Renowned American artist Kehinde Wiley is once again reshaping the way we view power. This time, he’s done it through a bold new series of portraits of African leaders—staged, styled, and painted with the elegance of Old World nobility, yet anchored firmly in the present.
Unveiled at the Mohammed VI Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Rabat, Morocco, A Maze of Power is Wiley’s latest exploration of identity, authority, and representation. The exhibit, which previously toured Paris and Dakar, places African heads of state in grandiose, regal settings—settings historically reserved for monarchs and emperors in European portraiture. The result? A deeply layered, almost confrontational take on what power looks like when Black bodies occupy the frame.
“I wanted to examine power—not just glorify it,” Wiley said during the exhibition’s opening. “There’s beauty in authority, but also tension. This work sits in that complexity.”
Wiley, widely celebrated for his 2018 portrait of former U.S. President Barack Obama seated calmly amidst a lush thicket of flowers, has long made a name for himself by centering Black identity in places where it’s often been absent. From anonymous young men in streetwear posed like Renaissance dukes, to now the most visible political figures on the African continent, his subjects are never passive; they command your gaze.
Each portrait in A Maze of Power brings something distinct to the canvas. Ethiopia’s former president Sahle-Work Zewde is rendered poised, contemplative, framed by a cityscape of Addis Ababa and holding a single flower. In a more assertive stance, Madagascar’s former leader Hery Rajaonarimampianina is shown on horseback, evoking imperial grandeur. And Alassane Ouattara, president of Côte d’Ivoire, grips a sword with intensity, his furrowed brow capturing the weight of leadership.
Wiley’s vision, though, goes beyond the individual. The series isn’t an endorsement or critique of the subjects’ political legacies—many of whom have been tied to controversies ranging from repression to corruption. “This isn’t about judging the men and women themselves,” Wiley explained. “It’s about dissecting the image of leadership, the aesthetics of control, and what happens when you frame power through an unfamiliar lens.”
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In many ways, A Maze of Power functions like a cultural mirror. The portraits evoke admiration and discomfort, often in equal measure. Viewers are pushed to confront not just the people depicted, but also their own assumptions about who gets to be seen as powerful, and how.
The exhibit also marks a turning point for Rabat’s museum, as it seeks to establish itself as a nucleus for African art. It’s no coincidence that Wiley’s work arrives just ahead of the highly anticipated Museum of the African Continent, set to open across the street next year. For Morocco, the timing is symbolic; for African contemporary art, it’s a statement of ambition.
Wiley, reflecting on the process, shared how the Obama portrait opened doors—literally. Gaining access to presidents and persuading them to pose took patience, charm, and sometimes politics of its own. Using photography as a foundation, he staged each leader in elaborate, often imagined settings, pulling from classical art history to inform his compositions.
The finished works are not simply about politics, Wiley insists. They’re about perception. “We rarely see African leadership immortalized this way,” he said. “It’s time we changed the frame.”
With A Maze of Power, Wiley isn’t just painting portraits. He’s painting possibilities—of how African identity, strength, and presence can be seen, felt, and remembered on a grand, unapologetic scale.
