TW: mention of death, suicide, mental illness, pain, harm
When Joseph Awuah-Darko – also known as Okuntakinte – decided against medically assisted dying (MAiD) in July 2025, the internet erupted - flooding his social media with both love and disdain, commendation and shunning. The announcement threw his reputation into hot waters, yet again, with many speculating whether his entire journey was just a performance to garner sympathy and draw attention away from previous career tensions.
Awuah-Darko is a social media influencer with a background as an artist and curator. He captured the attention of millions with his profoundly raw, candid, and oftentimes messy account of life with bipolar disorder and PTSD, as well as his decision to pursue MAiD in The Netherlands. Through stylized writing about depression, trauma, and the relief which assisted dying might afford him, he has made the journey seem less alien and isolating. His mental health advocacy, especially being a gay man of color, is important in offering representation to those who have historically been, and really still are, left out of conversations surrounding mental health care, resources, and treatment options. To many, surely, he was a safe haven. It is necessary, therefore, to discuss the polarizing effects of his influence when the aesthetic of suffering is often not in line with an uncomfortable reality.
In 2024, Awuah-Darko launched “The Last Supper Project”, where he met strangers for an intimate meal and conversation. He invited the internet to witness his impending death - or rather what convinced him to live - in real time, reflecting on the tenderness and support we can extend by simply breaking bread. Having had a tumultuous journey - both with his mental health and quite literally as an undocumented immigrant in Europe - he asked those around him for kindness and to extend him the grace of hosting (and paying) him for dinner. All of these dinners have been documented on Awuah-Darko's Substack, where his hosts' stories and backgrounds become central to the experience, as much as the food itself. In the rebirth of supper clubs and dinner events in the art sphere, seen with the likes of Frieze, Dazed, and the 2sday Supper Club, it is no wonder that the series has gained so much traction.
Food is as nurturing as it is disarming, offering a glimpse into the emotional, cultural, and domestic backgrounds of participants. Much of the project’s intrigue lies in its incredibly fragile cycle of trust it requires; trusting in both parties’ sincerity, that kindness will not be abused, and privacy will be respected – trusting, simply, that it is a safe space. This is also a reflection of our desire for more personal, tangibly earnest experiences, thus adding to the credibility and integrity of Awuah-Darko’s cause in an entirely private manner. Ranging from those pursuing MAiD themselves to stars like SZA, he has been able to share 170 meals in 9 months. As impressive, exciting, and difficult as these journeys seem, much of the content we see is controlled, edited, and particularly geared to make us feel for and with.
In the age of “digital confession” few have blurred the line between life, online presence, and performance as dramatically as Awuah-Darko, making his struggles with mental health, ambition, and almost-death an evolving artwork – one which questions how we engage with authenticity, sympathy, and spectacle.

Image courtesy of Joseph Awuah-Darko. Available at Substack
Contemporary tragedies: compassion curdled by consumption
Before being dubbed “Britain’s first euthanasia influencer”, however, the Ghanaian-British writer, multidisciplinary artist, and entrepreneur was already a well-known and equally divisive figure in the art world. Having founded Noldor Artists Residency and The Institute Museum of Ghana in Accra, Awuah-Darko sought to create a platform for emerging African artists to gain visibility in the global art scene. In a complex, volatile market, purpose-driven initiatives like Noldor or Sorondo Project, which foreground marginalized and historically overlooked artists, are crucial to revitalizing collector interest and creative production. Yet his career is marred by controversy; while praised by the likes of Art Basel, The New York Times, and Artnet, he also stands accused of exploiting resident artists – raising questions about leadership and accountability.
The primary lawsuit was launched by Foster Sakyiamah who claimed to be owed upwards of $260,000, as well as having been kept in the dark about additional sales of artwork outside of the terms of his contract with JAD Advisory, by Awuah-Darko personally. The public allegations, which escalated into a lawsuit, coincided with the time at which Awuah-Darko announced his decision to pursue MAiD in December 2024. Although the court case is still ongoing, it has been very much overshadowed by his pursuit of a way to cope with debilitating mental health issues. This interplay between moral scrutiny and seemingly boundless emotional exposure sits at the heart of Awuah-Darko’s public identity – a tension which both undermines and upholds his credibility, holding a fragile balance. Many still speculate on the authenticity of his endeavours - both professional and personal - producing a slew of Reddit forums, articles, and investigative social media accounts. The primary criticism, not at all unfounded, seems to be how troubling it is to publicly portray euthanasia and MAiD as a tender solution or standard treatment option, risking the romanticization of suicide and undermining its gravity. Equally, many also came to his support, recognizing the complexity, the highs and lows, of struggling with a chronic mental illness and trauma. Whether his efforts to nurture artistic development, his inadequate treatment of artists, or his radical transparency, one thing is undeniable; Awuah-Darko has a magnetic influence on millions.
Representation, meaning, and the attention economy
The more pressing concern, however, is our enduring obsession with the struggling artist. Is suffering a performance meant to inspire or exploit people’s fears, vulnerabilities, curiosities, and perversions? From Van Gogh and Diane Arbus to Mark Rothko and Frida Kahlo – we have romanticized the idea that suffering breeds beauty. Awuah-Darko’s almost-death fits this narrative, too, and the internet martyred him before he even died. His survival disrupted this fantasy, and those who sought representation and refuge found themselves torn between a sense of betrayal and revelation. Detailed investigative reports and a history of professional misconduct further deepened these feelings by challenging his authenticity. This position is a double-edged sword; a mental health advocate with a large following can easily, if unintentionally, become a negative influence to a large audience struggling to cope, especially in the age of disinformation. Self-diagnoses through simple Google searches, a lack of access to resources, and very easy access to a portfolio of self-proclaimed online mental health advocates leaves a vast majority of internet-users susceptible to suggestion and inadequate treatment. Visibility, having access to millions of minds means living with the possibility of having words, thoughts, and ideas skewed.

Awuah-Darko, Joseph. (2024). June 28, P.M, 2024. Image courtesy of Ed Cross Fine Art.
If we were to compare it to the work of Marina Abramović - the godmother of performance art - we can see certain similarities. Most notably, her Rhythms series (1973-4) and The Artist is Present (2010), explore human nature; in the former the more dark and sinister tendencies we have when freed from moral and legal frameworks; and the latter the agency, presence, and sincere connection of strangers through a gesture as simple as sitting at a table together and looking at each other in silence. With Rhythm 0 (1974), famously, Abramović offered her audience a selection of 72 tools to inflict either pain or pleasure. The 6-hour long performance confirmed the worst - when given power, especially over a passive subject, people become virtually amoral, inflicting hurt - both physically and emotionally - on the object of their attention. Giving the general public unfiltered access to influencers’ and artists’ lives, their achievements and insecurities, is a litmus test for society’s frustration and need for a different outlet which absolves them, superficially, of responsibility. Art always has been a sign of the times.
Her recent exhibition at Saatchi Yates in London and performance at Factory International in Manchester are testament to our fascination with works which question the very essence of ethics, morality, connection, and the extent to which we hold ourselves accountable. This reignited interest in performance art, like that of Marina Abramović, is a sign of the times - people need to feel more and experience more. A real body is much easier to relate to – and easier to reject. Where Abramović explores the very extremes of the body’s physical ability - both her own and her audience’s - to exercise and withstand control; Awuah-Darko’s exposure of the body reveals how these same impulses - guided by empathy, curiosity, and cruelty - manifest in the digital sphere.
The “art of dying online” is a catchy title, and perhaps that is also the point – so intriguing it might overshadow the question of how we perceive and consume suffering – as we navigate authenticity and meaning online. Inspired by the works of the likes of Qualesha Wood, this article, however, hopes to inspire a deeper introspection into representation, obsession, and new media in our search for identity, community, and truth. The case of Awuah-Darko and the questions we are left with, can be a starting point.
Did he genuinely help destigmatize mental illness or has struggle become a currency in the exchange of empathy, monetizing on people’s vulnerability? Putting aside the morality of his actions, which leaves some room for skepticism, it is at the end of the day a question of how we engage with sensationalism.
The answer is unclear and the inquiry uncomfortable because it implicates us. His audience made his suffering viral. His proximity to death, his vulnerability, and the space he held for others was rewarded with likes, shares, and critique in equal parts. Joseph Awuah-Darko’s greatest piece, then, might have been the orchestrating of human behaviour – a study on a generation’s fascination with tragedy. Maybe the real artwork is not “The Last Supper Project” but rather our collective hunger for it.




