In a magnificently preserved brownstone in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, a portrait of Soull and Dynasty Ogun’s mother, Elthire Josephine, sits above a fireplace. The twins—who use the brownstone as the showroom, atelier, and gallery for their lifestyle brand, L’Enchanteur—have lovingly recreated this image of their mother, who died four years ago, in their jewelry. “It was taken when she was getting her immunization forms when she became a US citizen,” Soull says with a smile.
Such seemingly minor biographical details are what animate L’Enchanteur, which was born in 2012 after Soull and Dynasty merged their independent labels—Alkhemi9 and BRZÉ, respectively. Since then, the identical twins have steadily become a force in artistic and fashion circles. The artist Mickalene Thomas is a longtime friend and collaborator of theirs, as is Lena Waithe. Beyoncé, Jay-Z, Lauryn Hill, Erykah Badu, and Lenny Kravitz have all worn pieces by L’Enchanteur. Last year the brand was awarded the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund, and this year L’Enchanteur will contribute to The Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute’s spring exhibition, “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style.” “Journeying through their work allows you to unapologetically and authentically become the fairy-tale version of yourself,” Thomas has said, “which, in our complex world, is enlightened.”
Their mythical aesthetic—where ancient-looking symbols and talismans merge with the Black immigrant culture of Brooklyn in unexpected or surprising ways—was evident on a recent afternoon visit to the brownstone, whose walls and ceilings have been hand-painted by a friend of the owner (the Ogun sisters rent the home from a retired police officer), and where they have surrounded themselves with Nigerian antiques and totems (their father is Yoruba, their mother from Dominica); Mesoamerican artifacts; artworks by friends; and furniture, textiles, and objects of their own design.
On a nearby wall hung a silver-flecked textile made by Dynasty, inspired by a childhood accident in which she burned her skin in a bathtub of scalding water. Soull had displayed a series of jewelry pieces she calls astral beings: sculptures made with mother-of-pearl and black onyx checkerboards. Next to them were two of her crowns, or gold headpieces. One was composed of gold nameplates of famous Brooklynites, from Barbra Streisand to Lil’ Kim; the other was made to look like a roller set from a beauty parlor.
There is a long tradition of artists working in the decorative arts, points out their gallerist Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn, of Salon 94 Design, who recently sold work of theirs to the Brooklyn Museum. “Alexander Calder made jewelry with wires and pounding gold,” says Greenberg Rohatyn. “He made crowns for his grandchildren that they wore when they put on plays. He made jewelry for his friends. He eventually had incredible jewelry exhibitions in museums and galleries.” She compares the Ogun sisters to the German artist Karl Fritsch, whose sculptural rings are often made from old jewelry. “They love to collect objects from relatives, neighbors, their local jeweler, and they are able to recombine these pieces into their own language,” says Greenberg Rohatyn.
Soull and Dynasty have been developing this language almost since the day they were born in 1984, growing up in a loving household where their parents prized science and the arts, and attempted to shield them from the consumerism that dominates American childhood. “The things we lacked made us make stuff,” explains Soull. “We invented games. We really wanted to be on Wheel of Fortune, so we made [our own] Wheel of Fortune. We sold lemonade and Kool-Aid in the summer to buy Monopoly.” They were the last of six children, and twins ran in the extended family. “Even though our father had these children, he was like, I’m supposed to get twins,” Soull says. In their creative pursuits, they are largely autodidacts: Soull has taught herself metallurgy, casting, and carving; Dynasty knows patternmaking and sewing.
The duo have an ease, often finishing each other’s sentences. In their 20s, they discovered that they often had the same dreams. They begin their days texting one another, and both practice morning meditation, before getting to work. Both are also queer. “I’m definitely queer because queer means odd,” says Dynasty. “What I mean: I’m Dynasty. But I love women. I date women.” They don’t have children, but L’Enchanteur is their baby.
On the day I arrived, the basement atelier was orderly but overwhelming, filled with long chains made of interlocking keys, gold face and nose pieces, bolo tie hardware, tennis bracelets, amulets, bangles, pearl-embellished gold spectacles, Moroccan booties, and gold rings. It all gives an impression of teeming abundance, but the sisters believe everything they create eventually finds its way to the right person. “We obviously make a lot of custom pieces,” says Dynasty. “When someone connects with a piece we’ve made—even if we’ve never met them before—we say it has chosen them.”
