Read more …

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Karin Guggeis

  Objects from the Global South in early collections of the Global North often lack any information about their specific local context. This is also true for this wooden sculpture made from a single block of hard wood, carved with different figures and forms on two sides and painted with natural colours in red, white and black. It was acquired in 1893 by the “Royal Ethnographic Collection” (Königlich Ethnographische Sammlung) in Munich, today the Museum Fünf Kontinente. No specific information about its geographic origin, its producers, users or use was documented in the inventory book. “Huge four-edged block, 1.80 high made of heavy wood, double-sided carved with human figures and lizards, heavily damaged by termites” is the only information recorded. The wooden block was sent from “Cameroon” (Kamerun) which is therefore documented as its region of origin. It was given to the museum as a present by Max von Stetten, a colonial officer in the German colony.

   

  The post gained a new layer of significance through its inclusion in the almanac “The Blue Rider” (Der Blaue Reiter), one of the most famous and important publications on art in the early 20th century in the Global North. The almanac was edited in 1912 by two artists based in the environs of Munich, Franz Marc and the Russian Wassily Kandinsky. They designed the publication as a starting point for a new epoch of art, rejecting academic art and encouraging new forms of artistic expression. Thus, Kandinsky and Marc included reproductions of different non-canonical art forms, such as artworks from the Middle Ages, folk art, art made by children – and non-Western artworks, in those days called “art of the primitives” (Kunst der Primitiven), among them this sculpted block from Cameroon. In this way, the editors of the almanac aimed to break down the hierarchies between art forms from different times, regions and levels of professional skill, and to expand the canon of art in the Global North.

   

  The editors’ fascination with non-European art had different roots: Wassily Kandinsky was a trained ethnographer and often visited ethnographic museums. Franz Marc, since his visit to the ethnographic museum in Berlin in 1911, especially admired sculptures from Cameroon. Thus Marc included a photograph of this wooden block to illustrate August Macke’s article “The Masks” (Die Masken). Marc captioned the picture simply “Cameroon” (Kamerun), its known geographic origin, and the country whose sculptures he admired.

   

  

   Fig 1: Almanac "Der Blauer Reiter" (page 58-59)

   

  In his article, the artist Macke stressed that for Africans their “idols” (Idole), as he called their sculptures, were a “visible expression of an invisible idea”, “a personification of an abstract term”. He also stressed the equality of the art forms from different times and regions. For example, Macke valued bronze works from the kingdom of Benin, in what is today Nigeria, and other ethnographic works, because they are just as expressive as a grave marker in the cathedral at Frankfurt. To demonstrate this non-hierarchical attitude to art from different regions and times, Marc and Kandinsky placed two photographs side by side on a double page in the almanac – on one side the Gothic figure of a knight, and on the other a bronze plaque showing a soldier from the kingdom of Benin, which also was in the collection of the Munich ethnological museum by then (Fig 1).

   

  The later fame of the almanac, and of its publishers Kandinsky and Marc as artists, led to the wooden sculpture being named “The Blue Rider Post” in the narrative of the museum.

   

  It is significant for global art history dominated by the Global North that, in contrast to our broad knowledge in respect of the European admirers of this object, very little is known about its original local context in the Global South. The state of our knowledge concerning its producer(s), its patron(s), its use, its specific place of origin, the meaning of special forms, colours, figures or gestures sculptured is poor. There are two reasons for this. First, in the Global North, there has been little interest in investigating its local context. Second, it is actually very difficult to carry out such investigations in respect of such badly documented early works in ethnological museums. To unfold these difficulties: the common method used to trace the local context of poorly recorded works is to look for stylistic similarities and ethnological background information concerning comparable objects in other collections or publications. Spending long periods doing fieldwork in the place of origin is too time- and money-consuming, as there are numerous badly recorded objects, especially in the early ethnological collections. Moreover, in the Forest region of East Cameroon, the assumed place of origin, there are numerous small ethnic communities which have been inadequately studied. Thus the poor results of previous research in the Global North are the following: The sculpted post is valued as unique in ethnological and art publications. Only single figures and their gestures show similarities with a few other objects in collections of the Global North. The current suggested origin of this carved work in view of these stylistic similarities is among the Lundu or Mbo people in the Forest region in East Cameroon. There it was probably used in a cult.

   

  A new approach has been made possible by a provenance research project of the Museum Fünf Kontinente, funded by the German Lost Art Foundation and the Bavarian State Ministry for Science and Art. In collaboration with scholars from Cameroun and the presumed source communities, members of the project are exploring the provenance and the local context of this special Cameroonian wooden block, as well as the whole collection from the German colony of Cameroon donated by Max von Stetten to the museum between 1893 and 1896. Hopefully the blank sheet regarding the original context of this wooden block will be filled.

   

  For comparison, also read Patrique deGraft-Yankson's analysis of this object here.

   

  The post in the context of the the repatriation discourse: Link

   

  References

  • Eisenhofer, Stefan (2009): Kulthauspfosten (?). In: Bujok, Elke (ed.): Der Blaue Reiter und das Münchner Völkerkundemuseums. Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde München, Hirmer, München. S. 16-18
  • Erling, Katharina (2000): Der Almanach Der Blaue Reiter. In: Hopfengart, Christine (ed.): Der Blaue Reiter. Bremen, Köln. S. 188-240.
  • Kecskési, Maria (1999): Skulptierter Holzblock. In: Kecskési, Maria (Hg.): Kunst aus Afrika. Museum für Völkerkunde München. Prestel, Munich, London, New York. S. 116.
  • Kecskési, Maria (1982): Zwei beschnitzte Holzblöcke. In: Kecskési, Maria (ed.): Kunst aus dem Alten Afrika. Pinguin, Innsbruck. S. 238-239, 72.
  • Macke, August (1912): Die Masken. In: Kandinsky, Wassily/ Marc, Franz: Der Blaue Reiter. Piper, Munich. S. S. 53-59.
  • Marc, Franz and Kandinsky, Wassily (eds) (1912): Der Blaue Reiter. Piper. Munich.

   

   

  published March 2020

Read more …

• 

  Bongani Mkhonza

  In this chapter, I trace the original source of the image that inspired the artwork by Sethembile Msezane titled, ‘Chapungu- The Day Rhodes Fell (2015). I envision that to get to the bottom of it, the etymology of the word ‘chapungu’ as used in the title of the artwork will have to be retraced and given context. The second section of the chapter discusses the content of the artwork in relation to how it endeavors to employ the old classical imagery in an attempt to negotiate new meanings. Lastly, borrowing from a family of critical discourse analysis theories (Fairclough and Wodak 1997; van Dijk 1997; Wodak 2001b) the strategies of monumentalisation as constructed by the dominant political culture will be analysed.

  
  What is in the title? The etymology of the word ‘chapungu’.
  
  The word chapungu is associated with a language used by the Shona people found in Zimbabwe. The Shona language developed as part of the greater Bantu heritage populating the central and southern Africa. According to the online VaShona project dictionary, the word chapungu refers to: “Any large, rapacious bird of the Falcon family, esp. of the general Aquila and Haliaeetus. The eagle is remarkable for strength, size, graceful figure, keenness of vision, and extraordinary flight” (https://vashona.com/en/dictionary/sna/chapungu). The Shona tribe of Zimbabwe created myths about the chipungu bird. Some elements of those myths seem to have been inspired by other world’s mythologies of birds with mythical powers. In the beliefs of the Shona, “the bird called chapungu (bateleur eagle) is a good omen, bringing protection and good fortune to a community” (Muzari 2013:1). The chapungu bird is also seen as a symbol of strength hope and renewal. The attributes used by the Shona people to describe the myths and beliefs about the chapungu bird seem to flow into the metaphor of a phoenix bird. Accordingly, I maintain that the context is key in recapturing the derivation of meaning behind the title of Msezane’s artwork. Shedding light on the etymology of the word ‘chapungu’ brings us to appreciate the connection between Cecil John Rhodes and the Shona people of Zimbabwe. Of course, to assume that the title ‘Chapungu - The Day Rhodes Fell’ (2015) is not connected to Cecil John Rhodes might be too farfetched. Evidence drawn from history shows that there is a direct relationship between Rhodes and Zimbabwe (formerly known as Rhodesia). Moreover, when you ask the Shona people where does the word Zimbabwe originate from, they will inform you that it is a Shona word for ‘Stone houses’. Stone houses are a “historical stone structure known as Great Zimbabwe, which is the second largest in Africa after the Egyptian pyramids” (https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/role-cecil-john-rhodes-british-south-african-company-conquest-matabeleland). Cecil John Rhodes and the British South African Company (BSAC) invaded Zimbabwe in 1890. After the invasion, the lands were named the Southern and Northern Rhodesia, to honour Cecil John Rhodes (https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/cecil-john-rhodes). This connection enlightens us in terms of what might have probed the artist to use the Shona word, ‘Chapungu’ as part of a title of her work.

   

  Old image new meanings
  The foreground of the artwork depicts an image of the artist spreading her arms far wide projecting a takeoff position. It is known knowledge that humans will never fly by flapping arms with wings. Therefore, this self-defining act transforms her incapable human physicality into a metaphysical creature that is capable and ready to fly. The act by this metaphysical creature can also be received as its yearning for freedom and justice. Moreover, it also becomes a creature that is able to defy and transcends time and space. In her artists statement Msezane (2016) concedes that “she employs strategies of creating self-definition that are deeply rooted in looking at her own past, be it through spirituality or relearning South African history and its alternate narratives” (Msezane 2016). The image of this creature is strategically deployed for the audience to perhaps liken its agency to that of a myth of the phoenix rising from the ashes.

   

  Associated with the temple of the Sun in Egypt, and re-invented in Greek mythology, the story of the phoenix has been appraised as one of the world’s most-loved stories. It is the mythology of the world of modern monsters as told and retold by writers, philosophers, artists and poets through generations. Tacitus and Ovid are the two great authors from the classical period who stand out when painting a picture of the phoenix mythology. Perhaps it is mostly because of the way that Tacitus ventures out to humanise the attributes and actions of the phoenix and he refers to it as ‘he/him’. While, Ovid negates the phoenix of subject pronouns which are only used when referring to people. In telling his story, Ovid refers to the phoenix as ‘it’.

   

  Tacitus narrated the story in the following detail, “in the consulship of Paulus Fabius (A.D. 34) the miraculous bird known to the world by the name of the Phoenix, after disappearing for a series of ages, revisited Egypt. It was attended in its flight by a group of various birds, all attracted by the novelty, and gazing with wonder at so beautiful an appearance. The first care of the young bird as soon as fledged, and able to trust to his wings, is to perform the obsequies of his father. However, this duty is not undertaken rashly. He collects a quantity of myrrh, and to try his strength makes frequent excursions with a load on his back. When he has gained sufficient confidence in his own vigour, he takes up the body of his father and flies with it to the altar of the Sun, where he leaves it to be consumed in flames of fragrance” (Bulfinch 19AD:[sp]).

   

  Ovid’s story is almost similar the one told by Tacitus. Ovid’s version is narrated as follows: “Most beings spring from other individuals; but there is a certain kind which reproduces itself. The Assyrians call it the Phoenix. It does not live on fruit or flowers, but on frankincense and odoriferous gums. When it has lived five hundred years, it builds itself a nest in the branches of an oak, or on the top of a palm tree. In this it collects cinnamon, and spikenard, and myrrh, and of these ‘materials builds a pile on which it deposits itself, and dying, breathes out its last breath amidst odours. From the body of the parent bird, a young Phoenix issues forth, destined to live as long as its predecessor. When this has grown up and gained sufficient strength, it lifts its nest from the tree (its own cradle and its parent’s sepulchre), and carries it to the city of Heliopolis in Egypt, and deposits it in the temple of the Sun” (Bulfinch 19AD:[sp]). To this end, Msezane’s (2015) artwork references a known classical image of the phoenix to negotiate her struggle to recover her lost forms of visibility as a black woman in South Africa. In this way, it can be said that she is born again. Msezane (2016) is quoted as expressing that, “by examining past and present representations of black women…, in public and private domains, [she] focuses on the omission of iconic black women in history and mythology” (Gallery Momo 2016:[sp]).

   

  At the background, the stage of the statue of ‘Rhodes falling’ is set. The site is loaded with the ambience of euphoria, yet almost similar to the scene of tragedy; it also gives you a baffling feeling of trepidation. A sense of uneasiness perhaps also emanates from an inferred ever presence of violence. Intended or imagined, the violence is visibly signaled by a force of a crane removing the statue. To anyone with eyes and curiosity, the crane’s arm also propounds an idea of a machine-gun. Unlike Camus’ (1942) existential theatre of the absurd, this background theatre in Msezane’s artwork seems to seal the fate of Rhodes, as if ‘he’ was going to be destroyed either way. Either by the truck that is physically depicted removing ‘him’ to a point of obscurity or by the machine gun.

   

  Monuments and dominant political power
  In concluding notes, monuments form part of a critical discourse in the legitimisation of a dominant political power structure. The public installation of powerful elites as iconic figures is either a precursor or descendant of the formulation of a nation. Either way, monuments and monumentalisation are a political construct that is trapped within the discourse of inclusion and exclusion. In response to this dilemma, Msezane’s artwork (2015) deploys a struggle to affirm the existence of the excluded in the formulation the powerful symbols for the nation. Most of all, her work challenges the percieved role of national symbols and commemoration spaces as key features in the portrayal of women as invisible subjects in history. As a young women growing up in Cape Town South Africa, Msezane looked around and saw no reflection of herself represented in public space such as the statues and monuments. Her performance piece where her female black body stands upright holding her wings straight out to the sides as if a phoenix rising from the ashes is indeed an act of self-affirmation. Msezane asks for no permissions but use the re-imaging as a strategy to re-insect her female black body as evidence of her existence.

   

  Bibliography

  • Birch, D. 2009: The Oxford Companion to English Literature (7 ed.) The Theatre of the Absurd (1942). Oxford University Press.
  • Bulfinch, T. 2019: AD Bulfinch’s mythology: the age of fable: the age of chivalry: legends of Charlemagne. New York: Modern Library.
  • Fairclough, N. and Wodak, R. 1997: Critical discourse analysis, in T. van Dijk (ed.), Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction. Vol. 2. London: Sage, pp. 258–84.
  • http://www.krugerpark.co.za/africa_bateleur_eagle.html (Accessed 20 January 2019).
  • https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/role-cecil-john-rhodes-british-south-african-company-conquest-matabeleland (Accessed 19 January 2019).
  • https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/cecil-john-rhodes (Accessed 19 January 2019).
  • http://www.unwomen.org/en/news/in-focus/women-and-the-sdgs (Accessed 23 January 2019).
  • https://vashona.com/en/dictionary/sna/chapungu (Accessed 20 January 2019).
  • Msezane, S. 2016: Artist statement. Gallery Momo, Johannesburg.
  • Msezane, S. 2017: Kwasuka Sukela: Re-imagined Bodies of a (South African) 90s Born Woman. Exhibition catalogue 2017, Gallery Momo, Cape Town
  • Muzari, G. 2013: When a luck-bringing bird falters. The Standard News. Zimbabwe.
  • van Dijk, T. (ed.) 1997: Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction. 2 Vols. London: Sage.
  • Wodak, R. 2001: What CDA is about — a summary of its history, important concepts and its developments, in R. Wodak and M. Meyer (eds), Methods of Critical Discourse Analysis. London: Sage, pp. 1–13.

   

   

  published November 2019

   

   

   

  

  Janina Totzauer

  "Rhodes Must Fall" - Personal Experiences of a Guest Student in Cape Town

  
  The protests around Rhodes Must Fall were a unique and cathartic experience for me as a German guest student in Cape Town in 2015. When I arrived in January, the city was on fire. Literally, because it was the hottest summer in a long time and Table Mountain had caught fire; figuratively, because something was boiling under the students. While the fire-fighting helicopters thundered over our heads, I caught up within a few weeks what the German school books on colonial history denied me. Cecil Rhodes, great colonial ruler and self-proclaimed philanthropist, had once donated large tracts of land to the University of Cape Town, securing for himself an imposing statue on the main campus. Sitting on a throne, the eternal bronze image gazes down from the heights of Table Mountain to the plains of Cape Town, the so-called Cape Flats, where even today many of the poorest of the poor live. The only problem with his patronage is that he illegally appropriated the building land that secured him the eternal gratitude of the university, befitting a colonial ruler. In other words, he stole the land from the locals and drove them out.
  
  Twenty-one years after the fall of Apartheid in South Africa, it seems overdue that such a ruler be overthrown. The first generation of "Free Borns", all South Africans born in free South Africa after 1994, had reached their third year at the University of Cape Town and they yearned for this reminder of the colonial past to fall.
  
  I remember hot afternoons spent in the streets. We demonstrated; all of us, white and black, "coloured" or "Indian" as they say in South Africa. Water bottles were passed around, the heat brought some of us to our knees. By the second demonstration, there were many more of us, hundreds. The driveway to the university was blocked. We were better organised. Water bottles, oranges and yoghurt were passed around. When I squinted puzzled at the countless milk cartons, they explained to me that they were there in case we had to wash our eyes out if the police would shoot at us with tear gas. I was still laughing. Later that afternoon, I provided milk to screaming faces and watery eyes. Art students staged performances and the main leaders fired up the crowd through the megaphone. "Rhodes Must Fall!", "Decolonise our University!" In between, old struggle songs were sung in Zulu. Songs that once accompanied the fall of Apartheid. I didn't understand a word, yet the power of the crowd pierced me. Something big was happening here, the history of the country yearned to be rewritten in the coming weeks.
  
  I pushed my way to the student-organised congress about the next demo on the main campus. I wanted to know where to help. The atmosphere was heated. There was a lot of shouting. Anger spoke from many speakers. I wanted to get involved and raised my hand when, after a while, it was announced that no white people were allowed to speak today. I couldn't believe it at first. I was raging inside. I was on your side. I had been forbidden to speak and I was outraged. To this day, that small and subtle moment is a big turning point for me. Over the next few weeks, I worked my way from indignation to the realisation of what a privilege life I must have lived if I was so outraged to be banned from speaking for once. What a democratic paradise I must have grown up, if I take it for granted that I am allowed to speak and be heard. The fact that the ban was issued because of my skin colour brought me back into the prevailing conflict. If this one ban on speaking upset me so much, how must the majority of people in South Africa have felt during Apartheid. A trauma that even the first generation "Free Borns" have not yet let go of.
  
  We were standing in front of a government building - I don't remember which one exactly - when the howling grenades went off. We were only about 40 students that day. I knew many of them from the art campus. It was hot and they kept sending white students forward to demand water from the government building's securities or to stand in the front row as a buffer against the police who besieged us. Skin colour as a defence mechanism. The demonstrators implied that whites were less likely to be attacked by the police. That they would be treated more politely and thus have their water bottles refilled. Just two small examples of grievances that seems to be out in the open in South Africa, but disappear under the colourful emblem of the "Rainbow Nation". When a small scuffle broke out between the young demonstrators and the few police officers, there were suddenly two bangs. So loud that the world seemed to sink into eternal silence afterwards. Everyone bursted apart, a young man sunk to the ground. He held his ears. He was later taken to hospital in a taxi.
  
  It is the 9th of April when the protests are heard. The university has been closed for weeks because of the demonstrations, but today everyone gathers on the main campus. Cecil Rhodes is going to fall. We can't believe it yet. A crane is ready and thick winches hang around his body. Mr Rhodes' head is dripping with red paint, his jacket decorated with graffiti for weeks. We stand on the steps at Cecil's back, also looking down on the city. The city that in a few minutes will be a bit more free. More decolonised. There is singing and dancing. For the first time in weeks, the mood is exuberant. There are hundreds of us, representatives of all political parties take the microphone again and again, wanting to make sure they were there at this historically important moment. And then it happens, the statue is lifted from its pedestal. The crowd screams, drones circle in the air. Smartphones capture everything for eternity. And when the construction fences can no longer hold back the crowd, people also dance on the truck that slowly drives a Cecil Rhodes crowned with a dirty bucket off campus. The crowd continues to dance into the evening hours and as classes tentatively resume at the university the following week, the spirit of revolution is in the air. "We have been heard". To this day, the fall of Cecil Rhodes stands for a first strike in the struggle for the decolonisation of South Africa, not only on university campuses.

   

  Published December 2021

   

  Translation by Matthew Bremner

Read more …

• 

  Azar Emami Pari

  A carpet is neither produced nor read like other pictures. As such, how does it communicate and what is the proper way of reading a carpet? Does it enjoy an esoteric meaning? A meaning beyond that of its patterns? In other words: is the carpet a decorative object with a symbolic or iconic meaning added on top, or does it contain—at least for viewer who belongs to Persian visual culture—a meaning completely different from any other quotidian object? The mesmerizing power of the carpet lies in the fact that it convinces the viewer of the latter. Many studies on the subject aim at understanding how different Persian carpets are made, trying to elucidate the nature of their mode of production. Yet, “how the appearance is consumed”^[1] has rarely been the subject of study, as well as inquiring about the causes behind the formation of such a bizarre appearance. It can easily be shown that the answer cannot be reduced to how a carpet is produced: it is clear that Persian carpets are more than, as it were, a pixelated version of Persian images found in other Persian decorative arts, or the product of a “design process” (as one understands the term today) and sheer creativity; it is rather an object unlike any other quotidian objects and not just another branch of fine or decorative arts.

   

  It is very difficult to penetrate the different layers of meaning in a Persian carpet, at least much more so than Persian miniature paintings for example there is a winding path from form to meaning in carpets. A Persian carpet has something to say that is not a statement: it is not a text with a definitive meaning, not even one that we could call “abstract” in the sense of avoiding any reference to the real world. Similar to mystic verses of Sufis, known as shat-hiyyāt, whose general meaning is unclear to the reader, yet written down, with meaningful words, for a purpose clear to the author, the appearance of carpets insists on signifying something: they are not just pleasant melodies without words. As such, the carpet cannot be studied as an abstract painting. (Probably that is why it has rarely inspired modern Persian paintings and protects itself against easy visual plagiarism.) The image of a carpet is not the same as the carpet itself: the carpet is not produced to be “seen”, rather be “watched” in the long term. It is meant to be lived on, not to be distanced from the viewer to produce a moment of reflection, which is the essence of European painting. It is not an exaggeration to say that every Iranian grows up on a carpet and learns visual literacy from it. It is the very first window through which every Iranian look. The opposite of a Renaissance painting, i.e. a window opening to the outside world, is the carpet, not even the Persian miniature painting.

   

  Despite its decorative function, the effect of Persian carpets, and in particular pictorial Persian carpets, on viewers do not depend on the text that accompanies it (as is the case with urban, fictional, pictorial carpets^[2] and Persian painting alike). The origins of pictorial carpet have been, as it follows, purely aesthetical, nothing more.

   

  Historically, pictorial carpets appeared as new art, not only because of a change in their function but also because of their new appearance^[3].  They were woven according to the personal taste of weavers or specific clients, and for that reason, they were less mass-produced. There is no doubt that such carpets as Persian miniatures are ultimately born of the poverty of illustration^[4] in Iran. Such carpets, also known as figural carpets, “emerged in the late twelfth century AH (18th century AD) following developments in various other fields of art in Iran and coincided with the emergence of new possibilities in the visual realm, such as printed pictures or photographs. All these led to a new expression in Persian carpet weaving.” (Tanavoli, 1989:9) The story narrations in the pictorial carpets of Iran have different origins. Themes of pictorial carpets include kings, epic and romance stories from classical Persian literature, religious themes and stories of Quran, dervish and Sufism, Armenians pictorial carpets, nomads’ pictorial carpets, pretty women, and animals.

   

  In order to enter the realm of the Persian carpet, let us begin from a simpler point of departure. We ask: what is the relationship of the carpet to the space in which it is unrolled? What is the horizon of the carpet and what is space and time in the carpet? The objective form of such a relationship is reflected in the relation between the carpet and the architectural space. Of course, we have samples of carpets woven for a particular space, as well as spaces built to house a particular carpet. We know, for example, that Nasser al-Din Shah (who reigned from 1848 to 1896) ordered a complete building to be fitted with a carpet he received as a present from the Ottoman sultan. Mo’ayer al-Mamālek writes: “Abyaz Palace: Although the building is still in place, not everybody knows why it was built, therefore, some facts are mentioned here. Sultan Abdul Hamid sent dozens of pieces of furniture and some precious Turkish carpets to Nasser al-Din Shah. Several large portraits of European kings and queens painted by the most influential painters of the era were also given to Nasser al-Din Shah. As other palaces were all decorated with various ornaments and were not suitable for the aforementioned gifts, so the king ordered the Abyaz palace to be built and tailored to the size of the largest Ottoman carpet. When it was finished, they unrolled the carpet in the hall and decorated the space with precious upholstery. They hung the portraits together with another painting depicting Napoleon I, given to Fat’h Ali Shah, thus creating a magnificent hall for receiving kings and dignified guests. One day I was there when the king went to the treasury, and there he chose some artifacts to complete the arrangement of the Abyaz palace.”

   

  The visual significance of the Persian carpet must be considered as Iranians’ historical understanding of art and painting as an independent language, and pictorial carpets can perhaps be formulated as a new form of testimony to such a language. The language begins with the synchronicity of Persian painting with literature and fiction texts and its culmination in the pictorial carpet. Persian painting is considered narrative art. “Because some example of Persian painting is an illustrated book that depicts a literary text, most of which are fiction.” (Shokrpour, Azhari, 2019:104) In Persian painting, the drawings depend on the text “and this feature is one of the main features of the illustrations of Shahnameh, which includes short and concise themes in which the narrative aspect lies. These texts were chosen for illustration because their readers were fully acquainted with the leading text, allowing the painter to show the last minutes of the events and the most notable or most tragic moments in his work.” (Shokrpour, Azhari, 2019:104) The logic of the carpet, however, is much more complex than painting. The charm and wonder of the pictorial carpet stem from the middle point between the carpet and painting, where the story originates, and which, of course, has become “inexpressible.” Neither the image nor the story is a reality of this world; just like the miniature, pictorial carpet is also an imaginary window to stories; no event or thing in that frame has a real presence. They are pure images (without any text) that create a suspended and immaterial world of colors, shapes, and textures. Pictorial carpet is a unity resulting from the contradictions between the common presence of figural pictures and details of carpet designs. That is why the carpet frame and its details have added to its grace and appeal rather than reducing the magical attractiveness. The “childish” aspect of such images, which are not solely due to the weaver's inability to render everything realistic, is a result of a vast game of imagination combined with pictures.

   

  What is unique in the pictorial carpet is the magical aspect, and the subject of the painting is completely insignificant. Of course, in harmony with the scene, each picture has its own special figural drawing and necessities in terms of color combination. (The color combination is insignificant in nomadic and rural pictorial carpets. For example, the skin color of the body could be very strange, e.g., red, etc.). But whatever the image is, whether romantic like countless scenes of Shirin bathing with Khosrow secretly watching her or battle scenes, such as the battle of Rostam and Sohrāb, the shocking effect of the pictorial carpet is the same in each case.

  

  Figure 4: Lilihan Poshti. The story of Khosrow and Shirin. Natural color, size 100*67 cm, Yousef Samadi Bahrami’s Collection.

  Figure 5: Rostam and Sohrab, Karabakh (South Caucasus), inscription reads: “Sohrab” (inverted text), late 13th century AH, 120*85 cm, asymmetric knot, displaying 672 knots per square decimeter (Tanavoli 1989, 43) When the carpet depicts a story, it does not narrate it.

   

  A pictorial carpet is not really depicting the place of an event or the feeling or interpretation of what happened in the scene. Apart from the feeling of wonder at the visual beauty reflected in the carpet, there is nothing but a thoughtful or emotional expression: there is no drama, no sadness or sense of impression. The event as a whole is an absent element in the pictorial carpet. All details are equally important; thus, the important function of a pictorial carpet is that it guides the viewer's gaze on numerous details of the carpet, while an inner harmony skillfully creates a strong, decorative unity. Such carpets attract viewers’ attention, not because the scene is a special story that is unsuccessful in its narration, but in the harmony with the story figures within the form of a carpet.

  

  Figure 6: Baluch, Zabol, mid-14^th AH century, asymmetric knot, 1280 knots per square decimetre; this carpet displays a scene from the story of Khosrow and Shirin. However, the images in the carpet do not narrative anything and if the viewer is unfamiliar with the story there is little to be understood from the images. (Tanavoli 1989, 48)
  

   

  Of course, the carpet, in its physical aspect, has a distinctive relation to space in Persian architecture, as it covers a rectangular space that shall not deflect both horizontally and vertically. It is true that the carpet was not always considered a floor covering and not necessarily been rectangular in shape: as in the case of saddlebags and cushions, or carpets hanging from walls or covering a horse or a mule, and so on. Yet it is the Persian architectural space that provides a flat, rectangular space for the carpet: it is part of the formal relationship of carpets with the architectural space. This is why in European paintings that feature a Persian carpet, the first thing that strikes an Iranian viewer is the unusual use of these carpets: Hung from a window crawled up the stairs and deflected in height. This, in itself, has a definite relation to the way the carpet is seen: on the one hand, the formal carpet looks like a horizontal tableau that is clearly framed and as such forms a totality. It does not resemble, for example, the scattered Islamic designs on glazed tiles that crawl up walls whose entirety forms the totality of the building; on the contrary, the carpet has a strong, coherent framing that protects it against any deflection.

   

  In the past, Persian carpets were not masked by pieces of furniture and thus better seen in their entirety. The carpet was the most important part of interior design. It was a furniture in itself. Thus, the carpet is fundamentally different from a painting: viewers of a carpet never actually see it in its entirety because they are already standing “on” the carpet. They never lose contact with it or distance themselves from it, far enough to see it in its entirety. They can kneel and touch it, or sit or lie down on it and get closer to it as much as they want, but their distance to the carpet never exceeds their height. The prohibition of walking on carpets with footwear allows a close and intimate relationship with the carpet, emphasizing its dignity and sanctity. Even paintings on ceilings (which sometimes reflect the patterns of a carpet, as in the case of Sheikh Safi’s tomb) do not enjoy such quality and can be seen and appreciated in one glance while remaining out of viewers’ reach. In the case of carpets, viewers can see the design from different angles and need to move in space and change their standpoint to fully appreciate the work (exactly the same way they need to circulate within the introverted spaces of Persian architecture in order to grasp a proper sense of space).

   

  It might seem that the distance between the carpet and the observer is a secondary quality of the carpet and does not have a direct impact on the aesthetic aspect of the Persian carpet. However, we know of aesthetic systems (including that of Kant) that define the aesthetic experience fundamentally on the basis of an idea of distance. The most prominent is that of Edward Bullough (1880-1934), the English aestheticist, i.e. Psychical Distance. In a paper published in 1912, Bullough writes that the aesthetic experience takes place at a certain distance from the work, not too far nor too close, and this applies to the locative, temporal, and subjective distance of the observer from the object, and is an aesthetic principle (Neil 1995, 304), and is an element present in all art forms (ibid., 299). The transition from the agreeable to the beautiful takes place through distance (Neil 1995, 305). And it is advisable to reduce this distance both in creating and in understanding art, without having it completely removed. (Neil 1995, 302) In his view, this depends both on the audience and the object (Neil 1995, 302). For instance, the Persian miniature takes advantage of its small dimensions to reduce such distance. In carpets, however, the distance is completely different, both objectively and subjectively. The maximum distance is a person’s height and the minimum is zero. It is this distance that has resulted in the unique form of viewing carpets. The Persian carpet is not seen, but “watched” (tamāshā), as was the case with Persian gardens. That is to say, carpets were observed in motion, with a constant shift of the viewer’s point of view. The term tamāshā means “to watch” and “to walk in the garden with a friend” at the same time. Such a relationship between how carpets and gardens are viewed is by no means a coincidence. Persian carpets have long been associated with Persian gardens, sometimes even reflecting and imitating their patterns. In terms of function, the Persian carpet brings nature into the interior and plays the role of green in times of the year when grass does not grow. We know that the famous Sassanid “Baharestan” carpet had a similar function. Tabari History writes about this carpet:

   

  “They wove a carpet with colored silk, sixty cubits in sixty cubits … they unrolled it in wintertime when no flowers blossomed and no green was seen on the globe. On the margins were sown emeralds and peridots… Omar ripped the carpet and the gems and gave each person a fair share… Ali ibn Abi Talib received his, which he sold for twenty thousand Dirhams.” (Tabari History, 1985, 41).

   

  Thus, we encounter one of the most important subjective aspects of the relationship between carpets and architecture: the viewer is a part of the image; the observer of a carpet is “inside” the carpet. This also properly explains the horizon line in Persian carpets, which is very different from that of miniature painting: the carpet does not necessarily have a horizon line, and the horizon line is not necessarily within the carpet or in its “upper” part. The figures in pictorial carpets are not depicted “on” the carpet but are rather “inside” the carpet, like a letter in an envelope.

  

  Figure 7: Horse and stableman, Hamedan, Darjazin, early 14th Century AH, 189*129 cm, symmetrical knot, 1296 knots per square decimeter (Tanavoli 1989, 95). The logic of the carpet design is much more bizarre than miniature. Where is the horizon line in this carpet?

   

  This statement is also true on another level: the observer is “within” the carpet subjectively too. The carpet is not a home decoration, it is part of the home: it is home itself. This is why the unit for counting carpets, was called “home” (khāneh), or why the carpet sometimes imitates the plan of the Persian houses or gardens. Children are well enough familiar with this concept and elders respect it too. Children carefully trying to walk on the lines of a carpet pattern imagine themselves walking on a bridge above avoid. The patterns of a Persian carpet always show depth, as opposed to Persian miniature painting which appears flat and even.

   

  So, when confronted with carpets, even pictorial ones, “touching” is more important than “seeing”. In fact, this is the only way to see it. Touching renders, us more dominant. Seeing does not allow one to understand the physical quality of a phenomenon, but the tactile sensation does. In pictorial carpets, this touching proximity is more realistic than an unattainable distance, as it empowers the viewer to touch the universe once again. The carpet is a representation of the universe, as the root of the Persian term indicates: in Haji/Engineer Travelogue, Ali Hassouri traces the root of the word Qāli (carpet), back to Qalin in the early Islamic centuries, to the words Kalinin the Sassanid era and Kar’einé in Avestan, back to the word Kāshtan (“planting”), as making every carpet knot is like planting a seed, that would later represent grass at the time of its absence in winter: the carpet is a perpetuated Persian garden. (Hassouri 2017, 42) In Mithraism, human beings are descendent of the plants: Mashya and Mashyana, the first human beings to grow out of the earth. Each knot of a carpet is a seed that is planted with hope and carries a wish, the same way lovers knot grasses in Nowruz with the hope of their wishes being fulfilled. Every Persian couple begins their married life with a home/carpet on which their children will later grow up and flourish.

   

  Resources

  • Emami Pari, Azar, and Bavand Behpoor. “The Iranian Carpet Is not a Picture”, Herfeh Honarmand (Iranian quarterly journal on visual arts), no. 73 (2019): 151-160.
  • Parviz Tanavoli (1989) Iranian Pictorial Rugs (Tehran: Soroush Publication)
  • Hafiz-e Abru, Nur-Allah ibn Lotf-Allah ibn 'Abd-al-Rashid Behdadini, edited by Seyyed Kamal Haj Seyyed Javadi (Tehran: Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance Publications)
  • Ali Hasouri (2017) Haji muhandes Travelogue (Carpet Travelogue) (Tehran: Cheshme Publication)
  • Doost Ali Khan Muir al-Mamalek (2011) Notes on the private life of Nasser al-Din Shah (Tehran: Iranian History Publication)
  • Alex and Aaron Ridley Neil (ed.) (1995) The Philosophy of Art: Ancient and Modern Readings (Boston, Mass.: McGraw-Hill)
  • shokrpour, and f.azhari , Azhari. “The role of the Figure in the Narratology of Persian Paintings” (Case Study: Six Drawings from Shahnameh Tahmasebi), Journal of Visual and Applied Arts (Quarterly Journal of Tehran Art University). no. 25 (2019): 101-121.
  • Tabari History, illustrated version, 1208 ed., Astan Quds Razavi, Iran Culture Foundation, 1966, 17-18, quoted from Parham 1985, 41.

   

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to express my special thanks to my colleague and friend, Mr. Bavand Behpoor, for his intellectual support and insightful comments on this paper.

   

   

  ^[1] The function of a carpet does not justify its appearance: Persian carpet has played throughout history a much more significant role for Iranians than merely providing a warm and soft flooring and has gained its appearance through complex and lengthy historical procedures.

  ^[2] Persian pictorial carpets have been divided into two classes: one is urban carpets, and the other rural and nomadic ones. Urban carpets were woven according to a plan, painted by a carpet-designer, while nomadic carpets had a different origin. In Iranian villages and among Persian tribes, carpets were woven without a plan, and rather based on another carpet. When a weaver intends to weave a carpet, s/he borrows a carpet from their neighbors or relatives and uses it as a model (in local parlance: “Dastūr”). (Tanavoli, 1989:16)

  ^[3] The installation of pictorial carpets on walls brought about changes in the way carpets were used. The new application moved the carpet from the floor and underfoot to the walls, turning it into a painting. Previously, ordinary carpets were occasionally hung on at door gates and walls, but that was a temporary function, in occasions such as wedding, religious celebrations, especially commemorating the birthday of the last Imam (the Messiah or “Mahdi”). Walls of houses, shops and markets could be decorated with carpets, a custom that still exists today. (Tanavoli, 1989:14)

  ^[4] The 19th and 20th centuries should be considered the time of popularization of illustration in Iran. In those two centuries, a significant tendency towards simulation and naturalism became apparent in nearly all branches of art. Simulation, as a pervasive movement, attracted the attention of artists. The leaders of that movement, of course, were painters. Although painters constitute different classes and branches in this, the main goal of all groups was to depict their subjects through likeness and similarity to nature. Two groups of painters had the largest share in spreading visual arts among the masses: Coffee-House painters and religious painters. The works of these artists were widely seen and influenced the taste of artists in other disciplines, including engravers, illustrators of printed books, and carpet weavers. (Tanavoli, 1989:11)

Read more …

• 

  Emmanuel Aklasu

  Owusu-Ankomah’s painting at first glance reveals a foreshortening company of energetic warriors, muscular framed with broad shoulders, muscled chest, and a narrow waist in a chiselled physique. The hunters were portrayed with huge hands, clenched fist, knuckles, strong legs visibly revealing biceps brachiis and dabs of varicose veins on the arms, thighs and legs evident of powerful and efficacious men. Before modern society, the average male spent most of their time hunting, protecting, and engaging in physical activities that increased their muscle mass and maximize their muscular proportions. Owusu-Ankomah’s production exhibits masculine competitiveness and a sense of adventure – the brave team were a-fire with passion, armed with sticks in a leopard-like graceful movement as the captain leads carrying a captured antelope shoulder high.

   

  The warriors are noticeably naked with only a string of grass costume wrapped around the private parts which is the formal and ceremonial attire for the ancient culture. Owusu-Ankomah’s choice of colour in rendering the human figures lends credence to the fact that colours have a strong position in identifying humans while hunting. Wearing hunter orange is the best way to ensure other hunters see you and don’t accidentally mistake you for game in complex backgrounds that are often green or brown. The artwork reveals harmonizing brown colours which tend to create a central focal point in the entire picture frame to evoke earthiness, emotions, security and safety related to the natural world. The tints and shades of hues enhanced the main features in the painting to vividly communicate the intended message as well as create an illusion of depth.

   

  A thick flora forms the background of the painting evident that the hunting expedition was carried out in a thick forest. As the fearless, able-bodied men advance through shrubs in high spirit of mission accomplished, an earthly scent swirled around them coupled with a sense of eagerness to meet a welcoming, expectant and jubilant community. Hunting is an extremely important mode of human-nature interaction closely linked to culture patterns and value systems. This engagement with wild animals is thought of as part of a deeper unity with nature, which means being part of nature in physical sense (Lowassa et al., 2012). Sustainable hunting prescribes taking as much as needed and as much as the habitat and the population can regenerate. Suffice to say, when hunting for a game form the basis of a year-long survival of a people, it calls for a deeper reflection. Owusu-Ankomah’s painting comes on the back of an ancient heritage of a distinct tribe in Sub-Saharan Africa.

   

  ‘Aboakyir’ translated ‘deer hunt’ is a festival uniquely celebrated by the Effutu (Simpa) people of Winneba in the Central Region, southern coast of Ghana, West Africa. The festival which is celebrated annually on the first Saturday in May has the historical antecedent of the replacement of a human sacrifice to a tribal god with a leopard – an alternative which resulted in the loss of many more lives than the sacrifice of a single slave. Consultations with the deity for a more humane alternative resulted in the “Wansan” (the deer) as a practicable and most acceptable substitute. The capture of a live deer, like the leopard, required many more hands than the members of the royal family could find. The additional hands required were solicited from the local militia as a service to ‘the stool – a symbol of chieftaincy, royalty, custom and tradition’. It was this change in form; that is, the involvement of the local militia, that the annual consecration and appeasement of the deity became a public, state-wide affair. This marked the birth and hence the origin of the “Aboakyer” festival.

   

  The design of the Effutu State emblem tells this story; the ‘stool’ on which the King is installed sits on the “Wansan” (the deer).

   

  

  Emblem of the Effutu state (Source: Palace of Oma Odefe)

   

  The festival is therefore important for the ‘stool’, its occupant and the entire royal stool family. It is a religious duty and an obligation for the general citizenry to ensure its celebration annually is sustained to honour the ancestors and protect their historic culture for posterity on the back of removing evil and predicting a good harvest for a prosperous life in the coming year. The week-long activity begins with two traditional warrior groups known as the ‘Asafo’ companies consult their shrines for clearance, protection and early catch. The warrior groups clad in distinct costumes with distinct musical instruments — the ‘Tuafo' and ‘Dentsefo’, move to their respective hunting grounds at dawn on Saturday, wielding sticks and clubs amid chanting of war songs. No weapons, other than clubs and sticks are used to catch the deer, as it must be brought back alive.

   

  By far, the relevance of Owusu-Ankomah’s painting is not in doubt as it fosters a deeper understanding of the historical and societal roles of hunting within Ghanaian communities. The painting holds both cultural and educational significance which sparks discussions on conservation, sustainable practices, and the preservation of cultural heritage. Consequently, bridging the gap between present generations and the rich tapestry of cultural and environmental history. The sight of the painting in Ghana’s National Museum serves as a poignant reflection of the nation’s cultural heritage and connection to nature. In this visual narrative, the core of historical period of a distinct society is unearthed.

   

  References

  • Lowassa, A., Tadie, D. & Fischer, A. (2012). On the role of women in bushmeat hunting – Insights from Tanzania and Ethiopia. Journal of Rural Studies 28(4):622–630.

   

  Further Reading

  • Anane-Frimpong, D. (2022). Aboakyir: Deer hunt festival. Link Retrieved on April 10, 2023
  • Rubiano, W. (2017). Planting trees for the aboakyer festival 2017.  Link

   

  Published March 2024

  

  Barbara Lutz-Sterzenbach

  An energetic scene. Five men in a flat landscape approach the viewer. Their bodies are naked - except for their loincloths - their faces grim. Muscles in the bright light stand out under the skin, their chests bulge voluminously - they are timeless heroes. The men do not look at the viewer of the picture. With their long, dark sticks firmly in their strong hands, they gather symmetrically around the bald man in the foreground. He presents himself with an antelope in his raised arms. His bald skull points to the left, as does the antelope's head.

   

  On closer inspection, some things are irritating. Are the men dancing or walking? Where is the animal spatially located? Somehow it is on the shoulder of the man, but the legs are captured by the men behind, who would be much too far away for that. Is an event, an episode (as in a photograph) depicted? Or does the symmetry of the composition speak more of a constructed symbol, a sign, as in an emblem? The latter would support the strict division into horizontal planes: with the islands of grass in the foreground, the flat, ochre-coloured plane in the middle ground and the forest with sky in the background. But then again many design principles undermine this order: the tense, energetic movements of the figures, the strong brushstrokes, the irregular shapes of the white clouds and the tufts of grass, the dynamic accents of the sticks.

   

  We know from our Ghanaian colleagues that what is depicted here, the catching of the animal, is part of a ritual celebration and a festival (the Aboakyer Festival). Here the moment is shown when the men have stepped out of the dark, hermetically sealed forest in the background with their prey and now present themselves in the bright light with their success. A comparison with the results of an image search on the internet for “Aboakyer festival” (Fig. 2) shows that this is the iconic moment. Here the idea of the festival seems to be condensed. And this also explains the emphasis on muscles: the hunters must be well trained to match the animal's speed and strength.

   

  

  Fig. 2 (Google search for "Aboakyer Festival" on 9.9.2023 - the first page of results) Screenshot: Ernst Wagner

   

  Owuso-Ankomah's painting focuses on the men with the animal. At first glance, the painting shows above all the strength of the men. The space thus becomes the backdrop for their performance. Their bodies are not only idealised but theatrically exaggerated, their muscles as if illuminated by a spotlight. The geometric centre of the picture, through which the horizon also passes, brings the loincloth of the leader into focus (see fig. 3) - perhaps an allusion to male potency?

   

  

  Fig. 3: Composition sketch (horizon and geometric centre) Photo: Ernst Wagner

   

  A comparison with photos on the same theme from the Heritage Centre in Winneba (see Fig. 4-6) shows clear differences to the depiction in Owusu-Ankomah's painting. In the artwork, both animal and hunter have their mouths open, exhaustion is evident in both. In this way, too, man, animal and landscape are connected - despite hunting and death. The artist uses the warm ochre tones in such a way that the earth, the human body and the animal hardly differ in colour. Since the animal is still alive, its head does not have to be held. Thus, visually, it seems to elude a depiction of "being trapped", also due to the ambiguous spatiality described above. It could almost just as easily be understood as a triumphant appearance of the animal, to which the men are subordinate as bearers and assistant figures - comparable, for example, to Jan van Eyck's depiction of the lamb (see fig. 7), which also marks a mediating position between victim and victor, between human beings and God.

   

  

  Fig. 4-6: Photos from the Heritage Centre Winneba Photos: Ernst Wagner

   

  

  Fig. 7: Van Eyck, Lamb of God, Image Detail: Ghent Altar. Oil on wood, 350 x 461 cm
  Cathedral of St Bavo, Ghent

   https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=109213 [28.10.2024]

   

  This image sets against each other contradictory concepts: static-symmetrical-ordered vs. dynamic; accidental situation vs. deliberate staging; documentation vs. sign; hyperrealism in body and space vs. symbolic charge. It sets these contradictions against each other in the unity of the painting.

   

  Reference

  • https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7W7IkJvL32E

   

  Published March 2024

   

Read more …

• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  “Footprints on the Ocean beach” represents the anthropogenic activities by people that affect planet earth. The Footprint on the Ocean beach is an allegory for you having been to a place. The fundamental question is what is the cost of your footprint? Many of us are making footprints in the sand, in our unsustainable life styles creating pollution, vegetation or biodiversity loss, contributing to carbon dioxide and other gasses that pollute the environment and subsequently a rise in temperature that will cause Climate Change that will impact us for generations.

   

  The Footprints in the Ocean beach were produced at the Indian Ocean coastline of Durban, Kwa Zulu Natal, South Africa as a wakeup call to reflect on the impact of our actions on the environment. It is a call for transformation towards a more sustainable lifestyle that will ensure the preservation of marine life for present and future generations. The image is a reflection of our human activities. It is also a path to one’s destiny. It raises the question of the cost of the activities and mainly about how sustainable they are.

   

  Oceans cover almost three quarters of the earth’s surface and contain 97 percent of the earth’s water (https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/oceans/). The footprint in the Ocean sand beach, is story of self-examination: what kind of foot prints are you leaving on earth? Are you replenishing the earth per your original mandate or are you polluting it? What can you do personally to create sustainable lifestyles that will ensure resources for future generations?

  
  Have you ever realized that you leave a footprint everywhere you go? It may not be visible like the one in the sand but every human activity has a print (consequence). How did it all start? The Book of Genesis 1:1-31 describes how the earth was created. “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth” (Genesis 1:1, NKJ, 1984). The fourth day God said, let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that has life (Genesis 1:20). God created man in his image, “in the image of God created him, male and female created he them (Genesis 1:26). He blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth” (Genesis 1:28). Having all the authority and dominion over the earth in Genesis 3, we read how man fell and lost his authority to satan.

  
  Living in a fallen world, man has absconded from his original responsibility to replenish the earth and instead has “developed” economies and societies that have taken the resources and created environmental challenges. We see from the story of creation that there is an ecological system that is very intricately linked where man is part of the ecosystem. In Mathew, Mark, Luke and John Gospels, we read about Jesus Christ, the Saviour who redeems the world from sin and destruction and with the help of the Holy Spirit, humankind can live a Prosperous life. Is man able to make sustainable Footprints in the Ocean sand?

  
  Through civilizations in Africa for instance, man settled along the river Nile and utilized resources like water to build and develop his Agricultural economies. Ancient Civilizations in Africa such as Egypt, Axum, Nubia and Kingdoms like the Kingdom of Zimbabwe, the Empire of Mali, the Empire of Ashanti, the Kingdom of Kongo and the Buganda Kingdom all used resources and lived in harmony with nature; at times they fought over the resources leading to migrations. This was before colonization of the African continent. The period 1870s-1900 was a difficult one for Africa because the Europeans invaded Africa with imperialistic aggression, military invasions and colonization. Although African societies resisted in various forms, they fell prey to the colonizers. Except for Liberia and Ethiopia, most of Africa was colonized mainly for three factors: economic, Political and Social. This was following the end of the devastating slave trade. The Imperial capitalistic industrialization required raw materials, new markets and search for territories to re-settle poor people; these forces drove the scramble for Africa. The competition between the political imperialists: Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Belgium, Portugal and Spain was fierce-all for Africa’s resources. The competition was so ferocious that the then German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, invited all powers to the Berlin Conference, the climax for the Scramble for Africa. Germany, Britain and France looked for Africa’s natural resources and a market for their goods.

  
  From the beginning, Africa got a raw deal with this trade imbalance, Africa’s territory was taken and an unsustainable economic development model established.
  A period of extraction of Africa’s raw materials mainly minerals and natural resources has continued to this day. What kind of Footprint is that? The development model Africa has followed emulating her colonial masters has resulted into loss of biodiversity, acidification of the ocean, land degradation and environmental pollution. The footprint in the Ocean sand beach, is story of self-examination: what kind of foot prints are you leaving on earth? Are you replenishing the earth per your original mandate or are you polluting it? What can you do personally to create sustainable lifestyles that will ensure resources for future generations?

   

  The footprint global connection
  In the developed nations, a lot of development of infrastructure and industries to fit the lifestyles of the societies has come at a cost to the environment. The emissions this have come at a cost in that the Carbon dioxide produced and other gases cause the erosion of the ozone layers that protect us from damaging rays. The ozone layers also protect us from rising temperatures. The societies and every one of us consumes and produces waste. The ecological footprint we produce leaves a mark. The ecological footprint means the impact of human activity on the earth and the amount of resources necessary to produce the goods and services (Business or economic) growth.
  In 1987, the Brundtland commission chaired by a former Norwegian Prime Minister Gro Harlem Brundtland defined sustainable development as, “the kind of development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs”. There are three dimensions of sustainable development: the economic, Social equality and environmental protection.

  
  The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable development adopted by the United Nations in 2015 provided a blue print for prosperity and peace for the planet earth. Along with this were 17 Sustainable development goals (SDGs) which are signaling an urgent call for action for developed and developing nations. Taking cognizance of the need to end poverty, improve health and education, the SDGs should be integrated with strategies to drive economic growth, all together tacking climate change and working to preserve oceans and forests.
  The impact of the footprints is global and if produced in one part of the world can affect another hence the need for a global action using the SDGs framework. The historical context of the SDGs is well documented. In 1992, the earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil adopted the Agenda 21 to build a global partnership for sustainable development. In 2000, the Millennium Development goals (MDGs) were adopted to reduce poverty by 2015. Back home in Johannesburg, the World summit on sustainable development declaration reaffirmed the commitments to eradicate poverty emphasizing multilateral collaboration. In 2012, in Rio de Janeiro, the UN Conference on Sustainable development adopted, The Future we want” in while in 2013, a working group was established to work on the SDGs. Meanwhile, 2015 was pivotal because the post-2015 developmental agenda negotiation began culminating in the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development with the adoption of “Transforming our World” with 17 SDGs at the UN Sustainable Development Summit in New York in September. The famous Paris Agreement on Climate Change was signed in December 2015.Although this agreement has had its fair share of political debates and shunning in some parts of the world, the SDGs are important in transitioning to the future we want. In South Africa the National Development Plan (NDP) whose aspirations encompass the SDGs is implemented together with action plans and policies that incorporate the SDGs.

   

  The Footprint in the Ocean and Links to SDGs
  The Footprint in the ocean sand is a mirror for us to perceive the impact of our actions on the ocean in particular. Linking it to SDG Goal 14, “Conserve and sustainably use the Oceans, seas and marine resources for sustainable development” requires us to understand the effective strategies and management models to combat the adverse effects of Pollution in the oceans, overfishing, ocean acidification, ocean plastic pollution and growing coastal eutrophication. The need for expanding the Biodiversity protected areas is enormous. The Sustainable Development Goals report (2018) showed that the marine fish stocks within sustainable levels declined from 90% in 1974 to 69% in 2013. Trends show that coastal eutrophication will increase in 20% of marine ecosystems by 2050. The good news is that in 2018, the mean coverage of key Biodiversity areas that are protected increased from 30 & in 2000 to 44%.
  Human activities that cause danger to marine ecosystems include infrastructure development which result in loss of habitats, land use that results in pollution of rivers and storm water systems which drain into bays, these include also human settlements, industry, agriculture, exploitation of resources for example bait collection, fish harvesting and mining.
  The Footprint in the Ocean coastline in Durban is not unique to South Africa. The ecological status of the estuary in Durban Bay is a degraded ecosystem. The impact is that the resilience of the ecosystems its self has been compromised. Human activities have a massive impact on the physical, abiotic and biotic elements of the system.
  Footprints in the sand as a metaphor has taken many forms, the most popular being one from a poem whose author is disputed (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Footprints_(poem). Taking a Christian view, the poems describe an experience of a person walking on a beach with Jesus. The notice two sets of footprints in the sand. The prints represent a person’s life path. At one point, only one set of footprints is seen, representing the tough times where Jesus himself lifts up the person and carries them. Jesus gives the explanation, “I carried you” during the times of trial.
  Footprints therefore also signify the journeys we take on planet earth, the trials and tribulations we go through and point to the only person who can lift us up- God. Looking back on colonization, What kind of footprints did the colonizers leave in Africa? The languages is one foot print. The economic development is another.

  Examples of footprints

  
  Carbon dioxide Footprint
  This represents the amount of greenhouse gases produced as a direct or indirect result of human activities, normally expressed as equivalent tons of Carbon dioxide (CO2). Essentially it is the the amount of carbon dioxide released into the atmosphere because of the activities of a particular individual, organization, or community. Now Business has developed a Carbon Tax . The Oxford Dictionary defines a person’s Carbon Dioxide Footprint as a measure of the amount of Carbon dioxide that their activities produce.The sand on the beach by the ocean creates a footprint that is real for a moment and washed away by the waves.

  
  What kind of footprint do you leave when you visit a place? How much does it cost to the present and future generations? How can you wipe away your footprint?

   

  Bibliography
  AfriMAB, 2013. AfriMAB: Biosphere Reserves in Sub-Saharan Africa: Showcasing Sustainable Development. (Eds.) R. Pool-Stanvliet and M. Clusener-Godt. Published by Department of Environmental Affairs, Directorate: Protected Areas Planning, Legislation, Compliance and Monitoring, Pretoria, South Africa, and UNESCO, Division of Ecological and Earth Sciences, Paris, France.
  Chronology. Digital Egypt for Universities, University College London. Archived from the original on 16 March 2008. Retrieved 25 March 2008.
  https://www.leisurepro.com/blog/explore-the-blue/life-cycle-of-coral/ Retrieved from 18 Jan 2019
  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brundtland_Commission
  Retrieved 19 Jan 2019
  https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/blog/2018/06/world-oceans-day-2018-to-focus-on-cleaning-up-plastic-in-oceans/Retrieved 21 Jan 2019
  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classical_African_civilization Retrieved 19 Jan 2019
  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Footprints_(poem) Retrieved 21 January, 2019.
  https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/oceans/ Retrieved 21 January, 2019.
  (https://www.onlythebible.com/Poems/Footprints-in-the-Sand-Poem.html) Retrieved 21 Jan 2019.

   

   

  published January 2020

  

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  Sleeping Corals

   

  Sleeping Corals (© Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi)

   

  The life under the oceans drives the global systems that make our planet habitable for more than 7 billion people. It is vital to conserve and use the oceans sustainably. Oceans contribute to poverty eradication as they provide sustainable livelihoods and descent work. The marine and coastal resources are critical for food security and prevention of climate change disasters. Sleeping Corals don’t know what is happening on the ocean surface. They continue with their daily activities until pollution or raising acidity in the ocean affects them. The Sustainable Development Goals in particular SDG Goal 14, “Conserve and sustainably use the Oceans, seas and marine resources for sustainable development” is a call to global action to keep the Oceans safe for present and future generations. Have you ever imagined that you leave a Footprint everywhere you go?

  
  The footprints in the ocean sand have been interpreted as foot paths taken by believers in Jesus Christ whom they follow. At the start there are two sets of footprints but they merge into one as explained in the Poem (https://www.onlythebible.com/Poems/Footprints-in-the-Sand-Poem.html). The footprints of Jesus are the only ones during times of trouble when He lifts up his children. They portray the love and omnipotence of the Lord and that He will never leave or forsake his people in times of calamities. How is your walk with God? The sleeping corals reveal to us the eminent danger of polluting the oceans.

   

   

  published January 2020

Read more …

• 

  Runette Kruger

  Cape Town based Tokolos Stencil Collective uses stencil and graffiti to address socio-political issues such as lingering racial inequality, labour exploitation, segregation, and poverty. The name of the collective refers to a dwarflike mythical being, the tokoloshe, that materialises at night to frighten unsuspecting victims, now mobilised by the Collective to “terrorise the powers that be”, or, the status quo of inequality (Tokolos-Stencils, 2015). The declared aim of the Collective is to highlight continuing spatial and social segregation in a post-apartheid South Africa (Botha, 2014).  

   

  The social discrepancies whereby the majority of South Africans continue to experience social and economic isolation are addressed by Adato, Carter and May (2006), who cite the Poverty and Inequality report of 2000. In the report, South Africa is described in terms of two parallel worlds, “one, populated by black South Africans where the Human Development Index (HDI) was the equivalent to [that of] Zimbabwe or Swaziland. The other … [populated by] white South Africa in which the HDI [was] between that of Israel and Italy” (Adato, Carter and May, 2006, p. 226). This inequality had, disturbingly, only deepened between 2000 and 2006, and in a March 2018 report by the World Bank, South Africa is cited as the most unequal country globally in 2015, based on the Gini coefficient of 0.63 of that year (World Bank, 2018, p42). The Gini coefficient measures the gap in income between the wealthiest and poorest members of a population. A score of 0 would indicate absolute income equality, and a score of 1 would indicate that one person owned all the wealth. This disparity, as well as the resultant exploitability of the poor, informs the Tokolos Stencil Collective’s main subject matter.  

   

  The most widely recognizable image associated with the Collective is the Remember Marikana stencil, which combines these words with an image of Mgcineni Noki, known as Mambush to his friends and family, or, within the context of the Marikana massacre, The man in the green blanket. The Marikana event played a formative role in the establishment of the Collective – it was founded in 2013 on the day of the first anniversary of the event (Anaya, 2014). The massacre is widely regarded as a watershed crisis, comparable with the Sharpeville tragedy of 21 March 1960, now commemorated as Human Rights Day.

   

  Noki was a community leader who became a prominent news figure in the days before the Marikana massacre, identifiable by the bright green blanket tied around his shoulders. The Marikana massacre took place on 16 August 2012 when striking miners working at the London-based Lonmin Platinum Mine in the North-West Province were gunned down by police wielding automatic rifles, violently ending a six day build-up of tension. Noki grew up in Thwalikhulu, a small village in the Eastern Cape, and was aged 30 at the time of his death. He had a wife and two year old daughter who lived in Carletonville, about 100km away. He is reported to have attempted to de-escalate the growing violent skirmishes, and to focus the gathered strikers on their aim – to increase their wages. The evening before the massacre, the miners were led to believe that if they returned to work, wage negotiations would begin. In the hours before the final events, while the miners’ repeated requests for negotiations were ignored, they were finally beseeched by their union to withdraw. Weighing up the growing indications of a final crack down, Noki began to lead a group of miners away from the outcrop of rock that had been the main scene of conflict over the course of the week. As they reached the nearby settlement their path was blocked by police and barbed wire. Noki led the men another route, only to be blocked again. The ensuing gunfire on the group led to the death of 17 men, Noki among them, identifiable by his green blanket as he lay on the ground. A second group of men were also attempting to leave the site, and were fired at with 295 bullets, resulting in 17 more casualties. The strike continued for another five weeks before the mining company agreed to negotiate. Pay was increased by 7% (Davies, 2015).

   

  I specifically chose this image of Noki, his arm raised while exhorting and encouraging his fellow workers, instead of the dehumanising imagery of up-close, lifeless mineworkers that was freely shared by the press. In contrast, this image in the Remember Marikana stencil shows him as a leader with courage and purpose, and has become an iconic symbol of the struggle for dignity and an adequate wage among the most exploited workers in South Africa, on whose labour an economy that they are unable to access, has been built. Commenting on the lot of the under-classes in 1940, during the impending humanitarian crisis of the Second World War, Walter Benjamin (1969, p. 255 original emphasis) reminds us that “every image of the past that is not recognized by the present as one of its own concerns threatens to disappear irretrievably ... To articulate the past historically ... means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger [failing which] even the dead will not be safe”. The Remember Marikana image reminds us that it is crucial to prevent the sacrifices of the most vulnerable members of society from slipping into the amnesia of oblivion.

   

   

   

  References

  • Adato, M., Carter, M.R., & May, J. (2006). Exploring poverty traps and social exclusion in South Africa using qualitative and quantitative data. The Journal of Development Studies, 42(2), 226-247.
  • Anaya, V. (2014, September 10). Tokolos Collective: “Cape Town is a very oppressive place for the poor”. Wiriko Artes Y Culturas Africanas. Retrieved from https://www.wiriko.org/tag/marikana/
  • Benjamin, W. (1969). Illuminations. Edited by Hannah Arendt. New York: Schocken.
  • Botha, N. (2014, November 21). Tokolos Stencil Collective: 'Crap' art designed to unsettle. The Mail & Guardian. Retrieved from https://mg.co.za/article/2014-11-21-tokolos-stencil-collective-crap-art-designed-to-unsettle.
  • Davies, N. (2015, May 22). The savage truth behind the Marikana massacre. The Mail & Guardian. Retrieved from https://mg.co.za/article/2015-05-21-the-savage-truth-behind-the-marikana-massacre.
  • Tokolos-Stencils. (2015). Retrieved from http://tokolosstencils.tumblr.com/. 
  • World Bank. (2018). Overcoming poverty and inequality in South Africa: An assessment of drivers, constraints and opportunities. Washington DC, USA.

   

   

  published March 2020

Read more …

• 

  Ngugi Waweru

   

  Preparation in Nairobi

  The Wakujuu collective (link) was invited to Documenta in 2022. The process that started from there has been long, not only to make the art work to be presented in Kassel, but also to become part of Lumbung, the concept the curators proposed. We went through a long process coming up with ideas, collecting materials, shaping it, discussing among ourselves as artists and also with the artistic team from the Lumbung Network. In addition, we decided, before we take our exhibition to Germany, we do it here in Nairobi to share it with our community, fellow artists and other people. Thus, we started local workshops with different people, artists, photographers, musicians and community members. These workshops led to a huge festival in the community in 2021 which was part of our offsite project for documenta, together with the exhibition we did in Nairobi. The idea was to share with our community what we bring to Kassel.

   

  

  Workshop in Nairobi (Courtesy the artist)

   

  It’s important to mention that in our collective, all individual artists have their own ideas. So, we started to look at the objective for the whole collective. We discussed and then we decided that every individual artist does his own artwork, but we discussed as a collective, supporting each other, giving ideas, criticizing.

   

  Preparation in Kassel

  When we came to Kassel, we brought some material with us and we found other material there. At the Documenta we were supported by a team. It was challenging, but still most enjoyable and it created a lot of learning.

   

  For instance, we were excited to work together with Instar from Cuba, Britto-Arts Trust from Bangladesh and Wakali Wood from Uganda, as we were sharing the same spaces. The idea of Lumbung is sharing. And it doesn't matter what you're sharing: stories, food, materials or tools. We got to sit together and discuss also with Jatiwangi Art Factory. We lived like a family. And this is the most memorable thing that I will take with me forever, not only with the Lumbung members, but with the Kassel community. It's a thing you wish to repeat over and over.

   

  When we were invited to come to Germany the first time in 2021, there were incidents of racism. And I started feeling I don't want to go to Europe. But this time it was different, apart from the antisemitism accusations that seemed to halt the whole event.  Even with the German people with whom we worked at Documenta halle we just connected immediately; we just became family.

   

  Our art works at documenta

  The different artworks we made for Kassel had different themes, but all tackling what is happening in the world, not only in Mukuru slum (where we are based in Nairobi^[1]). The world is one big village and we all have the same challenges that are affecting us as humans, like climate change, war, economic hardship, failed systems, pandemics and so on. When you look at the world, it's fragile, it's dangerous, and it’s not livable. Everything is tough. But there are also good stories.

   

  

  Construction of the tunnel in Kassel (Courtesy the artist)

   

  The tunnel

  For the entrance to Documenta Halle, where we exhibited our works, we used the corrugated iron sheets that the houses are made from in Mukuru. Our installation started with a tunnel, built by Kimathi Kaaria and Lazarus Tumbuti from our collective. You enter the tunnel and hear a sound. You go inside and you don't see anything. There is just darkness, and you hear this sound, recorded randomly in the streets in Mukuru.

   

  The title of the installation is “Wakija Kwetu… ”. It is a Swahili name that means: “When they come to our home they get to know us better.” The sound is bringing you to Mukuru. The idea is to move you from Kassel to Mukuru and give the impression how it feels like to be in the streets there. And when you go inside, you see the corrugated iron sheets, you see the walls of our houses. You have this feeling of being in Mukuru.

   

  Inside you are welcomed by three installations, ‘misingi wa nyumani’ by Joseph ‘Weche’ Waweru, ‘wrapped reality’ by Shabu Mwangi and ‘kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene’ done by Ngugi Waweru.

   

  

  Inside the tunnel (Courtesy the artist)

   

  Ngugi Waweru. Kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene. Used knives, motorbike chains, corrugated iron sheets. 2022

  The situation of the world is the theme of my work “kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene”, in which I used old knives. I heard from many people, that the world is beautiful and brutal at the same time, it's scary. And I said to them: “Exactly, it's scary now to be in the world.” There was COVID, there is war, there is hunger - it's scary. It's like you are surrounded with death or illness.

   

  Ngugi Waweru. kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene. Used knives, motorbike chains, corrugated iron sheets. 2022 (Courtesy the artist. Photo Avi Sooful)

   

  My artistic process always starts in the brain and how I feel when observing the surrounding. For my Documenta work, I was studying those people who come to the community in Nairobi to sharpen knives for the butchers. I realized that they sharpen the knives over and over again until they are worn out. That led me to knives and I started collecting them long time ago. I didn't know what I will do with them. But, when we started talking in our collective about the exhibition, I came across a proverb: Kahio kuhiga muno gatemaga o mwene. It is a Kikuyu proverb that means “When a knife is too sharp, it cuts the owner.” I remembered that I had these sharp knives. This is how I came up with this idea of my art work for documenta fifteen.

   

  In the older days before we were colonized proverbs were used to educate or warn people. In this case I used the proverb to warn people. This Kikuyu proverb warns against the possibility of being harmed by one’s own decisions. The human quest for advancement in various spheres­­ (technology, education, religion, economies, or colonizing other planets, etc.) is also marked by a growing distance between people and the qualities that makes us human beings – our capacity for love, kindness, care, understanding, sharing, community. Just as a knife is eroded as it is sharpened repeatedly, so are we made less and less human by the actions we take to adapt and survive within our present society.

   

  

  Ngugi Waweru. kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene. Used knives, motorbike chains, corrugated iron sheets. 2022 (Courtesy the artist. Photo G. Tenter)

   

  Background

  But we have also good stories, the Wajukuu story, our story, e.g.. This story is creating hope where there is no hope. Building community and togetherness. Sharing is what we are doing to solve our issues, as artists, as a community. The world can learn from us. It doesn't matter where you come from, it doesn't matter what you have or what you don't have: We all have challenges. We have to come together and find solutions.

   

  Before the white man came to Africa, art was part of our life. When a child was born there was a ritual, a dance and a song to welcome the child into the family/community. In other traditions there was painting of the house. When the white man came, all of this was demonized. They forced us to start living their life. Even in school, we learn about Picasso or Leonardo da Vinci, but there were African artists whom we never heard from. They were masters, and the elders taught the young. Since we went through the white man’s education, art is defined according to the name. Now it's art, before it was our lifestyle.

   

  When the colonizers came, they took away three most important things, our land, our freedom and our religion. When they left they gave back our land and some part of our freedom but they never gave back our altars. What the white man also left is capitalism. But, with capitalism there is no way to connect with our Gods and our planet. Capitalism creates appetite for profits. With this appetite we destroy our home, our earth in the quest for riches. The capitalism system all over the world is suppressing our spirituality, our creativity, and our being human. It's making people to be workers, not free people or free thinkers. It took millions of colonizers’ soldiers, hundreds of years to disconnect us from our true being and our true Gods. What we are doing as Wajukuu Artists is like a tear drop in the ocean, but we are able to ignite a spark that will connect us to our roots. Our role in the community is to ignite a spark of change and alternative way of thinking.

   

  When we started to make art in Mukuru, the kids came where we were worked. At first we chased them away. But they would come again and again, because kids are attracted to the good things and art attracted them. After a few unsuccessful attempts to chase them away we decided to take them in. We realized if we don’t take and train them they will grow with the same vices we grew up with. For us, it's not about teaching them to be artists, but to create a platform for the kids to express themselves and give them an alternative education. We intend to find land to start practicing agriculture, teaching kids how to take care of the soil, to take care of the plants, the trees, and the environment, and also to reconnect with our spirituality, with our roots. This means, we teach kids our traditions. We also incorporate traditional dancers and traditional instruments in order for us to go back to our ways, not necessarily exactly, but to have a connection with our past.

   

  published February 2025

   

  ^[1]           (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mukuru_slums)

  

  Johannes Kirschenmann

  Documenta

  For over half a century, documenta in Kassel was considered the most important exhibition of contemporary art in Europe and beyond. It marked the respective current state of the art discourse in and for the Global North. The documenta in 2002, curated by the Nigerian-American Okwui Enwezor, corrected the existing narrow focus on art mainly from America and Europe for the first time.

   

  Twenty years later, in 2022, documenta was curated (again for the first time) from the Global South and additionally by a collective: ruangrupa from Jakarta. ruangrupa organized this documenta under the theme “lumbung”, the Indonesian name for a shared rice barn. Applying the lumbung ideal to the art world means that artists and collectives should work together sharing knowledge, resources and ideas. Instead of the purely market-oriented art business, the exhibition should focus on social, ecological and economic sustainability. Thus, the curators did not only ask the artists to present artworks, but offered support for their collective work in the public space. This is one of the reasons why, in addition to the existing museum spaces, numerous other places such as old factories or churches in Kassel were included as shared spaces.

   

  An outstanding example of the implementation of the Lumbung concept was the Wajukuu Art Project working in the slums of Nairobi. (Wajukuu is Kiswahili for grandchildren, or other relations of the second generation.) Wajukuu's installations at Documenta drew on used materials, furniture and everyday objects from the slums. In this way, they offered an aesthetic as well as socio-political examination of questions of identity:

   

  

  Entrance to the Documenta Halle through Wajukuu's tunnel (Courtesy the artist)

   

  Anyone who wanted to visit the documenta-Halle in Kassel, a modern hall with a glass façade built in 1992, first had to pass through an installation by Wajukuu: a tunnel-like, dark corridor made of corrugated iron, rusty Mabati, a building material commonly used in the Mukuru slum. “In reference to the vernacular architecture of Maasai housing, the meandering tunnel that contained the installations was covered by thin dark-brown reeds.” (https://www.textezurkunst.de/de/articles/eric-otieno-sumba-documenta-sell-the-vision/) The contrast between this noisy, dark scrapyard atmosphere and the light-flooded modernity and transparent rationality of the documenta hall could hardly be starker. In the tunnel, you could hear dogs barking, engines rattling and sirens wailing.

   

  During the creation process two other worlds collided: “In a ‘Post Documenta Artist Talk’ (Link) on October 13, 2022, two members of the collective reported that it took some negotiation to obtain clearance to build the tunnel without professional architectural guidance. The artists convinced the two firms that had been commissioned for construction to allow the structure to be built outside of construction norms and standards.” https://www.textezurkunst.de/de/articles/eric-otieno-sumba-documenta-sell-the-vision/#id4

   

  

  Inside the tunnel (Courtesy the artist)

   

  At the far end of this tunnel, visitors (with their predominantly Western-influenced view) stood in front of enigmatic sculptures. These were again made from used materials from the slum. Together with videos on screens, they encouraged visitors to reflect on life in the slum and prompted speculation about their possible use and meaning. Soft materials, for example, formed a resting place in the size of a typical one-room dwelling (Joseph Waweru Wangui). Next to it was another installation by Shabu Mwangi: a mirror set in a bed of sand, with a cloud floating above it, a wickerwork of bent woods, with two human figures. Behind them emerged two half-arches, formed from used sharp knives: the work of Ngugi Waweru “Kahiu kogi gatemaga mwene” (“If a knife is too sharp, it will hurt the owner”).
  
  

  

  Ngugi Waweru. kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene. Used knives, motorbike chains, corrugated iron sheets. 2022 (Courtesy the artist. Photo Avi Sooful)

   

  This work of art, which is not quite two meters high, stands in a basin filled with reddish, sandy earth - the edge of the basin is covered with motorcycle chains. On this "pedestal" is a construction made again of corrugated iron, which is covered with more motorcycle chains and, above all, sharp meat knives. In two large fields at the front, which are at a slight angle to each other, 'streams' of knives each frame a large opening in which the rusty corrugated metal construction is visible. For the viewer, it is above all the knives that make an impression. (They can also be found - less ornamentally arranged - on the back of the sculpture). This effect is certainly due to the fact that - as with El Anatsui e.g. - their ornamentation and the glitter of the flashing blades unfold their splendor from a reduced colorfulness. A splendor, however, which - with the narrow, long blades - is quickly associated with violence and destruction, torture and death, threat and power.

   

  

  Ngugi Waweru. kahio kugi gatemaga o mwene. Backside (Courtesy the artist. Photo Ernst Wagner)

   

  In respect to these associations, images from European cultural memory come to mind, from Caravaggio's Beheading of Holofernes by Judith to Arman's "accumulations" with knives or Marina Abramović's performances. Immediate impact and these associations play together to steer a perception between beauty and threat - in the given context obviously a symbolic expression of the slum experience. This specific form of aestheticization has also been questioned by art critics: is the work about the authenticity of the real experience or does it not rather serve a certain cliché of African slums? (https://www.textezurkunst.de/de/articles/eric-otieno-sumba-documenta-sell-the-vision/)

   

  However one decides, the impression of the work that it leaves behind remains, for which its artistic quality (according to the standards of the Global North) is decisive: it is visually striking, formally consistent and coherent, it draws on familiar aesthetics while at the same time is innovating, and it remains open for interpretation, the viewer is invited to. This artistic quality was certainly also decisive in Wajukuu being awarded the Arnold Bode Prize in 2022, a prize that is awarded every two years by the city of Kassel to outstanding contemporary artists. The concept of creation, the relationship between the work and its anchoring in the social process in the slum was certainly a decisive factor as well. Thua, the jury of the Bode Prize has also honored an important social project and acknowledged the work to improve living conditions in the slum.

   

  

  Award ceremony in Kassel 2022 (Courtesy the artist)

   

  With the awarding of the prize, all the voices that did not see "l'art pour l'art" thinking in the Wajukuu Project, but rather the will to change something in the reality of life with the help of art, were heard once again. "The Art Project uses art to create a future that shapes and improves the path for the next generation. Art forms the core of Wajukuu, not just as a practice, but as a way of life with tangible implications in the lives of its community." (Ann Mbuti: From beginnings. Laudation for the award of the Arnold Bode Prize 2022; source of the text: Cultural Office of the City of Kassel)

  
  Finally, the city of Kassel purchased this particular work by Ngugi Waweru, "Kahiu kogi gatemaga mwene", for its collection in the Neue Galerie (https://www.kassel.de/buerger/kunst_und_kultur/documenta/index.php). Now, it is isolated as a single work by a single artist, which was originally a contribution to a group presentation of a collective and which (together with the corrugated iron tunnel) was perceived as a unit. The transfer of the sculpture to the museum thus raises questions about the loss of context and the resulting transformation of meaning: Collective art practice and social commitment become (another) work of art in a museum, which at best still documents the Lumbung approach of 2022. Without context, without informative videos about the artists' work, without the other sculptures by the Wajukuu artists, we are confronted with an aesthetic object that continues to fascinate, but has lost an important dimension, its context.

  
  Accordingly, the interpretations of Waweru's now solitary sculpture were strangely sparse. The title of his work was interpreted in all publications as a warning to people in a meritocratic and consumer society, according to Ann Mbuti in her tribute at the award ceremony. Not a word about the sculpture itself, its materials, its atmosphere and effect. Not the question of what we see and feel. Arnold Bode, the ingenious stager of modern art, would also have awarded the prize to Wajukuu, but he would have strongly objected to the isolated presentation of Waweru's sculpture after the documenta.

   

  Published February 2025

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Stefan Eisenhofer

  The philosophy of borrowing materials and tools, as well as visual motifs, from the local environment goes back to his student days at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology in Kumasi in the late 1960s. It was the creative efforts of local artisans there that inspired him to become interested in the philosophy of "Natural Synthesis" from 1975 onwards at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where he is now Professor of Sculpture. This manifesto of the so-called "Zaria Rebels", whose members included Uche Okeke, at that time also a lecturer in Nsukka, postulated that local traditions should be interpreted using modern materials and techniques. This idea was to have a lasting influence on El Anatsui.

   

  A striking example of its expression in his work is the metal "tapestries" he has made since the late 1990s, which are actually sculptures rather than wall hangings. They consist of thousands of aluminium bottle caps discarded by Nigerian distilleries. Sorted by colour and prepared by El Anatsui's many assistants, they are stitched together with copper wire into "tapestries" several square metres in size. The tiny pieces of aluminium are arranged in patterns that evoke the narrow-band kente textiles made by Asante and Ewe weavers. However, this classical form of West African cloth is subjected by El Anatsui to a radical transformation in these works, which undermine the idea of metal as a rigid material. He transforms into something pliable and almost sensuous. Closely linked to this is the concept of a "nomadic aesthetic" involving fluidity of ideas, impermanence of form and indeterminacy. For El Anatsui this especially includes encouraging and even forcing the curators of his exhibitions to hang his works in accordance with their own ideas. He himself sees his wall hangings as physically unfixed and insists that there is no final and mandatory way of hanging them.

   

  In addition, El Anatsui creates connections with the aesthetic, political and economic roles of textiles – as an important component of global trade and consumer history, and as a significant vehicle for the transfer of ideas and creative ingenuity across cultures. Furthermore, he refers repeatedly to the function of kente cloths as a way of memorializing something, for they are often linked to events, people and historical or current issues: "You can memorialize a lot of things in cloth instead of having a statue in bronze," says El Anatsui and takes this up not only by naming some of his works after kente cloths, but also through the fact that the bottle tops he uses to create his "cloths" come from brands of liquor with names that refer to historical events.

   

  El Anatsui's wall hangings directly continue his idea of creating "transformations" of regional West African phenomena, and experimenting with materials that are important in the local cultural context. His artistic career began with wooden food trays from local markets which he decorated with burned or carved versions of adinkra symbols. The next phase was characterized by a series of broken and partially mended clay pots which served as a reflection on the current political situation in many African countries, and at the same time as an optimistic reference to the fact that clay pots are repairable and new uses can always be found for them: "When a pot breaks it's not the end of its useful life," says El Anatsui. Even breakage can lead to something new.

   

  In the 1980s he again turned to wood as a material, and discovered the chainsaw as a particularly suitable instrument for working African hardwoods. The chainsaw became for him a metaphor of the long history of violence to which the cultural traditions of Africa were, and still are, exposed. "Each process has its own peculiarities or language. [The chainsaw´s] language [is] of violence, of tearing, of clawing, of dividing," says El Anatsui.

   

  In the abstract wood sculptures of this phase the seed is already sown for something that runs through his work to this day: aesthetic comments on globalization and consumer culture, on the wastage of goods – and human lives. It is this aspect that has led to the great popularity of some of his works, for instance "Visa Queue" (1992), and in particular "Akua´s Surviving Children" (1996), which was made in Denmark while he was grappling with the theme of the slave trade. The stylized human figures made of driftwood show the damaging effects of water, wind and weather, the chosen material in itself a symbol of unprotected exposure: "The wood having (like the slaves) been torn from its land source and exposed to the hostile elements of water and wind."

   

  Linking aesthetic creations with political and economic issues is also a characteristic of those works in which he takes up the world's growing ecological challenges. This applies to his "Peak Project", created in 1999, which consists of numerous freestanding "peaks" made from thousands of glittering milk tin lids. Once again, the unfixed nature of the work is a prominent feature, the "peaks" taking on a different shape at each exhibition site. The open-endedness of his works can be seen in "Coal Pot", a work exhibited in the sculpture garden of the University of Kentucky Art Museum. It consists of a 15-feet iron cauldron filled with large pieces of Kentucky coal. In the course of time, the coal will disappear, gradually changing the appearance of the sculpture.

   

  El Anatsui has always been concerned with West African traditions facing the Global North under conditions of modernity, and in his special way he strives to give them new life and meanings that are of relevance today.

Read more …

• 

  Jane Otieno

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

  The woman who seems to be in a reflective mood, shows a reserved demeanor and sadness. The face is not shaded, maybe to allow the viewer to project themselves more into the work and to give a clearer interpretation of the mood. The work done in ink probably with a filt-tip or a ball pen by use of line technique is effectively rendered in flowing, horizontal, curved and vertical manner to project her character and what she stands for.The good grasp of the leading lines sets the work in time and emotion. It creates a feeling of harmony between the individual and her surroundings and successfully portrays an element of resiliency in the midst of uncertainties. The subject’s predominance intimates to the viewer her feeling of absolute command of her surroundings with her well-coordinated and symmetrically placed figure. The woman communicates beyond the physical likeness and tells the viewer something about her character. There is no reason not to believe that she is protective of her space, bears compassion, at the same time, not afraid to share her feelings, pain, emotions and empathy that connects with others in openness.

   

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

  The writings written in red color,  that reads ”Tanah, air, bumi, panggil, aku ibu” (Indonesian, to be translated as ”land, water, earth, call me mother”) around the neck is glaring and tends to hold the entire work in place. It is a strong message intended to communicate to the viewer on environmental awareness and conservation of natural resources. Perhaps a deliberate attempt by the artists to draw attention to the area, helping to convey thematic ideas that distinguish the woman from the rest of the picture. The necklace has a pendant with a distinct shape of a baby, probably in the womb, is a symbolic reflection of continuity and a cry for protection for all, including the unborn. They too matter! The fine textured background has other people, holding hands in solidarity, a sign of peaceful co-existence and social commentary on issues faced.

   

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

  The woman is against the destruction of what she holds dearly, and can foresee everyday activities such as fishing destroyed. The trees create balance in the work, while Rhythm and movement run across the canvas with reflection of real life situations, with a natural background that enhances the theme. The work’s portrayal of versatility and fluidity cannot be ignored. The relationships and interactions between the activities in the background and the main figure creates a complex meaning on nature’s importance for the human survival. The creatively rendered items held on both hands form part of the attire, thus creating a visual interest that has symbolic value. The firm, full, protective hands, held close to her heart, are symbolic of the strength of a woman, giving an impression of a mother, caregiver and a nurturer. The woman, in her use of direct gaze says “This is who I am” with her direct expression. She attempts to explain herself, to unravel her character, to invite the viewer to her space even if only for a moment.

   

  The drawing which is both engaging and intriguing, depicts the experience of understanding the environment and its connection to everyday life, “the goodness of mother earth”. It shows unity of purpose whereby different cultures from different continents come together in solidarity to support a common cause as the bottom inscription says: “Masyarakat adat merayakan keberagaman” translated “Indigenous people celebrate diversity”. The work substantially cultivates through an emotional approach the development of a connection of various cultures with nature for a common good. It underscores the importance of art as best suited to examine human existence, and that of earthly surrounding that reflects in everyday experiences and confronts the terror of the universe.

   

  

   Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

  Portrayal of how women play important roles in the construction of social and cultural meaning of different societies is evident. The realization of the goodness of Mother Earth is also shown to be a collective responsibility of all. The subject, executed from frontal view, is a woman in deep thought and a suggestion of underlying hidden pain and struggle for social justice that is explicit in various cultures. Her pain in addressing the social evils is captured more in her facial expression. Art as an expression of what it means to be human, is seen in the work that has religious expression, cultural undertones and creative energy. The artwork depicts a mysticism that is fabricated and intertwined in the socio-cultural realm, religious beliefs within different cultures. A view shared by Kumail (2017) who notes that art is a product of society’s members and so also reflects the culture and traditions of that society. Community members help to shape and evolve their culture through their efforts in the production of art. At the point when a society establishes its own particular character, the next generation is born, absorbs this identity, helps to spread it, and educates the world about it.

   

  The black and white drawing portrays collective and creative abilities among different artists, with a show of a sense of togetherness that gives an idea of communal activity. The huge drawing distinctively points to the art of collaboration and understanding between different artists coming together for a common goal, which in turn, bonds them towards a shared future. The artists show their understanding of not only an aesthetic sensibility, but also an astute understanding of the local context, relationships and a co-creation process that engenders collective participation and ownership. The group work is a clear indication that artists do not function in isolation, and can use the visual language to transform a society. The work gives an impression of artists having good time as they work on one project thus creating a unique value of an artistic approach to community life and development. Lee, Lim, Liang, Zainuddin and Alhadad (2020) concur by stating that social issues are often unpacked when artworks are presented for sharing, eliciting further response, offering new opportunities for clarification, and imagination. The process thereby facilitates co-creation and joint decision-making because the finished product is not actually ‘finished’ as it continues to elicit reflection and dialogue. The arts are able to engage community in imaginative ways, creating a space for dialogue on community issues faced and also expanding the horizons of possible solutions.

   

  CONCLUSION

  Art is depicted in this work as a means of dealing with uncertainties and envisage of better future. The work expresses emotions that are not necessarily spoken but are powerfully rendered. The subject, overwhelmingly is suggestive of what the innate emotion is. The work brings in the significance of women’s voices and contributions as very critical in advancement of our societies. The artwork shows the diversity of artistic expression and how artists collectively use the visual language to transform a society. Different artists working together in one canvas, bring in different perspectives to properly convey the woman’s story that cuts across different cultures. The collaboration among the artists is a sure way of harnessing strengths and sharing resources through processes that foster mutual respect, shared decision-making and open communication. The artists show their understanding of not only an aesthetic sensibility, but also an astute understanding of the local context and a co-creation process, that gives rise to collective participation and ownership in development of society. Can interdisciplinary approaches to art appreciation widen perspectives of and sensibility to the meaning of art? Can collaborative creation of artworks across many media offer many avenues of self-expression and, is it an effective way in the teaching and learning of art in our institutions? How can art educators work collaboratively and explore the use of multicultural and cross-disciplinary teaching strategies in art education?

   

  REFERENCES

  • Kumail M. Almusaly (2017). Painting our conflicts: A thematic analysis study on the role of artists in peacemaking and conflict resolution. Nova Southeastern University. Department of Conflict Resolution Studies. College of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences.
  • Lee, Lim, Liang, Zainuddin and Alhadad (2020). The unique value of the arts in community development: A case study of ArtsWork Collaborative. Institute of Policy Studies, Lee Kuan. Yew School of Public Policy, National University of Singapore & Singapore University of Social Science.   

   

  Photo credits

  Belinga, R.C. Institute of Fine Art Foumban, University of Dischang, Cameroon & Sooful, A., University of Pretoria, South Africa.

   

Read more …

• 

  Natalie Göltenboth

   

  When I first entered Anna’s house¹, I was surprised to hear that it was a temple of the Afro-Cuban Santería religion, a place determined by the presence of the orichas – the sacred beings of Santería.  The objects of the interior did not reveal but seemed to hide their sacred meaning for the uninitiated viewer.    

   

  On our way through the house, Anna introduced me to a doll dressed up in white: Obatalá, the paternal oricha of wisdom and justice, with a cream cake on his right and a wide-eyed Bambi on his left. On the sideboard in the corner we greeted Yemayá, the maternal oricha of the sea, represented by a plastic bowl filled with water in which various floating animals swung and a Barbie, whose light blue lace dress complemented the turquoise colored water of the bowl. Finally, in a small wardrobe, the soup tureen of the goddess Ochún was decorated with two elegant Barbies in golden outfits, staring out of the darkness with their always flawless smiles. Two foreigners, charged with western ideals of beauty, who, in this context, had been commissioned with representing Ochún, the oricha of femininity, love and freshwater.

   

  The representation or illustration of sacred powers through everyday objects, such as toys, dolls and knickknacks, have held a strong fascination for me since I literally stumbled upon them in Santero households, and, thus, the question of how this transference of powers and meanings to ultimately mundane objects could occur has long accompanied me on my fieldwork.

  How can we interpret the fact that Ochún, the Afro-Cuban goddess of love and freshwater is visualized by a glittering Barbie doll sent to Cuba by Cuban family members living in the USA.

  We should take a look back to the beginnings of the history of this religion for a better understanding of these dolls on the altars of Afro-Cuban Santería. Between the 16th and the 19th century, people were moved from one world to another on the sea routes of the transatlantic slave trade, which connected West Africa with the Caribbean (and this, in turn, with Europe), where they would henceforth work as slaves on the plantations of white landowners.

   

  We should consider that people from Nigeria, Togo and Benin who had been deported to Cuba arrived in the New World without any luggage. The carved wooden sculptures of their gods, power objects, masks or costumes were left behind together with the African coastline. The transfer of religious concepts from Africa to Cuba, the Caribbean or Brazil, therefore, took place primarily in the minds of these people and remained dependent on this imaginative reservoir for long periods of time.

   

  Despite the fact that the Cuban social anthropologist Don Fernando Ortiz² still managed to collect some old carved wood oricha representations which had been produced during the colonial period in the 1930s to 1950s, the tradition of carving sculptures had not been resumed in the new situation in Cuba. The wooden oricha representations of Nigeria and Benin were replaced by smooth porcelain Madonna statues and the serious looking saints of Spanish folk Catholicism. Slaves from West Africa who were forced to worship the statue of Santa Barbara reacted with a phenomenon known as the syncretism of the Caribbean: statues of the Madonna and saints were interpreted as “reservoirs” of African deities and treated as such.   

   

  In the course of these syntheses, Santa Barbara is venerated as a representation of the virile oricha Changó, ruler of fire, thunderstorms and lightning. The Virgin of Regla, with her blue and white Madonna robe, is associated with Yemayá, the maternal oricha of the sea, and the Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre, in her church near Santiago de Cuba, is worshipped as Ochún, the oricha of love, creativity and sexuality. This possibility of reinterpretation, of “declaring something to be something else,” is tantamount to breaking the link between form and content and is the precondition for the unusual appearance of Barbies on the Santería altars.   

   

  As the colonial supplies in holy figurines diminished, colorful multiples of saints from Cuban mass production are found nowadays instead of the statues. Together with plastic dolls, Barbies or everyday objects, these new assemblages bear witness to the change of time and values, of new desires and new myths that move the people of Cuba today and are visualized on the altars.      

  Despite the fact that the connection of object and meaning has been blown up in modern Santería arrangements, it remains unclear to what extent new narratives are woven into the conception of the orichas when they are represented by new material objects: how much Madonna can one find in Yemayá, the oricha of the sea, and what is the relationship between a Barbie and an oricha? Referring to Marshall McLuhan’s³ famous statement that the medium is a significant part of the message, we can try a more specific interpretation of Barbies on Santería altars.

   

  Original Barbie dolls are commodities acquired in stores in the USA and sent as gifts by relatives. As commodities and gifts, they mirror family ties that have continued over decades connecting Cuba and the USA, countries that have been politically separated since the Cuban revolution in 1959. In addition, Barbie dolls are not only saturated with the sacred aura of the orichas, they are also simultaneously encrusted with a fine texture of Cuban dreams of consumption and the feverish delirium of departure. Like Catholic saints, Barbies are figurines which are highly charged with their own narrative: the story of Ken and Barbie in the US American glamour world is a story of success, power and consumption. In this sense, Barbies on Afro-Cuban altars represent the fusion of idealized body and lifestyle imaginaries with sacred Afro-Cuban entities and deified ancestors. And, in the end, the forces of the orichas are conjured for reaching exactly these reasons: to provide their adepts with power that enables them to achieve their goals and realize their dreams – be they capitalistic or of another sort.

   

  The reclassification of the Barbie doll from toy to altar object does not happen suddenly. The dolls have to undergo a transition process to become part of an altar installation. The dolls that appear on altars have been subjected to a ritual cleansing ceremony using decoctions of herbs associated with a particular oricha, which allows them to bear the vital power “Aché” of the sacred being. A bundle of herbs and other substances have been placed inside their bodies. Throughout these preparations, nothing has changed the appearance of the doll, which preserves its fashionable style and smile. What has changed is the idea about the object and hence its place – the Barbie is now part of a sacred altar installation.

   

  Barbie dolls watch the strollers from the illuminated doorways that line the dark streets of Havana. Powerful representations of forces, imaginations, places and practices, connecting Africa and Cuba as well as Cuba and the USA, blending  boundaries between dolls and gods, toys and power objects, commodities and sacred beings. They connect long-separated families and fragmented religious concepts. They guard the entrances of homes and watch over the desires of their inhabitants, who rely on the power of their Barbie goddesses.

   

   

  Footnotes

   

  1) Natalie Göltenboth. “Yemayá und der Spielzeugdampfer – Zur Sakralität der Ready-mades auf afrokubanischen Altären.” In Ideen über Afroamerikaner – Afroamerikaner und ihre Ideen. Beiträge der Regionalgruppe Afroamerika auf der Tagung der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Völkerkunde in Göttingen 2001, edited by Lioba Rossbach de Olmos & Bettina Schmidt. Marburg: Curupira, 2003, pp. 107-127.

  2) Fernando Ortiz. Hampa Afrocubana: Los Negros Brujos. Miami. Universal, 1973.

  3) Marshall McLuhan. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Men. 1^st Ed. New York: Mc Graw Hill, 1964

   

   

  References

   

  • Brown, David H. “Thrones of the Orichas. Afro-Cuban Altars in New Jersey, New York and Havana”, African Arts, Oct. (1993) 44-87.
  • Danto, Arthur C. Transfiguration of the Commonplace. A Philosophy of Art. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1981.
  • Göltenboth, Natalie.2020. „Invoking the gods – or the apotheosis oft he Barbie doll“ IN: Philipp Schorch, Martin Saxer et al. Exploring Materiality and Connectivity in Anthropology and Beyond. London: UCL
  • Göltenboth, Natalie. “Yemayá und der Spielzeugdampfer – Zur Sakralität der Ready-mades auf afrokubanischen Altären.” IN: Ideen über Afroamerikaner – Afroamerikaner und ihre Ideen. Beiträge der Regionalgruppe Afroamerika auf der Tagung der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Völkerkunde in Göttingen 2001, edited by Lioba Rossbach de Olmos and Bettina Schmidt. Marburg: Curupira, 2003, pp. 107-127.
  • Holbraad, Martin, and Morten Axel Pedersen. “Things as Concepts.” In The Ontological Turn. An Anthropological Exposition. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2017, pp. 199-238.
  • Willie Ramos, Miguel. “Afro-Cuban Orisha Worship.” In Santería Aesthetics in Contemporary Latin Art, edited by Arthuro Lindsay. Washington: Smithsonian Press, 1996, pp. 51-76.

Read more …

• 

  Gertrude Nkrumah

  Inversion of Hegemony with Ideas of Femininity

  Scholarly works abound on factors and causes of gender inequality in the Ghanaian society and many of these writings address gender inequality solely in terms of women as the victims and thus reinforcing the gender stereotype of female passivity. Although this is true in most cases, such studies do not necessarily address the question of how women have responded to and addressed issues of gender expectations and gender-related roles in African societies. By using the ‘Akuaba’ doll (fertility figurine), this research seeks to explore how the concept of womanhood has been portrayed and represented through time in the Ghanaian society among the Akan ethnic group. It seeks to extend an argument for the interpretation of these images beyond the depiction of women as sexual objects to that of creating an inversion of female hegemony in the society. I argue that instead of considering gender stereotypes as an all-pervasive oppressive tool, we must begin to think of the finer nuances and conceptualize how women have shaped, redefined, and negotiated socio-cultural construction of gender.

   

  The object is widely referred to as the fertility figure, also known as the Akuaba doll among the Akans of Ghana. My reasons for selecting this object are two-fold. Firstly, it speaks to my childhood experiences as a girl growing up in an Akan society and secondly, as someone who is very passionate about gender-related issues either from an intellectual and personal perspectives, I was motivated to choose for this project an object that I can easily relate to, both from a personal and intellectual perspectives.

   

  The object in question is the depiction of a female body, an exhibition of the Akan concept of an ideal woman. The features include a flat forehead with an elongated “ring-like neck shape”¹ which reflects Akan standard of beauty. The understanding is that a woman with this type of neck is well-fed, healthy, and strong, a paragon of beauty and affluence. The flat broad forehead also is an embodiment of wisdom, while the accentuated breasts and hips with beads worn arounds the waist is the Akan ideal of womanhood, a depiction of woman as the giver of life. The beads worn around the waist has both aesthetic and symbolical meanings. In terms of beauty, beads were worn as an ornament for beautification, just as portrayed by the wearing of the jewels around her ears. It was also believed that wearing of beads around the waist is sexually appealing, while beads were also worn to broaden the hips and shape the waist for reproductive purposes. It is important to note that in the Akan society, and indeed in most Ghanaian culture, an ideal woman is one that carries and bears children. Clearly, ideas of beauty, sexuality and reproduction were the very essence of womanhood or femininity in the Akan society.

   

  According to a very popular Akan oral tradition, the Akuaba doll is deeply rooted in one’s woman’s quest to overcome her inability in meeting societal ideas and expectation of womanhood.² Akua, a childless woman, consulted a ritual specialist for a child. She was instructed to go to a woodcarver and make a doll of her choice for a child. Some rituals were then performed on the doll and given back to her to take home and treat and care for as her child. Later she became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter, just as she desired. The Akuaba doll then became symbolic for female reproduction. Amenumey explains that the Akuaba dolls were “…supposed to induce fertility and pregnancy….”.³ Among the Akan, like most precolonial Ghanaian societies, the concept of womanhood was largely defined and shaped by a woman’s ability to give birth to as many children as possible. Childbearing was a blessing from the gods and was usually celebrated with pomp and merrymaking. For instance, the custom was to reward a man whose wife has given birth to ten children with a sheep. The Akan refer to this as “badudwan”⁴ literally, a sheep for the tenth child. This was usually provided by the wife’s family to the husband to show their appreciation for the replenishing and sustainability of their family.⁵ In the quest to attain such feat, women worked hard to give birth to at least this number of children as prove of her worth to her husband and the society. This undoubtedly made women who were childless in the society feel undervalued and highly marginalized. 

   

  Such ideas and concepts of womanhood and inadvertent marginalisation of women still resonate in contemporary Ghanaian society and indeed in most contemporary societies. A woman’s value and worth continue to be tied with her sexual and reproductive abilities. Although women at present now have access to spaces and engage in works that go beyond the traditionally assigned roles of wife and motherhood (sexual and reproductive values), a woman is still expected to neatly fit in with socio-cultural construct of gender. This underscores the value place on women’s sexuality and reproduction to the detriment of other roles beyond these norms, thus leading to the marginalization of women. It is for these reasons that scholars such as Lerner and Allman have often called for the need to question entrenched patriarchal norms that undermine women’s oppression while it reinforces male- superiority.⁶

   

  The understanding that women have continually been passive and largely detached from the making of their own history and are mere tools in the hands of a patriarchal society is neatly contested by the history behind the Akuaba doll. While it is true that it was Akua’s desperation to fit into societal expectation of ideals of motherhood that forced her to consult a diviner to help her conceive a child, the knowledge that Akua chose to actively engaged with the process of making the doll; how the doll is carved out, the shape, the physical features, and the aesthetic nature is significant. Additionally, the fact that she chose to carve out a girl child clearly indicates the active role she played in redefining and negotiating power with the matrilineal, yet patriarchal society, thus creating and inverting power in an all-pervasive patriarchal institution. It is also an indication that she did not consider the female as of little value in her society. 

   

  Paradoxically then, the history and philosophical ideologies that underpin the concept of the Akuaba doll is a clear exhibition of the nuances and complexities of societal construction of gender roles and status. In a society with a deeply entrenched gender expectations and assigned gender roles, it is remarkable that Akua sought to circumvent, manipulate, and yet conversely acquiesce with existing status quo to her advantage, an inversion of hegemony amidst patriarchal privilege. Therein lies the ambiguities and contradictions of performing gender.

   

   

   

  References

   

  • Addo-Fening, R (1973). Asante refugees in Akyem Abuakwa 1875-1912. Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana. 14, 1. 39-64.
  • Akyeampong, E & Obeng, P. (1995). Spirituality, Gender, and Power in Asante History. The International Journal of African Historical Studies. 28, 3. 481-508.
  • Allman, Jean. (1996). “Rounding up Spinsters: Gender Chaos and Unmarried Women in Colonial Asante.” Journal of African History, 37, 2, 195-214.
  • Amenumey, D. E. K. (2008). Ghana: A concise history from pre-colonial times to the 20^th Century. Accra: Woeli Publishing.
  • Appiah Anthony K. (1991) “Is the Post- in Postmodernism the Post- in Postcolonial? Critical Inquiry. Vol. 17, No. 2. 336-357.
  • Lerner, G. (1994). The creation of feminist consciousness: From the Middle Ages to 1870. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Lerner, G. (1986). The creation of patriarchy. New York: Oxford University Press.

   

  Footnotes

   

  1) It is quite common today to hear songs in the Ghanaian society eulogising a woman’s beauty by referring to her ring-shaped neck, together with other physical features. This is an indication that the Akan standard of beauty in the past as enshrined in the Akuaba doll continue to resonate with contemporary Ghanaian societies.

  2) This is a popular story among the Akans and was often recounted to young girls especially by an older woman in the family or society. I grew up listening to these stories from my mother and grandmother, among others.

  3) D. E K. Amenumey. (2008). Ghana: A concise history from pre-colonial times to the 20^th Century. Accra: Woeli Publishing. P. 90.  From a spiritual and philosophical perspectives, the use of the Akuaba went beyond just fulfilling the desires of childless women. In most of these Akan societies, when a woman gives birth to twins but in an unlikely situation where one of them dies, she is expected to make a replica of an Akuaba doll in replacing the dead child. Some would also bury the dead child with the Akuaba doll as a way of warding off evil spirit from killing the living child.

  4) “Badu” is an Akan name for the tenth born child. ‘Ba’ or ‘ɛba’ is the Twi word for child, while ‘ɛdu’ or ‘du ‘means the number ten in the Akan language. Therefore, the name Badu in Akan usually refers to a tenth born child.

  5) It is significant to point out that Akan society, unlike most ethnic groups such as the Mole-Dagbani, Ewe, Ga-Adangbe and Guan, is mostly a matrilineal society. Lineage, inheritance, and chieftaincy succession have always been through the female line. Although precolonial Akan society was not completely immune from patriarchal ideals, women played important roles and and had significant status in society especially in areas of religion, politics and economy. For further details on this, see for example the articles Addo-Fening, R (1973). Asante refugees in Akyem Abuakwa 1875-1912. Transactions of the Historical Society of Ghana. 14, 1. 39-64 & Akyeampong, E & Obeng, P. (1995). Spirituality, Gender, and Power in Asante History. The International Journal of African Historical Studies. 28, 3. 481-508.

  6) See for example, Allman, J. (1996). “Rounding up Spinsters: Gender Chaos and Unmarried Women in Colonial Asante.” Journal of African History, 37, 2, 195-214, Lerner, G. (1994). The creation of feminist consciousness: From the Middle Ages to 1870. Oxford: Oxford University Press., & Lerner, G. (1986). The creation of patriarchy. New York: Oxford University Press.

   

   

  This article is part of a gallery: Perspectives from Ghana on Museum Objects in Germany

   

  published January 2021

  

  ISB_Team

  A German Perspective on the Akuaba Doll in the Museum Fünf Kontinente Munich
  

  
  (Download the text in German)

   

  Akuaba Dolls are wooden figures that were and apparently still are in use mainly in rural areas in southern Ghana. Young women hoping for pregnancy or - if they are already pregnant - for the health and beauty of their child, wear these figures on their bodies like real babies and take care of them. That is why they are called 'dolls'.

   

  Akuaba or better Akua-Bà literally means 'child of Akua'. The story tells of "a woman named >Akua< who could not get pregnant and went to a local diviner or priest and commissioned the carving of a small wooden doll. She carried and cared for the doll as if it were her own child, feeding it, bathing it and so on. Soon the people in the village started calling it >Akua< >ba< - meaning >Akuaba's child<, since >ba< means child. She soon became pregnant and her daughter grew up with the doll." (Annor et al., p. 308)

   

  This story also forms the basis for the function of the widespread dolls as aids in a desire for pregnancy. An Akuaba Doll expresses this desire for a child, so the figure is 'cared for' by a girl from puberty onwards. This happens within the family. Outside the family, Akuaba Dolls can be found in shrines under the care of a ritual specialist, where they can be borrowed for their purpose.

   

  

  Fig. 1 & Fig. 2 Views of the Akuaba Doll in the Munich Museum Fünf Kontinente

  Anonymous artist. Fante Fertility Figure. Early 20th century, Wood. 27,5 cm. Museum Fünf Kontinente. Presentation at Museum Fünf Kontinente.

  © Museum Fünf Kontinente

   

  Description

  The doll in Munich's Museum Fünf Kontinente (Fig.1) comes from the Fante area. It shows a female figure. The very strongly abstracted forms and proportions symbolise various aspects:

   

  The rectangular shape of the very flat head becomes - seen from the front - somewhat broader in an elegant curve towards the top. A strikingly high forehead, with eyes, eyebrows and nose only indicated, while mouth and ears are missing. The accentuated arch segments of the eyebrows flow together and then form the nose. On the back, the head has geometric patterns (Fig. 2). Added earrings of glass beads give the figure a colourful accent. For Kecskési (p. 38), their daintiness is a sign that the doll has been lovingly treated. At the very top there is another small moulding with a hole where hair was originally attached (compare Fig. 3a).

   

   

  Fig. 3a: Akuaba Doll from the Linden Museum Stuttgart (Forkl p. 94).   Fig. 3b: Use of the doll (drawing by Vanessa Rast - courtesy the artist)

  
  

   

  The neck has five rings. It sits on a very slender, round trunk, which in turn stands on a delicate base. Striking are two groups of three diagonal embrasures each, which are repeated on the back. The figure has no arms, the legs are short stumps. The protruding forms in the chest area mark the figure as female. Its strict symmetry is softened by small deviations. One can well imagine taking the cylindrical figure in one's hand.

   

  Material and technique

  A ritual specialist to whom a woman who wishes to have a child goes makes the decision about the choice of doll at the respective shrine. If no suitable figures are available there, he instructs the woman to order a new Akuaba Doll from the woodcarver. The craftsmen then visit the tree to obtain the wood and ask the tree's spirits for permission to do so (oral information from the Ghanaian colleagues 2022 in Bayreuth [Link]). The Akuaba Doll in the Munich Museum was carved from softwood. (There are also darker examples made of hardwood, for example among the Ashanti, also an Akan group, as the presentation in the Ghana National Museum in Accra shows - see Fig. 4.) In the example in Munich, eyebrows and nose are darker. 

   

  

  Fig. 4: Presentation of Akuaba Dolls at the Ghana National Museum in Accra (March 2023. Photo: the author)

   

  Interpretation of the Munich figure within the original Ghanaian context

  (1) Utility function: The figure is made for the family context. It is meant to lead to fertility, sometimes also to the beauty of a child. The size (height 28 cm), the pleasant material and the weight allow the figure to be carried and cared for like a baby. When an Akuaba Doll has fulfilled its task, it is often returned to the ritual specialist who accompanies the process.

   

  The breasts indicate a female figure, which does not necessarily have to do with a corresponding desire for the sex of the child desired. Forkl (p. 94) assumes, however, that "women desire daughters, on the one hand as progenitors in a matrilineality oriented society, and on the other hand as support in household work." (There are also Akuaba figures with the characteristics of both sexes and probably male specimens; furthermore, breastfeeding examples and those who in turn carry other Akuaba Dolls.)

   

  (2) Body shape: T The conspicuous and disproportionately large rectangular head symbolises the head as the seat of intellect and wisdom in local imagery. Akuaba figures among the Ashanti show round heads (see fig. 4), but they are also proportionally very large. High foreheads and flat faces correspond to the ideal of beauty. Luxuriant bulges on the necks tell that the figure is well-fed and thus refer to happiness and prosperity. There are Akuaba Dolls that show more feminine body shapes, wider hips, possibly emphasised by strings of pearls.

   

  (3) The spiritual context:  As Nkrumah writes in her contribution, an Akuaba figure serves as a dwelling place for a soul being, a being that is in a transitional area between the earthly and the spiritual world. Carrying and caring for it is a prerequisite for the entrance of such a soul being, which then sets out to appear on earth as a living being, i.e. to enter the family of the young woman through birth. A ritual specialist is involved in the selection, consecration and regulations for use. After a birth, the figure is returned to the ritual specialist.^[1]

   

  (4) The social and cultural context: The figure can also be seen as a sign of the traditional expectation for a woman to bring children into the world. In recent times, where traditional societal expectations of women collide with other worldviews, the ritual use of Akuaba Dolls obviously decreases .

   

  

  Fig. 5: Souvenir shop at Accra Airport (March 2023. Photo: the author)

  In the last decades, an interesting production for tourism has been established - apparently the dolls are seen as 'typical for Ghana'. However, these are not Akuaba Dolls in the traditional sense, but rather 'quotes'.

   

   

  How can one relate Akuaba Dolls to European visual traditions and experiences?

  As familiar as the image of an Akuaba figure may seem in Europe - as a 'typical' example of traditional African art - its traditional meaning is unknown in Europe. Nevertheless, it obviously seems to be attractive to tourists, e.g. as 'airport art' (see Fig. 5), perhaps because its shape somehow corresponds to the cliché idea of 'typically African', the size fits well into the suitcase, or the large head (by means of the Bambi effect) makes it appear 'cute'.

   

  

  Fig. 6: Paul Klee. Senecio. 1922. Oil on chalk base on gauze on cardboard. 40.3 × 37.4 cm. Kunstmuseum Basel (Wiki Commons)

   

  In the context of art history, the influence of Akuaba Dolls (and many other carved representations from West Africa) on European art of the early 20th century (see Fig. 6) is of interest. ^[2] The formal similarity to Klee's painting (fig. 6) is striking at first glance, but whether this is a direct reference must first be verified. In the context of art history, it would then be of interest in a next step which aesthetics were of interest to the artists at the time and which they blanked out, i.e. which "image of Africa" they wanted to have and also communicate.

   

  

  Fig. 7: Hieroglyph Anch

  (Photo: https://anthrowiki.at/Anch)

   

  The authors also considered whether the formal similarity of the Akuaba Dolls with the ancient Egyptian hieroglyph ‘Anch’ (the "loop of life" or the "key of life" - see Fig. 7) could have come about through a historical relationship between Egypt and Ghana. This would also correspond to the accentuation of content in Nkrumah's text with regard to the "representation of the woman as the giver of life" (see her chapter). Nevertheless, this association would also have to be examined more closely. To assume a universal archetype in the sense of C. G. Jung appears to be pedagogically misleading in its levelling effect.

   

  In the German educational context, on the other hand, it seems important to link the figure - beyond clarifying its function - to Akua's story and thus include the role of narratives. This prevents another comparison that is also too quick and reductive when it comes to social practices (and not the isolated object), as dolls are also cared for and nurtured in traditional European contexts, but mostly by young children before puberty. So, in Europe, it does not belong to a fertility ritual, even if the child puts itself in the role of a ‘little mother’ or ‘little father’. (Another interesting question, whether Ghanaian women also go to a doctor when they are not pregnant, and whether there are comparable ritualised practices in Central Europe - for example among alternative practitioners or in esoteric circles - would have to be addressed in interdisciplinary approaches.)

   

  Such comparisons appear to be useful, as they can show both similarities and differences, with the aim of better recognising one's own perceptual conventions or stereotypes and thus putting them into perspective. All this still leaves the question of the status of this doll in Munich when it is displayed in a showcase in a European museum (see Lab entry: What is an object? Link). Such a presentation contradicts its ritual and spiritual use. An Akuaba is then no longer an Akuaba. But what is it then?

   

  Sources

  This text is based on:

  • Contribution by Gertrude Nkrumah: https://explore-vc.org/en/objects/the-akuaba-doll.html
  • Talks with the Ghanaian EVC partners in Bayreuth in 2022: https://explore-vc.org/en/activities/archive/april-22-25-2022-joint-workshop-uew-team-and-isb-team.html
  • The presentation at the National Museum in Accra, seen in March 2023: Fig. 4.
  • Reading: see list of references

  References

  • Akyeampong, E & Obeng, P. (1995). Spirituality, Gender, and Power in Asante History. The International Journal of African Historical Studies. 28, 3. pp 481-508
  • Anderson, Elizabeth L. (1989): The Levels of Meaning of an Ashanti Akua'ba. In: Michigan Academican. 21 205-219
  • Annor, I., Dickson, A & Dzidzornu, A. G. (2011): General Knowledge in Art. Accra (Aki-Ola Publications)
  • Forkl H. (1997): Healing and body art in Africa. Stuttgart (Lindenmuseum)
  • Kecskési, M. (1999): Kunst aus Afrika - Museum für Völkerkunde München. Munich (Prestel)

   

  Footnotes

  ^[1]              The number of five neck bulges here (there are also specimens with 3, 8 or 9 bulges) may also   be a reference to the sacred number of "Odumankoma", the Akan creator deity, in this context.

  ^[2]              On the relationship of the European avant-garde to the aesthetics of West African carvings, see also the discussion of the Blue Rider post on this website (link 1 and 2).

   

  

  Christin Winter

  My Encounter with Black Feminism and Womanhood Inspired by the Akuaba Doll

   

  I first came in contact with the Akuaba Doll while reading Bernardine Evaristo’s award winning book Girl, Woman, Other. In the book, the character Nazinga was described as “at least six foot tall with ornamented dreadlocks, large wooden Akuaba fertility doll earrings, red trousers, a cream embroidered caftan and strappy Roman sandals“ (Evarsito 2020, p. 81). I searched for Akuaba fertility doll earrings on the internet, but did not delve further into the topic at this time. A few weeks later, attending a seminar with Dr. Wagner at Friedrich-Alexander University in Erlangen, I stumbled upon the Akuaba Doll again. I knew, I had to take this opportunity to get to know her better. The comment from Gertrude Nkrumah is to be considered my first source of information about the history of origin and the tradition into which the Akuaba Doll is woven.

   

  Through Nkrumah's feminist perspective on the Akuaba Doll, I wanted to dive deeper into the topic of Black Feminism to extend my knowledge in feminist theory. With the Akuaba Doll as my point of departure, I decided to focus on the ability to bear children and the social significance of abortions for Black women.^[1]

   

  At this point I move past the Akuaba Doll and her cultural context. Other works of art could have led me to a similar path. I have chosen to look at the Akuaba Doll with categories, which are not directly related to the Akuaba Doll and her cultural context as I questioned whether I have the right to write about the Akuaba Doll considering the colonial past of my own country, Germany. I am a white, European woman, a feminist, who is aware of intersectionality and racist structures within the society I have been socialised in and its way of thinking, but with no cultural connection to the Akuaba Doll other than the colonial impact on African art and culture (cf. Kushinator, Rahman and Dompreh, 2020^[2]). Therefore, I chose a topic to which I have access via my role as a student of pedagogy and focus on Black Feminism and Womanhood of Black women living in white-dominated countries.

   

  In white-dominated societies, Black women were excluded from a feminist movement for decades (cf. hooks, p. 216f.). White women systematically utilised the racist hierarchy within women to gain power and thereby forced a specific Black feminist movement to form and uncover the oppression Black women had and still have to face. The prefix “Black” emphases the specific oppression Black women face in white-dominated countries, although, of course, there has been feminist movements in Black-dominated countries before (cf. Roig quoted from Berlin Biennale 2022, 48:00 – 49:50).

   

  In American history, Black women have always had to fight to be seen as women. As bell hooks gets to the heart of it: “the black female was a creature unworthy of the title woman; she was mere chattel, a thing, an animal” (hooks 2015, p. 214). Sojourner Truth^[3] had to bare her breasts to prove that she was a woman indeed. Being yelled at “I don’t believe you really are a woman” by a white man represents the contempt and disrespect for Black womanhood (cf. hooks 2015, p. 214). In her famous speech “Ain’ I a Woman” (1851), she argues, that she – as her white women audience too – is indeed a woman. Here she argues with characteristics, that can also be found in the Akuaba Doll. The most important argument is the carrying and bearing of children and the “mother’s grief” (Truth 1851 quoted from hooks 2015, p. 215) she cried out, when her children were sold into slavery.

   

  The ability to bear children has always played an important role in the history of womanhood and was – and still is – utilised to oppress and exploit Black women. In times of slavery, Black women were forced to procreate and bear children, who were worth a lot of money in a perfidious system of human trafficking (cf. Federici 2020, p. 23f.). In the late 20^th century, Black men in the U.S. reasserted what they called their “rightful positions as patriarchs” (Taylor 2022) and denounced birth control and abortions as genocide that compromised the future and freedom of Black families by limiting the Black population (cf. Federici, p. 25f.). With the overturn of Roe v. Wade^[4] – Black women are specifically affected, as Kwajelyn Jackson, Executive Director of the Feminist Women’s Health Center in Atlanta, Georgia puts it into a nutshell: "Abortion bans are inherently racist because they do not consider the lived experiences of Black people and other communities of colour. Many state policymakers would rather criminalize and endanger Black birthing people than supply them with all of the resources they actually need" (Jackson quoted from Long 2022). Even before the abortion laws were restricted, Black (and other BIPoc) women in the U.S were two to three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women (cf. CDC 2019). Being allowed to decide whether you want children or not and furthermore, having access to certain facilities to end a pregnancy or not is still a bound to privileges. It is not only tied to the health care system, but also to cultural beliefs and practices, to the financial and educational background, as well as to class, race and many other factors.

   

  In a world imprinted by patriarchy and privilege, it is important to unravel power structures that dominate our world, uncover where they come from and how different groups are affected differently. As patriarchal patterns of thought are inscribed in nearly all societies of our world, it is a tough task to uncover them in every aspect of our lives and hence require lifelong learning and feminist thought. Nevertheless, it is indispensable in order to build an anti-racist gender-equal society in which every woman can decide herself, if she wants to get children without fearing financial or social consequences.

   

  In this context the Akuaba Doll can be interpreted as an early moment of feminism, where women disrupt the patriarchal system that marginalizes them. As Nkrumah states, by deciding about the gender of her child in a binary system, she chose to bear a girl rather than a boy, which – in the matrilineal line – effects the lineage, inheritance, and chieftaincy succession (cf. Nkrumah 2020). In my eyes, Akua used the power she had to influence her life to her advantage. Yet the worth of women was still tied to her sexual and reproductive abilities, but nevertheless she made a first step by empowering women to stand up for themselves and for their own lives.

   

  References

  Berlin Biennale (2022). Panel: Afrofeminism. Bridging the Gap. <https://12.berlinbiennale.de/media/panel-afrofeminisms-bridging-the-gap/> (09/30/2022).

  Center for Reproductive Rights (2022). The World’s Abortion Laws. <https://reproductiverights.org/maps/worlds-abortion-laws/> (09/30/2022)

  Evaristo, B. (2020). Girl, Woman, Other. UK: Penguin Books.

  Federici, S. (2020). Jenseits unserer Haut. Körper als umkämpfter Ort im Kapitalismus. Münster: Unrast.

  hooks, b. (2015). Ain’t I a Woman. Black Women and Feminism. New York: Routledge.

  Kushiator, G., Rahman, A. and Dompreh, H.-O. (2020). The Influence of Western Culture on Traditional Art Forms and Cultural Practices: ‘Akuaba’ doll among Akan Women in Africa. ADRRI Journal of Arts and Social Sciences, Ghana: Vol. 17, No.6 (5), S.59 – 71.<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/344438737_The_Influence_of_Western_Culture_on_Traditional_Art_Forms_and_Cultural_Practices_%27Akuaba%27_Doll_Among_Akan_Women_in_Africa> (09/30/2022).

  Long, S. (2022). Abortion Bans pose a Danger to all Mothers. For Black Women, they’re especially damaging. <https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2020/10/10015405/abortion-ban-racism-black-women-effects> (09/30/2022).

  Nkrumah, G. (2021). Inversion of Hegemony with Ideas of Feminity. <https://www.explore-vc.org/en/objects/the-akuaba-doll.html> (09/30/2022).

  Taylor, K.-Y. (2022). How Black Feminists defined Abortion Rights. <https://www.newyorker.com/news/essay/how-black-feminists-defined-abortion-rights> (09/30/2022).

   

  Footnotes

  ^[1] In this context, I will delve into the topic of reproductive abilities and use the term "woman" throughout my text. However, I want to clarify that the ability to bear children is not a defining characteristic of womanhood. Not all women have a uterus, and not all women are able to bear children. Furthermore, one's physical appearance is not a determining factor of one's gender identity. Despite this, the reproductive ability is instrumentalised in our society and can lead to harmful stereotypes, which many women are confronted with at some point in their lives.

  ^[2] In addition to exploring the different forms and cultural backgrounds of Akuaba Dolls, this article delves into the ways in which culture, religion, and artistic expression are intertwined in African cultures. The article points out how the colonization by white, western, and Christian men and women caused a change in function and values of the Akuaba Doll.

  ^[3] Sojourner Truth lived from 1797 to 1883. She was an American abolitionist of New York Dutch heritage and a women’s rights activist. She was born into slavery, but escaped to freedom in 1826. In 1851 she joined George Thompson, an abolitionist and speaker, on a lecture tour through central and western New York State. At the Ohio Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio, she gave her speech with later became famous as “Ain’t I a Woman?”

  ^[4] Roe v. Wade is a legal case in which the U.S Supreme Court ruled that unduly restrictive state regulation of abortion is unconstitutional and that the Constitution of the United States generally protects a pregnant woman's liberty to choose to have an abortion. This decision from 1973 was overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court in 2022.

   

  
  
  

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

  The image is a photograph showing details of the French artist Christian Lapie’s public installations in 2001 in the city of Ngaoundéré, capital of the Adamawa Region in Cameroon. The work consists of five modules composed of nine figures, ranging between 150 and 450cm each and laid in a semi-circular radius of 1000 cm. The pieces are made of wood and placed vertically in an upright position. The upper end is shaped like a head, giving each piece the appearance of a human silhouette. Arranged like a gathering of people dressed in local traditional attire, called boubou (a long, loose-fitting garment worn by both sexes in parts of Africa), the works are aligned in a semi-circular arc.

   

  The work’s detailed structure is closely linked to its title Djaoulérou, which means "traditional space, place of meeting and reception". The artist echoes customs in a context where the relationship between traditional practices and Islam remains ambiguous. Islam provides an opportunity for certain members of local society to acquire privileged positions under the auspices of religion. Religion’s role in the political game has proven to be so important that post-colonial politicians have laboured to maintain control of the religious sphere in every region. Religion presents challenges for politicians in terms of governance and control. Maud Lasseur (2005, 95), echoing this sentiment, maintains that: “During the colonial period and under the regime of President Ahidjo (1960–1982), Christian missions were thus contained to the south of Cameroon so as not to hinder the Muslim aristocracy of the Far North or thwart the unifying political project of the first Cameroonian president”. 

   

  The monumental character of the work, the rhythm and movement suggested by forms treated with little attention to detail, the variations in volume and the different dimensions of each silhouette make the installation look both impressive and expressive. Each individual group of statues, displayed at the same time in different places in the city, shows how the "mysterious objects" made by a foreign artist present unfamiliar traits regarding the city’s socio-cultural imagination. The work breaks taboos: an unusual appearance that creates artistic experience, tradition and beliefs, which have become subject to manipulation and political propaganda within the society.

   

  The work’s destruction reflects the fragility of a slavish society instrumentalized by politically motivated religious arguments in the 2002 legislative elections in Cameroon. The fact that a French artist has carried out an unusual and iconoclastic installation project in this city is seen as a provocation, particularly by the Muslim cultural authority. This religious and political authority occupies a very influential social position as "guardian of the temple" (custodian of traditions) and is in a position to incite people to commit acts of such magnitude.  In addition to setting fire to the works and proceeding to uninstall them, public authorities definitively closed down the Franco-Cameroonian alliance of Ngaoundéré because of the social unrest the works provoked. This cultural centre for Franco-Cameroonian cooperation had supported the artist's installation project.

   

  The act of vandalism perpetrated on Christian Lapie’s work exposes Cameroon’s national society in search of landmarks. Art, and particularly sculpture, has played an important role in expressing belief systems. The cosmogonic universe and the world view of the populations that have succeeded one another in this territory have been revealed through artistic representation. The bold production and reproduction of anthropomorphic, zoomorphic, geometric and imaginary forms is typical of these societies. As in many countries in sub-Saharan Africa, art has helped what people see, think, imagine and believe (J.P. Notué, 2005). Because of the lack of critical understanding of their history and the changes they experienced, societies are confronted with major shocks that have an impact on their development. Among these shocks are an ambiguous relationship to religion. Its consequences are the religious and political manipulation that societies are sometimes subjected to. One historical reason for this is the attitude of missionaries who made no discernment in the positive values of the tradition and the absence of doctrine and deep convictions of these values (E. Mveng, 1985). 

   

  Cameroon’s colonial religious legacy is one of the most important sources of the ethical foundation of its society in the 21st century. The generalization of the religious profession of faith/conversion seems to have fostered a latent form of "alienation" among the urban society. There is a superficial knowledge of both the principles of modern culture and the traditional environment, two references whose slavish play of opposites have political stakes. In Cameroon, the policy of conviviality between Islam, other religions and local cultural practices implemented by Sultan Njoya in the Kingdom of Bamum presents elements of inspiration for a compelling form of social emancipation. The policy of inculturation and multi-confessionalism has favoured the cultural openness of society and preserved, for example, the sustainability of the region’s remarkable creative industry. Art, belief systems and politics are all values of cultural expression fundamental to society.

   

  The work breaks taboos: the artistic experience created by its unusual appearance calls upon traditions and beliefs that have become subject to manipulation and political propaganda within the society.

   

   

   

  References

  • Mveng Engelbert. 1985, Histoire du Cameroun, tom 2, Yaoundé, Ed. CEPER.
  • NOTUE Jean-Paul, TRIACA Bianca, 2005, Bandjoun, Trésors royaux du Cameroun, Milan, Ed. 5 continents.
  • Maud Lasseur. 2005, in «  www.cairn.info/revue-afrique-contemporaine-2005 ».
  • Assako Assako PH.S. 2011, l’art au cameroun du XXe au début du XXIe siècle : étude des expressions sculpturales en milieu urbain, thèse de Doctorat/Ph.D. en histoire de l’art, Université de Yaoundé 1.
  • www.christianlapie.net/oeuvres/16/djaoulerou
  • www.christianlapie.net/mobile/news/326/.%20http:#news
  • www.christianlapie.net

   

   

  published February 2020

Read more …

• 

  Kerstin Pinther

  As a miniature, the sculpture Indépendence Tchao (2014) by the Franco-Algerian artist Kader Attia refers to the Hôtel de l'Indépendence in Dakar, Senegal. At the beginning of the1970s – a little over ten years after the independence of the west African country under Lépold Sédar Senghor and a few years after the first Festial Mondial des arts nègres (1966), the hotel was built by Henri Chomette and Roland Depret. Since the end of the 1940s and into the 1980s, the office of the French architects had built governemental and private buildings and others in numerous African countries. Indépendence Tchao was initially created as a site-specific installation on the occasion of the 11^th Dakar Bienniale in Senegal. It refers back to the hotel high-rise with the sculpture; the ‘borrowing’ can immediately be recognized, above all by its characteristic brise-soleil façade. Kader Attia used discarded and somewhat rusty inex index boxes, stacked on top of each other. The inventory of the archive itself came from a dissolved administration in Algeria. Only a few kilometres away from the central exhibition venue of Dak'Art, the hotel still forms a striking, decidedly 'modern' architectural antithesis to the flat neo-classical colonial administrative buildings - an aesthetic incunabulum that symbolized the future in its outstanding verticality and modern furnishings. However, the former architectural icon is now empty and in a state of decay. Indépendence Tchao (the title is a reference to the famous song Independence Cha-cha from 1960/Kalle) thus refers both to a utopia that has grown fragile, the bursting of a dream; as well as to the persistence of colonial archiving and (also structural) standardization practices, to old and new (architect) networks in the postcolony.

   

  

  Attia, Kadar. Pascale, Fernand Pouillon, Alger.  2012 

  https://inferno-magazine.com/2012/06/23/kader-attia-le-corps-utopique/ [Stand: 28.10.24]

   

  Two further - this time photographic - works by the same artist also address the ambivalences and potentials of modern architectural promises: In the case of the photograph of a woman, seen from behind, surrounded by the mighty arcades of the 200-column courtyard, the connection between the body as the 'first architecture' and the 'built' architecture is central. Not least through the title Pascale, Fernand Pouillon, Alger (2012), it becomes apparent that the person is a transsexual. According to Attia in an interview, the strangeness in one's own body corresponds to the 'architectural' alienation that the inhabitants of the 'Climat de France' who had resettled from the Kasbah in Algier must have felt in the 1950s; the necessity of appropriation, re-territorialisation or even 'becoming at home' applies to both bodies (the human and the architectural).

   

  

  Attia, Kadar. Déconstruir - Reinventer. 2012 

  https://slash-paris.com/en/evenements/construire-deconstruire-reconstruire-le-corps-utopique/sous/3669 [Stand: 28.10.24]

   

  A reflection on transgression and imagination also lies at the centre of another photo: Déconstruir - Reinventer (2012) actually shows only the results of a minimal intervention in the standardized construction method, and yet these traces of spatial action are marked here as meaningful in the sense of aesthetic place-making.

Read more …

• 

  Mahmoud Malik Saako

  The Koma figurines did not only enrich the stock of African artwork but evoke the minds of a great culture represented or embedded greatly in these art pieces. These figurines have been classified into anthropomorphic (the use of human features), and zoomorphic (the use of animal features), based on the stylistic representation while some are both anthropomorphic and zoomorphic (they possess both human and animal features). They are some of the anthropomorphic figurines that have one head and two faces or one body with multiple heads while some have a head with a conical shape.  Those anthropomorphic coned figurines are the most common types and are consisting of a head with a long conical neck or body.

   

  The Koma figurines could be equated to those of Nok and Ife (in Nigeria), Sao (around Lake Chad), the Akan funerary clay figures (in southern Ghana), and the Jenne and Bankoni clay figurines of the Inland Niger Delta (in Mali). Beyond their artistic significance and historical products, the Koma figurines have generated some interest among intellectuals in and outside Ghana including antique dealers.

  Before the scientific investigations commenced in the 1980s and 2006 onwards, the communities within this geographical area known as "Komaland" were encountering or recovering these terracotta figurines when they were digging for soil to build their homes. The people then referred to them as kronkronballi which literary means "children from an old-time". These figurines are either found in house or burial mounds within the area. The culture of the current inhabitants of the area where these figurines are found do revere their ancestors, and any disturbance of the ancestral graves or the removal of any burial goods either intentionally or accidentally must be expiated by sacrifices, and all the grave goods are reburied at the same place. Since the people are far remote from the creators or ancestors of these figurines, many of the damaged ones were either thrown away while a significant number of them were taken home and given to children as toys.

   

  Moreover, art dealers in Ghana and West Africa recognized the commercial value of these Koma figurines long before the scientific investigations by the first anthropologists, archaeologists, and historians. These Koma figurines were, therefore, sold at the various art markets in northern Ghana (in Bolgatanga at the craft village) and southern Ghana (in Kumasi and Accra art centers) to foreign tourists. It is through this medium that Koma figurines have found their way into many European and Western museums.

   

  Furthermore, scientific excavations in the 1980s and the subsequent excavations in 2006 onward by a team of archaeologists in Ghana and abroad, have attracted the attention of the world through conferences and publications. The Koma figurines were initially appreciated based on their aesthetic values but the subsequent archaeological excavations subjected them to more rigorous scientific analysis and historical classification such as social, cultural, political, and environmental. The scientific excavations have also to some extent put a stop to the numerous lootings of the sites that were hitherto very rampant.

   

  The archaeological investigations in recent times and based on radiocarbon analysis from pieces of charcoal dated the site between the 6th and 14th centuries AD. But further investigations are still ongoing to identify the authors or creators of this supposed complex civilization in northern Ghana though, parallel has been made to the Lobi in Ghana and Burkina Faso.

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Stefan Eisenhofer

  Owusu-Ankomah received his basic training at Ghanatta College of Art in Accra. He was thirty years old when he moved to Bremen in Germany, where he still lives and works today. Characteristic of Owusu-Ankomah is his devotion to painting. For him the act of painting is a kind of highly concentrated ritual in which the medial properties of his body are used as memory store and energy-field generator, rather in the manner of an action artist.

   

  In the course of his life, Owusu-Ankomah's artistic work has passed through several distinct phases. From an iconographic point of view, his early work is strongly influenced by mask and rock painting traditions from all over the African continent. But it was not long before human bodies, especially his own, became the dominant subject of his work. Naked bodies in his paintings, represented in idealized and naturalistic perfection, demonstrate a shameless and very close physicalness and often seem to radiate superhuman energy. Owusu-Ankomah plays here with the beauty of the human male body and with the harmony of flowing, clear lines. These works also evoke a range of ideas inspired by the human body – the body as instrument of the soul and instrument of communication, as a universal symbol and point of intersection between the physical and the metaphysical, and as a means by which the individual constructs himself, presents himself to others, and negotiates the conditions of his belonging to the world.

   

  In his recent works up to 2008, the figures are covered with markings and signs. They originate from a variety of sources: the artist has combined traditional West African symbols, such as adinkra cloth signs, with symbols from China, America and Oceania, well-known popular logos, and symbols of his own invention. The figures melt into the backgound which consists of the same symbols, and thus become almost invisible.

   

  With these symbols and human figures that compete for space on the canvas and for the attention of the viewer, Owusu-Ankomah has created some highly dynamic and truly pulsating compositions. The works also raise questions concerning self-determination and heteronomy, the tension between the wisdom of collective worldviews and individual creativity, and the personal potential of the individual. This is particularly striking in works showing the Sankofa bird. This mythical bird is well known in large parts of West Africa and embodies the concept of "flying forward while looking back". It symbolizes the idea that one should remember the past in order to shape one's life positively in the present and the future. With its name meaning "go back and pick", the bird also stands for one of Owusu-Ankomah's guiding principles: to look for useful traditions in all parts of the world. Accordingly, Owusu-Ankomah borrows a great variety of elements from very different cultures and periods in his works. He is influenced by adinkra symbols, together with their worldviews and philosophies, but also by Michelangelo, video games and designs by popular contemporary graphic artists. In his ambition to unite elements from very different regions in one great human universal, his works become something that overcomes the borders separating individual cultures. In his search for an existential utopia, he creates a symbiosis out of these heterogeneous elements in fantastic and futuristic spaces. Thus he aims at a common "world consciousness" and global visions of the establishment of universally longed-for values, such as harmony, solidarity and non-violence.

   

  An interpretation of an early work by the artist from 1975, "Deer Hunt", can be found under the following link.

Read more …

• 

  Lydia Waithira Muthuma

  The two statues

   

  Walking around the rest of Nairobi’s city centre one comes across other statues that have no viewing restrictions. I comment on two of these that resonate, in a particular way, with the narrative of founding postcolonial Kenya: Kenyatta’s 1973 and Kimathi’s 2007 statues.

  Kenyatta (c.1894-1978) the first president and founding father of postcolonial Kenya, had a second statue made out of cast iron, by James Butler, a British national. It was finished in 1969, shipped to Kenya and unveiled in 1973. It depicts Kenyatta wearing the robes of a university chancellor –he was the chancellor of University of Nairobi from 1970 to 1978. It stands in City Square.

  

  Figure 2. James Butler, Jomo Kenyatta, Nairobi, City Square, 1969 (unveiled in 1973), Bronze, 750 cm © Lydia Muthuma

   

  Kimathi (1920-1957) also has a statue installed along Kimathi Street. He is the self proclaimed Field Marshal of the anti colonial Kenya Land and Freedom Army (KLFA) colloquially known as the Mau Mau. This movement was proscribed in colonial times and during the era of the first and second presidents of Kenya (1952-2003). But in 2003, Kenya’s third president, Mwai Kibaki, eventually unbanned Mau Mau and commisioned a statue in honour of Kimathi. The sculptor, Kevin Oduor, at the invitation of Kenyatta University's Department of Fine Art, made this statue.

   

    

  Figure 3. Kevin Oduor, Dedan Kimathi, 2006 (unveiled in 2007), Bronze, 450 cm © Lydia Muthuma

   

  The two statues (excluding the 1964 one) have similarities and differences that can be considered within the context of political history or through the artistic lens since they form part of Nairobi’s visual urban landscape. These statues represent two political figures, considered national heroes and therefore meriting public showing. Mass and volume, employed as the basic building blocks, are used to express emotional energy in a bid to engage the viewer’s affects. The chosen site of each statue (the situ) mediates the public’s affects.

   

  Siting the statues

   

  

  Figure 4.  Location of the different statues © Lydia Muthuma

   

  Jomo Kenyatta’s 1973 statue is placed in City Square with about one acre of land setting him apart from the surrounding buildings. Anyone walking into City Square, walks into this statue because it is the focal point. In traversing the square or accessing nearby buildings, one must pay visual homage to Kenyatta’s 1973 statue because of its setting; the geographical centre of the square (cf. figure 4 & 5).

  

  Fig. 5 City Square

   

  Kimathi’s statue is set in different surroundings. By the year 2007 when Kimathi’s statue was installed, empty 1-acre plots, other than City Square, were not to be had in Nairobi’s centre. In fact a heroes' corner was designated about 5 km due west, in 2006, but was deemed unsuitable for Kimathi's statue. The street named for him, right in the middle of the city, was the preferred site. So on a tall plinth, Kimathi stands at the southern end of Kimathi Street. (cf. figure 4 & 5) There is hardly any viewing distance because Kimathi’s statue stands on a tiny traffic island, amidst tall buildings like Corner House (15 stories) and the Hilton Hotel (20 stories). The statue is in the middle of a busy traffic junction – where Mama Ngina Street meets Kimathi Street. And because it is immersed in both vehicular and pedestrian traffic, viewers are treated to short interrupted glances of Kimathi, atop a pyramid-like plinth that was designed by members of Kenyatta University’s Department of Fine Art. Fleeting, staccato snap shots that punctuate the flowing vehicular traffic comprise the everyday viewing experience. Lack of space, attendant hubbub and noise are inextricably bound up with Kimathi’s statue.

   

  Meanwhile ample space and limited, if any, vehicular or pedestrian traffic, are the elements surrounding Jomo Kenyatta’s 1973 statue. He is represented twice life size to Kimathi’s mere life size. Unlike Kimathi, Kenyatta sits comfortably on a tall rectangular plinth. No wonder some say of Kenyatta's 1973 statue, “he is majestic, aloof...”, they are responding to—among other factors— the viewing experience, the physical placement and context of this sculpture. (cf. Figure 4 & 5)

   

  Through the artistic lens

  Statues of great men are often linked to significant historical happenings. Investigating their historical context is one way of ‘reading’ them. But it is not the only one. They can also be viewed as artistic components of the landscape they inhabit.

  

  Figure 6 Kenyatta’s 1973 statue surrounded by the iconic Kenyatta International Convention Centre and Times Tower. © Lydia Muthuma

   

  While the 1964 statue of Kenyatta was installed to mark the attainment of the country’s Republic status, (cf. figure 1.) it does not form the main subject of this article because of its inaccessibility to the ordinary Kenyan.The second statue of Jomo Kenyatta, which is the subject of this paper, was installed in City Square in 1973. Its situ (the 1973 statue) is about half a kilometer away from the Parliament buildings as shown in figure 4. It is curious that ten years after unveiling the first statue of Kenyatta (1964 to 1973) a second statue of the very same president was installed in City Square, near the first one. One wonders what prompted the erection of this second statue. Was the first lacking in any way? Because contemporaneous historical happenings do not supply a plausible answer, I turn to reasons artistic to account for the ‘double representation’ of Jomo Kenyatta.

   

  City Square was designed in the 1930s as Nairobi’s most central public space. During this era, the colonial government was working hard to convince London that Nairobi could become the capital of a ‘federated’ East Africa with internal self rule. Kenya was to go the way of Australia or Canada within the British Empire. Nairobi Town Square (now City Square) was designed to show off the High Court (now Supreme Court). The visual focal point of Town Square was a statue of the then reigning monarch, King George V of Britain. But when the second world war signaled the beginning of the end of the British Empire, and the Mau Mau rebellion, similarly signaled the end of colonial rule in Kenya, the statue of King George V had to come down. Change in political leadership caused change in displaying of statues. Therefore from 1964, when this statue was dethroned, City Square was without a focal point – visually.

   

  Even with the addition of the Kenyatta International Convention Centre (KICC) building, as a visual extension of the Supreme Court, the square still lacked visual balance and focal point. Thus in 1973, a second statue of Jomo Kenyatta was installed in order to solve this aesthetic problem. It took up the place that had borne King George V. The sculptor of this second statue, James Butler, was to fabricate work for a given site.It is in this sense that Kenyatta’s 1973 statue is considered site specific –the site was incomplete without the statue because previously it had held the statue of King George V, which was removed in c. 1963. Between 1963 and 1973, this spot was without a statue. Re-filling the gap, in this site, supplies a rationale for the repeated representation of Jomo Kenyatta –outside parliament in 1964 and in City Square in 1973; same person in the two statues.

   

  Dedan Kimathi’s statue is not site specific: it was first fabricated then a site decided upon –later. In comparison to Kenyatta’s 1973 statue, Kimathi’s, while smaller in size, is provided with little, if any, viewing distance. It is placed amongst tall buildings at the intersection of two busy thoroughfares. However, whatever its artistic (de)merit, it comes with a wealth of historical re-imagining. Kimathi’s statue is considered an active element in the processes of decolonisation today. (Mwangi, E. 2010)

  Again, unlike Kenyatta’s 1973 statue, Kimathi’s was not fashioned during his life time. It is posthumous since Kimathi was condemned to death by hanging, in 1956, for the crime of unlawful possession of a firearm. In reality though, his crime was rebelling against colonial rule as leader of the KLFA also known as the Mau Mau. The sentence was carried out in 1957 and his body deposited in an unmarked grave.Fifty years later – 1957 to 2007 – Kimathi’s statue was unveiled. The time lapse calls for a scrutiny and rationalization of ‘re-calling’ him from the dead. Why the need to represent him, by installing a statue, 50 years after his death? Political history is rife with explanations that are still on-going. (Julie MacArthur, 2019)

   

  An artistic probing of Kimathi’s statue; if it brings back this Mau Mau hero to life and whether it was meant to, presents several challenges because the statue appears more symbolic than an actual re-presention of Kimathi. This is because of its size and situ. Its scale, in comparison to the adjacent built environment, is miniscule. It does not command viewership although it is right in the middle of the public. Its size renders it pedestrian and somewhat not worth more than a passing glance. There is little about it to catch the eye of a passerby. It can be mistaken for one more ‘live’ pedestrian attempting to cross the street. It is ‘camouflaged’ by its size which makes it blend into the pedestrian traffic. Its success, in engaging the viewer’s affects, is debatable. And a significant contributor is the statue’s site.Once Kimathi’s statue was completed, a decision was arrived at to install it at the junction of Kimathi and Mama Ngina Street, within busy vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Viewers are treated to snap shot sights of it amid the unending caravan of commuter buses. This style of ‘seeing’ is easily translated into a similar mode of remembering; snap shot, unclear memories of Kimathi – who was he again?

   

  Conversely, in City Square, Jomo Kenyatta sits in the absence of interfering traffic; in the absence of impinging tall buildings and with ample viewing distance.  Commendations like: “the statue (Kenyatta’s 1973) is an island by itself and can be approached from multiple areas both visually and physically which is a valuable status within space defining elements (…) It has the unmistakable character of an icon and can easily be the best defined statue in the country (Kenya),” are not unusual. Truly, the site of a statue influences the viewer’s response. http://www.archidatum.com/projects/jomo-kenyatta-statue-james-butler/

   

  Conclusion

  Perhaps because of the historical circumstances the two statues –Kenyatta’s 1973 and Kimathi’s 2007 are viewed differently. They also evoke varied responses. What cannot be overlooked is that their siting (situ) contributes to their visual perception, which in turn influences the remembrance and mental picture retained by the public.

  The siting of both statues corresponds with Kenyatta being the central character in Kenya’s decolonisation narrative while Kimathi occupies the more peripheral position. Kenyatta (1973) sits in City Square while Kimathi is amid the hubbub of downtown Nairobi.

   

  References

  • http://www.archidatum.com/projects/jomo-kenyatta-statue-james-butler/
  • Mwangi, E. (2010). The incomplete rebellion: Mau Mau movement in twenty-first-century Kenyan popular culture. Africa Today, 57(2), 86-113.
  • Shanguhyia, M. S. (2019). Julie MacArthur, ed. Dedan Kimathi on Trial: Colonial and Popular Memory in Kenya’s Mau Mau Rebellion. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2017. xxvi+ 406 pp. Bibliography. Index. Paper. ISBN: 978-0896-803176. African Studies Review, 62(2), E12-E15.

   

   

  published October 2020

   

   

Read more …

• 

  Niklas Wolf

   

  Photography as a technique and medium is questioning terminologies of truth and representation as part of the respective and genuinely inscribed authorship of technically enhanced images since the emergence of early photographic works. Through rapid and widespread distribution in print media, photographic images soon became part of the formulation and documentation of shared visual memory in the Global North.

   

  Walker Evans, the father of documentary as one web article states¹, heavily influenced the style of modern (not meaning contemporary) photography. His importance as a photographer is essentially based on the photographs he took during the Great Depression in the mid-1930s. The photographic portraits of the three US-american tenant families Fields, Borroughs and Tingle became icons of photographic history and formed the general visual representation of this era by telling a story (in the sense of a historical narrative) at the same time. They, thinking like Evans here, document the person(a), meaning identity or essence, of white, hardworking americans, who, even if they struggle, keep up their integrity. They represent a socio-cultural construct in insisting on their ability of showing, ordering and defining the truth. As Evans' images focus on an American underclass of the time, they show the author of those pictures as part of their own reality.

   

  How does the search for some kind of visual truth in modern photographic images take place when they seem to not look for their own but for the other, which is imagined to be foreign to them and mostly without history? What kind of approach to questions about history and its narratives are they able to re-present as a consequence?

   

  Concepts of history are always entities that reveal just as much about their architects as they do about the evidence integrated into them, which represents constructors and construct at the same time. History rarely appears in a singular form, is never neutral and always normative. It is part of its own discourses, demands order as well as testimony. In documentary terms, the latter (the testimony) should legitimize science and itself. Ordering structures and strategies, on the other hand, require places and institutions where they can appear. Gazes at the end of which historical narratives should stand are seldom equal. Often they are one-sided observations, classifying and hegemonic, alienated observations through mimetic imitation or intended othering. The basis of such categorical observations are specific techniques and strategies for appropriation; results are metaphors or emanations of one's own reality.

   

  The exhibition African Negro Art, which was on view at the Museum of Modern Art New York in 1935, marks the beginning of the institutionalized exhibiting of so-called (or labeled) African Art at major western art museums. Finally coining a terminology often still used today, 603 African objects were exhibited at the MoMA from March 18 to May 19 1935. Walker Evans was commissioned to (literally) photographically document the objects on display.

   

  The resulting images are characterized by long exposure times, which made it possible to guide a light source around the respective object while the cameras aperture was open. The illumination is therefore mostly impressively uniform and soft, strong shadows and the constitution of space are avoided. The images have a hyperfractual clarity.² The surface of a Bamende facemask for example is uniformly illuminated, the exposure emphasizes the contrasting structures and lines, the formal essence, if one would say so. The actual plasticity of multidimensional objects becomes obvious in a second shot. The face of the same mask appears to be pointedly drawn forward, the slight inclination of a wide comb only becomes apparent here. It almost does not seem to be the same object, so much does the first shot focus on the ornamental surface. Evans used an 8 x 10 medium format camera, the resolution of the images is correspondingly high. The partly dramatic concentration on the object causes a visual monumentalization of things, image sections are often claustrophobic narrow - the objects are not relationally representative, but are re-presented according to their formal characteristics, analyzed by the photographer. This leads to major shifts in reception. One of Evan's most effective images is the photograph of a Pende pendant made of ivory. As if from nowhere, from a timeless, deep black and imponderable background, the masks face emerges from the pictorial ground. The focus lies on the middle plane of its face, which is photographed using a large aperture. Therefore initial blurring starts as early as behind the eyes of the carved face. It is shot from above, not from the front. Viewers are urged to imagine the figure's body (which is neither present nor laid out in the object). Deep shadows let the face appear threatening and alien, framed by sharp contrasts; it becomes clear that the intention of the mask cannot be a good one. Evans gives the alien object an equally alien character, an emotion. The mask stands pars per toto for the ‘other’, the uncanny.

   

  Evans photographs were published quite widely. Starting with the exhibitions catalogue they were used in several publications by the exhibitions curator James Johnson Sweeney focusing on the ‘Art’ of Africa in a broader even more general and art historical perspective: the generalizing and educative intention of pictures and text is already foreshadowed in the somewhat holistic titles of such publications - African Folktales and Sculpture (1952) and African Sculpture (1964) for example . Entering the realm of the photobook as a medium Evans photographic images become part of semi-theatrical stagings, some kind of educational character is inscribed into them, especially looking at the close interlacing of text and pictorial object. Ultimately, the message and content of the images are only self-referential. Evans photographs where often published together with the ones of Elitot Elisofon, who amongst other jobs worked as a photojournalist for the LIFE magazine. In The Sculpture of Africa (1958) Elisofon makes use of the photobook as a medium very consciously. For example he uses different photographic views on the same sculptural object to kind of animate it in a cinematic way, using the photobook as an idea to look at three-dimensional properties of things in a two-dimensional way, making the accessible by flipping through the book. Both photographers work is often labeled as having a documentary style, both seem to have a special interest in photographically analyzing pictorial qualities of the surface and materiality of the things they look at. Exposure and contrasts (re)produce haptic qualities and material properties of the things being looked at through the camera quasi argumentatively, based only in the photographic objects themselves.

   

  Methodically, Walker Evans' documentarism is ergo characterized by the omission of object-immanent information and the simultaneous genesis of image-immanent content. His pictures do not allow conclusions to be drawn about the size, material and context of the representations; a mostly unspecific monochrome background detaches the objects from the contexts inscribed into them. The photographer repeats aspects of the aesthetically and content-wise neutral display of a modern art exhibition and demands that the images focus on purely formal aspects. The representations do not permit any connection between the signifiers in terms of content. In narrow sections, each object is presented in a very specific view - the photographic images ergo become significant only in a Western canonical art context, shifted to its terminology and histories.

   

  Stylistically, Evans' photographs can be described as clean and cerebral.³ The images of African objects are clean (and timeless) in the sense that they are cleansed of any context; they are cerebral in the sense that they are open to new inscriptions and attributions. The highly specific aesthetics of the images serve to conceal and reveal equally specific information at the same time, they are markers of tailored representations⁴ which are more the presentation of Evans as the author of those images and his techniques to strip pictorial objects from their original terminology and historical narratives, than the representation in the sense of a documentation of the object shown.

   

  ¹⁾            https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/dec/03/walker-evans-documentary-photography-great-depression-gallery; 15. Juli 2020.

  ²⁾           Cf. Campany, David: Walker Evans. The magazine work, Göttingen 2014, S. 52.

  ³⁾            Cf. Strother, Z.S.: Looking for Africa in Carl Einstein’s Negerplastik, in: african arts Winter 2013 VOL. 46, No. 4, S. 8 – 21, S. 8.

  ⁴⁾            Cf. Webb, Virginia-Lee: Perfect Documents. Walker Evans and African Art 1935, New York 2000, S. 15.

   

   

  References

   

  • Eliot Elisofon: The Sculpture of Africa (text: Ralph Linton, William B. Fagg), New York 1978
  • James Johnson Sweeney, Paul Radin (eds.): African Folktales and Sculpture, New York 1964
  • Kerstin Pinther, Niklas Wolf (eds.): Photobook Africa. Tracing Stories and Imagery, München 2020

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

  Exploring an Enigmatic Piece of Traditional Cameroonian Sculptur

   

  The Veranda Post found in Museum Fünf Kontinente is an exemplification of the extent to which indigenous Africans mutually reinforced socio-religio-cultural existence and expressiveness of form through sculpture. Various examples of these artefacts abound in the collections of African plastic artforms found in many museums across the globe. The beauty in experiencing, analysing and speaking about this artwork (as well as many of its kind), lies within the absence of authenticated historical and analytical literature on them. This makes it possible for the observer to exert complete authority of personal perception and interpretation devoid of any fixed attitude that dictates, interfere or curtails aesthetic enjoyments, interpretations and judgements, as attempted in this presentation. 

   

  With the dimensions of 199 x 60 x 50 cm, the Veranda Post found in Museum Fünf Kontinente is one of the numerous examples of the African artistic expressiveness, confirming the artistic prowess of the traditional African. Examples of these artefacts abound in the collections of African plastic artforms which record indigenous religious beliefs, practices and performances that date back from the beginning of African history.

   

  As typical of most indigenous African sculptures, this work is not only uncaptioned, but the artist/creator is not known. What is known, however is that, its peculiar characteristics and style makes it easily identifiable and representative within the milieu of popular African sculptures. According to the Museum Fünf Kontinente records, this work was collected from 'Kamerun'. 'Kamerun' was an African colony of the German Empire between 1884 and 1916, which was located in the region of today's Republic of Cameroon (Wikipedia, 2020). Comparing the characteristic features of this sculpture with similar sculptures described by some art historians as Veranda Posts created as part of ancient African monumental architectures found in the Cameroons Grassland (Willett 1981) therefore, it is not difficult place it within that category. Hence its caption.

   

  As can been seen from similar ‘posts’ and judging from the elaborateness of the images created on them, the major reason for the production of these posts was more to afford the sculptor or sculptors the opportunity to decorate the buildings with stories, rather than serving as supports (see figure 1).

   

  

  Figure 1: Ancestor statues, carved door-frame and verandah posts (Source: Willett 1981)

   

  As said above, the beauty in analysing and speaking about this artwork (and many of its kind), lies within the absence of historical and analytical literature. The fact that this makes it possible for me (and for that matter any other observer) to exercise personal powers of perception and interpretation without any fixed attitude to direct or curtail their aesthetic interpretations and judgements made it my object of choice for this project at the Museum Fünf Kontinente.

   

  Going by Margaret Trowell’s generalisations about African art, this Veranda Post can be classified under the ‘spirit-regarding’ art. Like many others of its kind, this work, which has front and back views, is flanked with human and other figures, ostensibly those of ancestors and is symmetrically disposed about a vertical axis, rendering it frontal at both sides.

   

  Analyses of the images created on this pole reveal striking similarities between the age old traditional religious practices of the African and the Western religious beliefs and practices brought in by the earlier missionaries.

   

  At the direct look of the object from the front (as it has been positioned at the museum, but actually one of its two sides), a prominent kneeling figure with hands clasped together unto the chest (much like the praying hand) can be seen in a pose that looks very much like the kneeling praying postures at Christian worships. To the African, this posture is not only assumed at prayer sessions as a visual image of submission to God’s authority, but is also exhibited as a sign of respect, humility and total surrender to a superior authority. For the sculptor to present the kneeling man as a central figure and subsequently rendering all other human figures in similar submissive postures therefore makes the theme of prayer, submissiveness and spirituality very strong in the composition.

   

  

  Figure 2: The kneeling or praying figure

   

  The kneeling man is placed right below two human faces whose prominence and positioning easily pass them for elders, superiors, or better still, ancestors. Before the ancestors, all supplications are made, and through them, request are carried through to the supreme God.

   

  

  Figure 3: Ancestor figures

   

  The importance of the two faces and emphasis on their superiority is further strengthened by a strong demarcation between them and the kneeling man through a thick rigid contoured line that forms a partition between the elements. This could be interpreted as a spiritual borderline that separate the spiritual world from the physical world. Generally, the African believes in the existence of the physical and the spiritual worlds as separate entities and this demarcation clearly depicts this belief. Also worthy of notice is the orientation of the demarcating border which rhymes with the praying hands of the kneeling figure, thereby visually connecting the figures. This carefully chosen placement of the two faces in the composition alludes to the supremacy of the ancestors and their exclusive existence in the after world as well as their connection with humans.  

   

  

  Figure 4: The spiritual borderline

   

  Another striking imagery is created with the placement of a very visible image rendered in concentric circles. Among many African ethnic groups, the circle represents completeness, holiness, perfection and other such attributes ascribed to the supreme being (God). Among the Akan people of Ghana, for instance, the Adinkra symbol called Adinkrahene (king of Adinkra symbols) is presented as concentric circles. This symbol represents authority, leadership and charisma. The sculptor most likely created a bull’s eye of this symbol as an indication of exactly where this particular post belongs. The post could possibly be one of the furnishes for a palace or the abode of a traditional priest. This could also suggest the likelihood of the prominent kneeling figure being the King or the chief priest. Considering the atmosphere created by these symbols, the circle, with the kind of prominence it exudes could also represent the omnipresence of the supreme being, thereby heralding the people’s belief in the iniquitousness of God and His closeness to mankind.

   

  

  Figure 5: The concentric circles

   

  Other recognizable images of animate and inanimate objects in the work include crocodiles, lizards and geometric shapes. Whilst it is likely that the geometric figures may have been deliberately presented to create balance, simulate a built living environment and arouse aesthetic sensibilities, the images of animals like those of the crocodiles have significant meanings as far as African culture and belief systems are concerned. Among some ethnic groups in Africa, crocodiles are believed to be the souls of ancestors who come back to live with men. Examples are the crocodiles in the Crocodile Pond at Paga in the northern part of Ghana who virtually live peacefully among the people. There are numerous African stories about crocodiles coming to the aid of men to either protect them or lead them to safety. Their inclusion in this particular work therefore is to establish the existence of spirits among men, especially as humans pray to seek their guidance and protection.

   

  

  Figure 6: The crocodiles

   

  Considering where it was created and where it is located now, as well as the current effort towards extracting a meaning out of its symbolism, this veranda post and many other such African artefacts in several museums around the globe have demonstrated how images and symbols resonate relationship between cultural practices around the world. The confluence of symbolic interpretations of the icons in the traditional African religions and the Euro-Christian religion, as depicted in this veranda post, gives justification to Africa’s unquestionable acceptance of Euro-Christianity and all the associated visual cultural practices.

   

  For comparison, also read Karin Guggeis' analysis of this object here.

   

  References

  • Roy, C. (2019). Signs and Symbols in African Art: Graphic Patterns in Burkina Faso. Signs and Symbols in African Art: Graphic Patterns in Burkina Faso. https://africa.uima.uiowa.edu/topic-essays/show/38?start=13
  • Wikipedia. (2020). Kamerun. Kamerun. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cameroon
  • Willett, F. (1981). African Art. London: Thames and Hudson.

  

  ISB_Team

  This 'Veranda Post' is variously referred to (mostly in relation to its architectural-functional context) lintel or "te ken dy dye" (in the local Bandjoun language - PHSAA), porch post, house front pillar, post, cult house post (M5K, p. 17), Cameroon post / family crest (Macke at M5K, 13, 24). Post, however, in the sense of sign (post-it) is suggested by PdGY to address the communicative function. Other designations do not address the function, but limit themselves to the given, perhaps to avoid any pre-interpretation: 'sculpted wooden block' (Kecskési 1999 n. 108) or 'large carved square wooden block' (Kecskési 1976, p. 22).

   

  Object biography: The object was taken before 1893 by Max von Stetten during expeditions on the Bamileke Plateau (south-western Cameroon), where it was presumably part of a meeting house of a confederation. Stetten (1860-1925) was German commander of the Kaiserliche Schutztruppe for Cameroon until 1896. Cameroon was a German colony at that time. The exact circumstances of how the object came into Stetten's possession are unknown, as is its original location and context.^[2] In 1893, the Royal Ethnographic Collection acquired the pillar as a gift from Stetten.^[3] In 1912, a photograph of the pillar was published in the Almanac of the Blaue Reiter. It is currently on display in the permanent exhibition in the Museum Fünf Kontinente Munich in a niche - a mirror allows a view of the second side (see Fig. 2). Along with other objects from the collection, it is currently the subject of a transnational project on their provenance (GI).

   

  

  Fig. 2

   

  Status: In comparison with carved mullions on façades of royal residences in the Cameroon grasslands (Fig. 3),^[4] other mullions or door frames in the Museum Five Continents (M5K, p. 17, Kecskési 1999 No. 11, 70, 75) or in the Humboldt Forum Berlin, there is a partial similarity of motifs, but a strikingly 'archaic' formal language. Other examples are clearly more 'elaborate'. The multitude suggests that this type of pillar is quite typical of works from this period in this region of West Africa.

   

  

  Fig. 3

  Interpretation

  The current view of the work

  For the interpretation, the following questions lend themselves to art lessons: Form, iconography (meaning of the motifs), function, theme (or core idea) of the object, i.e. an interpretation.

   

  With regard to the guiding idea of multi-perspectivity, two positions will be addressed: On the one hand, the view of today on the basis of ascertainable contexts, which seeks to understand the object from its time of origin and its context of origin. On the other hand, the view of the object by the artists of the Blaue Reiter. The comparison of these perspectives seems particularly relevant from an art didactic point of view, even though other perspectives would be conceivable, e.g. from the point of view of museology, provenance research, from the context of current restitution debates, etc. However, these are addressed in the teaching suggestions.

   

  Shape

  At first, the pillar develops an immediate physical presence for the visitor: through its sheer size (larger than life, almost square in plan), the materiality of the massive, cracked block of wood (the outline is irregular and probably corresponds to the tree) and the clear, concise, reduced language of form, whose meaning seems inaccessible. The surface treatment is archaic, the wood is more hewn than carved.^[5] Thus it appears powerful and at the same time mysterious, which is supported by its presentation in the exhibition on a plinth and without glazing (see Fig. 4).

   

  

  Fig. 4

  A closer look reveals how the sculptor interweaves various modes of representation between complete abstraction (circle, rectangle) and representationalism (human figures, animals) in a compositional way^[6] , monumentalising the individual motifs through internal symmetry, geometrisation, frontality and statics. This is supported by the painting (see Fig. 5). In this reduction, everything narrative is missing. The representation becomes emblematic, it becomes a symbol.

                  

  

  Fig. 5, 6 and 7

  This is also supported by the overall composition, which obviously follows a calculated geometric order. It is strictly horizontally divided into individual zones, only once do lizard tails protrude into another zone. However, the separation into individual layers is ingeniously overcome compositionally by the strict axial symmetry in the vertical, but also by the point-symmetrical arrangement around the respective centres. The result is a tension between the contradictory compositional principles (see Figs. 6 and 7) that is decisive for the effect of the pillar.

   

  The lack of any narrative on the one hand and the high creative effort on the other underline once again that it is about a symbolic level. This can perhaps be deciphered, even if its immediate complex order makes it seem above all direct, sensual.

   

  The secure decoding of the iconography (what the individual motifs as well as the arrangement meant in the context of origin) is not possible with today's state of knowledge. Oral culture has left no written sources that could be consulted. Moreover, the oral tradition has been torn down - not least due to colonial destruction. However, since the work obviously has a symbolic language with clear iconography, this level cannot be left out in art lessons. German-language literature and oral experts from West Africa were consulted here. The results contradict each other, but nevertheless yield a court of meaning (see Fig. 8, in which the individual attributions of meaning are named)^[7] , which provides a certain direction.

   

  

  Fig. 8

  In addition, the block is painted in three colours. These also carry meanings: Black could symbolise suffering, white could be the colour of the dead and symbolise mystery, red, the colour of blood, symbolises life (PHSAA). The light-dark contrasts themselves symbolise life and death (Kecskési 1999).

   

  Function

  PdGY suspects that the pillar - as part of the architecture of the house - stood at the spatial interface with the public (on a path) in order to communicate the significance of the house, presumably a cult house, to the outside. The object could therefore have been part of the façade of a particularly distinguished house^[8] , also with a supporting function for the roof. It communicates what happens in the house or who lives or resides there.

   

  Kecskési, on the other hand, considers a free positioning in space (Kecskési 1976, p. 22) and suspects an ancestral tablet. This in turn would fit the following determination by Gouaffo: "The 'Blue Rider Post' is a spiritual object. According to oral traditions, the object was placed in the sacred house like a statue. Caps, chains, bags or skeletons could hang from the object. Secret societies like the 'Losango' used the statue to perform certain rites, for example to cleanse the village of evil spirits." (Albert Gouaffo in GI) KG also suspects the context of a meeting house of such a secret society. Common to all assumptions is that the pillar stood in the context of a house with a sacred or cultic function.

   

  'Theme' of the object: Basically, three different levels can be delimited, some complementary, some contradictory. First, the communication function on the façade or at the entrance to the outside. Then the pictorial formulation of a certain understanding of human being-in-the-world is asserted; man is ultimately embedded cosmologically.^[9] At the Humboldtforum Berlin, in turn, such pillars from West Cameroon are also seen as the "architecture of power", power exercised by the rulers or the secret societies through impressing and deterring.^[10]

   

  Second perspective

  The interpretation provided above can be countered by a second perception of the pillar, as it appears in the almanac "Der Blaue Reiter". This almanac, an artist's book, was published in 1912 by Franz Marc and Wassily Kandinsky. The reception of this book is over a hundred years old, but it is significant for the development of European art, as it is a good example of how artists of this time created a new frame of reference by referring to non-European art. In this respect, the Blaue Reiter clearly differs from Cubism, Expressionism or Dadaism, which were all being developed at the same time.

   

  

  Fig. 9

   

  In the Almanac, on pages 21 to 27, there is an essay by the painter August Macke entitled "Die Masken" (The Masks), in which a relatively small illustration of the pillar in question is embedded (see Fig. 9). Macke's contribution, like all the other texts in the Almanac, was probably written at a joint meeting of Macke, Marc, Münter and Kandinsky in Murnau.^[11]

   

  Visits to ethnographic museums are documented above all for Wassily Kandinsky, who was a trained ethnologist, and Franz Marc. Marc had also admired sculptures from Cameroon in particular during his visit to the Berlin Ethnographic Museum in 1911. And it was he who was ultimately responsible for the insertion of the photograph of the post in Macke's article.^[12] In his letters to Macke, Marc writes about this. On 14.1.1911 about the objects from Cameroon in the Berlin Ethnological Museum: "I remained amazed and shaken by the carvings of the Cameroonians"; and later that he would furnish Macke's article in the Almanac with "ethnographic wonders" (MW).^[13] In the text itself there is a single, very brief reference to "carved and painted pillars in a Negro hut", by which presumably the post was meant.

   

  The text itself represents Macke's conception of art. In it, "intangible ideas", "mysterious forces", an "invisible God" express themselves in the world of appearances and "cultic expressions". The invisible materialises in the visible. This realm of the visible includes not only art, such as that of Giotto or van Gogh, who are classified as 'primitive', but also nature. Children's drawings, the folk art of the 'primitives' and 'savages' or non-European cultural forms are also expressions of the mysteriously invisible. These themselves are - and this is decisive - equal to each other. There is no hierarchy, no distinction between high and low, between high art and popular culture. All forms speak - as Macke characterises it - in "strong language". For Macke, the pillar in the museum is then an example of "the tangible form for an intangible idea, the personification of an abstract concept" (Macke 24). He also calls this the figure of an "idol".

   

  The approach underlying this thinking sounds familiar; we have known it since the Platonic theory of ideas. However, this approach does not justify the selection of this particular post, as other posts from the museum's collection would also have been available.^[14] Here one can only assume. I suspect that there are various factors that led to the selection: the archaic power of the forms; the initially wild and carefree-looking, additive combination (or montage) of the various principles of representation in the individual motifs (concrete - abstracted, geometric - organic, symbolising - depicting), which on closer inspection, however, then reveals itself to be consciously composed; or the coarse, physically perceptible materiality of the cracked, thick block of wood in impressive dimensions. PdGY also speaks of "wonderfully composed".

   

  In the work, everything is represented with great sensual power that is the opposite of an "empty" image in European "cultures that have already passed through a thousand-year course, like [...] Italian Renaissance" (Macke 24) and from which Macke renounces: "We must bravely renounce almost everything that has hitherto been dear and indispensable to us as good Central Europeans [...] in order to get out of the fatigue of our European lack of taste". (Macke ibid.)

   

  In art lessons, the question arises to what extent the image that Marc or Macke create of the pillar (as representative of the idea of an idol) goes together with what the object presumably was and is in its original context. Or to put it another way: are they designing a certain, exotic image that does not correspond to the object itself? ^[15]

   

   

  Fig. 10 Historical photos of the exhibition of the India Department in the Munich Museum around 1910 (source M5K)

   

  References

  • GI: Juliane Glahn and Marta Krus: CAMERUNS RIGHT TO CULTURAL OBJECTS. https://www.de/prj/zei/de/pos/22656808.html
  • Kecskési 1999: Maria Kecskési. Art from Africa - Museum of Ethnology Munich. Munich (Prestel) 1999
  • Kecskési 1976: Catalogue for the exhibition African Art. Andreas Lommel (ed.). Munich (Bruckmann) 1976
  • M5K: Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde München (ed.). The Blaue Reiter and the Munich Museum of Ethnology. Munich (Hirmer) 2009
  • KG: Karin Guggeis. The Blue Rider Post. (2021): https://www.explore-vc.org/en/objects/expanding-the-canon-of-art-at-the-global-north.html
  • PdGY: Patrique deGraft-Yankson. The Veranda Post. (2019) https://www.explore-vc.org/en/objects/the-veranda-post.html and oral interview on 23.4.2022 in Bayreuth, Iwalewahaus.
  • PHSAA: Paul-Henri Souvenir Assako Assako. Information by email 20.5.2022
  • Wikipedia: Cameroon & Max von Stetten
  • MW: Macke Wolfgang (ed.). August Macke - Franz Marc: Briefwechsel, Texte und Perspektiven. 1964. Cologne (DuMont).
  • Macke: Macke August. The Masks. In: Almanac "Der Blaue Reiter", 1912, edited by Franz Marc and Wassily Kandinsky, pp. 21-27

   

  Appendix on iconography

  • Anthropomorphic figures: ancestral couples / guardians and protectors of the royal residence. These anthropomorphic figures are treated with respect as extraordinary personalities. They are considered ensouled beings, spirits with supernatural powers. (PHSAA) Depiction of all human figures in similar postures: theme of prayer and submission to spirituality. (PdGY)

  'Front' side from bottom to top:

  • Two people: Ancestral couples / guardians and protectors of the royal residence (PHSAA). People pray for the guidance and protection of the ancestors (PdGY).
  • Lizards: The symbol of the lizard warns everyone; it symbolises death. (PHSAA) PdGY sees here two crocodiles (ancestral souls returning to live with humans) instead of lizards.
  • Circle: motif of the sun, symbol of life and power; the moon, image of woman and symbol of fertility. (PHSAA) The circle represents completeness, holiness, perfection and other attributes attributed to the supreme being (God). (PdGY)
  • Kneeling figure: King or priest (PdGY)
  • Line of demarcation between the spiritual and the physical world
  • Two heads above: Ancestors (PdGY)

  'Back' side from bottom to top:

  • Python (geometric frieze at the bottom of the 'back' side): royal totem/sacred python, guardian of the dynasty (PHSAA).
  • Male figure with chin beard as emblem of sovereignty (Kecskési 1999)
  • Enigmatic form with a pair of horns ending in a hand (?) at the bottom (Kecskési) on a rectangle with two flanking lizards.
  • Anthropomorphic figures
  • Circular area

   

   Footnotes

  ^[1]                 The object is variously referred to, mostly in relation to its architectural-functional context: lintel or "te ken dy dye" (in the local Bandjoun language - PHSAA), porch post, house front pillar, post, cult house post (M5K, p. 17), Cameroon post / family crest (Macke at M5K, 13, 24). Post, however, in the sense of sign (post-it) is suggested by PdGY to address the communicative function. Other designations do not address the function, but limit themselves to the given, perhaps to avoid any pre-interpretation: 'sculpted wooden block' (Kecskési 1999 n. 108) or 'large carved square wooden block' (Kecskési 1976, p. 22).

  ^[2]                 The first German trading posts were established in Cameroon as early as 1868, and in 1891 German military "expeditions" were launched in Cameroon. In 1884, the German Consul General concluded protection treaties with regional rulers and thus proclaimed the protectorate of Cameroon as a German colony. The seizure of the hinterland, which included the grasslands, took place over the course of the following 30 years. (Wikipedia) Even if the provenance is still not clear today, one can certainly share the Humboldt Forum's assessment of such objects that - even if they were not looted through acts of war - they are nevertheless "an expression of unequal power relations and structural, colonial violence". (https://www.smb.museum/nachrichten/detail/ethnologisches-museum-weg-frei-fuer-die-rueckkehr-der-ngonnso-nach-kamerun/)

  ^[3]                 In the entry book it is noted: "Gr. square block, 1.80 cm high made of heavy wood, carved on both sides with humans and lizards, heavily damaged by termites". (https://onlinedatenbank-museum-fuenf-kontinente.de/) In 1895 Stetten published detailed "Travelogues" in the Deutsches Kolonialblatt.

  ^[4]               http://www1.biologie.uni-hamburg.de/b-online/afrika/kamerun/palast.htm; http://www1.biologie.uni-hamburg.de/b-online/afrika/

  ^[5]                 The block is almost certainly worked with a chisel.

  ^[6]                 "decorated with geometric, anthropomorphic and zoomorphic forms" (PHSAA)

  ^[7]                 All performers avoid a complete decoding. They only make suggestions for individual motifs.

  ^[8]                 It could have been the house of a 'priest' whom one could consult there and through whom or ancestors one could pray to God (PdGY).

  ^[9]                 "Expression of the cosmogony of the universe of the peoples of the Bamileke plateau; expression of the belief system" (PHSAA).

  ^[10]                The assertion of power is also included by PHSAA.

  ^[11]                Catalogue: August Macke, Lenbachhaus Munich, 1987, Bruckmann. Munich. S.164

  ^[12]                He simply titled the painting "Cameroon", the name of the country of origin (the country whose sculptures he admired).

  ^[13]                There are other illustrations in the text: a bird's head from Brazil, a figure from Easter Island (see Fig. 9), one from Mexico, a bird mask from New Caledonia, a cloak from Alaska[13] and a child's drawing entitled "Arabs". Except for the child's drawing, all objects are from the then Royal Ethnographic Collection in Munich (M5K, p.11). They are only titled with the respective country of origin, e.g. Cameroon. Macke was obviously involved in the selection as well as the layout, as his layout sketch shows (M5K 24).

  ^[14]                It is not certain what was shown in the presentation at the Royal Ethnographic Collection in Munich at the time, which covered 400 square metres in six rooms in the north wing of the Hofgarten arcades in Munich. The only thing that is certain is that photos of the ten objects depicted, which came from various parts of the world, were lent to the artists for the publication of the Almanac. Photos of the presentation do not exist. "Whether Marc and Macke [actually also] saw the work in the exhibition at that time can be assumed with a high degree of probability, since it is after all very large and thus impressive." (Information Karin Guggeis 26.7.2022)

  ^[15]                In this context, it seems of interest that neither Marc nor Macke take up in their own pictorial language the aesthetics of the non-European works they "celebrate" here.

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

   

  Fortunately, contemporary Ghanaian artists like Vincent Akwete Kofi and Kofi Antobam, who by their training, developed both the skills and the mindset to create and fully appreciate African arts have played major interventional roles. They, through rigorous production of masterpieces over the years, led the move to redirect the wavelength of Ghanaian artistic expressiveness along the paths of decolonization. A typical example of these arts is the Crucifix, the selected object for this discussion.

   

  The Artist – Vincent Akwete Kofi

  The Crucifix is a sculpture in the round, measuring 45x10x19 inches, and was created by Vincent Akwete Kofi, a Ghanaian artist who lived between 1923 and 1974. Characteristically, Vincent creates outstanding sculptures in humanistic forms. His sculptures speak to traditional African philosophies, ideals and beliefs (Grobel, 1970), and he through his works, seeks to reinforce the beauty, dynamism and complexities of African art. Indeed, Vincent’s artistic posture was largely informed by his training in the then Achimota College in the Gold Coast (now Ghana), an educational institution which sought to bridge the gap between European and African forms of knowledge (Woets, 2014).

   

  Description and interpretation

  The Crucifix was carved in tropical hard wood, one of Vincent Kofi’s preferred media, with the style and subject matter reminiscing his belief in the creative and objective fusion of lessons from the history of modernism in the arts by an immersion in his Ghanaian heritage. Like his earlier sculptures therefore, the choice of this Euro-Christian theme throws lights on his Pan-Africanism and decolonization intents. 

   

  The sculpture is a depiction of a free-standing human figure with features that conform with his earlier wood carvings, such as depiction of enlarged head and heavy feet which are more representational than naturalistic. Again, the entire form is seen as being directed by the limitations of the tree trunk deliberately chosen for the work. This, of course is one of Kofi’s traditional wood carving styling.

   

  The Crucifix is postured in a clasped forward-bent lower limb. Like the lower limbs, the upper limbs of the figure which are raised over the head and stretched backwards, are also clasped together, depicting the entire image in a rather discomforting posture. Further strengthening the feeling of distress and discomfort in the image is the dropped and lifeless face and facial features of the image. The long thick beard of the image with the tightly fitting cylindrical hat on the head, carved after one of those won by royals among some sections of Ghanaians, give the figure an elderly look.

   

  Other significant features of the image are the exaggerated clasped, forward-bent and wobbly elephantine feet, dropped face with shuttered eyes, flaccid body/skin/muscles (which is visible even in wood), and the heavy beard.

   

  In trying to understand the presentation of the Crucifix, it is important to note that Ghanaians have stories about characters who lived and suffered similar fates as that of the Christ. The Fante people (a section of the Akan ethnic group), for example have records on a man called Ahor, who offered himself as a sacrifice to the gods, when the life of a human being was demanded as an antidote to a calamity which befell the people. Up to today, Ahor is celebrated in a festival called Ahorbaa to commemorate his brave and sacrificial feat. Other ethnic groups in Ghana have similar stories which render the Passion of the Christ not just a familiar phenomenon, but a lived experience recorded in the history of the people.

   

  Also worthy of notice is the familiarity of the various themes which characterize the story of the Christ, such as his kingship, miraculous personality, sacrificial journey and his eventual torture and death. The Crucifix therefore, was Vincent Kofi attempt at depicting the passion of the Christ in a way that would make it familiar and relevant to the people.

   

  The image in Kofi’s Crucifix was therefore needed to be presented as a man with royal personality, as depicted in the cylindrically shaped cap, which is symbolic of some of the Ghanaian royal millinery that depict kingship and authority. This is reinforced by a heavy beard to portray wisdom. Wisdom which is reserved for kings and aged people.

   

  Analysing from the experiences of a people whose history was not devoid of unpleasant experiences, such as enslavement, brutal torture and execution, the image presented in the Euro-Christian Crucifix could not have been a complete representation of the Man of Sorrow described in the Christian holy book (Isaiah 53:3). Kofi therefore saw the need to present a figure which paints a real picture of a man who had gone through an extreme physical pain. Those strong and heavy, yet wobbly feet were a symbol of a man overburdened with sorrows and sins of the world.

   

  Indeed, the man on the Crucifix was dead, with no chance of maintaining a smooth and shiny skin as seen in the Euro-Christian crucifix. In Vincent Kofi’s Crucifix, therefore, he, even in wood, managed to present a flaccid body/skin and muscles which, with the closed eyelids, dropped and lifeless face gave an impression of an extremely tired dead body. Probably an artistic rendition that comes close is Mel Gibson’s crucified Christ in his movie, the Passion of the Christ.

   

  Conclusion

  Early missionaries introduced the Christian religion with its attendant icons, images, stories and language in 1400s. Semblance in religious icons, images, stories and their associated functions made the acceptance of Christianity easier among indigenous Africans/Ghanaians. Vincent Kofi’s Crucifix could therefore be considered as a great effort towards connecting foreign Christian belief systems to known religious experiences, thereby making Christianity much more relevant to the African than it has been.

   

  References

  • African Artists in America (1978). African Affairs, 11 (3), 84-85.
  • Frank, B. (1999). The Visual Arts of Africa: Gender, Power, and Life Cycle Rituals by Judith Perani and Fred T. Smith (A review).  African Affairs, 11 (3), 14-16.

  • Kwami, A. (2016). Kofi, Vincent Akwete (1923–1974). In the Routledge Encyclopedia of Modernism.: Taylor and Francis. Retrieved 31 Dec. 2021, from https://www.rem.routledge.com/articles/kofi-vincent-akwete-1923-1974. doi:10.4324/9781135000356-REM845-1

  • Moore, G. (1967). The Arts in the New Africa African Affairs, 66 (263), 140-148.

Read more …

• 

  Leonie Chima Emeka

   

  In 1682 a prominent French portraitist named Pierre Mignard (1612-1695) painted a large canvas of Louise de Kéroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth (1649-1734), one of many mistresses to King Charles II of England. The artist depicts her in a richly adorned dress, sitting on an upholstered bench against the background of a stone balcony that opens to a stormy sea. With one hand Louise de Kéroualle gently embraces her page, an African child. The fashion to hold black slaves, especially children, climaxed in the late fifteenth century, but also throughout the seventeenth century slaves were present in wealthy European households as servants.

   

  Mignard’s painting lines up with other paintings of prominent provenance featuring African pages as an attribute of wealth: Titian’s Portrait of Laura Dei Dianti from ca. 1523 and Cristovao de Morais’ Portrait of Juana of Austria from 1535-1537 both depict an Italian respectively Portugal-based noblesse in company of an equally well dressed young African page. Like the duchess Louise de Kéroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth the young female page, whose name is not conveyed, is dressed in beautiful European clothes. More peculiar however is the child's expensive pearl necklace. In the late seventeenth century pearl necklaces were a fashionable accessory for European women of extensive wealth. Imported from the Caribbean, Pacific and Indian Oceans initially by Iberian traders — later also by British and other European traders — the white, oval shaped pearls were an important trading good and symbol of prosperity and wealth. As such the valuable jewellery seems rather out of place on the neck of the page. It seems much more appropriate on the neck of the Duchess.

   

  

  Fig. 1, detail

   

  Compared to her page, the Duchess’s jewellery appears almost humble, as she wears the same pearls on small earrings. In a much higher amount, the same pearls are mirrored in a shell that the laughing child offers to her serious looking owner. In the other hand the page holds a red coral; a material that has become exceedingly valuable in many regions of West Africa. The most famous example is the kingdom of Benin (today in the region of Nigeria), where the red coral rose to a symbol of royalty and was appointed for the exclusive use of the Oba (Benin sovereign) and his household. The red coral in the hand of the African child connects the picture to the intercontinental trading network between Europe and Africa.

   

  European merchants traded red corals from Mediterranean regions with West African traders or sovereigns in exchange for goods such as gold, ivory or slaves. In all her appearance, from her beautiful dress to her valuable attributes the representation of the African page refers to the trading network, which preceded her presence in the picture next to the Duchess. The servant acts as an attribute of wealth — well-dressed she represents the wealth of the person and house to whom she is made to belong to.  

   

  On the other side of the equator, there can be found relief works to a similar effect that allows us to further investigate the historical intercontinental trading network. Many brass reliefs, produced by the royal brass workshop in the kingdom of Benin in the 16th and 17th century, acted as attributes of economic and political power of the royal court. They represented the influence of the sovereign and the wealth of the palace where they were exhibited. A large corpus of brass plagues adorned the palace, which was the economic, religious, political and administrative centre of the kingdom of Benin. One example, currently in the collection of the anthropological Museum in Berlin, depicts two dignitaries flanked by two Omadas (palace servants) before the background of the royal palace. All of them wear pearl ruffs and headgear made of corals. Similar to Mignard’s painting, the corals also function as indicators of the far reaching diplomatic relationship of the Benin palace and symbols of the interregional economic influence of the royal household. The main trading partners to the kingdom of Benin had been Portugal and later Great Britain to whom they sold slaves, gold and ivory in exchange for brass, corals and weapons. However dissimilar the artistic technique of oil painting and brass relief might seem, in the coral they share iconographic meaning. The commodity of red corals make reference to the trading network between Europe and West Africa.

   

   

  Fig. 2, detail

   

  The trading relationships between Great Britain and Benin which were highly profitable for the rich and powerful in both kingdoms would change successively to an exploitative relationship; the final step to colonial subjugation was the British punishing expedition in 1897, which ended in the destruction of Benin and the robbery of the brass relief plaques to London, from where they were sold to institutions and private collections in Europe, the two Americas and Australia. Until today the royalty of Benin as well as the state Nigeria ask for restitution of the brass relief plaques and other works which were taken by the colonial power of Great Britain.

   

  Peculiar about the Benin brass relief are the Portuguese heads that are engraved on the four palace columns in the background of the effigy. The Portuguese have a distinctive appearance with long straight hair and astonishingly long, pointed noses. In other reliefs the Portuguese are often depicted with Manillas, a ring in the shape of a horseshoe. The foreign metal of brass was imported to Benin by Portuguese traders. The valuable material, an alloy of copper and tin, supplemented cowrie shells as currency in the kingdom. As such the reliefs which adorned the royal palace were made of a material that circulated as money. The Portuguese merchants are depicted on a material which was an important means of their trade. Similar to the child holding the means of her enslavement in her hands, also the Portuguese heads are represented on and with the commodities which preceded their appearance in the imagery. Also British traders were depicted on brass reliefs, mostly with the attributes of armours, weapons and helmets.

   

  At first glance the painting and the brass relief do not have much in common and a comparison seems rather pointless. One is an oil painting by one of the most famous portraitist of his time. The other was made by the prestigious royal brass workshop of the kingdom of Benin. When taking a closer look, however, one finds that both images — however different the outcome — both reveal similar means of constructing an image and its motive behind. The assets and people flanking the depicted patronages in the center of each image — on the one side the pearl necklace, red coral and the enslaved child, on the other the red corals, the manillas the Portuguese heads — build a network within the image that reflects on the economic trading network between both kingdoms. As both images were produced in the context of a royal court, and both intend to depict their far reaching trading relations, they may serve as documents to the complex histories and relations between the two kingdoms and if seen as such, may illuminate an important part of shard history that preceded the colonial era.

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Bernadette Van Haute

  Mrs Pinckney and the Emancipated Birds of South Carolina (2017) is a sculpture in the round composed of a headless, female, ‘white’ mannequin swathed in historical dress and balancing on a globe. In place of her head is an empty birdcage from which three birds have escaped. The work was created by the internationally renowned artist Yinka Shonibare (born 1962) who is a black man of Nigerian descent living in the United Kingdom. He can thus be identified as a member of the African diaspora. In his artworks he usually engages with concepts that are related to the politics of colonialism and the slave trade and explores cultural identity in the context of globalisation. ^[1] While his creations are deeply critical of western imperialism, he always makes sure to render them visually alluring and engaging to elicit a visceral response. ^[2]

   

  This particular artwork was co-commissioned by the Yale Center for British Art and Historic Royal Palaces, Kensington Palace, and created especially for the exhibition "Enlightened Princesses: Caroline, Augusta, Charlotte, and the Shaping of the Modern World".^[3] This adds an aura of seriousness of intellectual and aesthetic intent to the sculpture. In the title of the work, the artist has identified the woman as Mrs Pinckney, or Elizabeth (Eliza) Lucas Pinckney, who at the age of 16 was put in charge of her father’s plantations in South Carolina. ^[4] She had a major influence on the colonial economy by developing indigo as an important cash crop to be processed as dye. ^[5] The sculpture is said to be the artist’s response to Eliza’s encounter with the German Princess Augusta in 1753 which further identifies her as a member of the social elite. ^[6] All of the above components help to retrieve the identity of the subject, the ideology being addressed as well as the message in the image.

   

  The artist has encoded his artwork with visual tropes that clarify and enforce his message. While the style of Eliza’s dress is based on 18th-century fashion, the fabric used is Dutch wax cloth which Amah Edo describes as a “marker of Africanness”. ^[7] Manufactured in Europe but using the Javanese batik printing technique, the cloth “came to be produced specifically for West African markets in the 1890s … [and] its aesthetic was adapted by manufacturers to suit these new consumers’ tastes”. ^[8]  Now widely perceived as symbolic of tradition, the Dutch wax cloth is regarded “as a high-end commodity desirable to elite customers”.^[9] The material of the woman’s dress thus not only identifies her as a member of the elite but also refers to Africa as the source of her wealth: it is through the labour of the African slaves that Eliza was able to run her family’s plantations in America. Likewise, the blue of the material – and the bird on her finger – is a direct reference to her successful cultivation and processing of indigo. It can thus be seen that the artist explores concepts of race and class through a careful choice of materials and colours in his imagery. By dressing the white woman in African cloth, he complicates history and racial identity in an effort to startle the viewer’s conscience.

  As the plantation’s manager, Eliza occupied a position of power which is visually manifested by her being placed literally on top of the world. The latter is represented by an eighteenth-century globe that shows the colonial territories of the British empire. ^[10] Eliza is thus turned into a symbol of white superiority and privilege granted by the politics of imperialism. Her balancing act, however, proves to be precarious and elicits tension as the ball can roll at any moment and topple her from her position of power. It is also interesting to note that the globe is an attribute of Fortune, the fickle goddess of antiquity. Fortune is blind and even eyeless, and the globe “on which she stands or sits, originally indicated instability, but to the Renaissance it was rather the world over which her sway extended”. ^[11]  The headless Mrs Pinckney thus shows a cunning resemblance with the antique goddess Fortune “who bestows her favours at random”. ^[12]  

   

  The favours bestowed by Eliza relate to her release of the birds from the birdcage. However, instead of flying away to freedom, they come back to her. She playfully lifts her left arm for an indigo-blue bird to perch on her little finger, while another bright-coloured bird sits on her left shoulder and a third one on top of the cage. According to Shonibare, the birds are a metaphor for slaves and her gesture of setting them free symbolises her wish to emancipate the slaves – hence the title Mrs Pinckney and the Emancipated Birds of South Carolina. ^[13]  The narrative thus presents a paradox between the white woman’s privileged yet unstable position as powerful, wealthy mistress and her fickle wish to liberate the black slaves whose destiny is entirely in her hands.

   

  In this work, Shonibare has given his own interpretation of the story of Mrs Pinckney, choosing to focus on the effects of the slave trade and colonisation in the eighteenth century in the United States, then still British territory. While the playfulness of his rendition and its aesthetic appeal conceal the harsh realities of enslavement, the dehumanisation of black people as a result of colonial politics still filters through in the form of brightly coloured birds which, although set free, are so tamed – read oppressed and subjugated - that they are not able to fly.

   

  ^[1]  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yinka_Shonibare (26 July 2021).

  ^[2] Yale News, 2017. Yinka Shonibare MBE (RA): ‘Mrs. Pinckney and the Emancipated Birds of South Carolina’. Video. Yale News, Yale British Art, 25 July 2017. https://news.yale.edu/videos/yinka-shonibare-mbe-ra-mrs-pinckney-and-emancipated-birds-south-carolina (26 July 2021)

  ^[3] Yale News 2017.

  ^[4] Yale News 2017.

  ^[5] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliza_Lucas (26 July 2021).

  ^[6] Yale News 2017.

  ^[7] Edo, Amah M. (2019). From African print to global luxury: Dutch wax cloth rebranding and the politics of high-value. In Mehita Iqani and Simidele Dosekun (Hrsg.). African luxury: Aesthetics and politics (pp. 77-92). Bristol, UK / Chicago, USA: Intellect, p. 82.

  ^[8] Edo 2019, p. 80.

  ^[9] Edo 2019, p. 85.

  ^[10] Yale News 2017.

  ^[11] Hall, James. 1974. Dictionary of subjects and symbols in art. London: John Murray, p. 127.

  ^[12] Hall, James. 1974. Dictionary of subjects and symbols in art. London: John Murray, p. 127.

  ^[13] Yale News 2017.

  

  Nobumasa Kiyonaga

  The oeuvre of Yinka Shonibare CBE is often characterised by a colourful and at the same time amusing appearance. This facilitates the viewer's immediate access. This is also the case with his 2017 work Mrs Pinckney and the Emancipated Birds of South Carolina. What one perceives here at first glance is the figure of a lady wearing historical European clothing, a "Robe à la Française" from the 18th century. However, the clothing is unusually colourful. Moreover, the woman is standing on a sphere, albeit shakily and leaning forward somewhat. This image quickly connects with the traditional European iconography of "Fortuna", i.e. the admonishing, allegorical symbol of "fate". It turns out that the sphere is the globe.

   

  The graceful lady also has a strange head in the form of a birdcage. But its door is open and the three birds have long since escaped. This could be an allusion to Maurice Maeterlinck's The Blue Bird, the central message of which is the obvious true happiness. In any case, the caged head shows us that it is actually our thoughts that tie us down and hinder our actions, as is often the case. Seen in this light, at least this lady has succeeded in unmasking the internalised gender ideology and liberating herself mentally. But is it really a lasting liberation?

   

  Who actually is this lady, this "Mrs Pinckney"? What fate is at stake? She is not known here in Japan, for example. A look at Wikipedia, for example, will help: she is considered one of the first emancipated women in the USA, who achieved prosperity with her pioneering attempt to grow indigo on slave plantations in South Carolina. This dye was in particular demand for military uniforms in Great Britain at the time.^[1] That is why the lady is wearing this indigo dress. But where does the artist's reference to Mrs. Pinckney come from? A direct connection is hard to find at first. However,  knowing that Shonibare describes himself as a "post-colonial hybrid"^[2] - he was born in London as the child of Nigerian parents, grew up in Nigeria and studied in London - and that he very often uses "African wax prints" for his works,^[3] one gains  more clues about the work.

   

  At present, those wax prints seem to represent "authentic" African life, but they have an Indonesian origin and were made by Europeans, especially Dutch, and sold and distributed in West Africa.^[4] In this sense, they are in fact a transcultural product. Through their use, the artist points to the "cultural imagination as a power structure and means of domination"^[5] in the spirit of the critique of representation. In this specific work, too, the wax prints, which have something in common with the fate of indigo, find their use in clothing.

   

  Thus, it turns out that the lady functions as the encouraging and, at the same time, admonishing symbol of the emancipation of women, which never proceeds in a linear fashion and is still threatened and endangered everywhere today. Moreover, this emancipation movement must always be seen in an even more complex context, which was and still is connected with the fate of countless people - in Mrs. Pinckney's case, for example, that of the slaves, according to the message of the work.

   

  ^[1]              https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliza_Lucas_Pinckney (27 July 2021)

  ^[2]              Shoji, Sachiko. 2019. “History is Happening Now: What Connects Us All to the Art of Yinka Shonibare CBE.” In Exhibition catalogue Yinka Shonibare CBE: Flower Power. Fukuoka: Fukuoka Art Museum, p. 105.  Incidentally, this is the artist's first solo exhibition in Japan.

  ^[3]              Shonibare CBE, Yinka. 2019. “Artist Statement. Woman Shooting Cherry Blossoms.” In Exhibition catalogue Yinka Shonibare CBE: Flower Power, Fukuoka: Fukuoka Art Museum, p. 13.

  ^[4]              Ibid. According to Shoji, Japan also became involved in the production of those wax prints and their export to Africa from the late 1920s to the mid-1990s. See Shoji 2019, 106-107.

  ^[5]              Shonibare 2019.

   

  

  Ernst Wagner

  A life-size, headless, female mannequin balances on a globe showing the African continent from the front. Her Biedermeier-style clothing in bright colours shows a deep décolleté. The fabric pattern is Dutch Wax, which can be inferred from the given information on the work. In combination with the birdcage and the three colourful birds outside the cage, the sculpture is reminiscent of surrealist montages like in René Magritte's artworks.

   

  

  René Magritte, Le Thérapeute (1976), Tehran (Copyright: WikiCommons)

   

  The title refers to a concrete iconography that makes research necessary which - as a reward - helps to decipher the birds and the blue dress: Mrs Pinckney refers to a prominent historical woman (Eliza Pinckney, 1722 - 93) whose biography - as one can read on Wikipedia - was deeply entangled with English colonialism and the American War of Independence. Shuttling between North America and England, she was remarkably innovative and entrepreneurial. The birds in the sculpture allude to a specific anecdote when Eliza Pinckney gave such birds as a gift to the mother of the British King George III. The blue of the dress can be seen as an allusion to Pinckney's production of indigo in South Carolina.

   

  The globe and the pattern of the dress - like the title - also allude to the theme of colonialism. Even the material specification of "Dutch Wax" tells a tangled story in colonialism. But the female role model embodied by Eliza Pinckney in her time, obviously denies the usual connotations associated with colonialism, slavery and looting. The birds outside the cage perhaps also make references to the immanent contradiction between freedom and captivity.

   

  Alluding seems to be the most adequate term to grasp the specificity of the visual language of this work. Nothing is clearly asserted, no thesis is put fprward. Rather, a dazzling, assembled, ambiguous figurine stands in the context of 18^th-century colonialism, hinting at many themes that are significant also today: women's roles, capitalism, domination and exploitation of nature, colonialism, freedom and oppression. This fits in well with the immediate perception of the object. Looking at the artwork, one gets the impression of a strange balance of lability and stability, of theatricality and ridiculousness, of immediate sensuality and learned knowledge.

   

  Now, the question remains as to how this work is located in the transcultural contact zones. Today, it is exhibited in a US collection of British art, the "Yale Center for British Art". The artist himself is called a British-Nigerian artist. He himself uses his English title of nobility CBE (Commander of the British Empire) in his name. Since documenta 13, he is well known in the context of Global Art. In terms of iconography, the work is also located at these interfaces. Through montage, it merges different associations into an inherently contradictory complexity that cannot be resolved. This creates a fundamental openness that is reflectes when we ask about its meaning: can we read the work as ironic alienation? Or as a commentary on history? Or as homage or, on the contrary, as criticism of the historical Mrs Pinckney? As a reflection of current and very serious issues or as a harmlessly playful object?

   

  A video produced by the museum where the work is now located shows an analogous reception history (Link 1 / Link 2). How does the work constitute the “ideal” viewer? He or she is a decoding, deciphering viewer who allows the iconographic fixation to fail with relish because of the sensuality of the playful object, just as the narrative of Mrs Pinckney fails because of the mannequin's instability. The ideal, contemporary viewer simultaneously enjoys the openness and yet sees him-/herself confirmed in his/her anti-colonial habitus.

  

  Discussion

  Discussion

  EW: When I compared all three contributions, I was initially surprised by the large number of common intersections. This certainly points to the global power of interpretation of media representations in English (website of the collection at Yale, Wikipedia), which we could not escape either. We all researched Mrs. Pinckney on Wikipedia, we all trusted the video on the website as a source. But what is interesting now is how differently we deal with it and what different conclusions we come to. I have the impression that in your approach, Bernadette, the story of Mrs. Pinckney plays the biggest role, while in my text this story is rather only a possible reference point. I don't know if you can agree with me.

   

  NK: Yes, I also see these differences. With Ernst, I see more of a fundamental, principled attitude in the analysis of the work. In Bernadette's interpretation, I found the interpretation of the birds as "slaves" interesting. I myself saw in it the - temporarily - liberated soul of an emancipated woman. Moreover, in this context, I also find your reference to the paradox of the actually already liberated "slaves" particularly illuminating, as it seems to have been derived from your discussion of colonial history in Africa.

   

  BVH: When comparing our contributions, I was also reminded of the fact that art is always about other art, hence we looked for precedents that may have inspired the artist. But what I find most exciting about our interpretations are the differences in emphasis on the various meanings that are embedded in the work. For Ernst, the transcultural nature of the work stands out, as well as its openness in meaning. For Nobu, it is the reference to gender ideology and women’s emancipation that forms the core of the work, especially in light of ongoing gender discrimination. For me, it is the historical narrative that led me to interrogate the issue of racial discrimination which also continues today in movements such as #BlackLivesMatter.

   

  EW: I share this, and I would like to follow up with a question. Is it possible that our respective contexts in which we work have influenced this? Not in terms of content – we agree on that – but in terms of patterns of argumentation. If you, Bernadette, place so much emphasis on the story of Mrs. Pinckney, does this perhaps reflect the great oral, meaningful storytelling traditions in Africa? And when you, Nobumasa, on the other hand, elaborate Mrs. Pinckney as an encouraging and at the same time cautionary symbol, does this perhaps reflect the great ethical traditions in Asia? My refusal of direct meaning-making and ethical service, on the other hand, would then be a European-style reflexive evasive manoeuvre to a (preferably unassailable) meta-level?

   

  BVH: Good question indeed. In my opinion, this exercise shows how we are all conditioned by the sociocultural environment in which we live and work. Hence my response, from a South African point of view, focused on the story/history in order to highlight the importance of the work in decolonising the subject. While playfully complicating racial issues in a historical context, the artist mainly celebrates Africanness by means of materials, patterns and colours. This allowed me to infuse my interpretation with African epistemologies. Your response, Ernst, could be regarded as a refusal, perhaps, to acknowledge and engage with the deeper implications of the work and indeed rather shift the focus onto more theoretical concerns as inspired by German art historians? I am keen to hear Nobumasa’s view on this matter.

   

  NK: Ernst's question about whether a Japanese ethical tradition might secretly be reflected in my interpretation is very difficult for me to answer. But as Bernadette has just pointed out, the social context in which we work definitely plays a certain role. While globalisation has erased spatial distances, perhaps not necessarily mental ones. For Japanese today, Africa is still very distant, in the double sense mentioned above. Although Africa is the second largest continent with 55 countries and countless information is available, detailed and nuanced ideas about it are often missing from our consciousness. My leap into the general, or ethical, implication of the work could possibly be explained in this way. Seen in this way, I have probably unconsciously "traced" my own situation. But this also underlines the fact that the critique of representation – in the sense of a critical questioning of pictorial representations – is still as relevant today as it ever was.

   

  EW: I was very grateful to you, Nobumasa, for the emphasis on the ethical, because we always have to include the ethical dimension in the context of education. My argument from a German point of view would be that the interpretation of a work like Mrs. Pinckney must not be arbitrary. That would be the ethical responsibility of the interpreters. We will have to come back to this in a moment when we discuss conclusions for a toolbox for decoding images.

   

  But first I would like to learn more about the differences between our approaches – even though there is a large area of consensus. In the theoretical discussions we had some time ago, we clearly distinguished the Japanese concept of 'kansho kyoiku', the South African concept of 'art criticism' and the European concept of 'work immanence'. Could you elaborate on the question of how these positions are reflected in your texts?

   

  NK: The introduction of dialogue-based art viewing from the USA in the late 1990s revived the field of art education in schools or museums in Japan. Since then, this didactic method, which seems to seek to maximise the viewer's part in interpretation through its strict rejection of knowledge transfer and ultimately prioritises the discussion of interpretation, is still in vogue today. But a crucial question still arises as to how the meaning of interpretation, or meaningful interpretation, is secured without degenerating into mere arbitrariness. In this respect, too, our experiment seems to be very inspiring.

   

  BVH: At the University of South Africa we believe that the basic skills required to interpret objects of visual culture are best taught by beginning to practise art criticism. The proper domain of a critic is the description, interpretation and evaluation of concrete works of art. As a first step in this process, students must learn how to describe and interpret artworks. Essentially art criticism is a practice embedded in western epistemology that has been appropriated to study the art of contemporary Africa in a global context. When investigating the historical arts of Africa, the method remains the same although the local context of traditional culture and customs must be taken in consideration. My interpretation of Shonibare’s work was guided by these very same principles.

   

  EW: Finally, I would like to ask you something with regard to the 'methodological kit' proposed by the editors of this volume: Which methodological approaches for the interpretation of images do you consider absolutely necessary – independent of our respective Japanese, South African or European context? And I'll add a second question in a moment: Does that leave one area that plays a role exclusively in your respective local context?

   

  BVH: From an art historical point of view, the methods best suited for the interpretation of political images stem from a contextual approach which demands critical consideration of the cultural context of the work, its artist and of the social practices and power relations in which it is embedded. As the interpreter, you can apply the iconological method: first describe what you see – formal elements and details – and then identify the iconography, the specific subject and symbolism of the work. Do some research on facts and historical context, as well as the reasons why the work was made or commissioned. Then you can explain how all this information was put together to express the meaning or content of the work and decide what message or ideas the artist was trying to communicate. Because every interpreter comes to the artwork with his/her own worldview, the interpretation will differ depending on that worldview and not on the local context. For example, because I attach more importance to the idea of decolonisation, my contextual approach is combined with and influenced by decolonial theory.

   

  NK: Basically, Bernadette, I gladly agree with you, especially with regard to your gradual approach. I also think it is reasonable and sensible from a pedagogical point of view. But this raises the question of what actually constitutes a "political image" or "when" an image becomes political. Of course, there are pictures or works of art that are obviously and unmistakably recognisable as such, but there are also those that are much more subtle, that are not so noticeable to foreign eyes, or that were not originally created with political intentions, but that in retrospect seem to be quite political. What one considers to be political depends, after all, very much on the view of the observer, possibly even completely apart from the original intention of the creator. In this respect, it seems to me that a fundamental attitude is indispensable for the viewer to be able to keep a mental distance from a picture and its context as well as from himself and his own horizon in order to perceive a picture (also) politically.

   

  EW: Thank you both, because from my point of view I cannot and do not need to add anything more. I completely agree that an iconological basis, as Bernadette has formulated it, is needed. And I am deeply convinced that the reception-historical and reception-theoretical extension that Nobumasa has added is absolutely necessary, indeed indispensable, for the toolbox. I can add nothing to this bundle of methods.

  What perhaps came up short in our conversation were the different cultural conditions and the resulting consequences for interpretation. But we'll make up for that on another occasion.

   

  NK: Finally, let me add something to my previous statement. For responsible interpretation, we need above all a willingness to engage in dialogue. I experienced this again in our conversation and our experiment also shows this in an exemplary way.

   

   

Read more …

• 

  Elfriede Dreyer

  Matiyane depicts cities of the world in the form of large mixed-media panoramas, utilising a naïve style of schematic outlining and an almost unsophisticated usage of coloured pencils and crayons, not unlike the early travelogues of the Renaissance and colonial explorers. In his panoramas, the landscape is flattened out into a subjective urban picturesque adorned with the city’s commercially most well-known markers functioning as a concise overview of or introduction to its most important historical events and its icons. Although Matiyane generally presents wide panoramas of cities, thus ‘walking’ multi-viewpoint compositions, he often creates panopticon-like designs in which he functions as a kind of ‘watchman’ surveying the city from a single point of observation – his own. In the late eighteenth century, the English philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham coined the idea of the panopticon as a particular type of institutional building design that could allow surveillance by a single watchman in such a way that the entire institution could be surveyed from a single angle. The term ‘panopticon’ has been derived from Panoptes in Greek mythology that was a giant with a hundred eyes and known as a very efficient watchman. Bentham's architectural designs were very much aimed at the design of institutions such as prisons, for instance, or corporate environments, where inmates or workers could be surveyed without them realising it. Bentham’s ideas acted as precursor to twentieth-century technology such as closed-circuit television (CCTV). Having been territorialised under the apartheid regime of segregation and living in Attridgeville a township outside Pretoria, the country’s administrative capital, Matiyane embarks on a kind of symbolic remapping of these histories. Operating without sufficient transport and with minimal equipment and art materials places limitations on his mobility and professional practice; within the context of the strenuous context of his daily battles, the spectacularity of powerful world cities and their apparent glitz and glamour to him seem like places of pleasure and the world like a global utopia where poverty and agony can be forgotten. In his Panorama of Africa: Cape to Cairo, Matiyane expresses a particular sense of place and a human condition, echoed in Alice Ming Wai Jim‘s (2008:264)  description of Hong Kong in ‘Mediating place-identity: Notes on Mathias Woo’s A Very Good City’: Over the last decade, contemporary art in Hong Kong, informed by travel(ing) theory, the special administrative region’s ambiguous (post) colonial-national-global connections and its inimitable set of historical and cultural situations, has been preoccupied with the themes of mobility, transition, and location in its representations of the city. This fixation, or, rather, the urgency of its mediation in not only artistic but also cultural, economic, and political arenas is inextricably linked to an ongoing elaboration of a Hong Kong identity. But assertions of “who we are” are often intimately related to suppositions of “where we are,” and ideas captured in the environmental psychological concept of place-identity. Matiyane’s sense of identity and notion of ‘who he is’ is similarly tied to ‘where he is’, but virtually he can be anywhere. In every panorama, the artist traces the contemporary city’s ontology of mobility and transitivity in images of technology, airplanes, trains and boats. To him these images represent power, positive energy and dynamism, being tropes of transition and movement towards improvement, development and transformation. His utopian imagery can be interpreted as being populated by a multitude of heterotopic elements, such as powerful personae and images of transitivity represented by trains and boats that function autonomously but concurrently in close relation to their socio-cultural and geopolitical contexts; as liminal instruments connecting space and place; and as vigorous agents of change. In a work such as Panorama of Gauteng (2014), for instance, the artist included images as well as the life history of Nelson Mandela, interpreted as the as an iconic symbol of transformation and change, and in Panorama of Africa: Cape to Cairo, he once again presents Mandela as the most powerful legacy in Africa. It becomes a stratagem of power mediation to point out the country’s instruments of advantage within the global sphere of competition. His vision radiates optimism and hope and deconstructs the notion of the processes of historisation as categorically fixed, predetermined and non-negotiable. Through the act of being empowered to depict any place in the world, the artist constructs his identity in the domain of the global self that utopianistically interacts with perceived spectacular environments. By mostly depicting cities that he has never been to, Matiyane expresses a desire and a longing for the exotic Other, yet his relationship to place is transmutative in essence. He imagines places where the home of the place–identity involves a process in which the self and local become metamorphosed into the global world. The artist becomes a ‘nomad’, displaced and diasporic in his pursuit of fame, wealth and global stardom through the fusion with ‘famous’ and ‘successful’ cities in his depictions. Global psychogeography is created in which cultural disparities are flattened in renderings of cities and their surrounding landscapes, each endowed with air and ground transport, patterns of housing, own histories, a national flag and a city centre. Becoming ‘playful masquerading’, the artist’s presentation of panoramic landscapes imbued by factual information makes the real, perceived and imaginary differences between cities, cultures and worlds fall away. Surveyed through the panopticon framework of his panoramas, there are superficially neither perceivable binaries of have and have-not, poverty and wealth; nor anxieties, losses or racial discrimination. East meets West meets Africa in a global blueprint of urban patterning. By crossing the borders of the self and the local in his depiction of cities, Matiyane becomes a virtual flâneur of the cities of the world and a cartographer of imagined spaces.

  Reference Ming Wai Jim, A. Mediating place-identity: Notes on Mathias Woo’s A very good city, in Asselin, O, Lamoureux, J, Ross, C (eds). 2008. Precarious visualities: New perspectives on identification in contemporary art and visual culture. Montreal & Kingston/London/Ithaca: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

  About the artist Major exhibitions since 2008 2018, Venice Architecture Biennale, Japan Pavillion 2018, Titus Matiyane’s Cities of the World, ZAM, The Hague 2014, Cool Capital Biennale, curated by Elfriede Dreyer and Adele Adendorff. Panorama of Pretoria: Mamelodi to Soweto 2014, Reserve Bank, Cool Capital Biennale exhibition. Panorama of Pretoria: Mamelodi to Soweto 2013, Royal Academy of Fine Arts, Artesis University College, Antwerp. Group exhibition, Nomad bodies curated by Elfriede Dreyer 2012, Stevenson Gallery, Johannesburg. Panorama of Polokwane to Sasolburg 2012, Fried Contemporary Art Gallery, Pretoria. Group exhibition, Me 3, curated by Elfriede Dreyer 2011, La Société générale, Casablanca, Morocco. Cities of the world exhibition and Panorama of Western Cape. Curated by Annemieke de Klerk 2010, Fried Contemporary Art Gallery, Pretoria. Group exhibition, Cities in transition, with Eric Duplan and Lucas Thobejane, curated by Elfriede Dreyer 2010, Lille Métropole Museum of Modern, Contemporary and Outsider Art. Panorama of Lille 2010, Big 5 Festival, Teater aan het Spuy, The Hague. Panoramas of Cape Town, Berlin, Tanzania, Mali, Dubai, Johannesburg, Mpumalanga and KwaZulu Natal. Curated by Annemieke de Klerk 2009, UJ Gallery. Cities of the world. Panoramaas of New York, Pretoria, London, Dubai, Kwazulu Natal, Pietersburg to Sasolburg 2008, Aedesland, Berlin. Cities of the world. Curated by Annemieke de Klerk 2008, National Museum Of Mali, Bamako. Cities of the world. Curated by Annemieke de Klerk 2008, Fried Contemporary Art Gallery, Pretoria. Group exhibition, On the globe, with Pieter Swanepoel and Diek Grobler, curated by Elfriede Dreyer 2008, Delft University of Technology, Faculty of Architecture, Delft. Cities of the world. Curated by Annemieke de Klerk Publications Annemieke de Klerk, Melinda Silverman, Stephen Hobbs, Wytze Patijn, 2007. Catalogue for the exhibition, Titus Matiyane: Cities of the World. Afdeling Bouwkunde, Technische Hogeschool Delft. 010 Publishers. Published for the purposes of the Cities of the World travelling exhibition, 2007- 2008 and the manifestation "African Perspectives" held December 6-8,2007, both commissioned by the Faculty of Architecture of Delft University of Technology. Makorakora: Shaping wire into vehicles.  1985. SA Today. Article featuring photograph of model of spacecraft “Challenger” made by artist. Rankin, E. 1994. Images of metal: Post-war sculptures and Assemblages in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.     published February 2020

Read more …

• 

  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

   

  The "reunification" is the result of a synergy of different societies willing to modify their way of life and the principles of their socio-cultural organization in order to cope with the vicissitudes of the colonial yoke. These societies are based in the Great West, the Coastline, the Southern Forest, the East and Lake Tchad, the regions that mark Cameroon’s geography. Each of these regions is home to a large number of ethnic groups such as the Bamileké, the Bamun, the Akunakuna, the Babungu, the Duala,the Beti, the Fang, the Peul, the Kirdi, the Fula, the Dourou, the Fali, etc. The date of May 20^th, 1972 marks Cameroon’s passage from Federal Republic to United Republic by referendum. This date can be said to be the culmination of the political commitment initiated on the 1^st of October 1961 with the reunification. Based on this commitment of 1961, Cameroon continued the construction of a unitary state and the consolidation of national unity encompassing the country's entire population. It can be argued that this unitary state was the only way to protect Cameroon’s sovereignty after Independence and to implement projects of prosperity. In President Ahidjo’s words of 1961: "It is together that we will make our Cameroon finally returned to the borders of our ancestors¹, a modern country where it will be good to live in a climate of freedom, fraternity and prosperity." (Mveng 1985, 262).

   

  The Reunification Monument is situated on "Plateau Atemengue", Yaoundé’s political and administrative centre. In this area, the colonial administration had placed institutions for education and administration that were crucial constituents of the new country: the National Assembly, the school of administration and the judiciary, the military headquarters, the Leclerc High School and the University of Yaoundé, to only name a few examples. The large boulevard initially used for the parades commemorating the celebration of the feast of national unity is located on this plateau as well. Placed on top of the city, amongst the republic’s essential institutions the Reunification Monument was obviously meant to become a reminder of the sense of unity amongst the initiatives engaging the Cameroonian republic.

   

  The ensemble of the Reunification Monument consists of an architectural structure and a sculpture. According to Noé Tonye², its shape emerged from sketches selected by the public authorities following a national and international competition on the theme of reunification launched by the Cameroonian Head of State. However, the identity of the authors of this monument suggests that they might also have been directly commissioned because they appeared qualified for the job due to their previous projects. These artists are Gédéon Mpando and Engelbert Mveng with his “Art Nègre Workshop”, who both used to receive public commissioned in Yaoundé at that time. Annette Schemmel (2015, 66) points out with regard to Engelbert Mveng: “As the author of Cameroon’s first national history, a contributor to ABBIA {Revue}, and a politician in Ahidjo’s service, Mveng enjoyed an excellent reputation among Cameroon’s élites. His social standing also led to secular commissions ». A third partner was the French architect Armand Salomon. His involvement in the realisation of this monument is due to his proximity to the French government, who probably recommended him to the Cameroonian government, according to Noé Tonye.

   

  Although the conditions of the commission are somewhat obscure, Engelbert Mveng is known to be the designer of the spiral tower as well as of the representation of the cultural areas of the new state, while Gédéon Mpando created the monumental statue and Armand Salomon was in charge of the realization of the spiral-shaped building. Arguably, the teaming up of three professionals had a symbolic dimension because building a "merged" nation called for the commitment of society as a whole. Such a vast project required an explosion of research and creative initiatives towards a culture of common values driven by teaching and education. The involvement of several Cameroonian artists and a French architect in the design and the construction of this monument reflects the political will to involve different parts of society and to create mechanisms that are operational and serving the interests of national unity.

  The architectural component of the monument to the reunification of Yaoundé has the appearance of a giant cone built of concrete. This cone consists of two spirals which describe a sinusoidal movement, and which unite on the top. The basis of this architecture is a circular structure and each spiral is a form of concrete slide made up of stairs to the top. A high column in the centre and four parallel pillars support the structure as a whole. For these four main pillars, the Art Nègre Workshop has designed reliefs showcasing characteristics of lifestyles, landscapes, cultural and artistic elements from the North, South, East and West of Cameroon. In a similar style, the team has pictured school scenes, construction scenes of modern architecture, scenes of farming, etc. for the decoration of the underground part of the building, thus celebrating the process of transformation and development of both society and land.

   

              

  Images: ASSAKO ASSAKO Paul-Henri. 2014. L’art au Cameroun du XXe au début du XXIe siècle : étude des expressions sculpturales en milieu urbain, thèse présentée et soutenue en vue de l’obtention d’un doctorat/Ph.D en Histoire de l’Art,  UY1-Cameroun,  p. 571.

   

  Details of a pillar cladding representing the diversity in the Cameroonian regions: the cone-shaped architecture and an initiation mask of the Kounga from Cameroon’s West; the abbia motifs and the hunting scene characteristic of the forests on the South Cameroonian plateau and finally the fishing scene which recall the Littoral region.³

   

   

   

  

  Engelbert Mveng and Atelier Arts Nègre (design, decoration in relief on the architectural structure), Armand Salomon (architecture), Mpando Gédéon (sculpture), 1973 -1976, concrete, H: 7m, Atemengue Plateau Yaoundé, Cameroon. Photo: Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

   

  The sculpture by Gédéon Mpando that is situated in front of the spiral architecture reinforces the idea of ​​a united nation as a foundation for development, fulfilment and prosperity in its own way. The artist has personified the nation in a figurative sculpture. The composition represents a stocky colossus (53 tons, height of 7m) in a seated posture of great stability. He holds a torch in his right arm while his left hand serves to support the four children who are clutched to him. The children’s visible efforts to climb up the colossus make for a strong vertical tension, echoing the cone-shaped architecture in the background. Mpando’s sculpture reveals a kind of serenity. Its strong expressiveness is due to a harmonious play of masses and volumes in the treatment of forms. Both artists’ contributions translate a vision of the nation that is both poetic and critical and as such essential to the development of a national society. Both components of the monument incorporate the idea of ​​belonging to a nation that is united and hence display the most universal property that an image can acquire in such a context: its true ontological significance (H. Belting, 2004). 

   

  Let us come back to the relevance of this monument’s imagery. The inhabitants of the territory of Cameroon have inherited a common history of colonization. This history has forged socio-cultural, symbolic, emotional and political ties between ethnic groups. E. Renam speaks of these ties as the “fusion of populations” (1882). These links constitute the raw material of the national collective memory. It can be argued that it is worthwhile to overcome the obstacles to the consolidation of this nation due to the socio-cultural sedimentation of these ties. Disappointment with the promises of prosperity have resulted in calls to return to regional autonomy, be it in the form of a federal state or in the form of secession. Precaution needs to be preserved, however, because deconstructing the Cameroonian Republic constituted in the 1960s and 70s would imply calling into question the historical heritage, that Cameroon was born from the colonial system developed at the African conference in Berlin in 1884. The consequence would be the restoration of a precolonial environment. Instead, it seems more productive to critically analyse the historical stakes in favour of the development of today’s society.

   

  Overview report on the current political situation in Cameroon (April 2021) - in German: Link https://www.bpb.de/internationales/weltweit/innerstaatliche-konflikte/327306/kamerun?pk_campaign=nl2021-04-07&pk_kwd=327306

   

  References 

  • RENAN Ernest. “Qu’est-ce qu’une nation?” Bulletin de l’Association Scientifique de France. 26 March 1882.
  • BELTING Hans. 2004. Pour une anthropologie des images, Ed. Gallimard
  • BAHOKEN J.C. et ATANGANA Engelbert. 1975. La politique culturelle en République unie du Cameroun. Éditions Les Presses de l’Unesco.
  • MVENG Engelbert. 1985., Histoire du Cameroun. tom 2. Yaoundé. Ed. CEPER.
  • CHEICKH ANTA DIOP. 1079. nations nègres et culture, Ed. Présence Africaine
  • SCHEMMEL ANNETTE. 2015. Visual arts in Cameroon - A Genealogy of Non-formal Training 1976-2014, Langaa Research & Publishing CIG, Mankon.
  • ASSAKO ASSAKO Paul-Henri.2014. L’art au Cameroun du XXe au début du XXIe siècle: étude des expressions sculpturales en milieu urbain, thèse présentée et soutenue en vue de l’obtention d’un doctorat/Ph.D en Histoire de l’Art.  UY1-Cameroun. p. 571.
  • https://www.osidimbea.cm/collectivites/centre/monument-reunification/
  • www.mbogliaa.com

   

  Footnotes 

  1) The expression ‘boundaries of ancestors’ refers primarily to the idea of traditional cultural heritage and its appropriation for planning the prosperity of the nation.

  2)  https://www.osidimbea.cm/collectivites/centre/monument-reunification/

  3) Source of images: ASSAKO ASSAKO Paul-Henri. 2014. L’art au Cameroun du XXe au début du XXIe siècle : étude des expressions sculpturales en milieu urbain, thèse présentée et soutenue en vue de l’obtention d’un doctorat/Ph.D en Histoire de l’Art,  UY1-Cameroun,  p. 571

   

   

  published February 2021

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

   

  School crests, school logos or school emblems as they are variously referred to are a popular feature in the functions of all academic institutions in Ghana. They are normally designed to visually reflect the key ideologies and philosophies upon which educational institutions thrive. In determining a logo for academic institutions therefore, efforts are put in place to ensure that they serve an appreciable level of visual representativeness. By this, school logos in so many ways establish emotional connections with parents, students and other stakeholders, whose interpretations and perceptions determine their level of confidence and trust in the institutions.

   

  This logo, by its very visual appeal, informed by the familiarity of the key compositional element and simplicity, generates a point for discussion. Moreover, the popularity and the history of Achimota College always makes it an important destination for various studies pertaining to senior high school education in Ghana. In my current interest in the study of icons and symbols therefore, the Achimota School crest comes handy, worthy and accessible.

   

  The designer of the Achimota School crest is not really known as most of the literature on the school's history is silent on the subject. However, judging from the fact that the key concept behind the logo emanated from a popular quote from Dr Emmanuel Kwegyir Aggrey, the Old Achimota Association attributes both its origin and design to him (OAA, 1973). The creation of the Achimota School crest follows strictly the conventional crest design procedures which inform the design of several school crests in Ghana. It is composed of a classic narrow base shield, with the all-important motto of the school, ut omnes unum sint (Latin phrase meaning ‘that all may be one’), rendered in an arc form below the shield to provide a mantling and support of a sort to the design. In a rather minimalistic fashion, the key element of the design which also represents the main ideal of the school (the piano keyboard) has been rendered in amazing level of simplicity which makes it easy to perceive and reproduce by all graphic reproduction methods.

   

  By this design process, the Achimota school logo offers a depth of meaning without being too literal in its composing elements. It has a pleasing contrast between dark and light, and connection to the existing school structures. Most importantly, the logo has sustained the semiotics and narratology which students, parent and stakeholders have always responded to since the establishment of the school.

   

  It can be said that the logo of the Achimota college is more than a visual representation of the ideals of an educational institution. By mere consideration of the diversity in the caliber of people who masterminded its foundation, the school’s logo could indeed be described as the very foundation upon which the school was built. The logo seems to echo silently a belief that underscores the essence of peaceful coexistence of all manner of people, as exemplified in the collaboration of people of different colours from different parts of the world coming together to establish an institution of that caliber. It must be noted that the use of black and white keys of the piano to signify the harmony that comes along with peaceful co-existence of people of all races mean a lot more than anti-racial advocacy. It is obvious that Aggrey, drawing from his own experiences as a black young man who has been able to successfully attain the feats that could be equaled to what any white young man of his age could attain, was drawing the attention of the African youth to their own strength and capabilities. This is because Aggrey lived in a time when the “black man” looked up to the “white man” as an embodiment of all wisdom and custodian of all the goodies that mankind needed for their existence. The idea that he, as a black young man could attain a higher education just as the white man had not been very much considered. Aggrey making himself a case for the possibility of the black race mixing up perfectly with the white race to produce something good therefore seemed to be the underlining principle for the creation of the logo of the Achimota school.

   

  The question of Aggrey creating this logo not for some cooperate body or a church is also an interesting factor to consider. As far back as 1924, Aggrey sought to established the efficacy of ‘education’ in the promulgation of ideals, principles and philosophies. This is deducible from the efforts he put in co-founding the Achimota College with Sir Frederick Gordon Guggisberg and Rev Alec Garden Fraser; opening up the college for both male and female; and ensuring that teachers were made up of blacks, whites, males, females. This indicates Dr Aggrey’s confidence in education as an important avenue for the promotion of peaceful co-existence and harmonious living.  He believed strongly that quality education would contribute to balance and a peaceful society, and promote his conviction that ‘black keys of the piano give good sounds and the white keys give good sounds, but the combination of the two gives the best melody’. What a beautiful reason for all mankind to live as one!

   

  Considering ongoing efforts towards the achievement of a coherent global community, as well as the premium laid on education as a single unit that can be used to achieve the sustainable development goals, it could be concluded that the relevance of the Achimota school logo is important today more than it has ever been.  It therefore makes a whole world of sense to argue that the logo of the Achimota school could be considered as a strong icon for well-balanced education and a perfect advocate for education for sustainable development (ESD).

   

   

  References

  • Old Achimota Associstion (1973). Dr Aggrey. Retrieved August 3, 2020, from Retrieved 03 https://sites.google.com/site/oaa1973akoras/home/founders/dr-aggrey
  • Wada, K. (2010). Achimota School. Retrieved August 3, 2020, from https://www.blackpast.org/global-african-history/achimota-college-achimota-school-1924/

   

   

  published August 2020

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

   

  Some of these signs and symbols depict historical events, human behaviour, animal behaviour, attitudes, plant life forms and shapes of objects, many of which have grown to assume recognizable iconographic dimensions. Others carry rich proverbial messages that are traditionally considered a mark of wisdom. These attributes indeed give credence to the need for the preservation and popularization of traditional symbolism and imagery.

   

  Therefore, in this project (which is one of many others in progress) therefore, has made an attempt to repackage Adinkra and other traditional symbols through animated videos. The aim is to make these age-old symbols more accessible and attractive to the modern Ghanaian youth. Presenting traditional symbols digitally would not only appeal to the youth, but would also ensure widespread visibility, presentation and thus, better preservation.

   

   

  published October 2020

Read more …

• 

  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

   
  Africans, including Ghanaians, had their peculiar way of life long before they encountered the colonialists. They had a robust governance structure (kinship system), laws and standards of beauty inherent in their beauty culture practices. The African society was orderly organised to the extent that there were minimal deviants. They had built no prisons for offenders, rather, their sense of communalistic living and religious practices shaped their modest way of life. Based on their customary laws and taboos, offenders atoned for their wrongdoings through rites and rituals which were enough corrective measures. In some cases, the corrective stigma associated with particular wrongdoing was enough deterrent to possible offenders. For example, someone who stole a bunch of plantains was made to carry the plantain on the head, and matched by multitudes through the streets of the community, announcing the offenses s/he has committed. Sometimes, offenders were sent to the chief palace for settlement of the case. The society was so organised and cultured to the extent that when the community became aware of the wrongdoing of an offender, s/he may not find a spouse or suitor in that community. Before arranging for marriage, the families of both parties engaged in serious investigation about the socio-moral backgrounds of both suitors regarding their behaviours in and outside the community. When a suitor had criminal records, the family of the suitors disallowed such a marriage. In personal communication with M. Opoku-Mensah (12th June 2020), he referred to a purported address of Lord Macaulay to the British Parliament on 2nd February 1835 which confirmed what pertained in precolonial Africa. Lord Macaulay reportedly said:

  
  “I have travelled across the length and breadth of Africa and I have not seen one person who is a beggar, who is a thief such wealth I have seen in this country, such high moral values, people of such calibre, that I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone of this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage…”

  
  Just as any society, this statement suggests that Africans also had the way of life, including the standard of beauty and makeover practices.

  
  Precolonial Ghana, as in the case of other Africans, held in high esteem their indigenous beauty culture standards. They held a complex standard of beauty embodied in their ‘Afrocultural aesthetics’ (Essel, 2017, p.25). Afrocultural aesthetics has to do with the conceptual and contextual hybridity of aesthetics that celebrate ideas expressed in artworks (Essel & Acquah, 2016) and the intended purpose of art, be it functional, symbolic or decorative. A work of art is considered good or beautiful once it served the purpose for which it was done. This implies that beauty is judged in context as well as the concept. The Afrocultural aesthetics also apply to the beauty culture practices of the people. One of the beautyculture practices precolonial Ghana held high was hair grooming aesthetic ideals. Hair occupied a central position in the scheme of social standing to the extent that it sent a message about the status of its wearer to the audience who understand such a language. One could differentiate a married woman from the others based on her hairdo in Ghanaian society. Hair was treated with natural hair softeners, conditioners, colourants, and accessories such as comb. Special combs that helped the people to keep the hair in good shape were fashioned by sculptors from wood, bones and metal. The combs were artistically shaped with symbolical essence just as the hair itself. What the precolonial African society did not do was to stigmatise the hair type and texture of their fellow Blacks.

  
  The advent of the slave trade, colonialism and Western education began to sew the inferior seed of black hair stigmatisation and discrimination. Gradually, this ‘inferior seed’ (Morrow, 2014) sewn has entered the educational institutions which should be the agent of change, centre of Black consciousness, character reformation centre and panacea of pan-Africanism has rather turned into Afrosaxons colonialist surrogates perpetuating Afrocentric hair stigmatisation against their educands (Essel, in press). In the effort to decolonise the bastadised and proscribed Afrocentric hairstyle practices in Ghanaian schools, this article explores the conflicting tensions in the process on the part of the school authorities, students and the parents.
  
  Decolonisation theories is central to this study. There exists different perspective on the subject matter of decolonisation. Some have looked at it from Euro-American perspective while others argued that the process remains incomplete when it is one-sided instead of two-sided, that is, looking at it from the perspective of the colonised and the coloniser. On this path, Wenzel (2017) examined the multiple objects and aspects of decolonisation namely, political economy, epistemology, culture, language and nature, and theorised that there exists unevenness and incompletion of the decolonisation process. By studying the various roles played by the colonisers, anti‐colonial nationalists, and Cold War superpowers in decolonisation, Wenzel (2017) observed that postcolonial independence did not necessarily bring national liberation. This liberation in my view includes mental emancipation, and redefinition of Africanness, believing in
  ourselves.

  
  In the encounter of the colonialists with the colonised, the former has painted monstrous and negative perceptual image about the latter which has affected the way of life of the latter.The colonialist projected their standards of beauty and art to the colonised and spoke ill of that the colonised to retard social progress and prolong colonial domination of the latter (Nkrumah, 1963).By so doing the colonialists’ beauty culture standards have been ingrained and practised in academic institutions and everyday life and has seeming override indigenous beauty culture standard of the colonised. In line with this, the decolonisation concepts that guides this study is that, the African needs to be measured by his/her cultural beauty standards that does not breach the fundamental laws of his nation or state. The African must gain national cultural consciousness and must not be necessarily be measured with the standards of the colonialist (Nkrumah,1963; 1964). Before the Black Hair Stigma in Precolonial Ghana There are different types of hair ranging from type 1(a, b, c), 2(a,b,c), 3 (a, b, c) and 4 (a, b, c). The types were classified according to the straightness, waviness, curl patterns and kinky look. Hair may also be described in terms of its texture, density, porosity and colour. These characteristics of hair
  differences may manifest in individuals, groups, society or race. Despite the differences in hair type, all people of the world belong to one race, that is the human race (Elliot, 2016). Even among Blacks, there are differences in hair type. Precolonial Ghana was made of different ethnic groups of which the Akan were the majority. Though they were of different ethnicities, they did not discriminate against each other on the basis of their hair type or hairstyle. The people wore different hairstyles based on their ethnic affiliations, beliefs and practices, social status, and to celebrate events such as festivities and or funerals. Sometimes the hairstyles were worn for art sake. The hairdos had performative importance, semiotic power, and engendered identity. For
  example, queen mothers wore a kind of hairdo named dansinkran (Figure 1) known for its iconic stature amongst the chiefdom.

   

  

  Figure 1: A woman wearing the dansinkran hairstyle. (Image courtesy: Godhit, 2017).

  
  The hairstyles of the people ranged from natural dreadlocks popularly called rasta (known in Akan language as mpɛsɛmpɛsɛ), Afro, braiding, plaiting, shaving and African wigs. Though the word rasta is regarded more as a Jamaican phenomenon, mpɛsɛmpɛsɛ (which was named rasta) existed in some parts of Africa including Ghana in precolonial times. Some were born with the rasta. People born with rasta were considered by society as special beings, for that matter sacred. Apart from that, some priests and priestesses wore dreadlocks or afro. Cowries were placed in the rasta or afro hair of some priests and priestesses for symbolic, decorative, religious and ritual purposes. In this article, the term rasta is used in the context of both natural and artificial dreadlocks in precolonial, colonial, postcolonial and contemporary times. Again, the term Afro was introduced in the 1960s in reference to African American grown hair. From this word came Afrocentric. It is worthy of note that the enslaved Africans who were taken ashore had relatively long and grown hair. This was one of the hairstyles associated with males in precolonial Africa. The colonialists negatively described that hairstyle as bushy. Meanwhile,the long hair of the colonialists did not merit such a negative description. Till now, the term bushy hair connotes an offensive description of overgrown African hair. Many young Ghanaian people would prefer the term Afro to mean fully-grown hair than to describe their hair as bushy. Though the term Afro emanated from the US, the hairstyle was long in practice in many parts of Africa.

   

  One could differentiate between a maiden and a married woman just by looking at the hairstyles they wore. The people also used natural hair treatments that conditioned and softened it to keep it in good shape. The Akan often said ɔbaa n’enyimyam nye ne tsirhwin which literally means ‘The glory of a woman is her hair.’ This expression underscored why women in precolonial Ghana cared so much about their hair. They spent a great deal of their time in pursuance of their hair beauty culture practices. During puberty rites, female adolescents are given special education on hygiene, good grooming and hair beauty culture practices and treatments because of the premium society placed on the hair. Consequently, hair became a significant communicative symbol used to express moods such as bereavement, joy; and in some cases, power and authority. For example, a male child who lost his father, mother or close relation cut the hair down to the skin (Figure 2). He appeared hairless on the head as a sign of bereavement. Some Akan female adults wore a hairstyle called takua, done by holding the hairs together atop the head and with thread to stand upright. To them, such a hairstyle is design-less and simple in paying homage to the dead.

   

  Figure 2: Man with hair cut to the skin as a signal of bereavement. (Image courtesy: Godhit, 2017).

   

  Slave Trade, Colonialism and Western Education in Black Hair Stigmatisation

  
  Precolonial Ghana had its own well-established form of education, evolved by the people themselves (Sampson, 1932; Essel, 2019) before their encounter with the colonialists. They trained the young ones through a rigorous enculturation process and apprenticeship system. They passed on the artistic culture and way of life from generation to generation through the robust apprenticeship system which is formal education and training (Essel, 2019). Training of the young ones was the duty of the immediate and extended families as well as other people in the community. It was for this reason that the precolonial society was described as living a communalistic life. In personal communication with M. Opoku-Mensah (12th June 2020), he referred to a purported address by Lord Macaulay’s to the British Parliament on 2nd February 1835. Macaulay had found that the people had strong cultural institutions that rule their socio-moral lives. In the said statement as pointed out by M. Opoku-Mensah (12th June 2020, personal communication), Lord Macaulay said to the British parliament:

  
  "I propose that we replace her [Africa’s] old and ancient education system, her culture, for if the Africans think that all that is foreign and English is good and greater than their own, they will lose self-esteem, their native culture and they will become what we want them, a truly dominated nation."

  
  Macaulay’s statement was recognition of the plausibility and relevance of the precolonial form of education that catered for the good socio-moral upbringing of the people which seemed impervious. As he suggested, the way forward was to introduce their culture including the language and beauty standards which they did, and used the slave trade, colonialism and Western education as a weapon to achieve their malevolent ideological and social-imperialism agenda. With the advent of Western education in the 1500s, learners with afro and rasta were asked to cut their hair before they were permitted to enrol. Afro and rasta hairstyles were considered unkempt and cutting them signalled cleanliness. The Euro-Christian churches planted in precolonial Ghana also asked new Black converts with rasta or afro to cut them as a sign of born again. The mission schools also proscribed
  these hairstyles. In the name of religion, this practice continuously ate into the social-moral fabric of the society, especially, amongst the so-called Christian elite. In effect, this gradually contributed to afro and rasta hairstyles’ stigmatisation (Alhassan, 2020; Whiteman, 2010, Whiteman, 2007)). Those who wore these hairstyles, especially, the middle-class males and adolescents, were perceived as rascals, vagabonds, smokers, and unclean.
  
  Based on rereading of scholarly information and archival sources on Black hair, interviews and focus group discussion as a method of data collection, the study provided insight into the hair decolonisation process in Ghanaian Senior High Schools and the conflicting tensions associated with the process. The focus group consisted of Senior High School teachers with more than five years of teaching experience at that Senior High School level. Descriptive and explanatory case study designs constituted the research design for the study. The descriptive aspect was for the purpose of describingthe phenomenon (the ‘case’) in its real-world context while the explanatory case study aimed at explaining how or why some condition came to be (Yin, 2018).A sample of twenty-eight (28) participants consisting of heads (2), teachers (20), and students (6) were purposively sampled from the accessible population of fifty (50). Simple descriptive analysis formed the method of analysis. To ensure the confidentiality of participants, pseudonyms were used to conceal their identity.
  
  Conflicting Tensions in Black Hairstyles Decolonisation There have been reports of discrimination against the hairstyle of Black students in and outside Africa. During the 2015 West African Senior Secondary School Certificate Examination (WASSCE), three students of the St John’s Wesley Grammar School, Accra, Ghana were disallowed to write because they were wearing afro hair (Citifmonline.com 2015). In 2016, there were students protest in South Africa that questioned discrimination against African natural hair in class (Mwaura, 2016). Perry (2019) also reported Black hair stigmatisation which she sees as a vestige of segregated past that deemed blackness inferior and the emulation of whites as the route towards assimilation. This discriminative happening tells that black hair stigma persists in Africa even after colonialism. With the school as an agent of enforcing colonialists’ legacy of anti-Afrocentric hairstyle practices in primary, junior and senior high schools, specifically, rasta and afro, the practice
  has become deep-rooted to the extent that attempt by parents and learners to question it proves futile. Students are not happy with the enforcement, and at some point in time prove adamant to school authorities. Mirekua narrated her story:

   

  ‘I attended primary and Junior High School at Opah Municipal Assembly School from 2009 to 2012. There was a time I had to hide under my desk to avoid being sacked by the headmistress. I was given a warning at the assembly grounds to go and barb my entire hair. In my second year in Junior High School, I was told to go home and barb my hair because it would hinder me from taking part in the Basic Education Certificate Examination. I stayed home for a week because [after I cut my hair for] the fear of being mocked by friends seeing, as it was my first time of having a down cut.’

  
  Mirekua’s accounts reveal the feeling of uneasiness and low self-esteem she developed as a result of being reprimanded to cut her long hair. Her hair was cut because she must be in school or face sacking sanctions. Students who go contrary were labelled as bad or stubborn. Maame Esi, was a student in a Senior High School in the Western Region of Ghana. She completed in 2014. She confessed that she complied with the rules and regulations governing hair beauty practices in her school because she feared being suspended, sacked or disgraced at the assembly grounds of the school. Not complying with the dictates of school authorities on hair in itself is a stigma. The enforcement of these anti-Afrocentric hairstyles has been internalised to the extent that some members of the society may cast aspersion on those who wear such hairstyles. A male participant said his best friend was
  advised by the parent to Part Company with him because he left his hair to grow long. ‘My grandmum told me to keep my hair… One of my friends developed a cold attitude towards me afterward. When I asked, he told me that the parents have asked him to keep his distance from me because… I have become a bad boy. Only bad boys leave their hair without cutting it’, he said.

  
  These vignettes of the students revealed that students kowtow to the hairstyle enforcement to avoid negative labelling by the school authorities and their own colleagues. There were others who also left the public school to attend a private school who were lenient with Afrocentric hairstyle restrictions. In a focus group discussion among 20 Senior High School teachers drawn across eight regions of Ghana, the issues that emerged were that students who wore afro and rasta are perceived as deviants and ill-mannered people who do not abide by the rules and regulations of the school. This is because the school proscribes wearing of these hairstyles. To
  the teachers, students appear as adults when they wear afro and rasta hairstyles which do not distinguish them from the teachers. Succinctly put, ‘They appear like mothers and fathers’ than students in those hairstyles. In addition, they argued that wearing such hairstyles in school generates competition amongst the students as they may strive to put up flashy hairstyles and put little or no concentration on their academic work. As a result, they only permit students to wear rasta or afro on health and religious grounds. As explained earlier, hairstyles have religious implications in Ghanaian society. For example, afro and rasta have a strong affinity with African Traditional Religion, which is the authentic religion in precolonial Africa. A teacher explained that: Well, from my little knowledge, I know that … priest and priestesses do not barber. Secondly, some students have soft scalps making it easy for them to catch cold anytime their hair is down. These categories of students could be allowed to wear dreadlocks or afro to school. A teacher who aligned to the Christian faith perceived these hairstyles as unacceptable. He said, ‘My religious background wants us to have a close [hair] cut as a Christian man.’ The teachers said the culture of the school does not allow afro and rasta. So, they normally use scissors on students’ hair. They also admitted asking students to go and shave their hair but when the students refuse, they sacked them from the examination hall or class, since they were not ready to shave their hair without any tangible reason. Students who wear afro are perceived as ‘weed smokers’. On the contrary, four of the teachers argued that wearing afro or rasta is normal since it
  borders on individual differences, and generally accepted in Ghanaian society. The issue is that these hairstyles become unacceptable when worn by students at the primary, junior and high school levels.

  
  In response to the question of rules and regulations regarding hair beauty culture standards of students in public schools, a teacher said:

   

  What happens is that the housemasters, housemistresses, and some teachers on duty often send scissors to the various classes or examination halls to give students awkward hair cut against the will of the students to force them to shave their grown hair. This is
  a kind of punishment given to the students for leaving their hair to grow. Some students, out of pain and dislike for such treatment, leave their hair in its awkward form as done by the teachers. Such students are often refused access to classes or examination
  halls; canned, suspended or asked to weed as punishment. Students comply in order to take classes or
  examinations.

   

  One of the participants has taught in five schools covering primary, Junior High School and Senior High Schools, with twenty-four years of teaching experience. She has taught in Ashanti and Central regions of Ghana, and currently a headmistress of a Senior High School. She opined that:

  
  With twenty-four years of teaching, what the schools consider a neat haircut is down cut. Rasta isn’t allowed. Any child who came to school with grown hair is either driven home or the parents are invited to the school and advised to shave the hair of the ward. Some
  parents come to explain to the school authorities that cutting the hair of their children has spiritual implications that may cause sickness to the child, so, the hair should not be cut. If the authorities disagree with them, it occasionally brings quarrels. Parents who
  disagree are told that their children could not fit in the school... Personally, I think those who smoke marijuana wear rasta [dreadlock]. Once they come into the school with this hairstyle, their mannerism, their characters are influenced. They might not be smoking, but other students, sometimes, see them as marijuana smokers… Actually, for my long years in teaching, most of our recalcitrant students, most of our problematic students, when you look at them from head to toe, you realise that the sort of dressing speaks to their characters too.

  
  The views of the headmistress-participant confirmed the thoughts of the teachers. The school expects learners to wear down-cut hairstyles as institutionalised by the colonialists. The school has done little or nothing to question the etymology of this self discriminating and self-stigmatising act they enforce hook, line and sinker. This negative enforcement has been instituted through a complex network of colonial apparatus namely Euro-Christianity, Slavery, colonialism and Eurocentric education making it difficult in decolonising the process. Any attempts to decolonise are faced with vehement opposition from Blacks to their fellow Blacks. Educated Blacks (Negroes) as pointed out by Woodson (1933, p. 7) ‘hope to make the fellow negroes ‘conform quickly to the standards of the whites and thus remove the pretext for the barriers between the races.’ Caucasians who attend Ghanaian public schools are exempted from this rule. Myjoyonline.com (2019, para 2, line 2 &3) reports of a leading member of a teacher union in Ghana who said: “what I gathered was that when Caucascians [Caucasians] students cut their hair to the level of black ladies, it makes them look very ugly and it can even affect their looks so Caucasian students are not allowed to cut their hair. There is no rule in the Ghana Education Service concerning Caucasians in Ghana because we are not Caucasians, we are negroes.”

  
  Some teachers also argue that when students are allowed to leave the hair to grow long, it attracts lice, eczema and dandruff. These comments demonstrate the anchored conflicting tensions in the decolonising process. Diseases associated with hair are curtailed when students are properly groomed by the school to follow body and hair hygiene protocols. Their hair does not attract hair and skin-related diseases because it is black or not good. Hair and skin diseases are no respecter of colour or race. Good hair has nothing to do with its texture, density, porosity or colour. It is a hair of any type that is well maintained and kept healthy. The position of the school teachers and authorities brings to mind Carter Woodson’s (1933, p. xiii) assertion that:

  
  When you control a man’s thinking you do not have to worry about his actions. You do not have to tell him not to stand here or go yonder. He will find his ‘proper place’ and will stay in it. You do not need to send him to the back door. He will go without being told. In fact, if there is no back door, he will cut one for his special benefit. His education makes it necessary.

   

  With this, Woodson looked at how the Negro has been miseducated to the extent that s/he exhibited ‘attitude of contempt to their own people’ (p.1). He also focused on the minds of Black people giving the right kind of education that would contribute to high self-esteem to their people. There are tensions and conflicts that ensue between school authorities and students on one hand, and school authorities and parents on the other hand. Students feel that such negative enforcement deprives them of their self-esteem, selfconfidence and uniqueness as individuals. Yet, they must abide by the colonialist monolithic mentality of wearing down-cut hair as a signal for obedience, neatness and smartness as required by the school to have access to education since noncompliance attracts harsh sanctions. Some parents who disagreed with the school authorities on the position of hairstyles, pick quarrels with the school authorities. Parents have the option of kowtowing or taking their wards from the school. One particular instance of a parent taking the school on is what happened in Achimota School on March 19, 2021, which became a national debate for more two weeks, and took a centre stage on social media, Ghanaian print (newspapers) and electronic media (radio, television, internet). One parent named Raswad Menkrabea took to his Facebook page to pour out his frustration about his son being denied admission on the basis of his rasta hairstyle. Raswad Menkrabea wrote:

  
  This morning, the school authorities of Achimota School claimed that their rules do not allow students with dreadlocks to be admitted. The school authorities denied two brilliant dreadlock students from being admitted after having been posted there by the Computer School Placement System [Computerised School Selection & Placement System]. My son was one of the affected children and the other student was also refused on the same grounds. We have no option but to battle against this gross human right violation. As a child he has every right to his culture in so far as such culture do not breach the 1992 Constitution. He equally deserves the right to access education within his culture just like other cultural believers. As a Rastafarian, I think that dreadlock do no way cause any
  harm which should even be a basis to be asserted by the school authorities. The fundamental questions to ask is what does our law
  say about right to one’s culture? Do you deny a child access to education based on his/her culture? Do public school rules override the supreme law of the land?

  
  This issue, which became a national debate in public transports and markets, attracted the attention of Ghana’s parliament in March 25 2021, based on which the Education Minister, Dr Yaw Osei Adutwum assured the house that the Ghana Education Service (GES) will soon issue policy guidelines on students’ admission to all Heads of Senior High Schools in Ghana to bring finality to the issue.
  Wearing long or short hair plays no role in distracting students to focus on their academics. There are many renowned private schools in Ghana that do not proscribe students from wearing rasta or Afrocentric hairstyles. The school whether public or private has the primary role of grooming students to be creative thinkers with good time management skills. The hair students keep has nothing to do with their academic performance and socio-moral conduct.
  
  From the discussion, it has emerged that the public schools proscribe Afrocentric hairstyles with no substantial scientific evidence that wearing afro and rasta inhibits the acquisition of creative and innovative thinking, and academic performance or progress of the students. Neither have the schools established from their arguments that wearing Afrocentric hairstyles negatively impacts the socio-moral and cultural wellbeing of the Ghanaian society or indigenous culture. They point to no sound research that establishes the relationship between academic performance and hairstyle worn, and the relationship between hairstyle and social conducts of students. The conflicting tensions around the hairstyles cut across precolonial, colonial and part of global fashion, and create multiple conflicting meanings within the many-sided existence of Ghanaian hairstyles. This helps to show how unstable, changing, and multiple the meanings of the hairstyles can be. Yet the Ghanaian public schools enforce the colonialists’ discriminative legacy of stigmatising Afrocentric hairstyles in Ghanaian schools with monolithic mentality without questioning the roots of such segregative practices. Teachers have challenges with students because when they wear rasta, afro and other Afrocentric hairstyles, they do so to show seniority. In other words, do so to signal that they have come of age. Therefore, wearing afro or rasta by the public school
  students becomes a sign of rebellion and badness, while for the teachers they are signs of authority and respectability while this is not the case in the private school students. The difference between the public and private school policies creates a class division in the meaning of the hairstyles, where the Rasta and Afro styles become a sign of privilege.

  
  Again, the teachers also deprived students of their Afrocentric hairstyles because they think it makes students susceptible to skin and hair diseases. These reasons deduced from the argument of the teachers and school authorities are not convincing to parents and students which leads to student-teacher and parent-teacher conflicts. Students gained continued access to education only when they shave their hair. Their education is threatened when they refuse to conform to the rules and regulations on hair. Students wear rasta, afro or long hair for several different reasons. Some wear it for spiritual/religious obligations, aesthetics and for fashionability purposes. This interesting practice challenges the so-called tradition and modernity opposition since a pre-colonial religious meaning and a fashion meaning can coexist in the same style and space. It is discouraging that six decades after independence from the colonialists, there are pitfalls in an attempt to decolonise the Afrocentric hair stigma created by the colonialists through the churches and schools they established. Surprisingly, the public-school authorities in Ghana have tended to be colonialists’ agents enforcing the discriminative Afrocentric hairstyles in schools. It is recommended that the Ghana Education Service and the Conference of Heads of Assisted Senior High Schools (CHASS) must work together to review the hair policies for students, so that it will not be a bottleneck for students to have access to education, which is their fundamental right enshrined in the 1992 constitution of Ghana.

   

   

  References

   

  • Alhassan, S. W. (2020). “We Stand for Black Livity!”: Trodding the Path of Rastafari in Ghana. Religions, 11, 374, 1-10. doi:10.3390/rel11070374
  • Citifmonline.com. (2015). School bans students with ‘unkempt’ hair from writing WASSCE. http://citifmonline.com/2015/04/22/school-bans-students-withunkempt-hair-from-writing-wassce/
  • Essel, O. Q. & Acquah, E. K. (2016). Conceptual art: The untold story of African art. Journal of Literature and Art Studies, 6(10),
    1203 – 1220.
  • Essel, O. Q. (2017). Searchlight on Ghanaian iconic hands in the world of dress fashion design culture (Unpublished Thesis).
    University of Education, Winneba.
  • Essel, O. Q. (2019). Decolonising Ghana fashion education and training history. International Journal of Humanities & Social
    Studies. 7(7), 381 – 392.
  • Essel, O. Q. (In press). Hair and body fashion identity narratives in ‘the Return of the Slaves’ exhibition.
  • Elliot, J. (2016, May 26). Elliot Jane on the Rock Newman show. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fF9s0as_d_4
  • Morrow, W. (2014). 400 years without the comb: Sewing the inferior seed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SH7nNdz3ImY
  • Mwaura, W. (2016). South African schools under attack over Afro hairstyles ban. https://www.dw.com/en/south-african-schoolsunder-attack-over-afro-hairstyles-ban/a-19513159
  • Myjoyonline.com. (2019). Let it grow: Why the policy against long hair in schools must beabolished. https://www.myjoyonline.com/opinion/let-it-grow-why-the-policyagainst-long-hair-in-schools-must-be-abolished/
  • Nkrumah, K. (1963). The African genius. Speech delivered by Osagyefo
    Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, President of the Republic of Ghana, at the Opening of the Institute of African Studies on 25th October, 1963
  • .Nkrumah, K. (1964). Consciencism. Panaf Books Ltd.
  • Perry, A. (2019). “Stay out of my hair”: Black students need the federal government to tell schools to leave their hair alone.
    https://hechingerreport.org/stay-out-of-my-hair/
  • Sampson, M. (1932). Gold Coast men of affairs.
  • Wenzel, J. (2017). Decolonization. In I. Szeman, S. Blacker, & J. Sully(Eds.), A Comparison to Critical and CulturalTheory.
    https://doi.org/10.1002/9781118472262.ch28
  • White, C. M. (2010). Rastafarian repatriates and the negotiation of
    place in Ghana. Ethnology, 49(4), 303 – 320
  • White, C. M. (2007). Living in Zion: Rastafarian Repatriates in Ghana,West Africa. Journal of Black Studies, 37(5),677-709.
  • Woodson, C. (1933). The mis-education of the negro. Khalifah’s Booksellers & Associates.
    Yin, R. K. (2018). Case

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Ebenezer Kow Abraham

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah and the Placemaking Paradigm  

  Within the rebranding and the making of new identity for Winneba as enshrined in the Effutu Dream Project, the name Theophilus Kwesi Mensah cannot be overlooked in this intercourse. This is not only because he engineered the widely talked about installations: the Unity Monument, The Aboakyer Monument, The Fishermen of Akosua Village and the Monument of Ofarnyi Kwegya but the awe-striking aesthetical connotations he incorporated in the aforementioned works. Each of these statues were rendered to mimic the idea of Winneba as a community built on a collective space.  Being native of Winneba, heightened his understanding of how the amalgamation of economic, political, and cultural activities in the past, would accord him the impetus to express himself publicly. In so doing, he empowered his sculptures to ventriloquy the unique narratives that define Winneba and redefine this relatively old settlement yet burgeoning municipality as a dwelling place or a place worth visiting.

   

  

   Figure 1: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Ofarnyi Kwegya, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. Yeepimso Community Centre, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  Through the lens of placemaking, Ofarnyi Kwegya (Figure 1) and the Fishermen of Akosua Village (Figure 2) are two typical statues that has beautified the vernacular space of two historical settlements in the older southern half of Winneba.

   

  

  Figure 2: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Fishermen of Akosua Village, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. Akosua Village Community Centre, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  The two statues stand in the middle of Yeepimso and Akosua Village communities respectively as embodiments of vital ingredients helping in creating a sense of community, civic identity, and culture in both spaces. They have both transformed their unique sites as lively and attractive communities with the monumental figures not just becoming legible maps to the sites but turning the spaces into places that support human interactions. The site of the statue has become the most important and attractive places in the two communities. They have become the center of attraction where the community gather for entertainment and trade, especially at night when economic activities in the two communities are at their peak.

   

  

  Figure 3: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Unity Monument, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. The Unity Square, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  Another compelling monumental statue that has transformed the landscape of its site is the Unity Monument (Figure 3). Before the advent of the monument, the site of the statue (the Y-intersection – Winneba Traffic Light) was a deserted barricaded mere chaparral which displayed all forms of notices including obituaries and political posters (Mensah & Abraham, 2022). Yet, Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s statue has transformed the space into an ideologically charged space for a deliberative unity and peace agenda in Winneba. The environment is so aesthetically pleasing that people like to visit the site for selfies and sightseeing thereby generating income for the Municipal Assembly.

   

  

  Figure 4: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, The Aboakyer Monument, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. Osimpam Museum, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s ontological orientation of Winneba is multifaceted. Hence, he found significance in the century’s old festival of the people of Winneba, Aboakyer to sculpt a monumental statue to this honour (Figure 4). The Aboakyer Monument mounted on the roof-top of the Osim Pam Museum is at the heart of Winneba as an embodiment of Winneba’s heritage. Owing to the enormous narratives surrounding the Aboakyer Festival, it is seen as one of the most popular and most significant festivals in Ghana (Akyeampong, 2019). The people of Winneba are invariably identified by the Aboakyir Festival. Theophilus Kwesi Mensah captured the very essence of the festival by vividly depicting the most significant characters: the Supi, the Asafo warriors, and their cheer leaders in procession with the catch. 

   

  During the 2022 Aboakyer Festival, it was observed that both celebrants and tourist were awe-struck by the aesthetic connotations of the monument. People gathered around the site for various reasons. Whilst some were seen taking tourist photos, others were seen venerating the ancestors who in the past led the festival.

   

  In view of the Effutu Dream Project, Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s artistic ingenuity to a large extent has contributed to rebranding the Winneba Township by beautifying the place and making it attractive for tourist. However, beyond the beautification agenda, part of the underlining philosophy of the statues was to consciously bring to the fore, some compelling memories of Winneba in relation to the current narratives within the land.

   

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah and the Collective Memories of Winneba

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah capitalized on his creativity to translate some notable historical events pertaining to his beloved native, Winneba into tangible remnants of the recent past to shape and, indeed, consolidate the Effutu Dream Project.  Whilst usurping a storyteller, he equipped his statues to mimic the historiography of Winneba as collective memorials for the publics of Winneba. This is underpinned by his inclination to the truism that cities are built based on their histories and for that matter, Winneba cannot be gentrified without laying claims to the past publicly. Therefore, he ensured that whilst the Effutu Municipal Assembly initiated the Effutu Dream Project, the glorification of the public triumphs of Winneba was not taken for granted.  This desire culminated into transforming some important public vernacular spaces into storehouse of memories embedded and inscribed on the landscape of Winneba.

   

  

  Figure 5: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Ofarnyi Kwegya, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. Yeepimso Community Centre, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  

  Figure 6: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Fishermen of Akosua Village, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. Akosua Village, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

  Knowing Winneba traditionally as a fishing community, Theophilus Kwesi Mensah produced two major monuments, Ofarnyi Kwegya (Figure 5) and the Fishermen of Akosua Village (Figure 6) as a concretized instantiation to the noble trade that has in the past defined what place Winneba is.  Ofranyi Kwegya, is the statue of the unheralded giant master fisherman, an exponent of mid water trawling in Winneba who captured huge number of fish whereas the Fishermen of Akosua Village depict the famous trio: Zagada Afadzinu, Kwami Akpade and Sogbka Dagodzo who introduced artisanal fishing or subsistence fishing to Winneba.

   

  Although the fishermen portrayed in these monumental statues have died long ago, they constitute such significant heroes in the historiography of Winneba. In view of their important roles in the socio-economic phenomenology of Winneba, Theophilus Kwesi Mensah aimed at stopping their decay and position them into the realm of the timeless with the erection of their statues as memorials that transmit their archetypal narratives.

   

  

  Figure 7: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah, Unity Monument, 2021. Fibre Reinforced Polymer. The Unity Square, Winneba. Courtesy of Edem Dedi Photography.

   

  In view of Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s understanding of the political and dynastic heritage of Winneba, he engineered the construction of the Unity Monument in commemoration of the end of the protracted chieftaincy feud that had ensued in Winneba in the past. Ephraim-Donkor (2019) recount that since the latter part of the nineteenth century, the people of Winneba have clashed in violent struggle for power until 22^nd July, 2015 when the Supreme Court of Ghana, finally intervened. The feud was rooted in an uncanny clash of cultures within the same family three, resulting in a political quagmire as to which succession mode to follow, the male or female model. The people of Winneba traditionally follow the patrilineal line of succession, however the Acquahs who are for the female model, tasted power as caretakers but refused to cede power back to the original benefactors, the Otuano Royal Family (Gyatehs or Gharteys) who are for the male model.

   

  The female model became popular in Winneba because of their hospitality which allowed their Akan neighbours to live with them and rendered Winneba as a cosmopolitan community. Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’ depicted the two families, Gharteys and the Acquahs and a third figure representing the non-natives as a united force in the gentrification of Winneba as they erect a flag as signifier to this commitment. The Unity Monument does not only exhibit an aesthetically astute display of Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s artistic ingenuity but also, it encapsulates the political and dynastic history of Winneba whilst being a crucible of memory to the unity and peace in Winneba presently.

   

  As part of Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s memorialization agenda with regards to his statues in Effutu Dream, he produced the iconic Aboakyer Monument as a memorial to the Aboakyer Festival of the Effutus of Winneba. The Aboakyer, known throughout Ghana as the "Winneba Deer Hunting Festival," is held annually in early May. It commemorates the founding of Winneba some three centuries ago, when the Effutu, led by one Osim Pam and accompanied by the god Penkye Otu, settled on the coast at the end of their migratory journey from northern Ghana to the present location.

   

  Pedagogical Connotations of Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s Statues in Effutu Dream

  As artist academic, having been under the tutelage of the Emancipatory Art Teaching Project (EATP) by Professor kąrî’kạchä seid’ou, he is an alley of the blaxTARLINES community in Kumasi.  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s practice ties in with contemporaneity in the arts. In his teaching, he identifies with the philosophy that trainee art educators ought to think and act creatively. He does this by championing their epiphany in the studio as nexus of exploring emerging issues in art education. Through the studio, his statues in Effutu Dream creatively imparts on his students as agents of transformation in addressing the urgent call for equity, diversity, and inclusion in our educational structure and practices.

   

  Whilst his students have the liberty to choose their own masters, he has been readily available, and the doors of his studio was opened to all students who loved art whilst working on his statues in Effutu Dream. After all, he too has absorbed lessons from legendary Ghanaian Artist Academics such as Benjamin Menya, Kwamevi Zewuze Adzraku and Buckner Komla Dogbe. So, students with varied backgrounds are mainstays in his studio beyond the statues in Effutu Dream. He reckons the studio space as a crucible of intellect and a window to add to knowledge as his students pick his brain as apprentices there.

   

  

  Figure 8: Theophilus Kwesi Mensah working with his students (Courtesy the artist)
  

   

  Despite his inclination to EATP, he does not sway from being a traditionalist in the sense that he continues to enjoy working from the human figure. His preference to the human figure in his statues in Effutu Dream was informed by the truism that life changes and the language of sculpture evolves. So, it does not really matter if he is being repetitious with a subject that has preoccupied sculptors throughout history. Yet, as didactic symbols, he sought to make explicit what many sculptors make implicit in contemporary memorials in a classical sense with his figurative renditions.

   

  Whilst the public may tend to be passive receptors of his statues in Effutu Dream, his students cannot afford to be indifferent. There are obvious educational imperatives they naturally cannot ignore. As far as they look and see the statues, there are predisposed to learn from them by asking questions. Reis (2010) citing Silva (1984) concerning public art claimed that even if we do not pay any attention to it, daily contact influences our attitude towards the conservation of artworks and our intellectual and sensory appropriation of them. What more do students need to get motivated in their studies aside having the opportunity to see the works of their lecturer installed all over the community? As artist academic, Theophilus Kwesi Mensah thrives to integrate his vast knowledge in the art into the practice of cultivating artistic design talent. His contribution to knowledge is application oriented. His statues in Effutu Dream make meaningful contributions to practical solutions that are at the core of art education. His students garner the nuances of what he says in the classroom when they see his statues in town.

   

  Conclusion

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s ingenuity as a sculptor, draftsman and an academician are undeniable, so too is his energy and prolific creative output in the wider Effutu Dream Project. Within a trilogy of paradigms, he displays a profound representation of Winneba as a beautiful place to live and work. He does so by immortalizing four important collective memories of the town whilst using Fibre Reinforced Polymer, a material that stands the test of time and exudes a sense of eternalness. In the process, his students tapped into his creative sense both at his studio and on site.

   

  Whilst Theophilus Kwesi Mensah’s artistic praxis is eclectic, what I have sketched is a heuristic effort to describe his monumental contribution in the Effutu Dream Project in his beloved Winneba where he lives and practice as artist academic. The few details I have carved may at times be minor, but they add up to have a larger impact to his contributions in the effort to redesign and develop Winneba.

   

  References

  • Akyeampong, O. A. (2019). Aboakyer: traditional festival in decline. Ghana Social Science Journal, 16(1), 97.
  • Farman J (2015). Stories, spaces, and bodies: The production of embodied space through mobile media storytelling. Communication Research and Practice 1(2): 101–116.
  • Mensah, T. K. & Abraham, E. K. (2022, June). The unity monument: A hope of the end to the political quagmire in simpa. Paper Presented at The Creative Arts Conference, University of Education, Winneba, Ghana
  • Reis, R. (2010). Public art as an educational resource. International Journal of Education through Art, 6(1), 85-96.

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

   

  Fashion accessories help in decorating the human body and act as an essential influencer of accessories production and commodification. By decorating the human bodies, fashion accessories heighten the aesthetic aura around its wearers based on the precepts of the standard of beauty held by the society that created such objects. The production and commodification of fashion accessories are universal to different cultures across the globe. It happens in different parts of the world, including Africa. On the continent of Africa, different societies have demonstrated their creative prowess in fashioning accessories for the decoration of human bodies. For example, the Asantes of Ghana are known for their decorative gold weights, pendants, and other jewellery products that served as regalia (Rattary, 1927; Busia, 1951; McLord, 1981; Ross, 1982, Antubam, 1963; Kyeremanten, 1965; Fosu, 1994) for utilitarian and communicative purposes.

  
  The use of artistic fashion accessories such as dresses, fabrics, footwear, headwear, brooches, earrings, belts, bangles, anklets, amongst others, have always had a strong political, social and cultural role in safeguarding the histories, values, and identities of different cultures. It implies that these fashion objects give hints that help to unravel particular histories surrounding their origin, material, tools, semiotics, and creators in society. Of the accessories that served as regalia, one of the commonest, yet essential and inevitable fashion objects for Asante kings/chiefs, and by extension Akan and even non-Akan chiefdoms is ahenema (native sandals). The usage of ahenema goes beyond Ghana. Some kings/chiefs in neighbouring countries such as Togo and Cote D'ivoire also use it as essential regalia for traditional functions. There have been instances where ahenema has seemingly been used as panoplied regalia and an authoritative object of the power of a king/chief. Ghanaweb (2007, August 18) reports of the Asantehene, Otumfuo Osei Tutu II’s destoolment of the Asomfohene, Nana Osei Kwabena, for flouting the chieftaincy orders of the Asante Kingdom. The destoolment process included the removal of his ahenema sandals to signify that the said chief has been destooled under Asante chieftaincy tradition. There were also reports that the Asantehene, Otumfuo Osei Tutu II, in December 2010 destooled the Queen of Atwima, Obaapanin Asamoah Duah II, and two sub-chiefs for taking a bribe (VibeGhana.com, 2010). As part of the destoolment rituals, the ahenema sandals of all the three culprits, which symbolised their office as traditional rulers, were removed from their feet. These instances of destoolment with the ahenema seemingly playing a symbolic role need further investigation. This is because the instances raise questions of the sociocultural relevance of ahenema regalia in Asante chieftaincy culture. Besides, the historical twist to the origin of this fashion object and regalia needs academic attention. This study, therefore, traces the historical origin of ahenema, and investigates its sociocultural relevance in Asante chieftaincy cultural milieu.
  
  The theoretical perspectives that support this study is the object-based theory propounded by Lou Taylor. The study is situated in the object-based theory propounded by Lou Taylor (2002) and Riello’s (2011) methodological model of material culture of fashion. The object-based theory is concerned with materiality which has to do with description and documentation to bring out and classify garments or objects for historical purposes. It also focuses on the contextual attributes of the exhibits, oral history, company history, and design philosophy of fashion production (Taylor, 2002; Skou & Melchior, 2008). Riello’s (2011) methodological model of material culture of fashion which he borrowed from art history, anthropology, and archeology also makes fashion art objects central to historical studies and narratives be it socio-cultural, economic, and other practices of a particular period (Essel, 2017). Informed by object-based theory and material culture of fashion, the study considered the contextual attributes of ahenema, its oral history, design philosophy, description and documentation to bring out its history and sociocultural relevance amongst the Asantes and by extension, the Akan chieftaincy. This theoretical stance took ahenema fashion art object as central to historical studies and narratives in a sociocultural context.
  
  Historical case studies constituted the research designs for the study. The historical case study helps in analyzing cases from the distant past to the present, using eclectic data sources, in generating both idiographic and nomothetic knowledge (Widdersheim, 2018). The use of the historical case study was informed by the fact that although case studies and histories can overlap, the case study’s unique strength lies in its ability to deal with a variety of evidence including documents, artifacts, interviews, and direct observations, as well as participant-observation beyond what might be available in a conventional historical study (Yin, 2018). A total of nine (9) respondents were purposively sampled for the study. They consisted of four (4) ahenema designers and producers with active experience ranging from 20 to 35 years on the job, two (2) chiefs and three (3) elders from chief palaces in Asanteland. Unstructured interview and focus group discussion constituted the method of data collection. Permission was sought from the respondents for face-to-face interview with the agreement to audio-tape for transcription purposes. Historical and narrative analysis tools were the data analysis tools used. With the historical research tool, the study used the heuristic of considering the source and the context of the data and corroborate it to ensure the trustworthiness and authenticity of the data gathered. Historical research concerns itself with identification, analysis, and interpretation of old texts (Špiláčková, 2012), eyewitness accounts, and other oral history and interviews. Using the narrative structure, data analysis was done to accentuate consistency, suppress contradiction, and produce rationally sound interpretation (Holloway & Jefferson, 2000) without truncating the content of the told stories about the lived experiences of the respondents. The historical narration was supported with photographs of ahenema taken with the permission of the creators. The transcribed and analysed data was shared with the respondents for verification purposes. The respondents also provided some pictures and permitted the researcher to use them for academic purposes. To ensure the anonymity and confidentiality of the respondents, pseudonyms were used in place of the original names.
  
  The Akan word ahenema literally means ‘children of kings/chiefs.’ Legend has it that, when it was developed, only kings/chiefs and their families could wear it to show their status as royals. Later, it became permissible for the subjects and all to use. The king/chief belonged to the high class of society because they were the leaders of their flourishing kingdoms and ethnic states respectively. They had creative artists in their courts who produced functional and decorative artworks and fashion accessories used as body adornments. Per the high status of kings/chiefs in the society, the trickle-down theory, where new fashion art usage begins with the top echelon of society and gradually gets to the masses, exemplifies the spread and use of ahenema in Ghanaian society. Ahenema is also called Kyawkyaw. The word Kyawkyaw was derived from the sounds it makes when worn for the usual characteristic majestic walk. Respondent Opanin Kwame explained that:

  
  Ahenema used to be worn by only the chiefs/kings and their families. If you are not a chief … you are not permitted to wear it. When the one who is not a chief is sighted wearing some at a durbar, the elders sent people to remove it from the person’s feet.

  
  Legend has it that, the first ahenema was fashioned out of wood which served as the sole (called aseɛ) while the top (referred to as nsisoɔ or ahenemapɔnkɔ) was made of leather. It developed to a stage where the flat wooden soul was replaced with layers of animal skins, cut out to form the shape of the sandals. The animal skins (for example, okohoma) used as the sole produced the kyawkyaw sound when in use. The sound became the name of the sandals.

  
  Respondent Opanin Antwi and Opanin Kwaku have been in the business of Ahenema production for more than thirty-five years. They make a living from the job, and have trained more than ten 10 and 16 apprentices respectively, some of which have set up their production shops. In a focus group discussion, they revealed that:

  
  There are two basic soles (aseɛ) of ahenema, namely Asansatoɔ and Atenee (Figure 1). Beyond these, producers create new ones which are sometimes suggested by clients. It could be in the shape of animals like crocodiles, lizards, tortoises (Figure 1c) or fish. The soles have symbolic meanings that are usually associated with the animal or objects which influenced its creation. However, it is the top (nsisoɔ) that determines the name of the ahenema.

   

   

   

  Some of sole pattern designs of ahenema. © Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

   

  There are different schools of thought on the etymology of ahenema footwear. One legend account traces it to the reign of the fourth Asante king, Otumfuo Osei Kwadwo Okoawia who ruled from 1764 to 1777(‘A Guide to Manhyia Palace Museum’, 2003). This account posits that Asantehema (Queen mothers) had specially made sandals, for they do not walk barefooted in the courtyard of the palace. One of the Asantehema once got injured in the foot while walking without sandals. The wound, according to legend, took long to heal and became a great oath of the Asantehema. Since this account is believed to have occurred during the reign of Otumfuo Osei Kwadwo Okoawia, then, the fourth Asantehema, Nana Konadu Yiadom I (whose tenure began in 1768 – 1809), was the possible beneficiary of the earliest ahenema footwear.

  
  Bodwich’s (1818) narrative accounts of the culture of the Asante people offer some hints on the history of the ahenema footwear. In his description of the regalia of the kings, he pointed out that (p.35) ‘their sandals were of green, red, and delicate white leather …’ In thick description of what the king wore Bodwich said, their royal sandals ‘of a soft white leather, were embossed across the instep band with small gold and silver cases of saphies’ (p.38). Gold pendants and designs of varied symbolism that show the power and wealth of the Asante kings were used to embellish their unique ahenema footwears. Vansina (1982, p.222) offered hints of the period of production and usage of some ahenema. She revealed some of the artefacts including sandals and cast of gold rings had production dates estimated in the range of 1700 to 1900. This confirms the eighteenth century as a possible period ahenema sandals production in Ghana began.

   

  

  
  Categories of Ahenema. © Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

  
  There are categories of ahenema (image above). The categories of ahenema are traditionally informed by the kind of occasion and the purpose for which they are made. There are those used for funerals, durbars and festive occasions (festivals and other merrymaking events), especially, in the customs and traditions of chieftaincy institutions. The red, black and brown coloured ones are usually used for funerals to depict bereavement, sadness and death. In the Akan notion of colours, red, black and brown are associated with decay, death, bereavement and pain (Antubam, 1963; Amenuke et al., 1991), hence, its association with funerals. Those meant for durbar (adwabɔ) are the gold stud sandals (Sika mpaboa), silver and related colours. One of the Akan chiefs commented that:

  
  To complement the wearing of toga style by the chiefdom, they desired to develop footwear to match with it. As a result, they developed ahenema for different occasions. They created ahenema for funerals and durbars. But there are some people who are unaware of the types and, therefore, use them anyhow. This suggests that there are categories of ahenema worn for different occasions but certain factors have caused its improper usage in the traditional cultural milieu. These factors include ignorance of the colour symbolisms as well as the meanings ascribed to the entire design. In one breadth, the users who default the conventional usage in terms of colour schemes and meaning may be doing so for purely aesthetical reasons rather than meaning associated with them.

  
  Amongst the Akans (which form over 70% of Ghana’s population), ahenema is the traditionally sanctioned footwear accessory suitable for traditional gatherings or occasions. Wearing the toga fashion (usually 6- 12 yards of fabric gracefully wrapped on the body) without ahenema is culturally inappropriate in the traditional chieftaincy milieu. Likewise, it is traditionally unethical and unacceptable in Asante customs and traditions for kings or chiefs to wear the toga fashion classic without wearing befitting ahenema. Even for those who are not part of the chiefdom, wearing ahenema that is unsuitable for a particular durbar, funeral and other traditional events of the chiefdom are likely to invite troubles for themselves.

  
  Per the categorisation of ahenema sandals, sika mpaboa (literary translated as ‘golden footwear/sandals) for example, is the highest status-defining type of ahenema footwear amongst the chiefdom. For the chiefdom in the Asanteland, sika mpaboa (Figure 3) is a preserve of the Asante King. No other paramount chief could wear it without his approval. Based on the achievement of chiefs under the rulership of Asantehene, he may honour a chief with sika mpaboa. Such honours remain a great chieftaincy laurel, privilege and meritorious achievement in the Asanteland. Once a chief has bestowed this honour, it implies that that chief has the power to wear sika mpaboa at traditional chieftaincy functions, durbars, or occasions. The sika mpaboa of the Asante king remains distinctive. It may be decorative with cast-gold (Ross, 1982) symbolic animal and geometric figurines that ornament the (top) nsisoɔ of the sandals. Bodwich (1818, p.256) confirms this centuries-old and long-standing tradition of who has the prerogative to wear sika mpaboa (ahenema stud with gold or golden colours). He writes:

  
  The caboceers of Soota [Nsuta], Marmpon [Mampong], Becqua [Bekwai], and Kokofoo [Kokofu], the four large towns built by the Ashantees at the same time with Coomassie [Kumasi], have several palatine privileges; … These four caboceers, only, are allowed, with the King, to stud their sandals with gold.’

  
  A chief who wears Sika mpaboa that is not sanctioned by the Asantehene to durbars and other traditional occasions is slapped with contempt. The act becomes contemptuous because it breaches Asante chieftaincy etiquette, customs and traditions, which is punishable. In support, one of the chiefs commented that: ‘Look, I’m a chief in the Asanteland, but I do not have the right to wear sika mpaboa. Should I wear it, I would be cited for contempt, for it does not show respect to the Asante King.’ There are ranks of chiefs. A subchief could not wear ahenema of a higher status and prestige such as sika mpaboa to a durbar of paramount chiefs. He will be cited for contempt. One elder recounts that:

  
  We attended a durbar in the Asanteland. I wore a particular ahenema as part of my toga fashion. As custom demanded, I was part of the entourage that went to greet the chiefs at the durbar. While greeting, I overheard one of the subjects whispering to one of the chiefs, if I’m traditionally permitted to wear that particular ahenema. The chief sighed in the affirmative in response to his subject due to my status in the traditional area (N. K. Duah, personal communication, October 19, 2020).

   

  Ahenema names and Semiotics

  
  As in the case of wax print fabrics, ahenema are given unique symbolic and proverbial names. The names are usually given by the producers. In some cases, the client suggests the preferred name for the producers to fashion the sandals based on that. Respondent Opanin Kwame added that:

  
  We came to meet some of the design names given by some of the earlier ahenema producers. We also create some designs and name them based on Akan symbolism associated with animals, plants, human body parts, adinkra symbols, among others. I have personally created some designs based on periwinkles which are small marine snails. Per its tiny nature, many people usually eat it when they don’t have money to buy fish or meat. People, therefore, consume it in difficult times. Based on this I used the shells of the periwinkles in my ahenema design and named it Me nso meho behia da bi which literally means ‘I will be useful to people one day’.

  
  The names given by the producers or suggested by the clients may cast insinuations, promote peace, warns against the ills of society and show one’s status. Some of the names are presented in Table 1 and Figure 3 respectively. For example, Ani bre a, ensɔ gya design (Figure 3 e), shows red-dyed leather used as in-lay against the black colour scheme to suggest the symbolism of it name. The red parts of the design look seed-like, an abstract representation of reddening eye, which symbolically suggests seriousness. Philosophically, this treatment connotes that no matter the degree of seriousness in pursuing something, it will not cause the eyes to redden. In other words, seriousness, as an attribute does not mean one has to be boisterous or overly expressive. One could be serious and yet show a calm disposition.

  
  In the production of ahenema, some producers specialise in making the sole (called aseɛ) while others specialise in making the top (referred to as nsisoɔ). Both the sole and the top have their unique names. However, when the top is fixed onto the sole, the name of the top becomes the name of the ahenema.

  
  Meaning of some ahenema designs

   

  Name of ahenema	Meaning
  Ani bre a, ensɔ gya.	Serious-mindedness does not spark fire in the eye.
  Ebididi bi ekyi.	There are classes/grades in things
  Enku me fie, na enkosu me abontene.	Do not kill me home and turn to sympathize with me in public.
  Da bɛn na me nsoroma bepue?	When will my star arise?
  Abuburo nkosua, adea ebɛyɛ yie no, ɛnnsɛe da.	Something that is destined to succeed will never fail.
  Asaase tokru, oibara bewura mu bi.	All are susceptible to death.
  Wo te meho asɛm a, fa akondwa tena so.	If you hear of gossips about me, take a chair and seat.

  Tɛkyerɛma nnyi ayɛ.	The tongue is ungrateful.
  Nsɛbɛ hunu.	Powerless talisman
  Kɔtɔ didi mee a, na ɛyɛaponkyerɛni ya.	When the crab is well fed, the frog becomes jealous.
  Ebusua dɔ funu.	The extended family cares overly for the dead body.
  Ebusua te sɛɛ kwayieɛ.	A family is like a forest.
  Akokɔ nae tia ba, na ennkum ba.	The legs of the hen step on its chicks, but it does not kill them.

  
  Ahenema symbolisms in enstoolment and destoolment

  
  Ahenema is considered as irresistible chieftaincy regalia in the scheme of Akan customs and tradition. Without it, the adornment of any Akan king or chief becomes incomplete. This implies that it holds a central position in the chieftaincy diplomacy and culture. As a result of its inevitable role in that regard, it has become symbolic regalia in both enstoolment and destoolment of kings and chiefs. When a chief goes contrary to the etiquettes, rules and regulations, taboos, customs and traditions in his/her role which tantamount to destoolment, the removal of his/her ahenema from his/her feet is a symbolic sign of destoolment. One of the chiefs explained that:

  
  When a chief faulter, the queen mother and the council of elders that throne, removes the ahenema from the feet of the culprit chief to show that s/he has been destooled. The affected chief could seek redress from the paramount chief under which s/he serve.

  
  Likewise, in the enstoolment process, wearing ahenema signifies his/her authority. In both the enstoolment and destoolment process, the sandals connote power, authority and might. Beyond enstoolment and destoolment, the Akan observe some etiquette in the usage of ahenema because of its symbolism to show respect to the elderly or powers that be. One has to negotiate a partial withdrawal of the feet from the ahenema as a sign of respect and demonstration of custom adherence during the greeting of the elderly or chief at durbar or public gathering.
  
  Ahenema occupies a central place in the chieftaincy institution, customs and traditions of the chiefdom and the life of Asante people, and by extension the Akan of Ghana. It has remained essential regalia that is inseparable from the customs and traditions of the Akan. Though the regalia is associated with the Akan, it was developed by the Asante people. As a culturally essential fashion object, its historical origin and socio-cultural relevance in Asante chieftaincy cultural tradition which remains largely uncharted was the focus of this study.

  
  By delving into oral history, supported with available historical documents, the study positioned the root of ahenema (also called Kyawkyaw) regalia designing and production as an eighteenth-century Asante phenomenon during the reign of the fourth Asante king, Otumfuo Osei Kwadwo Okoawia who ruled from 1764 to 1777; and the queenship of Nana Konadu Yiadom I. The Asantehema Nana Konadu Yiadom I, whose tenure began in 1768 – 1809, was the beneficiary of the earliest ahenema regalia. Subsequently, ahenema became regalia for the chiefdom, a tradition which has remained unchanged; and spread to both Akan and non-Akan states and kingdoms till now. Some chiefdom in parts of Togo and Cote d'Ivoire use the regalia. From the chiefdom, the regalia did trickle-down to the masses. To be ablest with the evolving designs of ahenema in the twenty-first century require extensive documentation of existing ones for posterity. Also, the creators of ahenema designs need to be saved from the clouds of anonymity to reveal their creative contributions in fashion accessories production.

  
  Ahenema design and production are informed by the purpose and functions (occasion) for which they are made. There are designs meant for funerals, durbars and festive occasions (festivals and other merrymaking events), by traditional authorities in the observance of the customs and traditions, while there those made for purely utilitarian and aesthetical reasons. The Akan notion of colours applies in the designs for the chiefdom. Of all the ahenema, sika mpaboa (ahenema stud with gold), is regarded as the most prestigious, for it is the preserve of Asantehene. A chief under his reign could be honoured with sika mpaboa. With ahenema assuming a fashion object of huge socio-political and cultural connections and signification, it would be of interest to delve into the power politics of ahenema and how it is used to negotiate self-actualisation among the chiefdom.

  
  The regalia, Ahenema, has unwavering socio-cultural power in the (un)making of kings/chiefs in Akan culture in the realms of enstoolment and destoolment rituals of Asante chiefs as well as Akan chiefs as a whole. Ahenema are given unique symbolic and proverbial names by its original producers and, in some cases clients. The names have philosophical meanings that need decoding to fully understand the language of ahenema. In the traditional sense, failure to understand the language of ahenema, may land one into contempt.

   

  
  References

  •  A Guide to Manhyia Palace Museum. (2003). Ashanti Region Kumasi. Otumfuo Opoku Ware Jubilee Foundation.
  • Bodwich, T. E. (1819). Mission from Cape Coast castle to Ashantee, with a statistical account of that kingdom, and geographical notices of other parts of the interior of Africa. W. Bulmer and Co.
  • Busia, K. A. (1951). The position of the chief in the modern political system of Ashanti. Frank Cass.
  • Ghanaweb (2007, August 18). Otumfuo sacks chief. http://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/economy/artikel.php?ID=129165
  • Essel, O. Q. (2017). Searchlight on Ghanaian iconic creative hands in the world of dress fashion design culture (Unpublished PhD thesis). University of Education, Winneba.
  • Fosu, K. (1994). Traditional art of Ghana. Dela Publications and Designs.
  • Holloway, W. & Jefferson, T. (2000). Doing qualitative research differently. Sage Publication Ltd.
  • Kyerematen, A.A.Y. (1965). Panoply of Ghana. Longmans, Green and co Ltd.
  • McLeod, M. D. (1981). The Asante (87 – 111). The Trustees of British Museum.
  • McCaskie, T. C. 2000. Asante Identities. History and Modernity in an African Village 1850-1950. Edinburgh University Press.
  • Rattray, R. S. (1927). Religion and Art in Ashanti. Oxford University Press.
  • Ross, D. H. (1982). The heraldic lion in Akan art: A study of motif assimilation in Southern Ghana. Metropolitan Museum Journal, 16, 165 – 180.
  • Špiláčková, M. (2012). Historical research in social work – theory and practice. ERIS Web Journal, 3(2), pp. 22 – 33.
  • Vansina, J. (1984). Art history in Africa. Longman Group Limited.
  • VibeGhana.com. (2010). Otumfuo destools chiefs for taking bribe. http://vibeghana.com/2010/12/15/otumfuo-destools-chiefs-for-taking-bribe/
  • Widdersheim, W. M. (2018). Historical case study: A research strategy for diachronic analysis. Library & Information Science Research, 40(2), 144 – 152.
  • Yin, R. K. (2018). Case study research and applications: Designs and methods. Sage.

   

   

Read more …

• 

  Elfriede Dreyer

  A colonial figure, Baartman’s birth date is unknown – she was born in the Camdeboo Valley somewhere in the 1770s and died in Paris on 29 December 1815. In 1810 Baartman was taken to London by her employer, Hendrik Cezar, a free black man of slave descent, and William Dunlop, an English doctor who worked at the Cape slave lodge. There she was put on display on stage, mostly in the nude, and became known as the ‘Hottentot Venus’, acquiring status as a peculiarity due to the ‘abnormal’ size of her genitalia and buttocks. In 1814 Henry Taylor (Hendrik Cezar) took her to Paris where she was sold to an animal trainer, Réaux, who made her amuse audiences. Specifically Baartman’s steatopygia – a common feature of the Khoikhoi female body – was the curiosity. (Mastamet-Mason (2014:113) argues that the Victorian bustle dress silhouette, which became fashionable in 1870 in Europe, can be attributed to Baartman’s physique, since Baartman was displayed in Europe between 1810 and 1815, and the bustle dress was only introduced in Paris in 1880.)

   

  Baartman came to be viewed as an anthropological freak and a sexual novelty, and she had to perform certain acts (such as mimicking savagery) against her will – first in carnivals, later in aristocratic salons and finally in brothels where she ended up as a prostitute. Georges Cuvier, Professor of Comparative Anatomy at the Museum of Natural History at the time, encountered Baartman in this context and started studying her in terms of scientific racism, mainly with the objective to establish a missing link between animals and human beings. Tragically, Baartman died in 1815 as a result of exploitation and abuse. Her genital parts and brain were initially preserved in Europe for further study, but after much deliberation (driven by Nelson Mandela) her remains were repatriated to her homeland, the Gamtoos Valley, and buried on 9 August 2002 on Vergaderingskop, together with the return home of other disenfranchised individuals under apartheid (Moudileno 2009).

   

  A number of problematics issue from this narrative. Firstly, Baartman’s body was considered to be abnormal and animal-like; yet the Europeans found her sexually attractive enough to have intercourse with her. The implication here is bestiality. In 2012, in I critiqued an article entitled ‘Africa’s repulsive charm’ of French anthropologist Jean-Loup Amselle (2008) in which he launched an unmitigated review of perceived predominant Western perceptions of Africans, describing them inter alia as “intellectually degenerate”; “underdeveloped”; “descendants of the Old Testament Ham” and his “cursed and blood-infected progeny”. In short, he describes Africa as “a continent of utter horror, a theatre of primitive cruelty”, the very reason why “we” (the West?) think of Africa in a “libidinous and viral” [my emphasis] way, generating a line of thought so deep and wide that it “permeates the economic, social, cultural and religious domains”. I argued that Amselle’s polarisation of the relationship between the West and Africa – as deeply ambivalent and postulated as the attraction of opposites and ‘sexual intercourse’ – represents a prime example of Othering hate speech towards African people and reaffirms the continuing deep and wide divide between the West and Africa, which still undercuts Africa as a secondary role player and displays a modernist binary view of history. Baartman represented a sexual Other in the context of such a so-called libidinous attraction between Europe and Africa.

   

  Secondly, the Hottentot Venus was a figure of oppression and in feminist perspective she became a supreme symbol of objectification being subjected to the tyranny of the white male colonial gaze. Mastamet-Mason (2014:115) argues that until the twenty-first century, full-figured African women were considered “attractive, were respected, and their bodies represented wealth, fertility and good health”. (There are fattening houses used specifically to fatten women in West African countries, highlighting the fact that some African countries still value and idolise full-figured women (Mastamet-Mason 2014:115)).The Othering gaze is pertinently racial here, not only in personal terms in the Othering of body shape, or in terms of gender in the Othering of gender difference, but mainly in terms of cultural Othering in the European gaze at the nude African woman. The colonial, Westernised view on nude Africans is described by Benjamin Talton (in Jackson et al 2009:82) as follows: “Within European discourses on African cultural characteristics, African women were ‘silent icons of the primitive – the ultimate “others”’. Left largely undefined by Europeans obsessed with categorising people and places, African women became the epitome of Africa’s ‘darkness’. … Public ‘nudity’ was [considered as] symptomatic of a general lack of moral restraint among Africans; an outgrowth of their unbridled sexuality, and a testament to their need for Christian redemption.” The colonial European view was based on subjective perception, lack of factual information and mythologising of ‘dark Africa’, a view that seems to be persisting yielded by the cited Amselle’s article. In many African countries, limited economic and natural resources played a formidable role in determining people’s access to cloth and clothing that had nothing to do with intellectual capacity, intelligence or sexuality. In fact, since the 1950s there were several anti-nudist internal campaigns in Ghana and elsewhere. Men became clothed long before women, which formed part of the cultural view of woman as possession, but it was also due to lack of financial means to acquire clothing. Africa is vast, and it took long for traders to transport and distribute their wares.  However, in the case of Baartman, a very different scenario was playing out:  she was deliberately unclothed and exploited in the nude for sexual and entertainment reason, and her nudeness thus did not present as part of her cultural tradition.

   

  Thirdly, the Baartman narrative manifests as a discourse on ‘disposable’ bodies as ‘waste products’ of the colonial impulse. Following Braidotti (2011:6), it can be argued that the “disposable” bodies of “women, youth, and others who are racialized or marked off by age, gender, sexuality, and income, reduced by marginality, come to be inscribed with particular violence” in the regime of such powers. Baartman was not only perceived as an object of curiosity, but also as abject, representing those elements and groups of people in society that are perceived to be unwanted and should be eradicated. Politically and culturally the nurturing of notions of abject is potentially dangerous and a concept that in the past has led to genocidal regimes such as Nazism and apartheid. Currently the migrant crisis that many countries are facing has once again stirred such sentiments and actions, and in certain cases has even led to inverted racism or abjection in the redress of the past.

  The use of red water colour in Marasela’s Covering Sarah series conjures chilling reminders of the pain and suffering inflicted by the constructs of Othering and abjecting. The artist’s drawing lines on one hand remind of colonial travelogues inscripted with handwritten anecdotes, descriptions of journeys and scenes, and linear drawings of people, the land and other curiosities; on the other hand, it simulates running blood, pain and torment. The use of embroidery in Theodorah, Senzeni and Sarah I ambivalently harks back to both Victorian pastime and African women’s well-known craft of embroidery. Embroidery as an activity evokes associations of quiet meditation, but also of violence through the needle’s rupturing of the cloth. In the latter work there is suggestion of evocation, redress and reconstruction in the physical covering of Sarah with a cloth of some sort, thus a restitution of the past. The cloth becomes like a kind of honorary cloak, as evidence of Baartman’s elevation to celebrity or sanctified status.

   

  The Covering Sarah series affirms the volatility of cultural perceptions and conjectures about others, as well as the socio-political changes that have occurred in Africa affecting the discourses around body types and the clothed/unclothed body. The work reminds us of the dangers and vulnerabilities lurking in obsessive Othering and radicalising difference.

  About Senzeni Marasela

  Senzeni Marasela is a female South African artist of Zulu origin, born in Thokoza, KwaZulu Natal in 1977. She is currently completing a MA degree in Art History from Wits University (SA); she has exhibited widely in the national and international contexts; and she has been awarded several grants and residencies, for example from Devon Arts Residency (Scotland) The Ampersand Foundation and Axis Gallery in New York; The Thami Mnyele Foundation in Amsterdam; and the Kokkola Art Academy in Vasa. Her artist website is found at http://www.senzenimarasela.com.

   

  References

  • Amselle, J-L. 2008. Africa’s repulsive charm, translated by R. Baldinelli. Critical Interventions: Journal of African Art History and Visual Culture Volume 2, Spring, 2008:11 – 18.
  • Braidotti, R. 2011. Nomadic subjects: embodiment and sexual difference in contemporary feminist theory. Second edition. Gender and culture: A series of Columbia University Press. New York: University of Columbia Press.
  • Dreyer, E. 2012. Functionality and social modernism in the work of untrained South African artists. Third Text (Vol. 26:6, November):767–780.
  • Jackson, S, Demissie, F, Goodwin, M (eds). 2009. Imagining, writing, (re)reading the black body. Pretoria: Unisa Press.
    Mastamet-Mason, A. 2014. The Saartjie Baartman body shape versus the Victorian dress: the untold African treasures. Open Journal of Social Sciences 02(08): 113- 120. DOI: 10.4236/jss.2014.28017.
  • Moudileno, L. 2009. Returning remains: Saartjie Baartman, or the “Hottentot Venus” as transnational postcolonial icon. Forum for modern language studies 45(2): 200-212.
  • Talton, B. ‘All the women must be clothed’: The anti-nudity campaign in northern Ghana, 1957 – 1969. In Jackson, S, Demissie, F, Goodwin, M (eds). 2009. Imagining, writing, (re)reading the black body. Pretoria: Unisa Press.

   

   

  published March 2020

Read more …

• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

   

  It is 25 years since South Africa achieved a democratically elected government in 1994. Nelson Mandela, who was imprisoned for 27 years, became the first black president after years of  apartheid system governing the Republic. What is apartheid and what were some of the effects on housing? The Sustainable Development Goal 11 aims to make cities safe and sustainable; ensuring access to safe and affordable housing and building slum settlements into decent houses. It also calls for investment in roads, transport, creating green spaces and improving urban planning. This would envisage participatory planning and inclusive development. The image demonstrates the complexities of participatory planning and urban development in previously divided societies.

   

  Historical perspectives

  South African history can be divided into distinct phases:  pre-colonial era, colonial era, post-colonial era, apartheid era and the post-apartheid era. During these periods, many different historic events characterised by violent clashes between the indigenous people and european settlers forcefully displacing them from their land occurred. The cultural differences were used to oppress and  marginalise  the people while racial tensions underlying the political oppressions were extensive. The shack is an object that symbolyses not only the oppression in living conditions, but  also inequalities in economics and infrastructure.

   

  Apartheid systems created shacks

  Between 1948 and 1991, the system of administration in South Africa was apartheid. It was a National party system of racial discrimination and human rights violation. Fundamental to it was the Homeland Citizens Act of 1970, which augmented the Native Land Act of 1931 through the establishment of the so-called Homelands or reservations. The Act authorised the forceful removal of black people from urban centres to “Bantustans”. Surprisingly the apartheid perpetrators and sympathizers quoted a similar act in India where the British had done similar things without backlash from international community.

   

  The typical Township in South Africa refers to underdeveloped segregated areas established from the 19th century until the end of the apartheid era to cater for non-whites namely Indians, “Africans” (meaning black) and people of colour. The Townships were located on the periphery of towns and cities. The Diepsloot Township in the image above therefore fits its purpose to serve the affluent towns because of its location along the highway.

   

  The images show the shacks in Diepsloot Township. Close to 1.4 million people live in Diepsloot Township. Characteristically, such areas abound with crime, violent protests due to lack of basic services and overcrowding. The township is also full of diversity of culture, tribes, tradition and many nationalities, due to rural to urban migration. The major problems include unemployment, poverty and lack of basic services which result from lack of education and skills. Coupled with deprivation of water, sanitation and basic infrastructure, shack living environments are unsustainable and challenging sustainable cities.

   

  In South Africa, the term “township” and  “location” refers to segregated urban areas that arose from the late 19th century that were reserved for non-whites (Indians, blacks and people of colour). Built on the periphery of towns and cities, townships integrated the roots and systems of apartheid so deeply that they are almost difficult to eradicate. Despite strides made over the past twenty five years to provide decent housing for the majority of the population, Townships and shacks in particular still exist. As part of the mining industry, the black population comprising  men lived in hostels and servants' accommodations. With increasing urbanization, the rapid urban expansion could not keep up with the influx of people which led to overcrowding. In the 1950s, townships in the Witwatersrand areas grew exponentially as the gold rush expanded. The shack township settlements were of poor quality but provided advantage over the hostels in more established areas as they were cheaper and not regulated by the apartheid government. With increasing eviction of black people from “white” areas, the forced removals resulted into a broad movement into segregated townships creating the designated race groups - black, coloured and Indians per the Population Registration Act of 1950 and the Group Areas Act.

   

  With the fall of apartheid in 1994, the townships still persisted because it was a systemic problem that can only be solved in a multi-sectoral way. Typically, most towns in South Africa have a township associated with them. The New Democracy has created modern developments in townships since 1994 for example building wealthy homes and middle class income homes.  In Soweto for instance there are many new developments. Hence "township" is changing its meaning and ways as it no longer means the original apartheid low income location but a home for the growing middle class. This has resulted in properties and real estate development in the townships. Although many houses were built inofficially, the government has improved the access to water, electricity and roads that impact on the quality of life. The biggest challenge is to make the progress sustainable. With plans to build the sewage system, water and electricity, townships are increasingly attract young people. As they belong to the generation of millennials, who want to stay connected globally, it is not surprising that the shacks in townships have connected to digital devices and satellite television, after all, the people have to live their life. A study in Diepsloot showed that 24% of the residents lived in brick structures, 43% in shacks and 27% in backyard shacks (additional units build on a plot of land by the landlord to get extra income (Harber, 2011).

   

  Summary

  The shacks are small constructions built on the periphery of towns and cities to provide cheap accommodation to the growing number of people working in towns or cities. The discovery of diamonds and gold in the 19th century in South Africa had a profound impact on the wealth of the region, propelling it into world stage competition for industrialisation. This was a fundamental shift from an agrarian-based economy with effects on the people and society. Not only were conflicts between the “Boer” farmers and the British Empire created, but also conflicts among the black natives as the groups fought for control over resources of the mining industry. These fights continued to define the mining industry for years and years. One sphere impacted was the human settlements. Between 1948 to 1994, the country was dominated by Afrikaner nationalism led by systems of racial segregation and a white minority rule called the apartheid, an Afrikaans word meaning “separateness”. The blacks, Indians and people of colour were forcibly removed from their land into Homelands or townships. With increasing demand for housing, shacks provided a cheaper option close to towns and cities. With no basic services, the areas continue to challenge governments as they are in need of building sustainable cities and sustainable solutions.

   

  Shacks remind us of the lived experiences of people wanting to create sustainable livelihood in the economy. Given the opportunity of a job in a town or city, the viable option would be to live in a shack that is cheaper than brick construction. The downside is the lack of basic infrastructure and basic services for the population who want to participate in the economy. The dual economy in South Africa comprises the affluent businesses listed on the Johannesburg stock exchange and the basic township economy.  People who want to participate have to choose between living in a shack or to be excluded from economy. The contradictions of the creation of jobs without viable sustainable housing options leads to the perpetuation to the segregation. An extension of two cities - two economies. Shacks on one side of the highways and the affluent middle class on the other side. The images show the contradictions and frustrations of moving towards sustainable cities in a country divided by inequalities.

   

  This phenomenon is not only a South African one, but known worldwide: In Brazil and Mexico there are also areas divided by inequalities of social, economical and recently technological divide.

   

   

   

  References:

   

  • Harber, A. (2011) Diepsloot, Jeppestown: Jonathan Ball Publishers LTD, 2011. 2011. 1-226. Print.
  • Tinashe, P.  (2014). We have a story to tell — Diepsloot youth: A quest for safe space and opportunities to earn a living. (PDF).
  • Rosa Luxemburg Stating. p. 2. Retrieved 9 November 2018.
  • Foster, D. (2012): After Mandela: The Struggle for Freedom in Post-Apartheid South Africa
  • https://unequalscenes.com/alexandra-sandton Retrieved 22 Jan 2019
  • https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1EODB_enZA550ZA550&tbm=isch&q=shacks+in+Townships+near+Lanseria+Airport&chips=q:shacks+in+townships+near+lanseria+airport,online_chips:apartheid,online_chips:gauteng,online_chips:apartheid+museum&usg=AI4_-kTUvSb-CcNIqEavZu8utwO5g7HbUg&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwislenZooLgAhXUQxUIHeIRDOYQ4lYILSgC&biw=1025&bih=587&dpr=1, Retrieved 25 January, 2019.

   

   

  published April 2020

   

Read more …

• 

  Donna Pido

  Kenya’s Independence monument resides at Uhuru Gardens in Nairobi (Figure 1a), most likely because this is where received Independence (Kiarie 2022).  Though only a few people visit Uhuru Gardens and get to see the monument, it reminds us of 12 December 1963, the day of Independence and when Kenya Army soldiers first raised the national flag on Mt Kenya.  Mau-Mau and other guerilla soldiers see hoisting the flag as a visual symbol of military victory over King’s African Rifles and their British collaborators though some felt it is the same collaborators who inherited power from the British (Branch 2007).  In this context, Independence is remembered as a military defeat of the British sense of military invincibility.  However, a political class  comprised  of ‘under-educated’ intelligentsia saw Independence as an intellectual contest and a defeat of so-called colonial arrogance.   Rural dwellers, on the other hand, seemed spectators with the view that Independence was coming ready with ‘owners’ (politicians, businessmen and educated elite).  That Independence has owners who enjoy it while rural remain on the sideline is evident the persistent poverty thriving in rural Kenya (Njeru 2018).  So, even Uhuru Gardens and the Independence Monument have ‘owners’ who are not rural dwellers; it is clear that the monument is the collective memory and visual culture of its ‘owners’.  

   

  It seems the majority of rural dwellers understood Independence according to what politicians said- wealth as the accumulation of money, health as getting treatment in hospitals, education as attending school and passing examinations (Kenya African National Union 1969). We are not sure they are able to read and understand the Independence monument at Uhuru Gardens.  Why KANU did not install the rooster at Uhuru Gardens draws considerable curiosity. That is beyond our scope here.  One with a thick African cultural knowledge could easily choose the image of a rooster instead of that of hoisting the national flag because KANU was a nation-wide party and the rooster has cultural meanings nationwide.   Among the Luos of Western, establishing new homesteads entailed carrying an axe and rooster to the site of the first house; this ideology is well-represented in the KANU flag (figure 1d).  In other parts of Kenya, the rooster is a symbol of manhood required to make many children (Wikipedia. 2022).   By crowing early in the morning, the rooster does not simply announce time but also sets the work-eat-rest rhythm of life in rural areas.

   

  Before discussing WWII monument and of pre-Independence flags, we want to briefly address meanings in choices of colors and other elements in party flags and the national flag.  The black, red and green stripes in KAU, KANU and the national flag have the same meanings. The black stood for the indigenous population, red for the common blood of all humanity or blood shed during the struggle for Independence. Green symbolized the nation’s fertile land or landscape of the country, while the weapons were a reminder that organized struggle was the basis for future self-government (Smith 2001). No doubt the shield and spear are common traditional Kenya tools of offence and defense. It is said that white represented unity and peace.  It is rather clear that a section of Kenya’s coat of arms is modeled on KANU’s flag- colors and the rooster carrying an axe. Meanings herein are similar to those we mentioned in our discussion on KANU’s flag; the shield and spears also bear the same meanings as we mentioned when discussing the national flag.

   

  

  The combat boots (Figure 2b, Internet sources) tend to strike a note that is closer to the Acholi collective memory of WWII because they refer to it as too bin (Acholi for ‘come ye death’).  Among the Acholis of Northern Uganda, the combat boots symbolize the massive death in the War and the sacrifice of people forced to be loyal to the King of England. There is quite a stark contrast between the intended collective memory and the actual one.  At least among the Acholi, the boots are infinitely more meaningful that the bronze images so hapless servant/soldiers.

   

  Many of us in Kenya may not be able to remember the pre-Independence flags presented here because they were in use a long time ago.  Between Indonesians, Indians and Arabs, we are not sure on who first visited Kenya.  However, Arabs came in greater numbers over a longer period, intermarried with the local population and eventually set a government with the Sultan of Oman as its emperor or king.  We included the flag of the Sultan of Zanzibar (3a, Internet sources) as a part of the visual culture of Kenya.  The flag does not fly anymore but Arab dhows and their sails are prominent visual feature at the coast of Kenya. History has it that the Portuguese followed and displaced the Arabs  and built Fort Jesus- we included Portuguese flag (3b, Internet sources) of that time since we consider it a part of the visual culture of Kenya at that time.  Apart from Fort Jesus in Mombasa and the Vasco da Gama monument in Malindi, there seems no outstanding visual feature that rigorously reminds us of the Portuguese.

   

  We turn now to the World War II monument standing on Kenyatta Avenue, Nairobi (Figure 2a, Internet sources).  Our action was driven by the thought that the monument is also a reminder of how Africans were roped into a war they did not start, meaning, they did not have any special interest in the war.  While the British saw this monument as honoring the regional war dead, we remember our own who died in North Africa, Burma or elsewhere as WWII raged.  In any case it would have served us Kenyans more meaningfully if the monument had represented Kings African Rifles in action instead of as the transport company that was its main function.  The figures of this monument are just standing as if posing for a photograph.

   

  

   

  The eagerness related to the partitioning of Africa and the establishing of colonies saw the Germans come to Kenya and German East Africa (Tanganyika) where the German flag flew (Figure 3c).  Heller, the German coin is the most outstanding collective memory of German East Africa; old folk still refers to coins as heller (hela, eeera, Figure 4a and 4b, Internet sources).   Though rupee was more popular as an Indian coin, it was also used in German East Africa and its name was integrated into many languages that still use it to mean ‘money' (Figure 4c, Internet sources).

   

  

   

  Some people think that if Germany had won World War I (WWI), East Africa would have been a German colony.  But that was not to be; various parts of East Africa were under Brisstish rule until Independence in the early  1960s.  The Witu flag (Figure 3d) was hoisted soon after the British drove Germans out of East Africa, this was followed by the British East Africa flag (Figure 3g, Internet sources) and flags (Figures 3e and 3f, Internet sources) were used in Kenya colony, specifically.   The Union Jack was prominent in flags for British East and Africa and Kenya Colony.  British influence is massive in Kenya and related visual culture is so massive that it deserves more attention that is possible here.  Meanwhile we note that the structure of Kenya’s coat of arms is similar to emblems and related devices that were in use when Kenya was a colony.   

   

  Summary of Discussions

   

               We embarked on writing this article hoping to add to on-going efforts in exploring collective memory in Africa.  Our short article touched on political collective memory including but not limited to past and existing monuments, flags, coat of arms and emblems.  It is difficult but possible to argue that pre-Independence devices form a part of Kenya’s visual culture; we argue thus for believe that the past makes today as the present makes tomorrow.  Heller, the German coin of colonial Kenya, provides one example of how past visual culture persists through time to be a part of the present and does so with  little cultural transformation.

   

               In this article, monuments, flags, emblems, coats of arms and coins provided fodder for discussions.  It seems the Independence monument is a Government object that only officers of Government and the intelligentsia communicate with and use it to remember Independence and WWI.   Kenyans who paid the price of WWI and Independence have yet to enjoy whatever benefits may accrue from the two.  The once very powerful KANU that received Independence from Great Britain is now a pale shadow of the political party it was.  However, its rooster remains a visually powerful emblem that speaks of time, space, majestic manhood and connection with the universe.  

   

               We do not know why KANU’s rooster is dwarfed in the coat of arms and is absent in the national flag.  The absence or minimizing of such a powerful symbol can raise questions.  For example, is it a part of continued colonization that thrives on suffocating local expressions?  Or was it a matter dictated by non-Kenyan concepts of design?  These questions need addressing soon and with more concerted efforts.

   

  References cited

  • Branch Daniel 2007: The Enemy Within: Loyalists and the War Against Mau-Mau in Kenya, in Journal of African History, Volume 48, Issue 2, July 2007, Cambridge University Press
  • Kenya African National Union 1969: The K.A.N.U Manifesto, University of Virginia
  • Kiarie Maina 2022: http://www.enzimuseum.org/museums-of-kenya/monuments/uhuru-gardens
  • Njeru Timothy Njagi 2018: What is Driving Persistent Poverty in Rural Kenya, in: The Conversation https://theconversation.com/whats-driving-persistent-poverty-in-rural-kenya-99765
  • Smith Whitney 2001: https://www.britannica.com/contributor/Whitney-Smith/4445
  • Wikipedia 2022 Cultural References to Chickens: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cultural_references_to_chickens
  • Woods Steven Paul, Weinborn Michael, Ryan Yangi Li, Hodgson Erica, Amanda R.J. Ng, Bucks Romola S. 2015 Does Prospective Memory Influence Quality of Life in Community-Dwelling Older Adults? in: Neuropsychol Dev Cogn B Aging Neuropsychol Cogn  https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4537668/

   

  For further reading: Lydia Waithira Muthuma. How Public are Public Statues? (Public statues in Nairobi)

Read more …

• 

  Mary Claire Kidenda

  Kenya is extraordinarily rich in creativity, materials, and ideas sources of inspiration reflected in their artefacts which has evolved to its current prosperous state over the centuries. The Kenyan culture can be seen in the visual arts, applied arts, food, music, dance, sports, fashion, literature, and theatre. The artefacts are an extraordinary source of inspiration and nourishment for the artist. Their designs embody African design aesthetics that have retained traditional designs as they also reflect elements of innovation, hybridity, sustainability and modernity (Maina et al., 2017). The artefacts reflect religious beliefs and cultural values – two inseparable elements enmeshed in Kenyan craft. The Kenyan traditional art is fundamentally functional, meeting some specific utilitarian purposes, whereas its aesthetic consideration is typically regarded as having some secondary significance. Art was integrated into everyday aspects of life from formal ceremonies and religious rites to daily household tasks. The arfetacts were produced by skilled experienced crafts persons who were found in the societies.  Art is an expression of a particular community or culture through the employment of local materials and craftsmanship.

   

  The Jua Kali manufacturing subsector is the predominant creator of craft products in Kenya (Maina et al., 2017). Jua Kali is a self-organising community of practice producing goods. It is comprised of artisans running micro and small enterprises that are not fully integrated into the mainstream formal economy. The artisans learn skills through traditional apprenticeship (TA). Apprenticeship training is regarded as a critical contributor to skills supply, fostering economic development in Kenya. It involves the transmission of the tacit rather than the explicit knowledge and is the most tangible exhibition of the intangible cultural heritage. It facilitates the transmission of skills from a custodian of knowledge, the Master Craftsman. It combines ethnic design and aesthetics and contemporary styling in craft production in Kenya. Involves the transmission of the tacit rather than the explicit knowledge through observation, imitation and reputation. Besides, apprenticeship ensures that the knowledge and skills that relate to the craft are passed down to future generation so that they continue to be produced within their communities. The learning of the Kenyan design, aesthetics is therefore, an intergenerational phenomenon.

   

  Kenya's ethnic groups can be divided into three broad linguistic groups Bantu, Nilotic and Cushite. The Nilotic tribes  in Kenya include Luo, Kalenjin, Maasai and Turkana (Hino et al., 2019). The Nilotic speakers migrated from Sudan and Egypt. They are traditionally pastoralists and fishermen and reside in Kenya's vast Rift-Valley region and around Lake Victoria (Madut, 2020). Each of these communities has its traditions, customs, and practices, imbued with multiple layers of culture, colonial legacies, and migration that add to the rich Kenyan cultures (Deisser & Njuguna, 2016) . The distinctness and confluence of these cultures have served as artistic inspiration for many a cultural product creatively fashioned out of raw materials primarily sourced from the natural environment.

   

  The Luo or Lwoo (also called Joluo, singular Jaluo) are an amalgamated agro-fishery and Nilotic Dholuo ethnolinguistic groups in Africa that inhabit an area ranging from South Sudan and Ethiopia, through northern Uganda and eastern Congo (DRC) (Ojwang, 2021; Prince & Geissler, 2008), into western Kenya, and the Mara Region of Tanzania west Kenya, eastern Uganda, and in Mara Region in northern Tanzania. The name Luo or Low means "God's life-bearing exhalation.' The past economic activities of the Luo included fishing and cattle farming (Ndeda, 2019). Agriculture, especially that which involves staple crops such as maize and beans (Ojwang, 2021). Nilotic communities such as Turkana and Pokot (ekicholong) and even Bantus such as Kamba (mumo ya muthamia) and Taita (kifumbi) in Kenya have traditional stools that have been used for various cultural and functional purposes (Somjee, 1993).

   

  This paper discusses the Luo Traditional Three-Legged Stool called “Kom Nyaluo” in the Luo tribe (Hoehler-Fatton, 1996). My interest in this stool arose because I am a Luo lady married to a Luo man who owns the stool.

       

  Kidenda, “Domestic Exhibition of Kom Nyaluo to EVC Expert Panel Discussing the Versions of the Traditional Stool”, Wood and Beads, 2022 Karen, Nairobi

   

  The circular top of Kom Nyaluo symbolises the round universe and a miniature universe on which the husband reins in a home. It is a sign of prestige and leadership, reflecting the status or power of men or the husband within society and a reflection of the round traditional Luo huts. Its legs embody male masculinity and virility (Biko, 2010). Only the father was qualified to sit on the seat as he had requisite authority and was the owner of all the women he brought forth life with. He would sit on it when addressing issues; women and children would sit on the ground.

   

  The traditional Kom Nyaluo was small, with a height of about 30cm from the ground and decorated with beads (Hoehler-Fatton, 1996). Each elder had their stool, and women and children were forbidden from sitting on it. Kom Nyaluo is associated with the authority the elders wielded and the respect that they were accorded in their homes and society. The stool design reflected the traditional activities of men and women. The men worked and socialised outside the home, and the women mostly worked inside and around the house and garden (shamba). A married young man with a few children applies for an eldership position in a ceremony where he hosts community elders. He would be dressed in traditional regalia, carry a spear and fly whisk. The elders would sit him on Kom Nyaluo and crown him as an elder.

   

  Most traditional Luo homes were polygamous, and the stool played a significant role in controlling the wife, which enjoyed marital favours and childbearing. The husband or man of the house would send the stool to the woman's hut. He would want to spend the night in her hut. The stool would be sent secretly, and early the following day, the man would sneak back into his hut so that the other wives would not know whom he slept with. This brilliantly averted obvious petty jealousy will arise from a polygamous home. If one wife felt that she didn't have the stool in her house often enough, she would ask the first wife to intervene on her behalf. "If the first wife didn't like her, she would ensure her complaints did not reach their husband. The seat symbolised love and joy and sustained life in a traditional Luo homestead. Literally and figuratively, of course. Kom Nyaluo did not only represent the authority of the man but also love and joy and sustained life in the traditional Luo home (Biko, 2010).

   

  Kom Nyaluo was used during the levirate ceremony or "tero", where a widow was remarried to a relative of their deceased husband. The levirate union is consummated by sexual intercourse on the first night. If the widow invited the elders for a drink the day after the night of "ter", it was a sign that the night had been successful. During the drinking session, there was the enthronement ceremony of the new head of the home onto the stool of the deceased, "Kom wuon dala" (seat of the homeowner). With the enthronement, it was as if the dead man was alive again (Lutta, 2015). After marrying and having a few children, a Luo man applies for elderhood by hosting the elders at a party where he will be crowned and dressed in traditional regalia. Signs and symbols of authority that include a spear fly whisk and a three-legged stool are given to the elder.

  Production Process

  In this case study, the Kom Nyaluo is produced by an artisan from Siaya County Jua Kali Association craftsman. He learned his father's craft skills through traditional apprenticeship and made his products on demand. The Luo traditional stools are carved with logs from ober (mvule tree), ngo'wo (fig tree), duwa (oak tree) and the member (mango tree). The logs are chopped by a power saw and dried for one week. These are hardwood types that are strong, durable and water-resistant. They also feature unique colours and grain patterns that create a stunning display. Oak is light yellowish-brown and generally straight-grained; it is also hard and durable. Mvule wood comes from the African teak, known in Nigeria as the iroko tree; it is challenging, dense, and durable. Fig tree wood sometimes contains latex, which can be toxic or an allergen. Since the fig trees seldom grow straight, their boards tend to be shorter. However, the wood is soft and not very strong. Mango wood is relatively easy to work with; it is easier to shape, plane and sand while still strong and durable. It is also friendly to waxing and staining, making it excellent for furniture or other household objects.

  

  Kidenda, “Wood Logs used for curving out Kom Nyaluo”, 2013, Siaya, Kenya

   

  Each log costs the artisan ten thousand Kenya shillings (Ksh. 10,000), equivalent to sixty-seven (67) euros. The stool is carved from a single block of wood, the wood between stem and roots, which has twisted grains that are more durable and cannot break or crack. The stool is made without using joints or nails. The seat takes the shape of a log. The carver uses Koyo (adze) to fashion Kom Nyaluo from the log, which does not require nails or joints.

   

  

  Kidenda, “Curving out the Kom Nyaluo from a log”, 2013, Siaya, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

  Its top takes the circular shape of the log, and after carving, it is smoothened with a furr (metal scrapper for smoothing wood).

   

  

  Smoothening the Circular Top Using Furr, 2013, Siaya, Kenya; Furr, the handmade metal tool used to smoothen the top of Kom Nyaluo, 2013, Siaya, Kenya (photos by Mary Clare Kidenda) 

   

  They are then sandpapered and vanished using paintbrushes.

   

  

  Sandpapered and vanished sets of Kom Nyaluo, 2013, Siaya, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

   

  A compass is used for drawing geometrical patterns on the top of the stool.

  

  The drawing of geometrical patterns using a compass, 2013, Siaya, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

  Supposedly the design is inspired by a parquet floor in a European-style house owned by Tom Mboya. The wire inlay practised by the Kamba may also have been a model. Thereafter, wood, glass beads, metal, and colourful Maasai beads are banged onto the top, providing intricate decorative artwork.

  

  The inserting/banging of beads into the top of Kom Nyaluo, 2013, Siaya, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

  Finished: A Luo Dignitary Stool “Kom Nyaluo”

   

  Variety Designs of Finished Kom Nyaluo, 2019, Karen, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

  When Sara went to the US for the inauguration of Mr Obama as president in January 2009 Mama Sarah carried a similar stool. In 2015 when President Obama visited Kenya, he was given  a traditional Luo stool (Langat, 2015).

  

  Kom Nyaluo Created by Luberastus Onyango, Wood, glass beads, metal, 2020 Smithsonian National Museum of African Art.

   

   

   

  Luberastus Onyango was a renowned Kom Nyaluo craftsman (he died in 1988) whose stools have been given to at least 2 US presidents as gifts President, including John F. Kennedy and Barrack Obama.

  

  Variety Designs of Finished Kom Nyaluo, 2019, Karen, Kenya (photo by Mary Clare Kidenda)

   

  A generation of Kenyan artists and designers are translating their view of Kenyan design into beautifully crafted products and creating an aesthetic diverse as the tribes and cultures that make up Kenya. This is evident in the JKS in the preservation and modification of the designs like Kom Nyaluo through a traditional apprenticeship that is the critical training methodology of apprenticeship used in Jua Kali Associations. This is evident with the continued production of Kom Nyaluo because of for its cultural utility and aesthetic functionality in the contemporary modern spaces. Artisans and designers are to re-direct and co-create new narratives that re-position philosophical discourse on aesthetics, among other contemporary debates. A generation of Kenyan artists and designers are translating their view of Kenyan design into beautifully crafted products and creating an aesthetic diverse as the tribes and cultures that make up Kenya.

   

  References

  • Biko, J. (2010). When in Kisumu, make sure you visit the museum. Eastern African Publication. https://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/tea/magazine/when-in-kisumu-make-sure-you-visit-the-museum--1297986
  • Deisser, A.-M., & Njuguna, M. (2016). Conservation of natural and cultural heritage in Kenya: A cross-disciplinary approach. UCL Press.
  • Hino, H., Langer, A., Lonsdale, J., & Stewart, F. (2019). From Divided Pasts to Cohesive Futures: Reflections on Africa. Cambridge University Press.
  • Hoehler-Fatton, C. (1996). Women of fire and spirit: History, faith, and gender in Roho religion in western Kenya. Oxford University Press.
  • Langat, P. (2015). Mama Sarah reveals her special gift to Obama during visit. Nation. https://nairobinews.nation.africa/mama-sarah-reveals-her-special-gift-to-obama-during-kenyan-visit/
  • Lutta, C. (2015). The Traditional Levirate Custom as Practiced by Luo Of Kenya. University of Gavle.
  • Madut, K. K. (2020). The Luo people in South Sudan: Ethnological heredities of East Africa. Cambridge Scholars Publishing.
  • Maina, S. M., Rukwaro, R. W., & Onyango, W. H. (2017). Infusing Design In The Jua Kali (Informal Sector) Production Processes. Journal of Humanities and Social Science, 3(2), 1–12.
  • Ndeda, M. A. J. (2019). Population movement, settlement and the construction of society to the east of Lake Victoria in precolonial times: The western Kenyan case. The East African Review [Online], 52.
  • Ojwang, H. H. (2021). A study of Luo Ethnobotanical Terminology with implications for Lexicographic Practice. Lifelong Education Material Publishers.
  • Prince, R., & Geissler, W. (2008). Becoming “One Who Treats”: A Case Study of a Luo Healer and Her Grandson in Western Kenya. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 32(4), 447–4.
  • Somjee, S. (1993). Material culture of Kenya. East African Educational Publishers.

  

  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

  Pan-African collective memory: Sociocultural power and identity making on indigenous stools from Ghana and Kenya

   

  Indigenous stools play significant roles in Ghanaian and Kenyan cultures and societies, especially, among the Akan and Masai ethnic groups in the two respective countries. Stools in the sociocultural context serve many functions. One of the primary functional roles is that, it serves as object for sedentary purposes. It is used as a utilitarian object for sitting, welcoming visitors, relaxation for people, for example, family and friends. In Ghana, it is customary to offer a visitor a chair (stool) by way of welcoming, serving him/her water, before asking the visitor of his/her motive for the visit. In the first instance, a visitor is given a sit to relax, followed by cup of water for drinking before asking the visitor to give purpose for the visit. Offering a visitor a chair shows an overt acceptance and respect for his/her presence. This traditional etiquette of serving visitors is ingrained the sociocultural life of both Ghana and Kenya.

   

  Amongst the Akan of Ghana, a visitor is usually given a traditional stool as a seat that may befit his/her status in the traditional society or culture. A family may have different stools: those for showcasing power and authority of its user, honouring guests, and everyday usage by the household. The usage of stools in this context depicts its status-defining tendencies.

   

  Apart from signifying status of individuals, stools, among the Akan of Ghana symbolises the authority of the ethnic or nation states. Stools in Ghana, generally serves as a symbolic soul of the society which links people to the traditional leadership (Antubam, 1963; Amenuke et al, 1991). The stool carries authoritative presence and signifies leadership concept. Warriors, clan heads, chiefs, kings used it to signify their status.

   

  Stools serve as scared and authoritative object in the traditional chieftaincy institution of the southern part of Ghana. Kings/chiefs are enstooled in southern Ghana while those at northern part are enskinned. This implies that in the cultural rituals in the making of Kings/chiefs, stools are inevitable. Amongst the chiefdom, there are several ritualistic uses of stool. Some stools in the court of a chief may be used only once in his or her lifetime. Some are also used once a year during traditional festivities while some are used on daily bases.

   

  As an object strongly connected with power and authority, the Ghanaian stool has three basic parts: the arc-shaped top, the middle portion and the flat base. Its arc-shaped top symbolises loving embrace of women or the concept of motherliness (Amenuke et al, 1991; Antubam, 1963). The middle portion usually gives the stool its name based on the symbol used in representing a concept or idea. The name of the of a stool could be based on a proverb, Adinkra symbol (Figure 1), traditional emblem or idea. For example, the stool in Figure 1 derived its name from the Adinkra symbol which has been stylised to occupy the middle portion, hence the name Nyansapow Stool.

   

  

   Figure 1: Nyansapow (Wisdom knot) stool, wood, Ghana National Museum, Photo: the author.

   

  The recognition of the presence of God in the society, gender roles and the presence of children is also acknowledged by the middle part of the stool. Design of a stool may adopt basic beliefs and practices of symbolic significance to the society in general. The symbolic adaptation speaks to the visual presentation of Ghanaian societal values including concept of societal functions, cosmic beliefs, family and gender roles.

   

  As a utilitarian object, the stool plays vital roles in the rites of passage (birth, puberty rites, marriage and death) in indigenous Ghanaian and Kenyan cultures in different context. In indigenous Masai culture, stools are used by husbands as object of announcing their eminent visit to their wives on rotational basis. In many African societies, marrying more than one woman is an accepted norm just as same sex marriage are acceptable in other continents of the world. African society holds polygamy as a culture and not in negative perspective as non-African wrongly perceives it. Masai men with more than one wife usually build their houses in circular orientation, allocating a room each to the wives. The house of the man is situated in the middle of the circular-arranged houses. With this traditional set up, the stool is used as a preserve for the husband to signal his presence and authority. To announce his official intention of visiting one of the wives in the same compound, he sends his messenger to send his stool to one of the wives he intended to visit. By seeing and receiving the stool, the wife interprets this symbolic gesture to mean official announcement of her husband’s visit.

   

  Figure 2: Traditional Kenyan stool used in negotiating visitation to wives, Found in the personal collection Mary Clare Kidenda. Kenya, Photo: the author.

   

  The design of the Masai stool of Kenyan (Figure 2) varies from that of the Akan of Ghana. The Maasai stool features a circular-shaped top and prominent three-legged phallus-shaped upright stands.  Usually decorated with traditional Masai beads, the top of the stool has bowl-shaped surface that serves as a comfortable receptor of the buttocks of the user. The tip of the phallus-shaped stands touches the ground and gently bends inward, and depicts crown-shaped cork memetic of the phallus. These observable characteristic features symbolise the presence and potency of the manhood in procreation. Despite its simplistic appearance, the stool creates a collective memory of marital relationships and the supervisory power of males and the loving embrace of women. Interestingly, this depiction to the African, is not a show of chauvinism but a reminder to males to protect and care for women within their power. Generally, having secret rendezvous or extra marital affairs is frond up by society. Performing official marital rights to marry a lady is the traditional expectation rather than having them as mistresses.

   

  In Ghana, the head of a clan, warrior, chief/king and queen mothers uses the stool to symbolise authority. For that matter, the presidential seat was fashioned with inspiration from the shape of the stool. Despite the difference in design concept of the Kenyan and Ghanaian stools, both signify a collective memory of marital relationships, idea of procreation, leadership authority and the loving embrace of women in the society.

  References

  • Amenuke, S. K., Dogbe, B. K., Asare, S. K., Ayiku, F. D. &  Bafoe, A. General knowledge in Art for senior secondary schools. Evans Brothers Limited.
  • Antubam, K. (1963). Ghana’s heritage of culture. Koehler & Amelang.
  • Asihene, E. V. (1978). Understanding the traditional art of Ghana. Associated University Presses

Read more …

• 

  Mahmoud Malik Saako

  The Qur'an is typical for the time and the West African region in general. The idea originated in North Africa such as Morocco and Algeria. But the writing was later, influenced by the Hausa and Mande scholars in West Africa. The texts in this Qur'an are the same as the original from Arabia. But there are differences in the kind of calligraphy found in these Qur'ans and those found in Arabia. One important aspect of these Qur'ans is the calligraphy that comes after the beginning of a new chapter or Surah. Again, the use of red, gold and black colour in writing the Qur'an makes them unique.

   

  Artistic features of the Qur'an

  • The leather cover used to protect the Qur'an was designed with some relief using black ink. It shows that leather workers were very important in society. Similar covers are made but in a form of a bag for the Qur'an while others are wooden covers with a leather thong used to hold the wooden covers together with the Quran.
  • The Holy Qur’an has Ayahs (words or verses) and Surahs (chapters). There is Bismillah before each Surah. The Qur'an has 114 Surahs or chapters.
  • Calligraphy works in some portions of the Qur'an. Calligraphy as the art of beautiful, decorative writing has existed in Islam since the word of God, the Qur'an, began to be written. In West Africa which was known to the Muslim world as Bilad-al-Sudan (land of the blacks), Islamic calligraphy naturally came with Islam. They are just symbolic to honour the holy text.
  • The use of three colours in writing such as gold, red and black: This shows how versatile the person was in giving an artistic impression of the Qur'an based on the Kanemi
  • A large decorated sign known as shurafah (ennoblement) is written at the end of every fifteen hizb (that is the division of the Qur’an into parts and portions). This is done as a means of honouring the holy text. (See images below.)

   

  

  The shurafah or ennoblement at the beginning or end of a chapter (surah) is indicated in the two images. The gold, red and black colours are used to give it a splendid look. (Qur’an. 16th-17th century. Mossi in Togo. Museum Fünf Kontinente Munich. Courtesy Museum Fünf Kontinente. Nr. 20-3-1. https://onlinedatenbank-museum-fuenf-kontinente.de/detail/collection/b77d064f-c603-493c-af03-fc167f739586. [Stand: 08.08.24]. Photo: Nicolai Kaestner)

   

  Material used for the Qur'an

  The paper used is brown and a bit hard as compared to today’s paper used for printing. The ink is mixed in a variety of colours. There is jet-black ink that shines. Then there is a colour of black mixed with red and another colour which is neither black nor red. The ink is obtained through the following method. The roots of the desert date tree are collected and burnt into charcoal. This charcoal is then scraped into fine powder. The powder is filtered through a light piece of cloth. Water and gum Arabic are then added and the whole mixture is left to warm up in the sun. The mixture once prepared in this way gives out a very nice smell and its taste is very sweet.

   

  Another method employed to produce the calligrapher's ink is to obtain the chaff of bulrush-millet (Pennisetum Spicotum), chips of the gum-yielding acacia (sieberiono), pods of the plant Egyptian mimosa (Acacia Arobico), slag from smithy and some bits of iron. All these items are then mixed with water. The mixture is filtered and boiled and once it is cooled it becomes ink. If the calligrapher wants a reddish colour or magenta colour imported dye of green or magenta colour is added. This type of ink is meant for the writing of the alphabet only and is always done in pure black. The ink is usually stored in small clay ink pots or small round gourds. The recent time, the ink is kept in small bottles.

   

  What are the general specifics of these early Qur’ans?

  The Qur'an is the holy text of the Islamic religion. In Islam, the Qur'an is believed to be the book of God’s words. The holy text remains sacred and unchanged since the beginning of time. The Qur'an is known as the most powerful text in Islam. Islam is a monotheistic faith and people of the religion take great pride in believing in pure monotheism. As followers of the Qur'an, Muslims must believe there is no one else besides Allah because Allah is the only one we worship sincerely, thus he is seen as the most powerful figure in the religion of Islam.

   

  The Arabic text of the holy Qur'an in a book is known as the mus-haf (literally "the pages"). There are special rules that Muslims follow when handling, touching, or reading from the mus-haf. The Quran itself states that only those who are clean and pure should touch the sacred text. It is indeed a Holy Quran, a book well-guarded, which none shall touch but those who are clean... (56:77-79). The Arabic word translated here as "clean" is mutahiroon, a word that is also sometimes translated as "purified."

   

  It was only Muslim believers who are physically cleaned through formal ablutions should touch or handle the pages of the Quran. Again, the Qur'an should be closed and stored in a clean or respectable place. Nothing should be placed on top of it, nor should it ever be placed on the floor or in a bathroom. Furthermore, when copying the Qur'an by hand, it should be legible with good handwriting. If you are reciting it you need to use a clear and beautiful voice. A worn-out copy of the Quran, with broken binding or missing pages, should not be disposed of as ordinary household trash.

   

  Acceptable ways of disposing of a damaged copy of the Quran include wrapping it in cloth and burying it in a deep hole, placing it in flowing water so the ink dissolves, or, as a last resort, burning it so that it is completely consumed. But the translated Qur'an according to some scholars can be handled either by Muslims or non-Muslims.

   

  Uses of the Qur'an

  The Qur'an is meant for reading or recitation known in Arabic as taliwa. The recitation of the Qur'an is a highly honoured performance in Islam in which Allah blesses both the reciter and the listener. A person who memorizes the whole Qur'an is given the honorary title of a Hafiz (memorizer of the Qur'an). Again, the reproduction of the written Qur'an is as important as oral recitation. Two early calligraphic styles evolved in the writing of the Qur'an, Kufic (the more boxy, angular, heavy, and formal script) and Naskhi (the more elongated, rounded, cursive script).

   

  The words in the Qur'an are regarded as the words of Allah and, therefore, handled with respect. Muslims also hold the view that some of the words contain mystical properties and as a result, Muslim religious scholars are sometimes consulted by people who have spiritual or psychological problems. They write verses from the Qur'an to ward off such evil spirits or for protection. The Qur'anic verses are often accompanied by diagrams drawn on a board and then washed off and given to the client to drink. As a result, these boards have high values based on the extent they have been used. It is believed that the older the board the more efficient it would be and vice versa.

   

  At the Museum, there is one of the Qur'anic writing wooden boards that have verses from the Quaran on one side and diagrams on the other side. This board is brown and round at the base with a handle in a form of an animal beak. The surface is smooth while some old writing has remained and can be seen (see image below).

   

  

  Board (Courtesy Museum Fünf Kontinente. Nr. 9-48. Photo: Nicolai Kaestner)

   

  Where is the Qur’an kept?

  Old Qur'ans were usually placed in two wooden covers before the use of leather cases or bags. It was easy to carry it once it was placed either in the wooden covers or in the leather bag. This is very important not to mess up the loose papers of the Qur'an. The two wooden covers after the Qur'an is placed and bound with a thong. There are two holes in the middle edge of the covers where the thong is passed through to bind the two wooden covers with the Qur'an. This method of bounding the Qur'an with wooden covers was practised during the early Abbasid period. Many of the early Abbasid manuscripts were copied into several volumes based on the Kufic script which was fairly heavy and not very dense. The Qur'ans of this early period were bound in wooden covers, structured like a box enclosed on all sides with a movable upper cover that was fastened to the rest of the structure with thongs. In this period, the Quran was arranged into 20 Juz or parts instead of the original 30 Juz during the Umayyad period. These wooden covers can be found at the Museum Fünf Kontinente (Inventar Nr 15-17-148).

   

  

  Wooden cover of a Qur'an. Museum Fünf Kontinente. (Courtesy Museum Fünf Kontinente. Nr. 15-17-148. Photo: Nicolai Kaestner)

   

  Appendix

  When is it read and how?

  It is read during the five daily worship by Muslims, at leisure times, during periods of hardship, during important occasions etc. However, in West Africa, it is read even at funeral celebrations. In many instances, the whole Qur'an is shared among those who can read, or the 30 Juz are shared among 30 people who recite or read it.

   

  Islam in West Africa

  Islam as a religion was revealed to the Prophet Mohammed in the 6^th century in the Arabian Peninsula. Africa was the first continent into which Islam spread, from the Arabian Peninsula in the early 7th century. By the 10th century, the Berbers of West Africa were converted to Islam by their North African counterparts. It was the Berber Muslims who began to spread Islam into Western Sudan by the end of the 10th century through their trading activities. The Berbers of West Africa also converted some of the Manding-speaking traders to Islam, and they also began spreading it alongside their commercial activities. It was the Mande traders who began to spread Islam into many parts of West Africa through trading activities. The nature of Islam made it easy for the indigenous people to accept it as adherents were able to tolerate, to some extent, some of the local beliefs.

   

  Later, the Hausa from northern Nigeria were also involved in the Kola-nut trade in the mid-15th century. The rulers of many of the Western Sudanese States encouraged the trans-Saharan trade and extended hospitality to both traders and visiting Muslim clerics. The most crucial factor in the diffusion of Islam into many parts of West Africa was the conversion of some of the rulers to Islam. Between the 14th and 16th centuries, many rulers of the Mali and Songhai empires were Muslims and performed the annual Islamic pilgrimages to Mecca to establish trade relationships with the Muslim world. It was during the era of European colonization of West Africa that led to the spread of Christianity among the locals. 

   

   

Read more …

• 

  Lize Kriel

  A German bowl inscribed in Africa

   

  In the process of finding out more about this baptismal bowl – where it comes from, who used it, and when it was discarded, it becomes a portal into South Africa’s contested past. Methodologically, a cultural-historical approach is taken to investigate the object as multiple signifier, not only as part of a transcontinental network, but also within a local, transcultural, context – what John and Jean Comaroff (1991, p. 200) referred to as the “long conversation” between European missionaries and African Christians.  

   

  The bowl was meant to be used with an accompanying, although, in this case, not quite matching, pitcher for the baptism ceremony, in which Christians use water to symbolise the blood of Christ washing away their sins. The Wallmansthal station where the bowl was found, was established by the Berlin Mission Society in 1869. The farm was about thirty kilometres north of Pretoria, today a capital city of South Africa. It became home to African converts gathered from the Kekana-Ndebele and several other pre-colonial northern Sotho polities (Van Rooyen, 1953, pp. 15-20). By the mid-twentieth century, the congregation was approximately 550 people strong (Schulze 2006, p. 456). Together with several other German protestant mission societies, the Berlin Mission contributed to the making of a Christian denomination referred to as “Lutheran” in South Africa today. After a century under white missionary tutelage, the African Church became independent as the Evangelical Lutheran Church of South Africa in the 1970s (Pakendorf, 2011, p. 115).

   

  Knowing that a protestant congregation in Bochum, Germany, donated a church bell to the Wallmansthal Church in 1870 (Van Rooyen, 1954, p. 26), we can deduce that the baptismal bowl may also date from this era. The pitcher bears the mark of Gerhardi & Co. Judged from its Art Nouveau design elements and knowing that this Ludenscheid-based (Gerhardi) company was quite prolific in the production of cast pewter in the Jugendstil (Online Encyclopedia), a post 1890 manufacturing date seems equally probable.

   

  Called Taufgeschirr (Baptismal dishes), bowl-and-pitcher sets of this kind are still being manufactured and used in churches in Germany today. Some congregations include images of old as well as new baptismal bowls on their websites as part of the material markers of their heritage. The exact same design displayed by the Evangelical Church of Illertissen in Germany on their website, is still in use today in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Masealama (formerly the Kratzeinstein Congregation of the Berlin Mission Church) in South Africa’s Limpopo Province (Joubert, 2015).

   

  Many baptismal bowls were inscribed with verses from the Bible. The quote on the Wallmansthal bowl is a contracted version of Matthew 19:14. What makes this bowl an exceptional object of transculturation, is the fact that its inscription appears in the early orthography of the local African language, Sepedi: “Lesang bana batle gonna, ka gobane mmuso oa Modimo ki oa bona” (NIV: “Let the little children come to me, … for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these”).

   

  The bowl was used in church services on mission stations in the same way it would be used in protestant churches in Germany: the pastor would sprinkle the children of African Christians on the forehead with water which had been poured into the bowl from the pitcher. The initial African converts, however, were baptised as adults, only after proving that they had internalised enough knowledge of the Bible and convinced the white missionaries of their commitment to the beliefs and practices of Christianity (which, well into the twentieth century, remained entwined with Western ideas about civilisation).

   

  To these converts, the baptismal bowl was symbolic of their ritual immersion into a foreign way of thinking, living and believing. And yet it was inscribed in their own language, invoking possibilities for cultural translation; for selective appropriation as well as for imbuing the alien culture with own interpretations, relating it to the indigenous and the familiar, and composing new meanings in anticipation of changing circumstances. The baptismal bowl is thus taken as reflective of broader processes of societal, economic and political reconfiguration brought about by the colonial encounter, but with an emphasis on African resilience.

   

  On the site where the Wallmansthal baptismal bowl was used, these processes played themselves out in a series of extraordinary episodes that indirectly also related to broader world-political epochs: Up until the First World War, the Wallmannsthal land sustained an African Christian farming community. In 1936, as an attempt to address their post-war financial crisis, the Berlin Mission sold off a large section of the farm, giving the (exclusively black) African buyers full title deeds for their plots. Until after the Second World War, Wallmannsthal was a bustling African town giving its inhabitants the economic advantage of being close to job opportunities in Pretoria (Van der Merwe, 1987, pp. 69, 135).

   

  In 1967 the Apartheid government forcibly removed all the inhabitants, including the Berlin Mission Christians who had still lived on the retainer of the farm where the Church and other mission station buildings were (Schulze, 2005, p. 458). Wallmannsthal then became a military base and arms depot for the South African Defence Force. During the late 1980s, with the Cold War still dictating international relations and South African whites slowly awakening to the need for political reform, the Defence Force contemplated the restoration of the site. These plans never materialised.

   

  In the early twenty-first century, in a successful land claim, the Wallmannsthal farm was returned to the descendants of its early twentieth century owners. The restitution did not herald a final episode of utopian prosperity. Increasing demands on limited resources seem to be one of the reasons for the reinstated landowners’ current challenges, ranging from obtaining municipal infrastructure, to addressing the status of illegal squatters on their land, and designing the best possible ways of yielding a sustainable livelihood for an increasing population (eNCAnews, 2018).

   

  Today the Evangelical Lutheran Church of South Africa is but only one of several Christian denominations in South Africa with missionary roots. Many more South Africans belong to African independent or African initiated churches – and, increasingly, international churches with their roots elsewhere in the Global South. The process of inscribing Christianity with own meaning and local significance, continues.

   

   

  References:

  • 925-1000.com (2018). Online encyclopedia of silver marks, hallmarks and maker’s marks. Retrieved from https://www.925-1000.com/silverplate_G.html.
  • Comaroff, J & Comaroff, J. (1991). Of revelation and revolution. Christianity, colonialism and consciousness in South Africa I. Chicago: Chicago University Press.
  • eNCAnews (2018, 27 October). Pretoria land claims. Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/eNCAnews/videos/pretoria-land-claims/302862580316147/
  • Evangelische Kirchengemeinde Illertissen (2019). Die Taufe. Retrieved from https://evang-kirche-illertissen.de/informationen/taufe/
  • Gerhardi (2019). Gerhardi – Ein innovatives Traditionsunternehmen. Retrieved from http://www.gerhardi.com/index.php?id=9&L=0
  • Joubert, A. (2015). A journey into the life of a mission-ethnographer. doi: 10.6084/m9.figshare.1375528
  • Pakendorf, G. (2011). A brief history of the Berlin Mission Society in South Africa, History Compass, 9/2, 106-118.
  • Schulze, A. (2005). “In Gottes Namen Hütten Bauen“. Kirchlicher Landbesitz in Südafrika: Die Berliner Mission und die Evangelisch-Lutherische Kirche Südafrikas zwischen 1834 und 2005. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner.
  • Van der Merwe, W. (1987). Die Berlynse Sendinggenootskap en Kerkstigting in Transvaal, 1904-1062. Pretoria: Government Printers.
  • Van Rooyen, T.S. (1953). Kronieke van Wallmansthal I, Pretoriana: Journal of the Old Pretoria Society 4, 15-20.
  • Van Rooyen, T.S. (1954). Kronieke van Wallmansthal III, Pretoriana: Journal of the Old Pretoria Society 2, 24-28.

   

   

  published February 2020

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

  The Rising Sea by El Anatsui is a naturalistic presentation of an ocean in turbulence, which elicit attention through both grotesquery and finesse. The work, which covers an area of about 14,38 by 6,90 meters, is made up of several pieces of flattened aluminum bottle tops stitched together with copper wires into a massive sheet of grey wall overlay.

   

  To achieve the intended illusion, the artist manipulated portions of the metal fabric into large series of ridges of different sizes that combine into an irregular rhythm randomly positioned across the surface of the sheet to simulate sea waves. Beyond supporting the movements of the sea waves, the rhythm created by the raised portions of the work also provides narrow range of values that effectively bring out the three-dimensionality of the work and transforms the otherwise flat sheet into an illusionistic volume. 

   

  Like the texture of oil paints in Van Gogh’s Starry Night, the texture of the stitched pieces of metals sheets introduce energy into the work, bringing out the fluidity of the sea and the potency of the mesmeric sea waves. Indeed, improper disposal of those materials used (and many others) is causing a lot of nuisance in his home country and other parts around the globe, with the sea being the most affected. Therefore, right from the materials used to its marvelous finishing, it is not difficult to discern a blend of severe censuring and admonition in the voice of the artist. The sea is, in the way presented, depicted as rising against improper treatment; and El, by the pains taken to stitch every piece of material together, seems to emphasize the need to make it our business to salvage the sea from improper handling.

   

  The sea, which has served as an important source of livelihood for Ghanaians over the centuries invokes multidimensional viewpoints and draws out divergent responses and reactions depending on its relationship with the people. Among the coastal dwellers (and indeed a very great population of Ghanaians), the sea is considered an important resource for commercial activities, an arena for entertainment and recreation and grounds for spiritual exploits and worship.

   

  He himself being born in the coastal town of Anyako in the Volta Region of Ghana, El seems to know so much about the sea. Growing up, he most likely experienced the sea being perceived, treated and utilized in many different ways. Besides its major use for commercial activities and other useful ventures, he might have listened to many stories about the sea as a god (with other inhabitants), as a provider and as a friend. He might have learnt about how the sea and her inhabitants contribute to the fortunes of the people. He might have witnessed how people got healed as they bathed in the sea, or had their fortunes turned around as they threw some coins in the ocean and made their requests known to the sea.

   

  Beyond this, he might have also been warned about the consequences of flouting the taboos and other prohibitions that regulate the “use” of the sea, including forbiddance from desecrating the sea with unhealthy practices such as defecating in the sea, throwing filth into the sea or wearing sandals or shoes in the sea and the need to observe the tabooed fishing days, and so on. Besides, another important thing which Ghanaian coastal dwellers take very seriously is the need to adhere to physical signs and conditions of the sea, which have various local interpretations and implications. For instance, there are periods when the sea is considered as “full”, during which times the sea waves “rise” and become more intense and turbulent. Fisher folks are supposed to take a rest from “climbing the sea” (as they say in the local parlance) as the sea is likely to be unfriendly, and therefore unconducive for fishing.

   

  Factors that cause the “rising” of the sea may not be ordinarily known. However, according to coastal dwellers, there is always something sinister about a rising sea – either somebody got drowned, or someone or a group of persons might have violated the rules of the sea god – and what motivated El in his presentation of the Rising sea might not be any different from what are traditionally believed. Probably the sea is fed up with deliberate dumping of wastes and toxic materials into her bowels. Therefore, she must rise!

   

  But the “full” or “rising” sea is not as unfriendly as it sounds. Though it prevents fishing activities, which might be one way of punishing the people for disrespecting her, it also affords the people the opportunity to dry up their canoes, mend their nets and relax in the beautiful view of the sea along the coast. The occasions of the rising sea also witness other people who just move along the shores to observe the large waves that gather in the deep ocean, roll angrily towards the shoreline and dissolve tumultuously at the shore in a creamy white lather. The views at the seashore during these periods are nothing short of aesthetical experience that is shared by different kinds of observers with different perceptions, questioning, discussing, enjoying.

  In so many ways therefore, the spectacle of observers in front of El Anatsui’s gigantic reconstruction of the Rising Sea gives so much semblance to the natural phenomenon, and this is a fundamental underpinning to the success of El’s work.

   

  Culturally, the Rising Sea could be perceived as an allusion to the dynamisms in life, which sometimes rise against human tendencies and restrict mundane behavior, at the same time ensuring regularization of natural behaviors. What is important is to identify what is causing what, and how to seek for the right solutions.

   

  For it to be presented as an aesthetic piece of work, El is probably saying that, the Rising is Sea is frightening; it is confusing; it is chaotic. But she is still beautiful, because in the right time, when given the right treatment, she will calm down so we have nothing to fear. She is still our god, our friend, our provider and our protector.

   

   

  published February 2020

  

  Ernst Wagner

  El Anatsui (* 1944) created 'Rising Sea' 2019 specifically for a particular wall in a comprehensive solo exhibition of his oeuvre entitled “Triumphant Scale” at the ‘Haus der Kunst’ in Munich. Like many of his other works, “Rising Sea” is a large-scale piece comprised of thousands of flattened liquor bottle caps (extrapolated approx. 190.000) that have been tied together with copper wire. It hangs like a large tapestry from ceiling to floor and though it looks solid, it is flexible and has a seemingly textile structure. The effect is monumental and magnificent; it impresses by the sheer size as well as by the sensual materiality of the almost infinite number of small, shimmering pieces of tinplate.

   

  To see the composition we need to view the work from a distance. The sculpture is divided into three starkly contrasting horizontal zones. A vibrantly colored strip runs along the bottom. It appears fragile and becomes thinner and interrupted as it runs toward the lower right corner. The broad, massive, monochrome grey zone in the middle falls with heavy folds. The third zone at the top is a narrow, shiny, silver and smoother appearing plane that rises from its lower edge on the left in a sharp line upwards to the right, like a ‘Silberstreif’ (i.e. glimmer of hope).

   

  Nearing the work, we discover bright flecks of color that emerge out of the shimmering mother-of-pearl gray middle zone. While some of the flecks appear to build concrete figurations others seem to be randomly dispersed. In the lower right corner small speckles of color gravitate toward and buzz around a concentrated cluster of speckles. We are enticed to move closer and to discover more details. Individual bottle tops become recognizable out of a speckled ‘field of pixels' or 'threads in the fabric’. One recognizes and reads the labels "Turn to open" and the names of African high-proof alcoholic beverages that are popular in Ghana or Nigeria where El Anatsui lives and works (KP Beverages, Bacco , etc.)

   

  As with an impressionist painting, this work enables and requires two different viewing positions: close up and from a distance. Both perspectives tell different stories. In contrast to impressionism, El Anatsui’s stories address political and social issues of highest relevance. From a distance, the rising water level caused by global warming is addressed, to which the title of the work 'Rising Sea' refers. “Reading” from left to right, sculptural folds in the large gray middle area remind us of mighty waves that are in the process of destroying the narrow, speckled strip on the floor that we may associate with human dwellings and their fragile situation. The ‘Silberstreif’ is dwindling and so is hope. Obviously, this meaning is addressed directly and in all clarity.

   

  The inscriptions on the bottle tops tell another story, the story of alcohol and slave trade during European colonialism in West Africa. Thousands of Africans were sold and taken across the Atlantic in ships to cut sugar cane in the Caribbean plantations to make rum. The rum was shipped to England and then later sold to Africa. Rum with its high alcohol content became another means of dominating an already exploited people. In the course of time, West Africans commonly used rum and other forms of alcohol for libations. However, El Anatsui only uses discarded bottle caps from liquor made in Africa today.

   

  In turn, the process of 'sewing' the individual metal pieces together is an important, additional cultural-historical referral to El Anatsui’s roots in West Africa where there is a long tradition of weaving colorful textiles.

  The close-up view of “Rising Sea” thus speaks of the past in West-Africa. Whereby the view from the distance, speaks of the future, a future that directly and indirectly affects the world globally. The narrative strands are connected by the idea of upcycling: discarded bottle caps become art, the cheapest material becomes sumptuous beauty, the past becomes present and future, regional colonialism becomes the narrative of a global threat.

   

  It is important to remember that it is a black artist from Ghana exhibiting this threatening beauty in a space that was built in Munich to serve National Socialist racism. The title of the exhibition 'Triumphant Scale' alludes directly to this context, which Okwui Enwezor, the initiator of the exhibition, was certainly aware of.  The Nazi regime, a regime without scale, built the Haus der Kunst, a building that broke all scales.  El Anatsiu’s magnificent, grand scale triumphs over the excessive Nazi scale.

   

  Challenging the Western concept of art

  As an artist, El Anatsui is a representative of the Global South as well as of global art. He displays past and present catastrophes in decorative splendor.  We can understand this message through classical analysis and interpretation on the base of the iconography of material and motifs. This system of decoding is familiar to us and confirms our Western expectations of a work of art. However, the simple explicitness of the content of El Anatsui’s work, poses a challenge to Western expectations of open, complex, self-contradicting art.

   

  According to the latent notion of the community of art experts, if there is a clear content in art it should be as ironic, witty or distanced as possible. Hence, the intrinsic value of art (l'art pour l'art) eludes ideological appropriation and art gives no instructions for action. None of these tenets of Western art is is evident in Anatsui’s work. "Turn to open” with an arrow pointing up or down is the instruction repeated thousands of times in the middle section of “Rising Sea”. The sentence can be read as a directive for us to act on the challenges of our time.

   

  El Anatsui thus negates the ‘prohibition' of unequivocal, direct symbolism and narration in the Western concept of art and its associated prohibition of politics and agitation. As a global artist, he challenges this concept. In addition, it is interesting to note that El Anatsui, unlike most Western artists, often leaves the responsibility of installing his work in exhibitions to the respective curators. In every exhibition, the same works look a little different, or quite different: folds will fall differently, pieces will be grouped differently and work that has been previously exhibited hanging on the wall may even be presented lying on the floor. With this artistic strategy, he formulates an unmistakable position from the Global South. Thus Western dominance loses its normative power in art and culture in general. The world becomes more diverse and polycentric.

   

  Learn more about El Anatsui.

   

   

  published February 2020

  

  ISB_Team

  Two perspectives on one work of art
  

  In 2019, a large solo exhibition of the Ghanaian artist El Anatsui, initiated by Okwui Enwezor, took place at Munich's Haus der Kunst. It was the occasion for Patrique deGraft-Yankson and Ernst Wagner to write together about one of the works there. deGraft-Yankson and Ernst Wagner agreed on a parallel writing process in order to minimise any mutual influence of their respective approaches. Thus, they knew nothing of each other's point of view. The resulting texts can be read above.

   

  The result of this exercise is surprising and fascinating. In some aspects, of course, the interpretations of the work coincided, but in others they differed considerably. What they had in common, for example, was the appreciation of the production process and the impressive effect of material, size and surfaces. Also that the issue of environmental pollution plays a central role in the interpretation of Rising Sea. But it was precisely here that the first differences, even mutually exclusive approaches, emerged: for example, when deGraft-Yankson referred to the sea as a deity, a deity that can sometimes be friendly, but also unfriendly. Understood in this way, the sea in its immediate effect is simultaneously frightening and beautiful, it threatens and at the same time invites aesthetic enjoyment.

   

  Ernst Wagner could easily relate this aspect to the Western aesthetic of the sublime, however, the difference becomes quite clear when we look at the underlying concept of what an art work is. deGraft-Yankson's text takes the work of art as its point of departure, but it always speaks of the sea itself, while Ernst Wagner always speaks of the work - and not of the sea. This different focus marks a fascinating difference: deGraft-Yankson is concerned with the sea, which he brings to us through his discussion, while Ernst Wagner is concerned with a work of art that simply has the sea as its subject. For deGraft-Yankson, the sea is "in" the work, it is really present. For Ernst Wagner, the sea is a represented motif, it lies "behind" the work, so to speak. It serves as a theme or a point of reference.

   

  This has consequences for the methodology: while Ernst Wagner delivers an analysis of form, deGraft-Yankson focuses on contextualising the art work; he describes the significance of the sea for the people on the Ghanaian coast today. This difference is probably also due to the different perceptions of what the sea itself is: in his text, deGraft-Yankson speaks of the sea as an independent, souled entity, an acting being or a god that enters into a relationship with people. For Ernst Wagner, the sea - as part of the ecosystem - is also in relationship with humans, but he does not ascribe an independent will to it.

   

  These different understandings of the relationship between human beings and the world are then echoed in an obviously equally different concept of what art or an art work is. In deGraft-Yankson's text, the work of art, like the sea itself, is charged with energy. The sea appears, as it were in the work, indeed it is present there. In the work, then, the sea materialises as something we perceive directly. In this sense, the work and the sea appeal to us to "preserve it from improper treatment [...] or it will be desecrated."

   

  This approach of deGraft-Yankson, in which everything interpenetrates, is contrasted with Ernst Wagner's approach, which analytically separates everything: proximity and distance, splendour to be enjoyed and admonition to be taken seriously, discourse on colonialism and ecology, work and motif, art system and ecology, art system and colonialism, and so on. In the end, Ernst Wagner achieves a synthesis, but it only works on a meta-level by addressing the irritation of the Western concept of art through Anatsui's work. An irritation that dissolves or at least relativises the fundamental separation in Western understanding of viewer and object, of sign (the concrete work) and signified (the rising sea), of spirituality and reality, of art and ethics.

   

   

  Annette Schemmel, then member of the ISB group, wrote to the the authors in 2020:

  "Dear Patrique, dear Ernst,

   

  Your texts are a great read and so complementary! For me, writing from Munich, the aspects raised by Patrique have opened up an entirely new reading of this marvellous piece of art, which I was lucky to contemplate at the exhibition of Haus der Kunst. What you're telling about Ghanaians' relation to the sea is unveiling and beautiful, thank you for unfolding these narratives here! Thank you all the more for sharing a piece of local wisdom (how the sea can react angrily) and linking these narratives to the global challenge of saving the sea, a challenge with impacts on localities all over. On another note, the evocation of "Starry Night" caught my eye at once and does make a lot of sense to me. I will be using it in my art classes, if you don't mind.

  
  Ernst's reading of the piece is much more familiar to me, obviously. He is telling about the context of the exhibition on site in Munich, a context that is so highly charged! When exhibited at this specific museum, Anatsui's work can't but comment on our German history, laughing at its racism by means of its "immoderate" dimensions and calling for a long-due revision of our role in colonialism and in exploitative global circuits of goods like alcohol. It is for this potential of speaking to a place that artworks should always be seen in different locations!

  
  I would also like to point out that Ernst is exemplifying a familiar method of accessing artworks here, a method that I am happily teaching to my pupils. This method from academic art history wants you to start from close observation and description of formal aspects of the work before risking an interpretation. By means of this strategy arguments about a work of art are meant to become more solid, even if this visible gesture of searching for the right interpretation makes a text less smooth. Thus, Patrique's and Ernst's approaches are totally complementary.

  
  This said, I am not agreeing with Ernst in the way that "Rising Sea" is explicit in a way that certain Western art lovers might want to criticize. They might, but they would be very wrong. Let me explain: to me, the reproach of explicity rhymes with simplicity and a lack of layerdness. As you both have shown, "Rising Sea" does have multiple layers of possible interpretation and certainly some more, which have not been addressed here. These layers are visible, not only but most clearly, if the work is read against the backdrop of different locales. Artworks from our global age command us to look at them with changing perspectives. If certain Western art lovers can't be bothered to do this, they will forever be missing the point. Their fault. Let me add that you might even spot a good deal of irony in the way that El Anatsui has made this piece outstandingly beautiful, caressing the eye to the degree that every exhibition visitor wanted to take a selfie in front of it, while at the same time pointing to some very painful and threatening truths about today's humankind. Therefore, I would like to uphold that this artwork's relation to the viewers and to its places of exhibition is complex and challenging rather than simple or explicit.

   

  Annette"

  
  
  

Read more …

• 

  Kwasi Ohene-Ayeh

   

  The Ghana National Pavilion at last year’s 58th International Art Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia served to augment the fervent energy of contemporary art already simmering in its locality. The Pavilion staged a stellar intergenerational selection of six “multi-local”¹ artists from Ghana— Felicia Ansah Abban, El Anatsui, John Akomfrah, Lynette Yiadom-Boakye, Selasi Awusi Sosu and Ibrahim Mahama— whose works range between photography, painting, film, video, and installation. Stationed in the Artiglierie within the Arsenale, the Pavilion displayed the artists' works in continuous cylindrical enclosures designed by architect David Adjaye, and executed with laterite soil couriered from Ghana. The nation’s debut outing at the Biennale, titled Ghana Freedom, summoned the “boundlessness” and euphoria in the spirit of self-determination promised in its mid-century Independence moment and epitomised in such cultural events as the World Festival of Black Arts— the first being Festival Mondial des Arts Nègres (FESMAN) which took place in 1966 in Dakar, Senegal, and then the Festival of Arts and Culture (FESTAC) which happened in Lagos, Nigeria, in 1977. “There is no longer any need to look back in the same way as an act of reclamation or reaction”, writes the curator Nana Oforiatta Ayim, since “these pathways remain with us and evolve”(Ayim, 2019, pp. 31).

   

  The emancipatory ideal summarised in the titular of the exhibition is a poignant basis for this evolution given the colonial mediation of Ghana’s formal education in general, and art education in particular (seid’ou, 2014; seid’ou, 2016). In this regard, Ghana Freedom could be said to have countenanced an approach to the practice of art that is unconstrained by the de-contextualised imposition of the beaux-arts tradition which became ingrained through colonial instruction in the Gold Coast (pre-independence Ghana) from the late-19th century to the late-1950s, and which prevailed in the postcolonial mediation from then till the first decade of the 21st century. Exhibitions of this dispensation predominantly lacked curatorial direction. Indeed, the Ghana Pavilion, however obliquely, can also be said to have announced the inventiveness of emergent exhibition practices in the country. For example, Ibrahim Mahama’s early site-oriented and itinerant exhibitions in public places is a pragmatic and critical response to the derelict infrastructural conditions an art practitioner in the country has to contend with. Mahama’s attitude to this systemic neglect is traceable to the interventionist ethic and affirmative politics of blaxTARLINES KUMASI.²

   

  It goes without saying that  the spectacular occasion of the Pavilion accumulates cultural capital for the nation in asserting a compelling place and reputation as far as the global mainstream of art is concerned— more especially for a nation which has been treated as a footnote in literature on the history of art in Africa. It is therefore our task to, so to speak, “brush history against the grain” (Benjamin, 1969, pp. 257) by practically intervening in it through such exhibition making ventures. In this vein, the success of the Pavilion highlights two major points for discussion.

   

  The first is a dialectical situation. At a time when cultural institutions and producers are enduring famishing conditions as far as state support or infrastructural systems are concerned, the state has demonstrated that it is possible to alter this fate— seeing as the Ministries of Finance and that of Tourism, Arts, and Culture, respectively supported and commissioned the Pavilion. But now that the impossible has happened, one would have thought that prioritising a National Pavilion would pave the way to launch serious longterm cultural policies ensuring continued presence in Venice itself, and also to invest in and build the necessary economic and cultural support structures for those local practitioners who are in dire need of it. As this is yet to happen, it will be crucial for Ghana to sustain the legacy of the Pavilion beyond the rhetoric of representation, even if it turns out to be a one-time affair.

   

  Secondly, turning our attention to local relevance, the intention of the organisers to, later that year,  bring the exhibition to the National Museum of Ghana to be able to show it to local audiences and to generate new knowledge has yet to materialise, for whatever reasons.³ This is unfortunate given the curator’s unequivocal concern for institution building and the “possibilities of artistic development in Ghana itself” (Ayim, 2019, pp. 140). If we keep in mind, apropos Borges, that every exhibition, at any given moment, based on its arguments or claims, “creates its own precursors” and therefore holds the potential to alter our conceptions of both past and future within that genealogy,⁴ then it presently counts as a missed opportunity not to have optimised Ghana Freedom in terms of creating history rather than solely staging one. What I mean is that the exhibition could have served as an epistemic site through which to actively produce and update the history of contemporary art in Ghana. For example, by citing⁵ or acknowledging the timeliness in the return of the exhibition to the National Museum falling on the 20th anniversary of South Meets West⁶ — the seldom talked-about contemporary art exhibition of African artists based on the continent and in the diaspora which also took place at the National Museum in 1999 with an artist lineup including Atta Kwami, Tracey Rose, and Yinka Shonibare— in addition to such “precursors” as FESMAN, FESPAC and “Authentic/Ex-centric".⁷

   

  Such an instance would have contributed to the intellectual legacy of Ghana Freedom in fulfilling the task of theorising the newly emergent curatorial and artistic paradigms in Ghana, all the while establishing the critical connections, differences, and evolutions between postcolonial and transnational antedatings of such political attitudes to exhibition making. This is especially important when we take the emancipatory promise of contemporary art seriously by considering the exhibition as a system that is not only meant for [re]producing spectacular displays, while taking the commodification of art for granted, but as one which deploys the convergence of symbolic and material consequences enveloped in the immanent tensions of history and power. Particularly when we acknowledge that the National Pavilion structure of the Venice Biennale impedes the institution from turning towards the non-imperialist substance of contemporary art.⁸

   

  It remains to be seen how far representation of culture as the sole basis of participating in such blue-chip events as the Venice Biennale can get us⁹ (or any nation with egalitarian aspirations for that matter). Let us also not forget that biennales have not always existed, nor should they necessarily always exist in the future.¹⁰ Accepting this, at least, cautions us not to take its existence as well as what it promises for granted. If we succeed in the latter it breeds conformism which can be opposite to true freedom. To boot, the present COVID-19 pandemic has gone a long way to expose the fragility of existing exhibition conventions as it threatens to revolutionize our economic, socio-cultural, health and political sectors on a planetary scale. The institutions by which we traditionally associate the production, circulation and experience of art— i.e. galleries, museums, the art market, etc.— have all suddenly ground to a halt and are facing the challenge to structurally rethink their modus operandi. Therefore the future of exhibition making, as we know it, is what is currently at stake. We are confronted with the task, now, as in previous times in history, to be more inventive with the exhibition form. Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung, artistic director of Sonsbeek (2020-2024), articulates this grammar of contingency well enough in the epigraph.

   

  Where Ghana goes from here in verifying art as an egalitarian universality and creating particular models to suit its locality is entirely up to us, its protagonists. And so the question becomes, when such real threats and crises have paled the superficiality of representation (in other words, when all the pomp and pageantry of Ghana Freedom has disappeared), what will its historical substance be posthumously based on?

   

   

  Read more on the Ghana pavilion from a different perspective: "Red Ghanaian Soil" by Natalie Göltenboth

  About Selasi Awusi Sosu's presentation at the pavilion see: Link

  About Ibrahim Mahama's "Savannah Center for Contemporary Art" in Tamale see: Link

   

   

  Footnotes

  ¹Taiye Selasi uses this term in her essay Who is Afraid of a National Pavilion? in Ayim (2019 pp.38-44).

  ²Both Mahama and Selasi Sosu are alumni of KNUST and active protagonists of blaxTARLINES who espouse these transformations. This internationally networked collective has been functioning as the contemporary art incubator in the Department of Painting & Sculpture in Ghana’s foremost Art College at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science & Technology (KNUST) since 2015, and has radically upended the hegemony of salon style display formats erstwhile ubiquitous in commercial galleries, hotel lobbies, and other spaces which had contrived the realisation of artistic potential primarily for the patronage of tourists.

  ³Nana Oforiatta Ayim confirmed in her lecture in ibid. (in June) after its opening on May 11th that the show would be at the National Museum of Ghana later that year.

  ⁴I appropriate this thought from Jorge Luis Borges in his essay Kafka and his Precursors (1951).

  ⁵By citing, I do not mean merely mentioning (since the curator succeeded in mentioning FESMAN, FESPAC and “Authentic/Ex-centric” as precursors), but through curatorial research, and coming to terms with their historical, theoretical, and aesthetic substance and formulating an argument that deals critically with the claims and implications of these events through an analysis of their significance to our own epoch. 

  ⁶South Meets West is an exhibition organized by Kunsthalle Bern and Historical Museum of Bern in collaboration with the National Museum of Ghana which happened in Accra in 1999 and travelled to Bern in 2000. The exhibition curators are Dr. Bernhard Fibicher (Kunsthalle Bern, assisted by Eszter Gyarmathy), Dr Yacouba Konaté (Université d’Abidjan-Cocody, Côte d’Ivoire), Dr. Yvonne Vera (National Gallery Bulawayo, Zimbabwe). Participating artists are Jane Alexander, Fernando Alvim, Meshac Gaba, Kendell Geers, Tapfuma Gutsa, Atta Kwami, Goddy Leye, Zwelethu Mthethwa, Tracey Rose, Yinka Shonibare, Pascale Marthine Tayou, Yacouba Touré, Minnette Vári, and Dominique Zinkpe. The catalogue included texts by Oladélé A. Bamgboyé, Dr. Bernard Fibicher, Kendell Geers, Clive Kellner, Dr. Yacouba Konaté, Atta Kwami, Simon Njami, Prof. Joe Nkrumah, Tonie Okpe and Sarah Zürcher. See South Meets West (2000).

  ⁷Oforiatta Ayim acknowledged her debt to Salah Hassan’s and Olu Oguibe’s curated exhibition at the 49th Venice Biennale in 2001, Authentic/Ex-centric: Africa In and Out of Africa. See Ayim (2019. pp. 140).

  ⁸Oforiatta Ayim commented on the problematics of this in our public conversation in op. cit. @thestudioaccra. (2019). Taiye Selasi also points at this issue in her catalog essay.

  ⁹The curator of the Pavilion, Nana Oforiatta Ayim, states her motivations for realising the Pavilion as such: “One of my driving forces [for being in Venice] is this idea of representation— of voice, of narrative— of who gets to speak the narrative.” She made this statement in a public conversation I had with her at @thestudioaccra. (2019, June 27). Ghana Pavilion Venice Biennale: Conversation with Nana Oforiatta Ayim. [Facebook post]. https://web.facebook.com/accrastudio/photos/a.1118364178194088/2491384694225356/?type=3&theater. Audio of lecture is in author’s archives, courtesy @thestudioaccra. 

  ¹⁰I appropriate this thought from Walter Benjamin who, in a similar spirit of contingency, was speaking particularly of the novel form in literature. See Benjamin (1998. pp. 89).

   

   

   

  References

   

  • Ayim, N. O. (Ed.). (2019). Ghana Freedom: Ghana Pavilion at the 58th International Art Exhibition La Biennale di Venezia [catalogue]. Koenig Books.
  • Benjamin, W. (1969). Theses on the Philosophy of History. In Hannah Arendt (Ed.) Illuminations: Essays and Reflections. Schocken Books.
  • Benjamin, W. (1998). The Author as Producer. In Understanding Brecht: Walter Benjamin. Verso.
  • Mitter, S. (2020). Art Biennials Were Testing Grounds. Now They Are Being Tested. 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/01/arts/design/art-fairs-biennials-virus.html. Accessed 6th May, 2020.
  • seid’ou k. (2006). Theoretical Foundations of the KNUST Painting Programme: A Philosophical inquiry and its contextual relevance in Ghanaian Culture [Unpublished PhD Thesis]. Kumasi: KNUST.
  • seid’ou, k. (2014). Gold Coast Hand and Eye Work: A Genealogical History. Global Advanced Research Journal of History. Political Science and International Relations ISSN: 2315-506X Vol. 3(1). pp. 008-016.
  • South Meets West exhibition catalogue. 2000. Kunsthalle Bern, NÀWÁO. ISBN 3-85780-124-7.

   

   

  published May 2020

Read more …

Read more …

• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

   

  The discovery of gold in South Africa in the mid 19 thcentury brought about a gold rush. In particular, the discovery of gold at the Langlaagte farm in 1886 attracted fortune seekers from all over the world. With the main gold deposits far below the surface, the need for mining engineering skills increased and resulted into the growth and development of the Johannesburg City Witwatersrand gold reef. Soon mining companies like Hermann Eckstein, Cecil Rhodes and Charles Rudd Gold Fields were established, resulting into mining shares as the trade with precious metal escalated. The traders from various corporations expanded their businesses. The mines however, were labelled as “dangerous” and proved risky for the mainly black miners. This prompted the recruitment of the Chinese to work in the mines in the early 1900s. The struggle of black miners continued over the years, as well as the forced displacement from their land, resulting into the emergence of townships such as Soweto. The disappropriation of their land left the people devastated and the land degraded.

   

  The image shows what is left behind - barren land; land that was degraded after the mining. Sometimes the blessing of minerals can be turned into a “curse of resources” if not handled well. In the rest of Africa, Angola, for instance, the forceful banishment of native people from their land in order to make way for gold, copper, oil and gas exploitation has similar destructive consequences as in South Africa. Similarly, Ghana has had its share of the mineral deposits that have led to expropriations and displacements of landowners and farmers.  All these challenges that Africa is facing today need urgent solutions.

   

  Land is the mother of nature. In order to create true sustainable wealth, we need land. Arable land is crucial for food production and safe living. In the 21^st century, human development, technology development, industrialisation and urbanization have changed the land use. 

   

  Land use conflicts among large multinationals and local communities have increased in Africa. However, only few proper planning of peaceful co-existence is done. In September 2015, the UN member states agreed on a set of 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), which represent the global agenda for equitable, socially inclusive, and environmentally sustainable economic development until 2030. Mining companies have the potential to become leading partners in achieving the SDGs. Through their direct operations, mining companies can generate profits, employment, and economic growth in low-income countries. Through partnerships with government and civil society, mining companies can ensure that benefits of mining extend beyond the profit of the mine itself, so that the mining industry has a positive impact on the natural environment, climate change, and social capital.

   

  Land use-related impacts and environmental impacts affecting human health and human rights continue to be important social aspects in the mining sector long after the discovery of gold in 1884.  The benefits from the revenue are great and raise of employment is positive. However, the demographic changes and migration due to the presence of mines as well as the land use impacts are key challenges to sustainability. In evaluating the mining sector's contribution to society, the negative effects are often underscored. The economic values added in general are portrayed as the positive impacts leaving out the land degradation and resulting demographic dynamics. Consequently, the sector has been involved in controversies over the years.

   

  Most of the arable land has been damaged and polluted especially due to mining. This in turn has resulted into food insecurity and lack of descent housing, among other challenges. The burning of coal as an energy source has resulted into massive increase of global warming. The destruction of arable land is serious. The effect of mineral exploitation on arable land is multifaceted ( Mancinia & Salab. (2018). It causes large areas to be left unproductive but also degradation of water supply. These factors lead to socio-economic structural issues in mining areas. Such areas with hidden cracks would inevitably lack future sustainable development. Without proper compensation for the withdrawal from the cultivated land, the sustainable development of mining areas becomes a complex issue that hovers for generations.

   

  Sustainable development would require partnerships at all levels and sectors. This article is a call to the mining giants to act responsibly to compensate the landowners, put sustainable mining practices into place and give back the land. According to South Africa History Online (https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/land-labour-and-apartheid) land, labour and migrant systems created by the apartheid era continue to disadvantage black society. Firstly, the communities were broken up, families dismantled and people left in abject poverty. Secondly, the policies of the Land Act of 1913 followed by the Land Act of 1933, left little to be desired over land. Coupled with the Bantu education systems, black South Africans still struggle to acquire land.

   

  The images portray the left behind in spirit, soul and body.

   

  References

  • Land, Labour and Apartheid. South African History online. Retrieved from https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/land-labour-and-apartheid
  • Ka, J., Ayitey J. Za, Kuusaana E.D and Gavu E.Ka. ( 2015). Who is the rightful recipient of mining compensation for land use deprivation in Ghana? Kidido Resources Policy 43 (2015) 19–27
  • Mancinia, L. &  Serenella Salab, S.  (2018). Social impact assessment in the mining sector: Review and comparison of indicators frameworks. Resources Policy 57 (2018) 98–111
  • Yong-feng, L., Yuan-hua, L.,  Zhuan-ping, D.  &  Jie, C. (2009). Effect of coal resources development and compensation for damage to cultivated land in mining areas. Mining Science and Technology 19 (2009) 620–625.

   

   

  published May 2020