What we see is not just torn fabric — it is a wound.A scar not hidden, but held up to light.A failed stitch, not from negligence, but from repetition — the kind that history imposes. Ghanaian artist Ibrahim Mahama gathers these burlap sacks from across local markets and ports — surfaces once handled by countless, nameless hands moving cocoa, coal, and coffee. They carry the dust of labor, the ink of transactions, the breath of systems designed to forget those […]
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