How many Congolese female rumba singers can you name? Most readers get stuck at two or three. The 1980s had six women working at the top of the genre at the same time. The 2020s have two. This article walks through seventy years of female voices in Congolese rumba, from Lucie Eyenga, who recorded in 1950s Léopoldville, to Cindy le Cœur, who fronts Koffi Olomide’s Quartier Latin now, and asks what these women had to do to be heard, and why so few are still doing it.
Stepping into Auguy’s atelier, you’re immediately engulfed by a vibrant display of artistry, with sculptures and paintings narrating a myriad of stories. While internationally recognized for his Tintin figures, Auguy’s journey is much deeper, rooted in the rich cultural heritage of the Congo. From being mentored by masters of Kuba Kasai art, nurturing young talent despite the challenges, to redefining his Tintin sculptures to depict a rising Africa, Auguy’s work is a testament to perseverance, creativity, and a profound commitment to preserving cultural legacy. Discover the inspiring journey of this remarkable artist in our interview.
Embark on a remarkable journey into the world of Simplus Ntoto, a revolutionary artist from Kinshasa who has pioneered a unique approach to sculpture using car shells. In our exclusive interview, Ntoto opens up about his creative process, the origins of his distinctive style, and his relentless pursuit of perfection. Uncover the deep connection he shares with his subjects and the powerful message embedded in his art. This is a compelling narrative of passion, innovation, and resilience that illustrates how Ntoto is not only shaping metal but also the future of sculpture.
On World Art Day we visited the painter Billy Gibula in his studio in Masina, Kinshasa. He told us how a street drawing led him to his mentor, why he left that studio to find his own style, what the masks and birds in his paintings mean, and what young painters in Kinshasa are up against.
From history painters working with colonial-era restrictions to modern visionaries crafting Afrofuturistic dreamscapes, Congolese artists have long been revolutionaries with a brush. Meet thirteen painters who transformed limitations into liberation: Tshibumba Kanda-Matulu, who dared to paint Congo’s painful history under Mobutu’s watchful eye; Chéri Samba, whose neon-bright satires caught the world’s attention; Pilipili Mulongoy, who turned colonial constraints into masterpieces of motion; and Monsengo Shula, who dresses astronauts in traditional pagne as they drift through cosmic realms.
Yet this is more than just a journey through Congo’s artistic past—it’s a gateway to its future. As we at Kitokongo scour Kinshasa’s vibrant neighborhoods and beyond, we’re discovering the next generation of visionaries, artists who are redefining what Congolese art can be. Join us in exploring not just who these painters were and are, but who they’re becoming. Because in Congo, every artwork is both a survival story and a revolution waiting to happen.
Behind the glass of European museums, Congolese masterpieces sit frozen under generic tribal labels. But a mask was never just an object; it was a living event, a social relationship, and the work of a brilliant individual creator. While Western art history spends centuries naming its own anonymous masters, the search for Congolese sculptors was quietly abandoned. Reclaiming Congolese authorship means rejecting the grammar of property and restoring names, lineages, and agency to these works. The masters did not run out; the searching did. It is time to shatter the vitrine and rewrite the story.
Let me tell you this: those masks are everything but primitive, and their living power was never meant to be silenced behind museum glass.
They were the living voice of ancestral wisdom. They danced. They judged. They healed. They were alive. This is the story of their stolen power and their fight to finally come home.
In Congo, pagne feels at home. It belongs to mothers and aunties, to weddings and mourning, to church and family. Few think of Indonesia, Dutch factories, or European trade routes. Yet wax-resist came from Java, printing from Dutch and English mills, and many patterns from Indonesia. This print was not born in Africa. The African story begins after printing: in the market, the naming, the tailoring, the ceremony, the body. The cloth came off a machine. The garment did not. It was talked into being.
New writing on Congolese art and the artists making it, about once a month.