Fransisca Angela

When my oma died, I discovered that she was forced, like all Chinese-Indonesians under the Suharto regime, to change her name—from Souw Hong Nio to Elisabeth. This history of oppression and erasure of language, culture, and tradition in public influenced how my practice revolves around the importance of collective remembrance. The act of trying to recall a memory, a forgotten past, or a place that no longer exists, often arrives not as a whole but fragmented. I use fragments as a language in how I write, photograph, film, and build spaces.

The Magnolia Grows at Night, began with letters between my oma, and her Dutch nun friend, Zr. Edmundis Verstappen, who went to missionary work in the Dutch East Indies. The friendship started after my grandmother delivered a dozen eggs to the monastery, and she was asked to work at a hospital in Lahat, Sumatra. I have been keeping these letters for a decade since my grandmother died while her children emptied her house. In February 2024, I visited the monastery in Maastricht, where my oma's friend used to live. There, I found a community of Indonesian nuns caring for the elderly Dutch nuns. A large Magnolia tree stood inside the convent's garden, witnessing the care duties and devoted lives these women have chosen to live.

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Fransisca Angela uses image, text, film, and installation to capture everyday lived experiences. Her work mainly touches upon human stories in relation to place, the in-between, and collective memory. Through personal narratives, she invites people to experience life fragments that allow them to reimagine a new reality, standing in for what has been lost amidst adversity. Central to her practice is creating space for collective consciousness through storytelling, and conversation.