In the expansive halls of the Southern Guild in Los Angeles, a revolutionary shift in the artistic expressions of Zanele Muholi is on display. Known primarily for their penetrating photographic self-portraits that have spotlighted the LGBTQ+ community over two decades, Muholi is venturing into the realm of sculpture, magnifying their commitment to visibility and representation.

The new exhibition, marked by both its grand scale and poignant themes, showcases Muholi's transition from capturing light through the camera lens to molding form and essence in bronze and other materials. The larger-than-life sculptures and wall-size images are more than just art; they are a profound statement. Muholi's intent is clear: to draw viewers into an immersive experience where the scales of visibility are not just seen but felt. "We don’t often see ourselves in that monumental scale, size, and color," Muholi explains to Vanity Fair. This isn’t merely a physical expansion of medium but a necessary escalation in the dialogue about identity, presence, and visibility.

Muholi's photographic series, such as *Somnyama Ngonyama: Hail the Dark Lioness* and *Faces and Phases*, have long been celebrated for their introspective intensity and historical resonance. These series not only confront the viewer with the stark realities faced by Black LGBTQ+ South Africans but also weave intricate tales of resilience using simple everyday items. The move to include large-scale sculptures draped in clerical robes or shaped into symbols of fertility and identity like uteruses and genitalia is a bold escalation of this narrative, questioning the intersections of religion, anatomy, and sexuality.

Muholi’s sculptures echo the path paved by previous radical self-portraitists like Frida Kahlo and Claude Cahun, who also used their art to delve into deep personal and political realms. These figures, known for their unapologetic portrayal of self and identity, provide a foundational echo in Muholi's work. There is a palpable lineage of defiance and visibility that Muholi is both inheriting and propelling forward. “To be invisible is painful. To make that silence visible is political,” Muholi states, underlining the activism inherently woven into their artistic fabric.

As visitors traverse the exhibition, they are invited to engage with the rich contrasts of black and white prints and the visceral hues of bronze, gold, and oxblood red sculptures. Each piece serves as a testament to the agony and ecstasy of Muholi's personal and communal narratives. It is a reminder of the courageous and often solitary path of an artist who dares to make the invisible, visible.

Through this bold venture into sculpture, Muholi is not just expanding their artistic repertoire but also challenging the public to confront and reconsider the dimensions of representation. In doing so, they continue to forge an indelible mark on both the art world and the broader movements for social justice and equity. As we witness this evolution, it becomes clear that Muholi's work is not just seen; it demands interaction, contemplation, and ultimately, transformation. This exhibition is not just a viewing but an awakening, a call to the transformative power of art in the ongoing fight for visibility and rights.