London-based Timothy Mpofu, also known as Bezalel (b. 2000) is a self-taught South African artist. His incisive work across a wide variety of media — including plywood, collage, and image-based assemblage—explores his unique vision of the structures that shape visibility, desire, and the gaze, and draws on sources as diverse as Japanese gravure magazines, and visual culture. 

You are a South African artist currently pursuing an MFA in Fine Art at Goldsmiths, University of London. Could you briefly  introduce yourself? 

Hi, my name is Timothy Mpofu, also known as Bezalel, and I’m a multimedia figurative artist currently doing my MFA in Fine Art at  Goldsmiths, University of London. My work explores voyeurism, image culture, spectatorship, and the body through sculpture on wood. 

Do you focus exclusively on representing Black women’s bodies? 

Not necessarily. For my “On Wood Series” it’s more connected to my own projections and position as a Black artist. A lot of the imagery  comes from my own voyeuristic relationship to looking and consuming images through magazines, online media, and archives. So, the  women in the work are filtered through my own perspective and fascinations rather than trying to represent Black women universally. Their skin tone also becomes part of that mediation and projection rather than a direct representation of identity. 

Why did you choose to work with wood? And with collage? 

I work with plywood because I’m interested in the tension between the natural and the man-made. It’s a material that begins as  something organic but is processed, layered, and manufactured, which for me parallels the body and identity within contemporary  image culture. It carries both something human and artificial at the same time and also raises questions around whether desire itself is  something instinctive or something constructed through images and media. 

With collage, I’m interested in the act of assembling fragments together almost like a form of alchemy. The materials aren’t neutral to me — they’re symbolic. Bringing different images and surfaces together becomes a way of embodying something psychological or spiritual through matter. 

What inspiration do you find in Japanese magazines that other Western archives do not provide you with? 

I’m interested in the stylisation and performance within the imagery, especially within gravure magazines. The images feel very aware of themselves as images. There’s often a soft, surreal atmosphere to them that can feel almost “realer than real,” where intimacy becomes highly constructed and aestheticised. I’m drawn to the tension between innocence, desire, and performance within these  images, but also the darker undertones surrounding parts of the industry, particularly the sexualisation of youth. That contradiction between seduction and discomfort is something I connect to in my own work. 

Is there a specific image, magazine, or visual reference that has stayed with you? 

Not necessarily a specific image. I’m probably more interested in platforms like Instagram and OnlyFans as contemporary image systems. What interests me is how they’ve become new modes of looking that condition how we see and desire things. I’m interested in how platforms blur the line between personal desire and algorithmic recommendation, where what feels like a personal choice is often shaped by systems operating in the background.

With platforms like OnlyFans, I’m also interested in how creators are producing images in relation to opaque datasets and algorithmic systems. Visibility becomes something that has to be negotiated through metrics such as likes, comments, engagement, and reach. In that sense, the image is no longer just being made for a viewer, but also for an algorithm.

Your work Wagyu brings together the female body, flesh, and meat. What were you trying to convey through this title? 

I use the cow as a way to think about the intersection between the natural and the man-made. Cattle are biologically real but also  heavily human-engineered, and their whole purpose within our culture is to be produced, extracted from, and consumed. Titles like Cow’s Milk and Wagyu point to that dynamic. They become metaphors for what’s taken from bodies once they’re folded into systems of manufacture, desire, and value. So, in that sense, it is a critique of the commodification of the body.

Japan has a long history of erotic representation, from shunga to modern printed magazines. What does this continuity evoke for you? 

It makes me think about larger questions around what it means to be human in relation to technology and image-making. Even though  the forms change—from shunga prints to digital and printed magazines—there’s still this persistent desire to stylize, mediate, and aestheticize intimacy. A lot of the imagery can feel strangely surreal, almost hyperreal, where sexuality becomes constructed through fantasy, performance, and media rather than something purely natural. 

Do you think the relationship to the body differs depending on countries/cultures? And for example, in Japan, what image is  conveyed through gravure magazines? 

Yeah, definitely. I think sexual imagery always shifts alongside cultural change. In Japan, because there’s historically been a more repressive relationship to sexuality publicly, a lot of the imagery can become extremely stylised, performative, and exaggerated. Sometimes it even feels more explicit psychologically than pornography itself, because so much of it operates through fantasy, suggestion, and hyper-aestheticisation rather than direct realism.

Do you think exhibiting your work in Japan could play a role in bridging the gap in the representation of the Black body within the art world, particularly in terms of visibility, and recognition? 

Possibly, but I wouldn’t want the work to become only about representation. My approach to art comes more from an outsider perspective, so the projection of self within the work isn’t always fully intentional. At the same time, I do think erotic imagery has always been connected to questions of visibility and social acceptability. For example, Playboy’s inclusion of Black women during the Civil Rights era didn’t necessarily disrupt racial hierarchies, but it did show how sexual imagery shifts alongside political and cultural change.