Benkum Art

Between the Marks

A man crouches at the edge of a small irrigation canal, one hand braced against a weathered concrete gauge post marked with old repainted bands, a solar-powered lamp glowing faintly above it, his other hand reaching toward the water where the level sits between two of the post’s marks; a tin kettle, tea glass, and woven basket rest on the muddy bank among reeds and a distant palm.

Two marks, one river. It still won’t pick a side.

One More

A figure kneels on the floor of a bare, lamplit room beside a nearly full cardboard parcel box — folded cloth, a bundle, and a single shoe already inside — while a hand rests on the floor beside the shoe’s unpacked match, a work uniform and bag hanging on the wall, a lit lantern and a woven basket nearby, city lights visible through a window at dusk.

Everything else made the cut. One thing still being weighed.

Already Landed

A woman steps from a weathered stone jetty onto a wooden boat at dawn, her back foot lifting clear of the stone as her front foot plants flat on the deck, coral-stone buildings and a minaret rising along the shore behind her, the water below dark and unsettled.

The water hasn’t settled.

Steady Without Me

A woman in a deep orange boubou stands calm and grounded in the raw, unfinished interior of a concrete building, lit by daylight through an unglazed window opening, as bare columns recede into shadow behind her.

This room isn’t finished yet. I already am.

Nothing Left to Tie

A figure kneels beside a sealed burlap sack of grain, testing its tied knot, as more stacked sacks fade into shadow behind.

I’ve checked the same knot three times now.

Yet to Let Go

A silhouetted figure grips a weathered doorframe, looking out at an empty, rain-slicked market of covered stalls beneath a stormy sky.

Seconds to the hand. Time to the day.