I first spotted Pape “Nene” Ndiaye climbing up a perillous ridge on his way back to his bunker/studio with a bucket of fresh fish and mussels.
On top of the bunker — actually a gun emplacement from early colonial times — was daubed, “Fucking forbidden”. It would have been quite an experience nonetheless, overlooking a 200 foot drop to the surf-smashed rocks below.
Inside the bunker, I met Pape crouching over a little fire, cooking large mussels in a covered pan. The space was full of smoke and the ceiling was blackened, but I was immediately drawn to the large paintings on the cement walls … (to be posted when I have some free time)