Every religious house would surrender its offerings, dispatch to us the rolls of sacred material upon which all devout knees kneel, chant noontime prayers with their intricate verse, highlight for our view full sections of holy passages to induce us to tell our secret. And even the traditional sciences, for which the powers have no name, would pour years of libation, bidding us to tell our tale. But ours is not hidden from eyes that are willing to see, we dance here in sculpture, giving evidence that our time here was a mere audition; practice for the immature soul. It is the pattern of the maker of all things; the atoms and the elements. We are wiser for having come here and we dance in sculpture giving evidence; death is but a conversion to another state.

Photography by Ian N'Kosi Joseph. Words by Kwesi Ako Dash. © 2009