This week on the Sunday Visit, we are honored to welcome artist Nnenna Okore, whose work bridges ecology, materiality, and community practice through powerful sculptural installations and tactile explorations of the natural world. Working with biodegradable substances and fibers, Nnenna brings attention to cycles of transformation, decay, and renewal, echoing both the fragility and resilience of our ecosystems. Her artistic journey, deeply rooted in cultural traditions and environmental consciousness, invites us to consider not only the beauty of organic matter but also our responsibility to the earth.
What first sparked your interest in working with biodegradable and natural materials like bioplastics, cheesecloth, and fibers in your sculpture and installation work?
From the early stages of my career, I’ve been deeply concerned about the levels of waste production and ecological impact that artmaking produces. As artists, we are often encouraged to produce large, ambitious works, many of which not only rely on harmful or toxic materials but also leave behind significant waste. Because my practice is rooted in reflecting on nature and how we can create forms more responsibly, I chose to focus on materials that are naturally sourced, biodegradable, and easily repurposed in environmentally conscious ways. For me, using materials like bioplastics, cheesecloth, and fibers allows the work to remain in dialogue with the cycles of nature. In other words, the materials I use derive from earthly sources and can be safely returned to nature without causing more harm. I am also intrigued by the idea of impermanence- that my works, like all living things, can transform and even decay over time. This quality of degradation mirrors the natural world and makes the art itself a meditation on life, change, and renewal.
How does your choice of material—especially those sourced or dyed from plant-based/natural sources—shape the conceptual and sensory impact of your art?
That’s a really good question, because I perceive my materials not only as a means to an end, but as co-actants or co-collaborators. I see them as active agents whose qualities, color, texture, smell, and tactility breathe life into the work and shape its identity. For me, the meaning of the artwork is inseparable from the materiality itself. Take cheesecloth, for example: its light, gossamer quality allows it to sway gently when someone passes by, animating the piece in a way no other material could. That subtle responsiveness becomes part of the work’s language, evoking liveliness and presence. In this way, the conceptual and sensory dimensions of my art are inseparably bound. Each gesture, movement, and sensation arises directly from the character of the material.
Can you share a defining moment or project that deepened your commitment to addressing ecological issues or waste through participatory art?
Part of my practice, as a teacher and artist, focuses on engaging others in my artmaking process as a way of creating dialogue and learning. A pivotal moment came about five years ago, when, during a research project, I discovered I could produce my own bioplastic materials from fruit and vegetable scraps. That realization was transformative. It not only enabled me to reduce waste in my own artmaking but also opened up possibilities for rethinking how we source and value materials. From that point, I began inviting participants into my studio to experiment with bioplastics beside me. These sessions quickly evolved into much more than material exploration. They became opportunities for storytelling, reflection, and conversation about our relationship to the environment. It led to the development of several new bioplastic works and ecological projects that were inspired by the engagement with others in new and unpredictable ways.
Do traditional women’s crafts and indigenous Nigerian fiber processes inform your methods of fraying, teasing, dyeing, or assembling organic forms?
Yes, though my influences are wide-ranging, aspects of Nigerian women’s craft traditions continue to inform my practice. Growing up there, I often observed local women weaving mats and fabrics at different stages, and those experiences subtly shaped my own processes. For instance, I approach fraying, dyeing, or sewing fibers slowly and intentionally, much like the deliberate pace of traditional craftwork. Perhaps the most important lesson I absorbed from these women is that the act of making is never just about the object. It is also about the rhythms of time, patience, and human connection. Craft processes often unfold slowly, creating space for kinship, storytelling, and trust within the community. In my own work, embracing this slowness allows me to listen more closely to the materials, to reconsider what they are capable of, and to let the forms emerge through endurance and care.
How did your collaboration with Botanical Colors begin, and what excites you most about working alongside natural dye artists and specialists?
I first reached out to Botanical Colors when I realized the scope of one of my projects was larger than I could manage on my own. In my studio, I typically dye fabrics when the quantity is small and manageable, but this installation required hundreds of yards of fabric, which was far beyond what I could handle alone. I knew I needed the expertise and capacity of a professional team. I was thrilled when Botanical Colors agreed to collaborate. They were not only receptive to my ideas but also generous in offering creative solutions and techniques to help achieve my goals. What excites me most about working with natural dye specialists is the spirit of exchange. It’s a dialogue between my artistic vision and their deep technical knowledge of plant-based dyes. That collaboration opened up new possibilities, allowing me to see how the dyeing process itself could become an extension of the artwork.
For your recent or upcoming works, what drew you to embrace plant-based dyes—and how does color become a vehicle for environmental and social meaning in your pieces?
Since my practice already involves plant-based fibers, it was a natural progression to also use plant-based dyes. For my most recent installation, the context was especially important because the work was to be displayed in a botanical greenhouse garden. Using only nature-friendly, non-toxic materials was essential, not just to protect the plants and surrounding bio-life but also to align the work conceptually with the environment in which it lived. The colors and forms were directly inspired by the garden’s plants and flowers. By echoing their vibrancy, I wanted to highlight the awe and vitality of the natural world. Color, for me, is more than aesthetic. It serves as an invitation. It draws people in, creates a sense of joy and wonder, and encourages viewers to consider their own relationship with the environment. In that sense, color is not just visual but also ecological and social; it connects people emotionally to the work while reinforcing the urgency of caring for the natural systems that sustain us.
What have you learned about the challenges or benefits of using exclusively biodegradable, naturally pigmented materials at scale?
There are certainly some challenges; however, the benefits far outweigh them. At a large scale, one of the main difficulties with natural dyes is achieving consistency, as organic pigments often produce variations in saturation and tone. So, the fabric doesn’t always take on color evenly. While this can feel unpredictable, I’ve also come to embrace it as part of the material’s character and liveliness. That said, the benefits are amazing. By sourcing materials ethically and working with biodegradable pigments, I know I am creating my art in a way that is ecologically responsible and aligned with my values. This process allows me to be a better steward of the planet, minimizing environmental harm while also producing work that is deeply connected to the natural environment. On a personal level, it brings me great satisfaction to know that my practice not only speaks about ecological issues but embodies them in material form.
Your new installation “Between Earth and Sky” at Kew Gardens uses large-scale, biodegradable sculptural forms—can you share your vision for this work and why you chose those particular plant-based materials and shapes?
When I first visited the garden, I was immediately struck by the individuality of the plants. Their leaves seemed to hold distinct personalities. Some were small and delicate, while others stretched wide and expansive, almost as if they were extending a hand of friendship. I felt an instant kinship with this biodiverse landscape. In creating Between Earth and Sky, I wanted to honor that experience by reflecting forms, colors, and textures that evoked the garden’s warmth and generosity. Using plant-based materials felt like the most natural choice. Not only because they echo the organic life of the garden, but also because they biodegrade, returning to the cycles of nature they are meant to celebrate. The shapes reference the fluidity and vitality of leaves and flowers, inviting viewers into a space that feels alive, welcoming, and in constant conversation with the living environment around it.
How do you hope audiences in a botanical garden setting experience the relationship between your forms and the living plants around them?
I was very intentional about using vibrant colors to draw the viewer’s attention to the installation and the surrounding plants. I hope that the work serves as a gentle but urgent call to reflect on nature’s role in our daily lives. By creating the piece with ethically sourced fabrics and natural dyes, I also invite audiences to think about the materials they acquire and use, especially textiles, and to consider their full lifecycle. In so doing, I want people to reflect on how mindful fashion and consumption choices can help reduce waste, mitigate labor exploitation, and lessen the ecological toll of synthetic dyes. Importantly, I hope the installation encourages visitors to have a deeper connection to the living garden around them, while also inspiring shifts in how they relate to the broader natural environment.
Are there particular plants, textures, or environmental phenomena from your research at Kew that inspired this commission?
I was deeply struck by the breadth of horticultural research that sustains Kew Gardens. Until my first visit, I hadn’t realized the extent to which the Royal Botanical Gardens function as a hub for academic study and ecological knowledge. Two resources, in particular, that left a strong impression on me were the fungi collection, with its thousands of mushroom species, and the plant-based fiber archives. Encountering so many fibers, many of which I had only read about before, and being able to touch, smell, and study them up close was profoundly inspiring for me. Those tactile, sensory experiences directly fueled the concepts and material choices behind this commission.
How do you balance your roles as artist, researcher, and educator in fostering public dialogue about waste, sustainability, and new material possibilities in art?
When you think about it, the acronym for artist, researcher, and teacher is A.R.T. In essence, these roles are connected and overlap for me. In my lived experience, I am constantly learning, teaching, dialoging, and creating. These practices support each other and often intersect. For example, when I create work, I frequently involve others in my process, not only to learn from them but also to discover new ideas that come from that interaction. During teaching, new questions or inquiries often arise for me due to my learning and creative experiences with students. Likewise, my research is a way of fostering social engagement, ecological dialogue, and material experimentation, all of which circle back into artmaking. In short, my roles as artist, researcher, and teacher are not separate; rather, they are deeply interwoven practices that continually shape and enrich one another.
What do you hope people carry with them after encountering and interacting with your work—especially in large-scale public exhibitions like Kew Gardens?
If people could make connections to the natural world and feel a sense of appreciation for the materiality and meaning of the work, then I have succeeded. I also hope the installation sparks conversations and inspires workshops or other forms of dialogue that extend beyond the exhibition space. Most importantly, I want the work to draw people in, invite them to pause, and reflect on how they might live more sustainably and with greater empathy for the planet.
Looking forward, are there ecological or social concerns you feel especially called to address in future projects, collaborations, or teaching?
I feel especially called to address the ecological impact of the art sector itself. Too often, the practices of art-making and exhibition-production carry a heavy carbon footprint, and I believe it is vital for institutions and academies to rethink how they engage with these processes. We need critical conversations in schools, studios, and white spaces about what must change if we are to shift the downward trajectory of climate change. I am passionate about encouraging artists and institutions to explore alternatives such as plant-based, less toxic, and less wasteful methods that can redefine what sustainable art looks like. At its heart, this is about extending the ethics of care to the planet and reimagining our creative practices so that they reduce rather than compound climate-related harm.
To see Nnenna’s work at Kew Gardens: https://www.kew.org/kew-gardens/whats-on/material-world
