"In A Blue World", Reflections on the 13th Iraa, the granary session on 28/July/2025 with Matt Kayem
- Trevor Mukholi
- Jul 30
- 5 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
An open gate in Kampala is a rare invitation. In a city of high walls and guarded compounds, the sight of one signals either a funeral or a deliberate act of welcome. On a Monday, such a gate at the family home and studio of artist Matt Kayem ushered a diverse group into a space cultivated for connection by Iraa the Granary. The session, 'IN A BLUE WORLD', became a catalyst for my own thinking about the model Iraa embodies, one that I believe actively resists the rigid structures of the conventional art world whose effects on discourse we have all seen and felt by now.
I have to do this through a theory lens—that's what I do, that's what I am doing now. I am going to map the concept of the "rhizome,"1 from philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, over Iraa's programming. This rhizomatic quality is not an abstract theory for me; it is rooted in tangible connections. In a previous Iraa session, for instance, I reconnected with Ogutu Muraya whom I had met entirely by chance in Nairobi. Seeing that connection from another time and place reappear and strengthen within Iraa's network affirmed my understanding of it as a living, growing system that fosters unpredictable, horizontal linkages. The power of Iraa lies in its iterative and adaptable nature. It convenes in different artists' studios, with different guest lists, all grounded in the simple, radical act of sharing experience, which is ultimately what I hope art can achieve.
To demonstrate the importance of this model, I want to contrast it with its opposite: the arborescent2 system. This is the traditional, tree-like structure of the art world, with its hierarchical roots and branches in the academy, the gallery, and the museum. This structure is perhaps best captured by an e-flux article, The Field of Contemporary Art: A Diagram by Andrea Fraser. Within that arborescent framework, the beautiful frictions and urgent intensities of a gathering like this would find it difficult to exist. They would be managed, pruned, and contained.
The session with Matt Kayem provided a perfect example of the rhizome in practice. The assembly was wonderfully eclectic. Artists like Pamela Enyonu and Odur Ronald found themselves in the same discursive space with CASU collectors like Barbara Barungi, and crucially, with thinkers such as Kalundi Sserumaga. The most grounding presence was that of Matt's family. His parents, uncle, aunt, and sister graciously hosted the group, their home becoming a site for truly communal thought.
The day began with breakfast and a conversation that flowed organically toward the bureaucracies that cultural workers must navigate. After, a visit to Matt's studio revealed the paintings and sculptures at the heart of his artistic inquiry. What had been imagined as a formal panel discussion soon erupted into something far more vital: a passionate, trans-generational exchange. It is here that I feel compelled to inject the thinking of Frantz Fanon, because it is his centenary and because this was a psychologically complex conversation, with people negotiating what to reveal, what to endorse while still being committed to the ideas the art presents. In The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon describes the role of the "native intellectual" not as one of detached observation, but as an active "awakener of the people." In the yard of Matt's family, I witnessed this concept come alive.
The passionate exchanges on politics eventually settled, then rose again and almost dispersed because we had gone beyond what we expected to be our time. The older men recounted their tales and told us that what we are worried about, they too had worried about. We sighed and expressed our divergent visions for these weighty historical problems. They confessed they are disillusioned; I said I am still holding out while considering abandoning it all for a while, fleeing. In that moment, it was clear that the art had done what it can do. It had posed its questions with unflinching clarity. The varied responses from each person in the room were not a failure to agree, but the very point of the gathering. Matt's work amplifies and leaves a prompt—a choice—with us, and with him. In a rigid, arborescent organism, this tension would be packaged into a tidy summary. In the rhizome of Iraa, the wonder and the unease remain, a genuine and unresolved resonance we carry away with us.
This is a delicate space, walking a tightrope between the bickering of the comfortable and outright cynicism. Yet, the value of such an exchange is immense. To have my own worries about history, as a younger person, confirmed by an elder who has lived through its patterns, is an invaluable affirmation. This is not a moment for despair, but a moment to rethink my priorities and strategies for intervention, just as I hope the others present will do in relation to the themes Matt's work proposes.
It strikes me that this is as far as the art can take us, but it's a journey we can hardly take anywhere else in Uganda outside of these artistic spaces. Yet, this realization must not encourage a sluggishness born from the comfort of knowing our fears are shared. The confirmation should not be a sedative, but a catalyst. The logical end is to propagate more care, to let it intervene rhizomatically in surprising and necessary formations: new alliances, acts of aesthetic and political defiance, and practical commitments of patronage and labor. To keep such a vital space going, to ensure the gate can remain open, requires a recognition and sustenance of this very work. The art posits the questions. We are left with the choice. But care holds it all together.
1 The rhizome is a concept from philosophers Deleuze and Guattari that describes a way of thinking about growth, connection, and knowledge that doesn’t follow a straight line or hierarchy. Instead of beginning in one place and branching out like a tree, a rhizome spreads in all directions—messy, unpredictable, and always in motion. A natural example is ginger or bamboo: plants that grow underground with no clear center, sending out shoots in many directions.
2 The arborescent model is the opposite of the rhizome: hierarchical, fixed, and top-down. In nature, it’s like a tree—with a single trunk, central roots, and orderly branches.
Trevor Mukholi is a writer, curator and researcher. His curatorial work focuses on the intersection of art, culture, and social change.
Other articles by Trevor Mukholi can be found on Form Fora
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