratives.

A signature aspect of Cassi’s work is that it brings together a constellation of external references that she then mixes with aspects from her own world, close to how a novelist constructs a story by amalgamating the personal with the universal. She marries the most sacred and symbolic images with the most popular and contemporary. 

Cassi’s approach is also grounded in empathy. She is very present and in love with paint. She is living her life fully. She respects all that came before her and draws inspiration from everywhere in her life. She is thoughtful, fascinating, and she is fun. In contrast to the unrealistic Western pursuit of perpetual happiness, Cassi is interested in balance. There is no peak without a trough. And she is not afraid to convey it all. 

Heta Fell

We haven’t spoken properly since the pandemic. Talk to me about how this time has been for you. It seems like you’ve been busy. How have you looked after yourself? And what has this time taught you about yourself?

Cassi Namoda

When the pandemic kicked in, I had been in London, then Lamu, then Johannesburg, and it came to a point where I had to go back to New York. I think that’s when the work ethic became really prolific.

I spent a very heavy winter in the studio in Long Island and East Hampton, which was my only outlet. It was in the heat of Black Lives Matter. It was the height of the pandemic. I was lucky because I was able to go from home to the studio, and many people couldn’t do that. 

So I was just sort of, like, “If I have this luxury, I’m going to run it as efficiently as possible.” And that’s what I did. So with the galleries, I wrapped my own work. I documented my work, and I was still making the online fairs because I felt we had to keep the momentum going. But you know, I had to learn some hard lessons. And I think the lesson when we’re talking about care was knowing that as an artist, the big work is learning how to say no and understanding where the boundaries lie. Care isn’t preparing and drinking tea or massages—although all those things are really good—it’s self-preservation, right? And that, I think, only happens within maturity. 

I am a young artist, but I’m also like, “No, I’m entering my Jesus year!” So I think this stuff starts to become more and more of a pillar. I’m thinking, “Okay, how do I find harmony?” Harmony is vital because harmony is the health between you and the production. So that is something that has come from the pandemic. And I think, observing the art world, observing it becoming super hyper and super intense, I’m just like, “Okay—some aspects aren’t healthy.” And that’s very real.

Heta Fell

And with finding that harmony, I imagine you’re also navigating that very real struggle between scarcity and abundance mindsets. Feeling like you have to keep working to stay relevant commercially and keep the jobs coming in, versus the shift towards abundance—being assured and comfortable that the right work will come and allowing it into your life. And feeling when it’s right for you and when it’s not. How do you recognise when something’s not right for you?

Cassi Namoda

Right, when we talk about care, those things show up somatically. So, for example, the other week, I got terribly sick, and I was like, “Why did this happen? Where did this come from?” And it was because I didn’t lay the boundary. I didn’t say the “No”, so it came up somatically in my throat and lymph nodes. 

Part of this process and maturity of making work as a commercial endeavour is to have romance and to somehow keep it authentic. One must learn how to say no, and how to hold back and how to restrain. No one’s gonna do that for you. Once you do that for yourself I think everything else flows easily where it’s like, “Okay, now I’m going to take a week off and just go and read a book.” 

The slowing down actually makes a richer body of work. So what I yearn to do is perhaps just completely check out and be able to go and observe culture, observe people and just write, and make sketches. And when you look at any artists from periods before us, because I can’t make work without being able to acknowledge those who came before me, that’s what they did. 

Heta Fell

Yes, I’ve always noticed those art history references in your work.

Cassi Namoda

That’s why I go to museums more than the contemporary art galleries because although the canon is very much Euro male-centric, there are such reminders of the way they worked that I follow. So perhaps Gaugin would travel to Tahiti, not only because he was definitely an exotifier, but you know, it’s this idea to set yourself in a different place and time and dimension, which might serve the work in a way that would be completely surprising. There might be pink sunsets there that you never even realised could end up in the work. 

When I first moved to East Hampton, I completely understood Helen Frankenthaler’s work differently. I was like, “Ah, OK, this is why she uses longer strokes.” So I see how much the environment serves my work. 

And that’s why I had started off with a briefcase and paper, and I travelled, and I painted. I think you have to be true to yourself. I grew up that way. We moved every four years. So I think for me, the white walls of the studio, even if it’s in Soho, and it’s really fancy—it’s nothing like being able to move around freely and engage with the world. That, for me, is my care. It’s not like, “Oh, I’m going to go to the air baths and try that,” because care is not so based on capital for me. It’s based on time.

Heta Fell

Talk to me more about travelling as care—engaging with the world. 

Cassi Namoda

I just want to be in Mozambique on a Sunday in my mother’s village, watching a woman make crab curry. That, for me, would be insanely interesting. That would feed my process and my work. I like the uncanniness of how that reveals itself in the work because half of it is research. But I don’t want it all to be research. I don’t want it all to be textbook.
I want life to inspire something within the work. 

Heta Fell

Saying that, from what I’ve observed, I feel like you’ve done a really good job, even in your studio in East Hampton, despite being isolated and in lockdowns—you really cultivated a rich and inspiring environment that allowed you to continue the work without it feeling textbook. Talk to me about how you create that environment that is caring and nurturing for yourself.

Cassi Namoda

Well, for me, it’s books. It’s objects. I keep a Mozambican Makonde mask; I collect textiles; I paint my floors yellow; or, you know, specific things that help settle me into the space. I’m really not one who believes that artists are disconnected from aesthetics because I just don’t think that’s true. I think it’s everything from dressing the body or a space; it’s all very cohesive and goes into the identity of a practice. 

There’s some notion in the West as if the artist is some sort of indifferent person, but I never learned that to be true. And I don’t know anyone in my circle that is like that. So I think that the studio where you spend most of your time has to be inspiring. I went to see Miro’s studio in Mallorca right before his passing, and it was just super inspiring. 

I have little postcards pinned everywhere. Just looking at an image every day, whether it’s when I’m going into the toilet, I see this little postcard, and it makes me think. I keep maps everywhere, and I collect pine cones. I like to look at the geometry of a pine cone. I need amusements, or I guess some friends would call it tchotchkes or something, but I need amusements in a space. I also don’t think it’s ever done; you need to refresh a space. And honestly, I even keep a bed in the studio. I had a friend write to me and say, “You know, my uncle always kept the couch in his studio. He was a painter, and he would take naps at least one hour a day.” So that’s the thing, even within your hours spent in the studio—the work is also rest.

Heta Fell

100% Yes—the work is also rest. I feel like rituals generally are quite a big thing in your day to day life, whether it’s tea making or preparing a meal for your friends and your community. 

Cassi Namoda

Yeah, but honestly, I don’t want to mislead people that that is entirely me, because at the same time, depending on my emotional state, I can sometimes be drinking a little bit of tequila or wine and having a cigarette, and I’m in the zone making work, and there’s some sort of frenzied state, or there’s some anxiousness. But then, on some days or some weeks, I’m making tea and preparing meals with food I gathered from the farm, and I’m writing and taking an hour to do my sister’s classes, who teaches a movement method called Feldenkrais, and it all helps me see better.

So I think that there’s a duality, and I can’t lie and say that I’m entirely one thing because I’m not, you know, I’m human. I think when I’m well balanced, that’s a gift, and I embrace that. And if I can’t write, I sleep early. And then some days, I’m sort of…

Heta Fell

Out out…

Cassi Namoda

Oh, yeah, I’m out. I’m up until 1 am. I think living is duality. Reality is duality. So, I just think it’s always about knowing when to bring it back. Like you never lose the picture. Because the picture is self-love and self-worth.

This conversation features in Riposte #13 - The Care Issue. Click through to our shop to order your print copy.