Dozie Kanu builds sculptural forms that render the familiar into anything but. Using sourced materials – rusted metal, discarded furniture, concrete, burnt-out wood, wheel rims, coolers, and more – he assembles them into new configurations through a process he calls ‘reorientation.’ Each sculpture becomes a kind of recalibration: objects are bent, bolted, skewed, distorted, and rerouted from their original function.

In reclaiming what has been deemed obsolete or surplus, Kanu doesn’t merely repurpose materials, he centres the labour, histories, and lineages embedded within them. Rust, wear, and rawness remain visible – not as signs of decay, but as evidence of how quickly value is stripped from things once they lose their function. Through this, his work reclaims overlooked narratives and exposes the broader systems of exploitation and disposability that shaped them. In conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist, Kanu unpacks a practice rooted in architecture, collaboration, and the constant renegotiation of utility, form, and meaning.

Hans Ulrich Obrist: How did you come to art? Did it begin with an epiphany?
Dozie Kanu: Early on, I imagined working mainly in film and the industry around it. I relocated to New York after high school to study at the School of Visual Arts, which was a rebellious move on my part. Then there was this pivotal moment when my parents could no longer support me living in New York, so I was pushed into finding a job.

HUO: How old were you then?
DK: Twenty. I was kind of stubborn though. No restaurants and no retail. It had to be something creatively stimulating, which wasn’t easy for a kid with no portfolio. I somehow landed a job in an interior design studio located in the Chelsea neighbourhood. Carol Egan. God bless her [laughs]. Before and after work I would wander into galleries to see exhibitions – sometimes three or four passes each. One of the shows that made a real impact in terms of planting seeds that made me feel capable of seriously working as an artist was a Valentin Carron show.

HUO: Yes, an amazing Swiss sculptor.
DK: It was at 303 Gallery, the title was Music is a s-s-s-s-serious thing. He showed some reupholstered stools and small cabinets. I was studying production design and working part-time in an interior design studio, and it resonated, like “Yeah, there’s space to operate as a sculptor, a conceptual artist, and a designer, all merged.” That might have been the epiphany. Soon after I saw a Scott Burton show at Kasmin Gallery, and then Jordan Wolfson’s first show at David Zwirner was wild to me. I was mad confused and intrigued about how that type of work could be supported in that way.

HUO: How interesting that Carron was your epiphany. He sometimes goes between sculpture into things which could be used. It’s ambiguous.
DK: I like to operate on that fine line as well, though the industrial design industry is not off limits. [answers a FaceTime call from Travis Scott]

HUO: How did you and Travis meet?
DK: We grew up in the same small town – Missouri City, outside Houston, Texas. We didn’t become super close until we were partnered together in Home Economics class. He was always wildly ambitious, borderline delusional – he believed he already was who he is now. But seeing his work ethic up close and personal, I couldn’t help but believe he would be huge. And then gradually, year by year, it started becoming real. [laughs]

HUO: And you’ve stayed in touch since?
DK: Yeah. We talk almost every day. We’re always encouraging each other. I feel like I’m the critical friend.

HUO: Then you’re twenty and you discover Carron. You’ve [also] mentioned Scott Burton: it’s culture, but it’s also chess.
DK: Very much. It showed me that working across art and design in a balanced way was possible. I had to drop the fear that I was trespassing on an artist territory or something.

HUO: So at twenty you realised you could do both. What marks the start of your catalogue raisonné? You previously spoke about finding cabs in junkyards and antique shops – was that habit of finding objects there from the beginning?
DK: The found-objects became more ingrained within my process once I relocated to Portugal. I found this big, abandoned warehouse near the countryside of Lisbon which I converted into a live-work studio space. With the space I was able to start hoarding things – playing with volume. I felt like it was necessary to develop a method within my work that could operate with little to zero funding, as a kind of safety net in case everything went to shit. I really put scavenging for found material into exercise for my first solo exhibition with Salon 94 in 2018, presented in an abandoned church in Detroit. As for the starting point of my catalogue: Chair [ i ], the first in the Chair series, made in 2016.

HUO: What was the thinking behind that? There’s such a long history of chairs.
DK: Chairs to me are the ‘holy grail’ of design and objecthood. It was so natural to develop chairs into an ongoing series. Chair [ i ] was fabricated in New York and took almost a year to finish because I had to finance it in instalments – investing a little bread into each process. My good friend Matthew M. Williams photographed them for me so elegantly in his studio on St. Marks Place and we sent the images to Nick Knight. Nick eventually published the images on his SHOWstudio blogspot, and shortly after, I was invited to participate in my first group exhibition. That’s kind of how the wheels got turning.

HUO: Then the Jefferson Hack show happened in 2019 [Jefferson Hack curated an exhibition, Transformer: A Rebirth of Wonder, in London featuring Dozie’s work]. That’s really when you started to gather these things, because you were attracted by water pumps – can you talk about that? I remember there was a water pump present in that show.
DK: Living in the Portuguese countryside, I’d been thinking about solar energy for my warehouse. And then by chance I stumbled across these stainless-steel water pumps that were meant to be linked to solar panels.

HUO: So it had functionality?
DK: Initially. But the painful part is that I bought the pumps brand new – about 700 euros each, five of them. I guess there was some conceptual value linked to the solar pumps, but really I was mainly drawn to the super sleek steel cylinders. [shows a picture] You can see the cords were cut.

HUO: Yet the object is potentially a chair.
DK: [laughs] Yeah, a love-seat.

HUO: And what’s the title of the work?
DK: Five Star. It’s integral for me, the idea of ready-made artworks performing in a new way, as opposed to killing it’s initial function. Like how can I extend the performative or useful life of the found object as opposed to just contemplating it.

HUO: You also called it “reorientation.” What do you mean by that?
DK: Objects generally have this prescribed stance or use, or way of being viewed or used. In the studio I mess around, like what happens if you flip this upside down, lay it on its side, look for how this can become another thing or an element to another thing. That’s often the beginning stage of how I develop new works. Basic reorientation.

“If the whole art world superstructure crumbled and died tomorrow, what would happen to all these sculptures taking up space, claiming to be pointing towards some truth or value.”

HUO: And then you say that it’s also about generosity, so the object you make does actually still have the potential to somehow serve, so it’s not crowned as this amazing masterpiece. It’s also kind of humble in that sense.
DK: Yeah, I would say there’s some sincerity there. Like, imagining if the whole art world superstructure crumbled and died tomorrow, what would happen to all these sculptures taking up space, claiming to be pointing towards some truth or value. I’m more comfortable in the idea that most of the work I’m offering could possibly have a place in this world to be used, after art.

“I very much admired that Virgil [Abloh] could jump into new projects or partnerships without any hesitation or worry about how heavily branded production might dilute the artistic integrity he was putting forward.”

HUO: You’ve mentioned the artist Arthur Jafa as a reference.
DK: Yes, you gave me his number and I cold-called him during Covid. I was surprised that he would talk to a stranger for that long. His approach is so deeply grounded in critical race theory but also somehow he finds so much space for freedom to improvise without being bogged down so much by the ideas, the meaning or the position. I don’t know, it’s helpful to study that.

HUO: After this arrival, then the reorientation, what would you say is the next epiphany?
DK: Architecture.

HUO: And when did that come?
DK: I’m not sure. It was always lingering. But maybe it crystallised with the Byredo project in Milan.

HUO: Let’s fast-forward to that, because I was at that Byredo show during Salone del Mobile. It was actually your first pavilion, in a way – there were sculptures assembled around a pavilion-esque structure that functioned as the Byredo space. How did that happen?
DK: Sure. Ben Gorham [founder of Byredo], and the late Virgil Abloh were close friends. I very much admired that Virgil could jump into new projects or partnerships without any hesitation or worry about how heavily branded production might dilute the artistic integrity he was putting forward.

HUO: No, rather the opposite. He believed that through brands you can get teenagers to look at [Lucio] Fontana. You create a curiosity spiral.
DK: Exactly. That way of thinking changed me. So I went headfirst and took on the Byredo challenge. The prompt was quite simple. They wanted me to interpret this scent they produce titled Bal d’Afrique inspired by Ben’s father’s diary entries during his time living in Africa, and transform those ideas into a physical experience. It made sense to create a pavilion meant to host some type of important ceremony or ritual. We hosted a large dinner inside on opening night. It was really an exercise in scale, asking myself if I could apply what I do in sculpture and design into architecture. I wouldn’t call it architecture officially, but it was somewhere along those lines.

HUO: From there you could go into building. Do you have any unrealised projects?
DK: So many. I’m working on something with Valerio Olgiati. But it could take years, maybe even a decade.

HUO: You’ve met now?
DK: Yes, in Portugal. I brought him to [one of] Travis’ concerts when he came to Lisbon. Backstage we talked about potentially doing a project in Portugal. Wait, you actually introduced us over email? [both laugh] It took three years but we finally linked up.

HUO: What exactly would it be?
DK: A cluster of houses somewhere on the coast – around Peniche. Beautiful sea views. Modestly sized homes, a community centre, maybe a library or theatre. I would love to get that done. But, absolutely nothing is in motion yet, just ideas.

HUO: There’s Travis, Valerio – and also Precious Okoyomon. You collaborate a lot. What have you done together?
DK: Our first collaboration was actually for you, we did that poster for Édouard Glissant.

HUO: What’s your connection to Glissant?
DK: Precious pushed me towards researching him and I understand why. He was radically acceptant. For my 30th birthday, Precious encouraged me to take a trip to Martinique and read Poetics of Relation. I also took so many photos throughout the city. One of the images ended up becoming the poster image.

HUO: You take many photos. You once told Precious your photos are the most authentic version of how you witness certain moments – you wait for the urge to shoot, and then examining the image lets you re-access the feeling. Does that enter the work?
DK: Yes, for sure. I’ve only done one photo show so far – it wasn’t met with much enthusiasm. I think most people know me for my sculptural approach, but regardless I felt the need to show them. Photos are kind of my way of drawing. It’s an aggressive acknowledgment of the other which feeds well into my practice. I don’t draw very well; I kind of draft through seeing. But I plan on one day enrolling in a drawing course just as an attempt to patch up my imposter syndrome. I need to develop that tool.

HUO: So, found objects and images, and all of that gets assembled.
DK: One big concoction.

HUO: You’re in residency now.
DK: Yes, I think the show I’m currently developing in Arles for Galleria Federico Vavassori will be my favourite so far. It touches on everything I care about – photography, installation, architecture, design, sculpture – and it came about so natural, not forced.

HUO: And you’re working with Knoll. You’re launching a collection at Salone ’26?
DK: That’s the plan. Oh, check this out! This was a proposal I just sent to Dr. Woo, the tattoo artist. [shows image on phone]

HUO: I met him. I didn’t want a tattoo on my body, so he tattooed my headphones.
DK: [laughs] He’s literally the tattoo artist.

HUO: What are you doing together?
DK: I’m making furniture for his new studio… Wait, before I forget, I actually wanted to ask you something. Museums right now are often asked to respond current cultural moments, but within the production structure, long lead times, I don’t now if that’s possible.

HUO: I’ve always believed lead times should be much shorter. Europe is faster, with short lead times. Biennials are a good space for reaction.
DK: There should be an institution designed for instantaneous output.

HUO: Public art can help. Not necessarily only monuments, but electronic billboards, the ubiquity of digital images – enter that system. Virgil told me that he had trained to be an architect in Chicago, but then he felt that architecture has such long lead times. That’s why he went into fashion.
DK: That makes sense.

HUO: Let’s talk about Enzo Mari, a visual artist who used design as a vehicle. That was our first collaboration, remember?
DK: That’s a huge reason I admire Mari. He was truly aiming toward democratising art – and did it through careful design. I’m now in a show at the Kölnischer Kunstverein in Cologne featuring a collaboration between Mari and an African designer offering his own rendition of Mari’s instructions. I always thought the instructions were brilliant – DIY as a way for anyone to access him.

“It’s strange, you may love an artist’s work without ever knowing they appreciate what I do until you finally meet. It’s sad, because that mutual acknowledgment can be so encouraging.”

HUO: And you extrapolated those instructions.
DK: I was thinking a lot about Mari when I made that piece where I disassembled an electric chair – based on one I saw in a Florida prison. I carved it in pink Portuguese marble and wrote instructions on how to reassemble it. The instructions were modelled after IKEA manuals.

HUO: Mari meets IKEA.
DK: It became part of the Chair series but I was thinking about the various ways death is administered, specifically to Black people in America, and how some can be made to believe it’s their own doing.

HUO: So, why Portugal?
DK: I get asked this question so much and I’ve developed a short version, a medium version and a long version answer. In New York I was forced to ask whether I would be truly able to take my practice seriously. I said yes, but studio space was becoming impossible. I was about to sign a lease on a studio space in Greenpoint – five or six grand a month – and worried I’d trap myself, goose chasing sales to cover rent overhead. As a kind of rebellion, I took all my savings and went on a world tour – Tokyo, Berlin, Milan, Paris, London, Amsterdam – my first time in all those places. It was eight cities and the last stop was Lisbon. At the airport I met João Paulo, one of the country’s major marble manufacturers. I’d met him years before during Miami Art Basel and had been encouraging me to visit. He took me to the quarries, showed me stone being extracted from the earth. It was April – perfect weather – and I just… ended up envisioning that I could live there. Through João Paulo I found a countryside studio for pennies – twice the size of the Greenpoint space. It just made sense for me at the time. I never imagined I’d still be there.

HUO: In terms of your generation, how do you see your peer group? Do you see it’s very connected through space and time?
DK: A lot of my peers are still in New York. But I try to pay attention to every region. I’ve watched so many of their practices change in order to adapt to what’s happening with the market right now. I have an unspoken respect for a lot of artists. Our generation just kind of watches each other online. You kind of know who’s aligned, but there’s not this constant engagement. It’s strange, you may love an artist’s work without ever knowing they appreciate what I do until you finally meet. It’s sad, because that mutual acknowledgment can be so encouraging.

HUO: Who are these peers?
DK: There’s so many. Precious Okoyomon. SoiL Thornton. Matthew Hilvers. Brad Kronz. Martine Syms. Rindon Johnson. I also really appreciate Cudelice Brazelton; Vijay Masharani – amazing video artist. I appreciate the ones deeply interested in waviness – real playfulness – more than pandering to easy art world-friendly substance.

HUO: In your conversation with Precious you talk a lot about pain, how what is moving you now is pain.
DK: I’ve had to deal with a lot of it. I lost my father last year, and there’s so much unresolved guilt there. He never wanted me to study art – he thought it was too unstable.

HUO: What did he want you to study?
DK: Medicine. I was on track to become a pharmacist – I was admitted into UT Premed. I changed my mind one month before the first semester started and left for New York. He was worried. Slowly, I was able to get him to see I had made the right choice. I was close to the point of fully absolving that guilt of some kind of betrayal – and then he passed.

HUO: He saw the beginning of your success.
DK: There’s a funny story. In my teen years he hated me hanging out with Travis. There were a few incidents that blew up and got me in trouble.

HUO: Why?
DK: Because he smoked weed and we stayed out late. Then Travis became wildly famous, and my dad started to question, maybe I know where I’m going. [laughs]

5 Star, 2019, courtesy of the artist and 180 The Strand. play Cozart before sending assertive, 2023, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Francesca Pia. Chair [ i ], 2016, courtesy of Artist and Matthew M. Williams. plunger 2, 2021, courtesy of the artist and Quinn Harrelson Gallery. youtu.be/vrqLrxWUBXc, 2022, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Francesca Pia. Chair [ v ] (Electric Chair), 2018, courtesy of the artist and San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Dearborn, 2023, courtesy of the artist and Trautwein Herleth. paradigm spit, 2022, courtesy of the artist and Project Native Informant.