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  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

   

   

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  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. 

   

   

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  Zoe Schoofs

  The oriental carpet — in Europe it was once proof of the owner's long journeys or good trade relations, but in the regions of origin it was an everyday object used everywhere, often with a reference to paradise. With the invasion of Afghanistan by Soviet troops, the aesthetic concept changed — instead of lively gardens and elaborate arabesque patterns, suddenly there were tanks and weapons — so-called war rugs were created. Not only, but also for European viewers, whose idea of carpets is decisively influenced by classical Persian appearances, these new conventions of representation represent a break with the familiar. Soldiers, diplomats and war correspondents brought such pieces with them from their stays in Afghanistan and made them known in Europe and the USA. Enthusiasts and museum staff were quickly found to create collections of these objects, including the collectors Hans Werner Mohm, Till Passow and Enrico Mascelloni, as well as the Museum für Völkerkunde in Freiburg and Die Neue Sammlung – The Design Museum in Munich.

   

  Carpets from the Orient were already popular at European courts in the 13th century, as they referred to the good trade relations with the Near and Middle East and served as prestigious items of the interior. Carpets were imported, but were also knotted directly in European court manufactories. With the enthusiasm for the Orient that emerged in the middle of the 19th century, the perception of carpets, whose origin had been relatively irrelevant until then, changed to a meticulous, scientific analysis, especially with regard to origin and iconography. World exhibitions and museums made them accessible to an ever wider public. While up to then carpets from courtly and urban manufactories had been the object of desire, over time those with a nomadic context became the centre of interest (Jansen 2001: 138). While this interest had already subsided on the part of the ruling dynasties in the 17th century, carpets for decorative use were produced for the bourgeoisie in the course of the industrial revolution. In 1861 William Morris founded his company Morris & Co. in Great Britain. "Over time, the carpet became part of an aesthetic 'spatial concept'. The technique and decorative motifs were first adopted from the Orient, but then adapted to Western tastes.“ (Bristot 2011: 32) They embodied "[...] the romantic ideal of the free and combative nomad in boundless expanse [...] the Turkmen carpet could be regarded as a sign of this independence sought among men.“ (Jansen 2001: 64) Thus the carpets found their way into male smoking rooms and libraries, also as blankets, cushions and seat covers when cut into pieces. The relocation of the production to factories brought with it simplifications of  the motifs and thus further changes. The luxury good was now accessible to a broad section of the population and was thus the object of everyday use.

   

  Carpets from these contexts, unlike woven textiles, are often knotted. They can be found in many different cultures all over the world. Basically, a distinction is made between courtly and urban works and works of the rural and nomadic environment, although there are of course blurred lines. While in the case of courtly and urban carpets all work processes were carried out by the respective specialists (spinning, dyeing, designing, knotting, etc.), all work processes for the carpets from the rural-nomadic environment were in one hand. These objects were primarily produced for the company's own needs and in some cases for the small local market. Courtly and urban carpets, on the other hand, were mostly commissioned works, intended for export or as envoy gifts and made in manufactories. The respective environment had a decisive influence on the appearance of the knotting work. In contrast to rugs made in manufactories, those produced in private homes or a rural community where meant for the local market.

   

  The objects that today are commonly known as classical oriental carpets mostly originated from the Persian Empire and are therefore also known as Persian carpets. At this point, however, it should be noted that a large number of ethnic groups which were united under Persian rule knotted those carpets and that therefore there a large number of different aesthetic concepts. Those from northwestern Persia are most likely to correspond to the European idea of a particularly valuable carpet. The basis for this was an enduring period of peace under Shah Ismael in the 16th and 17th centuries, which is why sufficient resources were available to create works with particularly elaborate motifs (Bristot 2011: 56). In addition to purely ornamental patterns, numerous representations of gardens were created; vases, flowers and trees of life often referred to paradise.

   

  On one hand, various textiles are ubiquitous in many societies: in tents and yurts, carpets have been hung on walls and lain on the floor as thermal insulation since ancient times and hung at the entrance as a substitute for doors. On the other hand, carpets were made in a (semi-)nomadic context in memory of the deceased. These carpets were placed on walls and, in addition to their insulating function, also had the function of commemorating the ancestors. The prayer rug was of central importance for the performance of religious practices. Thus, textile products shape the visual perception of craftsmen and users, and on the other hand, everyday things also find their way into the art of knotting (Frembgen/Mohm 2000: 15).

   

  When Soviet troops invaded Afghanistan on Christmas Eve 1979, war became part of everyday life for many people there; in the course of the years, a civil war broke out. “As early as 1981, the war took on genocidal dimensions. Young and old, men, women and children were affected by unspeakable atrocities.“ (Knauer 1994: 27) "The cultural policy of the [Prorussian] Afghan government was aimed at destroying the traditional ties of Afghan culture to the Islamic world and at adopting the Soviet ideology.“ (Knauer 1994: 28)

   

  As a reaction to these developments, women began to process these impressions into carpet art. The aim was not only to report on specific events, but also to motivate resistance against these conditions and the political system. The resulting carpets originated from the nomadic rural environment. In contrast to large manufactories, in which the knotting and design process was usually carried out by different people, these experiences could be directly converted.

  In Figure 1, three horned hexagons arranged one above the other in a light background dominate the main field, which is lined by a wide, sixfold border. In the inner field of the rhombuses representations of three to four prayer rugs, several stylised mosques and a centrally placed ZSU-23-4 tanks were arranged. Although the tank immediately catches the eye, the carpet looks very calm, there are no other war instruments depicted. This impression is reinforced by the many geometric borders and the structure of the main field, whose symmetrical arrangement is reinforced by the triangles placed on the sides. The similarities to Mushwani carpets from the west and Baluchi carpets from the south are striking (cf. MacDonald 2017: 77 / 78; Parsons 2016: 166/167). The carpet measures 160 x 88 cm and was probably knotted in Pakistan in the 1980s. Since the carpets were mostly in use before they came to the bazaar and to Europe through traders, only estimates can be made in this respect. Since it didn't take long for international buyers to become interested while there was also a market in Afghanistan and Pakistan, such carpets were soon produced in Pakistani refugee camps to generate income.

   

  In Figure 2, a border of BTR-60 tanks frames the midfield, on which two identical representations are arranged one above the other: A hand underneath hammer and sickle is directly related to the map of Afghanistan. Below is the inscription جهاد (Dschihád). This motif of map, hand and writing can be found twice in the carpet. On the right side two AK-47 rifles were placed. On the left side there are two representations of trucks each with a ZPU-4 rifle (heavy multi-bore anti-aircraft machine gun) and also a Mi-24A combat helicopter with glazed bow. The field is filled with pseudo-cyrillic writing.

  In addition to the motifs shown here, there are many other illustrations that can be found on such carpets. Some point out the changes in day-to-day business by depicting weapons, others illustrate specific attacks on cities. But what was the purpose of those carpets whose motifs depict violent everyday scenes? In this respect, too, only speculations can be made. Scientists around the world hold different views on this question. What is certain however, is that the aesthetic change from classical ornamentation to specific depictions was also accompanied by a change in function.

   

  Surely the desire to process the experience played an important role. According to Jürgen Frembgen, it can be ruled out however, that carpets depicting objects of war have found their way into the family space. Instead, he assumes that the carpets were used in the men's house, hujra, or in the reception room of a house reserved for male visitors, otaq — rooms in which conversations and discussions took place. "The use of space and spatial presence are [...] the expression of social interaction and include shared experience. Spaces thus become zones of identity building.“ (Issa 2009: 83) In such a place they could also serve as a call for resistance. The aesthetics of Object 2 resemble anti-Soviet leaflets that circulated in large numbers, often showing the head of state Babrak Karmal, appointed by the Russians, represented as an (Afghan) puppet whose strings were pulled by the Russian hand. In Carpet 2, only the hand and the Soviet symbol were taken from this illustration. A carpet that makes war the subject of discussion could stimulate conversation and strengthen the idea of community. In addition, the homeowner positions himself on the side of the mujahideen. Pursuing the same purpose, they have been presented "in the houses and tents of some mujahidin commanders (sic!) and wealthy people — as ornaments and probably also out of pride about victories won.“ (Frembgen/Mohm 2000: 46) Accordingly, the objects would have been bought and used as "art within resistance" (Frembgen/Mohm 2000: 46). With the resignation and presumably also a further deteriorating economic situation, the objects later came back onto the market and were then purchased by international buyers.

   

  At first glance, it may seem surprising to be processing everyday life in a carpet. Since  particularly Persian pieces are often seen as an investment, timeless patterns or representations of traditional legends are more common. These representations of realities of life therefore mark an aesthetic idea of Modernism in which "the textile is already understood as a pictorial surface in the sense of narrative, sometimes even realistic iconography.“ (Baumhauer 2016: 156)

   

  Since their creation carpets with war motifs have served various purposes: to contribute to financial survival, to express political messages, to represent a medium of processing war. At a time when issues concerning refugee policy in Germany make up a large part of the political debate and there is disagreement about how to deal with migration of all kinds, the carpets have not lost any of their actuality. They are contemporary witnesses of the beginnings of a war that is hardly remembered today. Globalized relationships have made it possible for them to be known to experts around the world. Using various narrative concepts, the carpets with their „pictures against oblivion“ are meant to serve as a reminder of the conditions in the country for the following generation" (Frembgen/Mohm 2000: 45) – thus another purpose can be added, not only in Afghanistan, but all over the world. Although they were not explicitly created for this specific purpose, they could gain it through their display in museum spaces.

   

  References

  • Baumhauer, Till Ansgar: Kunst und Krieg in Langzeitkonflikten. Visuelle Kulturen im Dreißigjährigen Krieg und im heutigen Afghanistan, Berlin 2016.
  • Bristot, Monique Di Prima: Bildlexikon Teppiche, Berlin 2011.
  • Frembgen, Jürgen Wasim / Mohm, Hans Werner: Lebensbaum und Kalaschnikow: Krieg und Frieden im Spiegel afghanischer Bildteppiche, Blieskastel 2000.
  • Issa, Christine:  Baukultur als Symbol nationaler Identität: Das Beispiel Kabul, Afghanistan, Dissertation zur Erlangung des akademischen Grades Dr. rer.nat im Fachbereich Geographie, Gießen 2009, https://geb.uni-giessen.de/geb/volltexte/2010/7483/pdf/IssaChristine_2009_12_08.pdf [15.12.2018], S. 83.
  • Jansen, Simone: Von der Jurte ins Herrenzimmer. Reisen von orientalischen und zentralasiatischen Teppichen, in: Dietrich, Andrea / Herbstreuth, Peter / Mannstein, David (Hrsg.): Orientale 1. Recherchen, Expeditionen, Handlungsreisen (Kat. Ausst. ACC Galerie, Weimar 2001), Weimar 2001, S. 58–71.
  • Knauer, Karin: Afghanistan. Krieg und Alltag (Kat. Ausst. Museum für Völkerkunde, Freiburg 1994), Waldkirch 1994.
  • MacDonald, Brian: Tribal Rugs. Treasures of the Black Tent, Woodbridge 2017.
  • Mascelloni Enrico: War Icons, in: Mascelloni, Enrico / Sawkins, Annemarie (Hrsg.): Afghan War Rugs. The Modern Art of Central Asia (Kat. Ausst. Memorial Art Gallery, University of Rochester 2016), https://mag.rochester.edu/exhibitions/afghan-war-rugs/ [19.11.2018], S. 15–20.
  • Parsons, Richard: The Carpets of Afghanistan, Woodbridge 2016.
  • Passow, Till / Wild, Thomas: Geknüpftes Gedächtnis. Krieg in afghanischer Teppichkunst (Kat. Ausst. WILD Teppich- und  Textilkunst, Berlin 2015), Berlin 2015.
  • Schlammiger, Karl / Wilson, Peter L.: Persische Bildteppiche. Geknüpfte Mythen, München 1980.

   

   

  published February 2020

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  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

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  Bernadette Van Haute

  Lawrence Lemaoana’s work, entitled SILENCE … FALLS (2017) consists of Kanga fabric with cotton embroidery, measuring 155 x 115 cm. Lemaoana is a South African black male, born in Johannesburg in 1982, who lives and works in Johannesburg. The work serves as an example of the ways in which young black artists in South Africa aim to express a specific South African identity which appeals to the global art world. 

   

  The use of Kanga fabric as medium is in itself very significant. Lemaoana states that: "Kanga fabrics [...] are used extensively in my work. Manufactured in the East, and brought to South Africa to be sold in markets and bazaars, the journey of the fabrics speaks of the idiosyncrasies and trade imbalances of globalisation. The textiles themselves though have a wholly different life in South Africa – they are regarded as significant markers of spiritual healing, imbued with great religious and spiritual power, used by diviners and fortune-tellers." (Afronova)

   

  The Kanga cloth is “used specifically in Emandzawe rituals, both as clothing for the sangoma [diviner] performing the ritual and as cloth on the shrine inside the shrine room in which the ritual takes place” (von Veh, 2017, pp. 13-14). The use of this fabric thus establishes Lemaoana’s identification with both global culture and black African culture which does not belong to a mythical past but is still very much alive today. His own familiarity with the sangoma becomes clear when he maintains that the ambiguity of the traditional healer’s utterings parallels that of headlines in the news media. He also exploits the deeper meaning embedded in the three colours white, red and black to heighten the impact of his highly topical messages.

   

  Lemaoana’s work is inspired by current socio-political events and the way in which they are reported in the local media. The composition Silence Falls evokes the #RhodesMustFall movement which began in 2015. This demonstrates the artist’s concern with the plight of the South African youth and his identity as an artist born in the 1980s – the so-called ‘born-frees’ who did not actually experience the ‘struggle’. The works of this generation of artists are described as “symptomatic of the new identity issues of the post-apartheid era. This young generation is appropriating a history that it believes has been confiscated and twisted in order to develop an alternative that takes into account its own subjective experience. Conscious of their responsibilities, these artists are helping to formulate and affirm a specific South African identity” (Pagé and Scherf, 2017, p. 8).  

   

  Lemaoana expresses his concern with socio-political issues through a critical engagement with mass media in South Africa. He is particularly concerned by the ability of the local media to shape social consciousness. By isolating news headlines and appropriating political slogans in his very own cynical way he “turns didactic and propagandistic tools on their head” (Afronova). As Lepage (2017, p. 117) states, Lemaoana uses the power of “words as favoured instruments in the political struggle”.

   

  The importance of Lemaoana’s work is vested in his participation in the Fondation Louis Vuitton exhibition in Paris in 2017. The exhibition was divided in three parts; the first one was entitled Being there: South Africa, a contemporary scene and aimed to show South African vitality through the works of 16 artists. In the accompanying catalogue the curators Suzanne Pagé and Angeline Scherf (2017, p. 8) explained that their choice of artists was “based primarily on the action of the artists themselves, on their engagement with the current economic and social institutions, their awareness and conviction that they can act and play a role: BEING THERE”.

   

  Interestingly the curators also comment on the fact that this younger generation of artists, in the context of ongoing economic and social divisions more than two decades after the end of Apartheid, sees it as its mission to transform “disenchantment into the energy for renewal” (Pagé and Scherf, 2017, p. 8). Achille Mbembe (2017, p. 16) elaborates on the current tensions in South African politics and culture which have led to a stalemate. In a society where consumption has become the quintessential state of being, the visual arts are in crisis, characterised by radical fragmentation and dispersion of reality (Mbembe 2017, pp. 23-24). “What is needed in contemporary South African arts”, writes Mbembe (2017, p. 24), “are concepts with which to seek out the real … . This will not happen without a new collective imagination that will help to facilitate the passage from the past and present to the future”.

   

  This is what Lemaoana has achieved in his art. His participation in the show confirms his status as a contemporary South African artist who has managed to decolonise his art by “seeking out the real” and grounding it in a local or national context. Furthermore, in Lemaoana’s works there is no room for, what Mbembe (2017, p. 25) calls, “tropes of pain and suffering” or the injuries inflicted “by the forces of racism and patriarchy” – tropes that are the characteristic traps of postcolonial discourse. His art is decolonised in the sense that all the resources of cultural and artistic modernity – both in terms of medium and narrative – have been mobilised in order to render itself more relevant to a modern Africa and a global humanity (Ekpo, 2017, p. 20).

   

   

  References

  • Afronova. http://www.afronova.com/artists/lawrence-lemaoana-2/ (accessed on September 19, 2017).
  • Ekpo, D. (2017). Manifesto for a Post-African art. Unpublished keynote address presented at the SAVAH Conference, Tshwane University of Technology, South Africa, September 21 – 23, 2017.
  • Lepage, A. (2017). Lawrence Lemaoana. In S. Pagé & A. Scherf (Eds.), Being there: South Africa, a contemporary scene (pp. 116-21). Paris: Fondation Louis Vuitton and Editions Dilecta.
  • Mbembe, A. (2017). Difference and repetition. Reflections on South Africa today. In S. Pagé & A. Scherf (Eds.), Being there: South Africa, a contemporary scene (pp. 15-25). Paris: Fondation Louis Vuitton and Editions Dilecta.
  • Pagé, S. & Scherf, A. (Eds.). (2017). Being there: South Africa, a contemporary scene. Exhibition catalogue. Paris: Fondation Louis Vuitton and Editions Dilecta.
  • von Veh, K. (2017). Textual Textiles: Gender and Political Parodies in the Work of Lawrence Lemaoana, TEXTILE,1-19. doi: 10.1080/14759756.2017.1337381 (Accessed September 5, 2017).

   

   

  published March 2020

   

   

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  Karimatu Dauda

   

  Many of the group of pupils that were trained on Bura culture and Bansuwe dance in Ruby Springfield College are from this ethnic group, Bura. However, a good number of these pupils did not have prior experience of the Bansuwe dance. Consequently, the facilitator who taught them the dance relied on videos of Bansuwe dance and songs, played through a computer and a portable speaker, to teach them the dance steps from the scratch. This was accompanied by direct demonstrations and direction by the facilitator. Although the facilitator is not a specialised dance teacher, she is from the Bura ethnic group and a skilled Bansuwe dancer who had been performing for many years.

   

  

  The lady in yellow was a parent of one of the dancers who came to cheer the dancers. The person in green is the principal of the school who also came to cheer the dancers. Cheering of dancers and throwing some money at them is a common practice in Nigeria. It is meant to both encourage and show appreciation to the dancers. (Photo: Karimatu Dauda)

   

  Bansuwe dance is popular among the Bura and is usually the preferred cultural dance at weddings, funerals and other important ceremonies. Yet, the experience in this school shows that there are a good number of Bura people whose children do not know the Bansuwe dance. Part of the reasons for this is that some of the children have never been taken to their villages where cultural practices are better sustained. The Boko Haram conflict in the region also discourages social gatherings which are often potential soft targets of insurgents.

   

  The cultural day events usually involve the presence and participation of pupils’ parents and other guests which makes it a good channel for the sustainability of culture. More girls ended up performing in the dance because many of the boys were unable to pass the final screening for the cultural day. The dancers were dressed in traditional Bura attire called Japta. The audience cheered the dancers and at intervals some would join the dance briefly. This dance was accompanied by traditional Bura music made by drums, xylophone, flutes and vocals.

   

  

  The boy with the basket was picking the money thrown to the dancers by the audience in appreciation of their performance. (Photo: Karimatu Dauda)

   

  The pupils, especially those from Bura, could easily learn more about the Bansuwe dance from their parents and relatives at home. Since dance often carries specific meanings within the social settings it is situated (Pusnik, 2010), there will not be a shortage of what to converse about concerning the Bansuwe dance. Traditional dance in Nigeria is used as a channel for communicating social values, sensitization and even carrying out social sanctions. In addition to these, Bansuwe dance is also used to convey merriment during ceremonies and sadness during funerals and each is reflected by the tone, tempo and messages of the music chosen.

   

  

  Bansuwe Dance (Photo: Karimatu Dauda)

   

  In the case of the cultural day of Ruby Springfield College, the dance was clearly conveying merriment and the central message of the song was that people should come together as friends and brothers. This message was according to the central purpose of the cultural day which was to encourage mutual cultural understanding among the pupils of the school.

   

  The excitement accompanying the performance of Bansuwe dance by the pupils of Ruby Springfield College is a testimony to the fact that it left a lasting impression on them. This is because, for some pupils, it represented the first time they witnessed and participated in the Bansuwe dance. This enthusiasm by pupils, and even by some parents, is behind the determination by the school to sustain the practice of the cultural day annually. This in turn will ensure that Bansuwe dance is sustained, as younger generations get to learn and participate in it every year at school.

   

  While the annual cultural day cannot be compared to dance subjects formally being taught in the classroom, it is no doubt a contribution to arts education albeit as an extra-curricular activity. It serves as the next best thing in the absence of a dedicated dance subject in the curriculum of schools. In addition, it will be an important space for the sustainability of Bansuwe dance possibly for many generations to come. It is important to sustain this dance because it is one of the few remaining cultural activities which brings together people of all ages, gender, and social status to interact equally on an informal basis. Such a gathering would provide a good space for the conversations on cultural sustainability.

   

  

   Bansuwe Dance (Photo: Karimatu Dauda)

   

  Arts education is part of the curriculum of primary, secondary and tertiary academic institutions in Nigeria. This does not mean, however, that the teaching of arts is done in every school in the country. The situation is further compounded by the fact that schools offering arts education are often selective about the arts subject they teach. In most schools, fine arts or creative arts make up the totality of their arts education subjects. While their creative arts subject includes lessons in music, dance and theatre, there are also dedicated music and theatre subjects in schools.

   

  In contrast, dance is hardly, if ever, exclusively taught as a subject in formal education settings. Like in many other countries, dance is not taught with the same frequency and depth as painting, theatre or music (Mosko, 2018). Even if there were a dedicated subject for dance education in the country, the hundreds of ethnic groups in Nigeria would make the choice of what dance to teach in formal education settings quite challenging. This is because a typical classroom is made up of learners from diverse cultural and ethnic backgrounds. Generally, arts education in the country is facing a number of challenges, as identified by Enamhe (2013), including the discouragement of children from taking arts subjects by parents, the fear of the perceived difficulty of the creative aspects is arts subjects, and the high cost of materials needed for arts education both for learners and academic institutions.

   

   

  References

  • Enamhe, B. B. (2013). The role of arts education in nigeria. African Journal of Teacher Education, 3(1), 1-7.
  • Mosko, S. (2018). Stepping sustainably: The potential partnership between dance and sustainable development. Consilience: The Journal of Sustainable Development, 20(1), 62-87.
  • Mtaku, C. Y. (2020). Continuity and change: The significance of the tsinza (xylophone) among the bura of northeast Nigeria. Center for World Music – Studies in Music, Universitätsverlag Hildesheim.
  • Pusnik, M. (2010). Introduction: Dance as social life and cultural practice. Anthropological Notebook, 16(3), 5-10.

   

   

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  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

  Noted for its attractive and bright colour schemes, a beautiful kente design is stuck on the walls of the entryway to the Permanent Exhibition of the African Collection at the Museum Fünf Kontinente. Its wide array of colours and strategic placement invites spontaneous spectatorship and captures into consciousness of visitors, the Afrocentric sense of colour use which is a precursor to the continental origin of the fabric. Indeed, kente originate from Ghana located on the African continent. Kente fabric designs have also gained international reputation and attracted considerable amount of research that centre on its historicity, weave structure, symbolic patterns, semiotic power, design structure, and its loom and the corresponding accessories, amongst others. Featuring the kente design in the collection by the curatorial team complements to drawing renewed attention to the indigenous fabric design technology of Africa.

   

  Historically, kente has been known as a cloth which was a preserve for royals (kings and the chiefdom) in the Asante kingdom. It was later produced for use by all in the society. Being a fabric for royals, it signifies pride, wealth, power, authority and status of wearers. Though its usage extends to all, the kente designs worn by the Asante Kings are unique, distintive and of couture standard. The culture of adorning the Asante Kings with the top notch kente designs as in the ancient times has, therefore, not been eroded. In the court of the Kings were seasoned kente designers and weavers carefully selected to produce stunning kente design that are not found on the market. The fabric was woven with variously dyed handspun cotton yarns, in plain and double weave format in the form of stripes usually determined by their design structure. The stripes are joined together with the aid of a needle to form a wide sheet of fabric. The zigzag machine has become a replacement in joining the stripes together.

   

  On the political sence of Ghana, the first president of the country, Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah’s introduction of national dress agenda evoked the kingly use of the fabric in presidential inauguration ceremonies which has become a non-statutory policy emulated by six out of eight democratically elected presidents of Ghana from 1960 to present (Essel 2019). Nkrumah was the pacesetter in the use of kente in toga style for presidential inauguration in the history of Ghana. Prior to that he had worn kente fashion to political events and meetings in and outside Ghana before he became the president of the nation. His exemplary use of the Ghanaian fashion classic has been maintained and practised for more than half a century, though it is non-statutory.

   

  Apart from its aesthetic clout, kente comes with symbolic patterns, whose decoding reveal the philosophical message encoded in the woven patterns of the fabric. Structurally, the kente fabric design featured in this exhibition encompasses variations of babadua, kaw, nkyemfre and fa hia kɔtwere Agyeman patterns, amongst others.

   

  

  Figure 2: Top row: Variations of Babadua patterns. Bottom row: Names of some identifiable Kente patterns (Photo: the author)

   

  Babadua is a name of a plant based on which the pattern was developed. The plant is noted for its strong look and resilience, perhaps a reason for its choice. Babadua, therefore, signifies strength, resiliency, formidability, firmness, superiority and power. These symbolic attributes of babadua is communicated by its wearer to observers. There are variations of babadua patterns used by kente designers (Figure 2). Some of the variations of babadua patterns are captured in the kente design (Figure 1). Nkyemfre (‘a pot shed’) pattern, depicted with alternating right-angled triangular shapes, symbolises history, recyclability and healing power, knowledge and service while Kaw mframa pattern derived from the physical characteristics of centipede, symbolises uniqueness. Fa hia kↄtwere Agyeman (literally translated as ‘lean your poverty on Agyeman’), arranged in the form of staircase in diagonals stands for hope, faith, sharing and benevolence (Essel, 2019). Combination of these observable kente patterns deftly arranged to communicate the idea of history, power, hope, pride, healing power, knowledge and service. The philosophical interpretation of kente designs could be informed by decoding its symbolical patterns. It could be observed that the variations of Babadua patterns dominate in the design (Figure 1). The dominance of this pattern informs the overall message embedded in the design. In this context, the fabric sings praises to the power and superior status of a king or chief in keeping intact the history and indigenous knowledge systems of the society.

   

  Kente has become a prominent visual image and identity marker used in reference to the African continent. For instance congressional democracts led by Nancy Pelosi on June 2020 wore kente stoles to make political statement in pursuit of legislative goals of equality for Black people. This occured in solidarity of the gruesome death of the African-American George Floyed in the hand of white police and police brutality in the US. The kente fabric adorned by the lawmakers was used to signify African heritage and pride. During the 400th anniversary celebration of the arrival of enslaved Africans to America in 2018, the Congressional Black Caucus wore kente in paying allegiance to their African heritage. Kente fabric, therefore, has strong historical connections with Blacks across the globe.

  

  The Kente fabric in the depot of the Museum Fünf Kontinente © Museum Fünf Kontinente (Photos: Sophia Lubin)

   

  Teaching and learning of kente fabric with the focus on history, sociocultural, political significance and educational relevance; improving the production technique for mass production purposes; improving of loom and its accessories; and alternate way of creating handmade kente print, among others, informed my teaching. Learners under my tutelage also explore appropriation of the symbolic kente patterns and engage in experimenting with kente designs.

  published January 2021

  Reference

  • Essel, O. Q. (2019). Dress fashion politics of Ghanaian presidential inauguration ceremonies from 1960 to 2017. Fashion & Textiles Review, 1(3), 35 – 55.

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

   

  

  The Kente fabric in the depot of the Museum Fünf Kontinente © Museum Fünf Kontinente (Photos: Sophia Lubin)

   

  

  The Kente fabric in the depot of the Museum Fünf Kontinente © Museum Fünf Kontinente (Photos: Sophia Lubin)

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  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

   

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  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  “Decolonizing self” is a photo demonstrating the complexity of cultures and how inter twinned African and western cultures have become. The photo was taken at a traditional wedding in Kanyanya village, where African cultural practices like sitting down on the mat are proudly demonstrated. Paradoxically, decolonizing the self-starting with the dress, is not an easy process as pieces of the western culture are clearly visible, for example the sunglasses, the necklace and ear rings all show the interlinkages between cultures. The example is excellent in showing culture, history and evolution of the traditional dress and political economy for educators. The mood of the gaze is best described by former President Thabo Mbeki in his poem,” I am an African” as he proudly says, “ “Today I feel good to be an African”.

   

  In unravelling decolonizing self, I want to start with explaining colonialism; Torres (2007) refers to colonialism as, “ a political and economic relation in which the sovereignty of a nation or people rests on the power of another nation”. He refers to coloniality as a long-standing patterns of power that emerged as a result of colonialism but that define “culture, labour, intersubjective relations and knowledge production well beyond the duration of colonial administration”. Hence, coloniality, he argues, survives colonialism and is maintained through books, music, academic performance, cultural patterns, in self-image and aspirations of self and is lived every day. It follows therefore that decolonizing self would have aspects of culture, language and daily practices that one has to get rid of. Taking an example of cultural dress, I dress in my traditional dress called the busuti or Gomesi. The image shows the dress and the Shaath (cream colour that is used to tie it). The necklace is modern shining with stones. The accessories are also western. I am sitting down on a mat made out of sisal and “nsansa- palm tree leaves. Sitting down is a cultural tradition and practice that dates back for generations. This is also a gender demonstration of roles of women who would sit on the mat to greet visitors who had come to be introduced. The practice of paying lobola (bride price) is common in Southern Africa and traverses the African continent. In the photograph, everybody dresses in the traditional dresses. It is a way of saying “I am an African” and I dress like this, “Look how smart my dress is lovely”.

   

  Ironically, long ago, the traditional dress was made of out of the Mutuba tree- Fig tree Ficus species. They got it from the bark of the tree, which they smashed until it became flat. It was dried and then rolled out. The cloth (Kikunta or Lubugo) comprised only of a sheet, which was wrapped around, the shoulders. Over the years, the Kikoyi replaced the kikunta as it was made out of cloth- cotton. Linked to the traditional dress, is the decorative materials from India. Inside the dress is another wraparound Kikoyi that together with decorations were also from India. The image shows the material of the dress- silk with beads. This material is from India or Dubai. The modern materials are no longer traditional (Kikunta and kikoyi). The local industry has adapted to make traditional dresses out of new materials linen, nylon, chiffon or a mixture instead of cotton or Lubugo from the Mutuba tree back.

   

  The image also demonstrates the mostly western sunglasses or gaggles. The sunglasses show the western culture I have adopted over the years. The Europeans normally put on sunglasses to protect their eyes from the sun. The occasion was held during the day as the sun was shining. It is not traditional practice to wear sunglasses. However, they help protect the shy people, as they do not have to look at all the guests. The gaze in the image is that of a woman comfortable in her body, sitting down with pride and taking pride in her tradition. This particular image was selected because it reveals the culture in transition. It is contemporary culture- a traditional wedding- a place where African Culture is luxuriously displayed. Paradoxically, the dress is traditional but the accessories are western showing the entangled nature of coloniality- the tradition African culture and the western culture, practices, all intertwined in intercultural interactions. The sunglasses may also demonstrate the cover up- hiding of self in the modern practices. Based on the above, it is not surprising that Decolonization is a layered process, which takes time and patience.

   

  Thabo Mbeki wrote a poem, “I am an African” expresses the objective of the constitution, “It is a firm assertion made by ourselves that South Africa belongs to all who live in it, Black and White”.

  As I sit on the mat and watch the bride and groom give gifts to each other, I remember the words of the former President of South Africa, “Today I feel good to be an African”.

   

  In decolonizing self, “decolonization” that has become the rallying cry for those trying to undo the racist legacies of the past, according to Achille Mbembe. Starting with cultural dressing is the first form of decolonizing self. Other forms include decolonizing power and decolonizing knowledge.

   

   

  published January 2020

   

  

  Katharina Knaus

  Beyoncé’s and Jay-Z´s Video „Apeshit“ discusses post-colonial exhibition art

   

  My first contact with art history was by reading E.H.Gombrich „The Story of art.“ (1909-2001). When starting my studies of art history in Munich, this was the book they recommended as standard literature. The cover text describes it as „the most famous and popular book on art ever published“. Although it claimes to be an introduction in art „for reader of all ages and backgrounds“ Gombrich tells a very one-sided story. Beyoncé’s and Jay-Z´s Video „Apeshit“ discusses post-colonial art historiography by exposing the Louvre as a white – dominated space.

   

   

  „Two black women are sitting on the floor wearing light brown tights and body-hugging beige vests. They are in profile, facing away from each other, and positioned at either side of David’s painting of the famous 19th Century French socialite. Linking the two women together is a flowing piece of white material, each end of which they wear on their heads like a turban.

   

   

  Above them, Madame Récamier reclines on her antique sofa, dressed in a simple sleeveless white dress, her head turned towards the viewer. The design of the sofa is similar to that of a sleigh-bed, with rising wooden ends. It is these bed ends that the women on the floor echo, the variance in the darkness of their skin matching the different tones of the wood in the painting.

   

  The cloth that links them represents the dress worn by the painting’s subject. The message is clear: It was on the backs of subjugated black people from the French colonies that Madame Récamier was able to enjoy her life of leisure and pleasure.“ (Will Gompertz)

   

  The Carters’ Louvre takeover isn’t just about protest; it is about power too. But the overall point is powerfully put. The game is up for those institutions – be it Hollywood, Broadway or the Louvre – which have ignored black artists, refused them a voice, or a seat at the top table.

   

   

  published January 2020

   

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  Dong Xiaoling

   

  In the 13^th century, when traffic and information were sparse, Marco Polo, a Venetian, came to China by land and served the Chinese Yuan imperial court from 1275 to 1295. The white Chinese porcelain vases, which he took back to his motherland and which are archived at San Marco Museum in Venice today, are reputed as a symbol of the Chinese vogue that went viral in Europe 300 years later. The Travels of Marco Polo has stirred European’s imagination of China^[1] , and also promoted Europe's maritime exploration.

   

  However, before the opening of the new sea route between China and Europe in the 15^th century, Chinese porcelains were rarely exported to the European market as a commodity. The trade of Chinese porcelains to Europe was monopolized by Arab merchants, while European merchants could only obtain fewer Chinese porcelains from West Asia and Egypt in the form of intermediary trade. Unlike silk and spices, which were easy to carry and transport, Chinese porcelains were mostly sold locally by means of land transportation because of their fragility and weight. They were closely connected with local culture, after which they were imprinted with local aesthetic characteristics and shipped to Europe. However, Chinese porcelains were not what they had always been. Forerunner of great geographical discoveries as he was, Zheng made seven large-scale ocean voyages during Ming Dynasty from 1405 to 1433, but did not establish direct contact with Europe.

   

  Comparatively, European humanism and capitalism were at an embryo stage. From the 15^th century to the 17^th century, European fleets represented by Portugal, Spain and the Netherlands carried out sailing explorations in order to seek new trade routes and trading partners as well as develop the capitalism in Europe.

   

  First, Chinese porcelains were shipped to Europe as ballast. However, the European upper class favoured them by virtue of their smooth texture, delicate and hard casing and exquisite emblazonment. European royal nobles and bishops all were keen on owning Chinese porcelains to show off their wealth and status. European royal families’ love to Chinese porcelains did not ease in spite of the fact that they had little understanding of the materials and techniques and far away China. Philip II of Spain (1527-1598) had a collection of 3,000 pieces. Although Europe started importing Chinese porcelains on a big scale, a mysterious atmosphere always clung to these exquisite utensils. At that time, some people in Europe even thought that Chinese porcelains could play an anti-virus effect.

   

  The French doctor Loys Guyon (1527-1617) and Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682) of England studied Chinese porcelains. Père Francois Xavier d'Entrecolles (1664-1741), a French missionary, was in Jingdezhen, China, for 7 years during the 17^th century. In 1712 and 1722, he wrote reports on the details of Chinese porcelains making which he observed and inquired into and mailed them back to the Jesuits in Europe, making it possible for French to imitate porcelains locally.

   

  Already in 1575, Italian Medici Grand Duke Francesco's factory made an attempt to produce porcelains, which was the first imitation recorded in Europe. Such a kind of Medici pottery bottle with blue and white patterns is collected in the Louvre. Both the white glazed blue painted pottery in Delft, the Netherlands, and the Nevers kiln in France have imitated the decorative style of Chinese porcelains. However, in terms of materials, they came in pottery or soft porcelain. The alchemist Bottger did not calcinate the earliest European porcelain at Meissen, Germany until 1709. In this process, the aesthetic taste in Europe had gradually changed. The fashion of loving oriental artifacts had gradually spread from nobles to rich bourgeoisie. As the demand for relatively cheap goods had also become more and more vigorous, porcelains had gradually turned a part of the daily life of the common. The nature of Chinese porcelain had gradually changed from collectibles to daily commodities.

   

  In order to meet the needs of European society, East India Companies in European countries imported a large number of porcelains from China in the 17^th and 18^th centuries. In China, this kind of porcelain for export was called export-purpose Chinese porcelain.^[2] From the change of shape and pattern the export-purpose Chinese porcelains can be roughly classified into traditional styles, hybrid styles and foreign styles.

  1. Traditional styles (The shape and decoration of porcelain have not been influenced by foreign styles, and are no different from products on the Chinese market.)

  From the opening of the new sea route in the 16^th century to the lift of the ban on maritime trade in 1684, it was illegal for Chinese to export porcelains. As per the ban on maritime trade in the Ming Dynasty, non-governmental maritime trade was strictly prohibited, while official tribute trade was allowed with strict restrictions. Foreign countries could only conduct limited official trade with the Ming authorities. Since then, the Qing authorities have repeated the ban on maritime trade. The production and shipment then were at great risks.

   

  Merchants usually purchased Chinese porcelains in Guangzhou and then shipped them abroad from Macao, making the export-purpose Chinese porcelains dominated by traditional Chinese style at this stage. It influenced the early stage of the Chinese style in Europe as well as the reproduction and imitation of Chinese porcelain with soft pottery in Europe. Chinese porcelains were mainly used as daily necessities, such as dishes, bowls, bottles and pots. But there were few ornamental porcelains as well. The decorative patterns mostly came in cloud-dragons, deer, horses, cranes, monkeys, flying butterflies, birds and insects, folding branches and flowers, fairy ladies with babies, city walls with mountains and waters, auspicious characters, etc.

   

  

  Unknown, Blue and white porcelain vase, 1700-1710, Victoria and Albert Museum London.

   

  The style of blue-and-white porcelains represented the life of the easterners to Europeans. A great number of Chinese porcelains of this kind are recorded in the archives of Dutch East India Company.

   

  On the one hand, few Chinese porcelains were exported to Europe with a higher price; on the other hand, the pure oriental shape made Chinese porcelains deviate from the daily needs of Europeans. For example, easterners’ habit of eating rice and using chopsticks makes bowls the most common utensils in the East, while westerners’ custom of eating bread and using knives and forks has not made bowls, with a deep-walled shape, the mainstream of European tableware by far. Because the typical Chinese tableware consists of fewer parts compared to Western dining habits, Chinese porcelain dishes could only be used for holding cakes and pastries in Europe. For example, porcelain pen containers were used as wine cooler, and porcelain fish tanks were used as flowerpots... Chinese porcelains were constrained in terms of use, and often modified or displayed as ornaments. Therefore, a new style came out in the course of development.

  2. Hybrid styles. (Chinese traditional style couples with foreign ornaments and vise versa, or Eastern themes couple with Western ones for hybrid ornaments.)

  It is the stage of free transformation of Chinese style porcelains. Among this type, porcelain with traditional Chinese themes, or a mixture of different themes from China and Europe, combined with European shapes is the most representative. Part of the changes in the shape of European porcelain came from metalware, and part from the changes in lifestyle brought about by trade. For example, since the 17^th century, Europeans have been importing black tea and coffee from the East and chocolate from Mexico. These hot drinks come brown in color after brewing, and white Chinese porcelains serve as the most suitable drinking utensils. The emergence of new eating habits has promoted the transformation of Chinese porcelain utensils. The Dutch enlarged the size of traditional Chinese small teacups and designed a lug.^[3] Kraak porcelain^[4] and Mandarin style were the most representative.

   

  

  Unknown, Dish, ca. 1635-1655, Kraak Porcelain, Diameter: 47,5 cm, Bibliographic Reference: Clunas, Craig (ed.). Chinese Export Art and Design. London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1987, p. 38, fig. 16.

   

  Kraak porcelain is a form of blue and white porcelain exported from Wanli Period of Ming Dynasty (1573-1620) to early Qing Dynasty. It was mainly shaped in dishes, bottles and bowls, and represented by trimmed patterns. These patterns came round, diamond-shaped and lotus petal-shaped, with designs of flowers, birds, fish and insects, landscapes, figures and auspicious mascots commonly seen in Chinese porcelains. Later, exotic religious myths and social life themes appeared in trimmed patterns. In terms of techniques, the traditional way of drawing the outline of the pattern on the surface of the porcelain body with a writing brush and then filling it in with color was adopted. Kraak porcelain is a kind of export-purpose porcelain with the largest quantity and the longest influence period of more than 100 years. After that, blue and white porcelain in Kangxi Period (1662-1722) of Qing Dynasty came in western rendering techniques in drawing, showing a maximum of eight or nine color gradations on the porcelain body. And it drew much popularity among westerners.

   

  The word “Mandarin” was a name for Chinese officials when Portuguese traded with Chinese merchants in the 17^th century. In the 17^th and 18^th centuries, many missionaries and painters came to China and recorded their experiences there, including their life and work with Chinese officials in addition to preaching.

   

  Most of the decorative patterns depicted the life of officials and wealthy merchants in Qing Dynasty, who enjoyed a rich and leisurely family life. These descriptions and landscape paintings further aroused European‘s curiosity about live in China. Aiming at this market opportunity, Guangzhou Porcelain Workshop launched Mandarin style products for European and American markets. Some patterns use the perspective technology of European oil paintings, and the expressions of the characters are vivid, which conforms to the aesthetic orientation of Europeans. These patterns presented a desirable pastoral oriental atmosphere for westerners. Playing in picturesque courtyard gardens, hunting in enchanting springtime, harmonious coexistence between human beings and nature, and vivid home life scenes embodied elegant Chinese costumes, fascinating home decoration, exquisite garden scenes, and charming family happiness. These themes greatly satisfied Europeans’ curiosity and yearning for the East.

   

  

  Unknown, Three Vases, 1700-1720, Procelain, Jingdezhen, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden.

   

  3. Foreign styles. (Chinese porcelains satisfying the requirements of European merchants in terms of shapes and patterns, calcined elaborately to serve European consumers’ needs. Most of the patterns were drawn in strict accordance with the prints and patterns as required by customers, so they were usually called custom-made porcelains.)

  One type was produced in the 17th century. Since Europe had not yet mastered the technology of porcelain-making, Chinese porcelain workers imitated the pottery of European style according to the requirements of European merchants. Chinese Porcelain competed with European pottery in this way and earned a lot of silver used as currency.

   

  

  Unknown, Vase with Angel, 1700, Porcelain, H: 36cm, Victoria and Albert Museum London. Bibliographic Reference: Clunas, Craig (ed.). Chinese Export Art and Design. London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1987, p. 60, fig. 40.

   

  Another type emerged when the Chinese style in the West reached its peak in the 18th century and Chinese characters and landscapes imagined by Westerners appeared in the patterns. The pictures are humorous and interesting, while the number is quite limited. In addition, there were porcelain carvings, figures and animals.

   

  The pattern was typically formed by heraldry (the special signs of European and American aristocratic guilds, groups, etc. In the 18th century, China sold up to 600,000 kinds of heraldry porcelain to Europe). In addition, characters (out of Greek or Roman fairy tales, the Bible, European customs-based sketches), ships, landscapes, flowers, etc. used to be popular themes among Europeans. Besides, European living habits were taken into consideration in terms of modeling.

   

  

  Unknown, Souceboat, ca. 1740, Porcelain, L: 18,4cm, Victoria and Albert Museum London. Bibliographic Reference: Howard, David Santuary. Chinese Armorial Porcelain. London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1974, p. 295.

   

  Apart from blue and white, multicolored and famille rose ones were among this kind of style. Because of the higher cost, longer period of capital occupation, more complicated procedures and greater commercial risks, this variety did not turn a mainstream among export-purpose Chinese porcelains in spite of their distinctive features. Especially in 1769, the first production line of British Wedgwood Porcelain Plant rolled off, when European porcelain production began to leap from the handicraft era to the industrial era. Since then, importing Chinese porcelains has grown unprofitable, and the porcelains in Chinese style turned gradually out of date.

   

  In the course of trade development for nearly 300 years from the 16^th century to 19^th century, from “Made in China” to “Making Chinese Porcelains”, the Chinese vogue going viral in Europe represented a process of Europeanization of Chinese cultural practices. In this process, lacquerware, woven carpets, clothing, furniture, wallpaper and garden architecture were as well used for reference, quotation and modification in Europe, and finally integrated into the social context of Europe, influencing and even changing the artistic outlook of Europe. Nowadays, the shortened distance and accessible information across the world enable us to see the diversity of cultures more quickly and accurately. More possibilities for cultural exchanges will definitely be springing up in the future.

   

   

  FOOTNOTES

   

  ^[1]              China in the 13^th-19^th centuries was only a Far East country geographically along with India, Southeast Asia, South Korea and Japan

  ^[2]              Due to the limited space, the export-purpose Chinese porcelain in this paper refers specifically to the exported ones to Europe.

  ^[3]              Lin Lin's, Research on Porcelain Trade of Dutch East India Company in the 17^th-18^th Centuries, pp 31-34.

  ^[4]              Its name probably originated from Portugal Caraack, meaning “giant merchant ship”.

   

   

  REFERENCES
  

   

  • WangYong, A History of Art Exchange between China and Abroad, Beijing， 2013
  • Shanggang, A new compilation of the history of Chinese arts and crafts, Higher Education Press , 2007
  • Etiemble, L’Europe Chinoise. The Commercial Press, Beijing, 2013
  • Liwei, Through the silk Road, Beijing, 2018
  • Hugh Honour，Chinoiserie: The vision of Cathay, Peking University Press, 2017

   

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  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

  Through its form, it reveals the modern urban context, a composite universe whose harmony is constantly negotiated in the logic of the delicate assemblages that characterizes the artist's technique. The work also reveals the socio-cultural mutations of which the artistic practice becomes an expression with its new form. Through the processes of recycling and assembling industrial waste, through the monumental appearance of a work whose silhouette recalls a human figure, through its installation on a roundabout, La Nouvelle Liberté brings together the elements of a manifesto of the transformation of cultural practices and particularly of the visual arts in the second half of the 20th century in Cameroon.

   

  

  Screenshot from the entry about Douala on Wikipedia

   

  This sculpture is special because of the context in which it was created. The commissioning of the work was part of the first projects of the very first and almost unique contemporary art center in Cameroon, doual'art (1991). The Centre was born in the aftermath of the adoption of the law on freedom of association (law No. 90-53 of December 1990). The approach to artistic promotion that it adopts is defined by the principles of artistic act-action-activism as the main modalities of intervention in the city of Douala. It is in this approach that doual'art commissioned the sculpture from Joseph Francis Sumégné.

   

  Doual'art's artistic project SUD2017 (Link) is a clear expression of the freedoms to which Cameroonian society ardently aspires, according to the president of doual’art, Marilyn Douala Bell. She describes its context as follows: “while the project’s gestation began in 1981, after the election of Francois Mitterrand as president of France, the two principal triggers occurred in the 1990s in Cameroon: firstly, socio-political movements incited the people to seize the street and reclaim “democracy” and, secondly, there was the promulgation of December 1990 law authorized freedom association for the first time in this country” (I. Pensa & al., 2017, 9).

   

  Nouvelle Liberté is one of the major works that marks the transformation of artistic practice in Cameroon which now focuses on the contemporary national society in its various historical, socio-cultural, political and economic aspects. The work takes a great conceptual dimension; it draws material from the field of negotiation and change of cultural meanings in the same context that inspires the image it reflects. For Sabine Breitwieser “for many this field has become the basic practice, focusing on actions and processes along the connecting line between the arts, everyday life, and politics” (A. Alberro & S. Buchmann,2006, 9-10).

   

  Joseph Francis Sumégné explores the urban world both from the material and the conceptual perspective. According to Joana Danimbe (2021), the city is a field of experimentation that affects the work of this artist. The process of making the work and its title place the observer in a critical relationship with urban modernity. The sculptural work echoes the city in which it is erected. It echoes it by its constructed form through a process of assembling diverse heterogeneous elements, industrial waste (plastics, metals, alloys of all kinds) that the city has difficulty in absorbing.

   

  

   Sumégné, Nouvelle Liberté, Detail (Creative Commons)

   

  The difficulties posed by the management of industrial waste is only one aspect of the work, which questions the impact of the accelerated modernity of the mentalities of city dwellers, which Yakouba Konaté notes as new and characteristic in African cities (Assako, 2011, 103). In this context of modernity par excellence, it is difficult to guarantee the harmonious development of those who live there. The latent tribal and communal tensions in these cities are a sufficient proof of the fragility of this harmony. For example, the nickname "Nju Nju (evil spirit) of Deido” given to Sumégné's work highlights some aspects of the limits of collective integration posed by the cities. The artist reminds us that: “this negative designation is based on the strong protests voiced by native populations against La Nouvelle Liberté. After these first polemics, mainly concerned with aesthetical features of the sculpture, a violent controversy was raised by the media on the origins of the artist (who hails from the western part of Cameroon) taking the fold of an ethnic struggle between the indigenous people of Douala. For such reasons, La Nouvelle Liberté was officially inaugurated only eleven years later, during SUD 2017” (I. Pensa & als., op cit., 93).

   

  The city of Douala, the economic capital of Cameroon, makes the facts of social and cultural transformation, industrialization and related issues in Cameroon remarkably appreciable. Douala is the most important port city in Cameroon and Central Africa. It is a city of great industrialization. The economic opportunities offered by the city make it a real national and international pole of attraction and an important migratory drop-off point as well. The city is therefore a center of great demographic concentration and mixing. It is reputed to be the most polluted city in Cameroon due to its industrial and economic activities and its human density. It is also the city most exposed to social implosion due to the high number of young people who find themselves in precariousness and in search of decent employment. The balance of urban life depends on the city's capacity to promote a process of integration which leads to the construction of a collective identity.

   

  

  On the right: J.NicolasKondaYansa. Vue aérienne de Douala (Creative Commons).

   

  This is the phenomenon that the image of Sumégné's work has succeeded in bringing about in Cameroon over the past twenty years. It has crossed the phase of rejection and critical questioning to become the object of collective appropriation and an emblem for the Douala people in particular and the Cameroonians in general. "By recovering rejected objects, the artist becomes by force of circumstances a full-fledged actor in the organization of urban life, sharing the basis of his innovative thinking on the relationship between cities, cultures, representations of working-class neighborhoods and environmental ecology. “In his thinking, the city is a place where the intimate (the family side, religion and its rites) and the universal (openness to other cultures within the city) meet” (Joana Danimbe, op cit., 33).

   

  However, this collective identity is not given. There are permanent conflicts between rural and urban, rich and poor, order and anarchy, libertinism and freedom, civic-mindedness and uncivil behavior, etc. For politicians, however, national development is expressed through actions that are generally in vain and aimed at giving a 'modern' appearance to cities. It should be noted, however, that the urban ecosystem, on a social level, lives on the permanent 'daptaïsme^[1]' (S. Andriamirado, 2002) of city dwellers in search of a balance between the socio-economic and political references of Western modernity and those relating to the various local customs that are superficially apprehended. In such a context, flourishing in the city takes its trajectory from inventive intuitions as demonstrated by Sumégné in the process of shaping La Nouvelle Liberté. The artist's bold work imposes itself on the city dwellers in the form of a new experience. He magnifies this experience through the novelty and singularity of the codes of representation of his artistic work. The elements offered by the city and used by the artist to create his works are chosen on the basis of two main values: they are true generators of ideas and they are  inspirers of structures.

   

  The verticality of Sumégne's work is evident at the Deido roundabout, which is one of the main entries of the city of Douala. The sculpture has a human silhouette and stands on a concrete pedestal. Its posture describes a movement whose balance is suggested by an asymmetrical gesture and a distribution of masses and volumes in relation to the vertical axis. The ascending tension of the monumental sculpture is supported by the base of the right foot, crosses the trunk, the head and ends on the globe which caps the upper end of the work. The movements described by the limbs make the sculpture even more dynamic. The bent left leg crosses the right leg at knee height from behind. The position of this leg structures the pelvis and the part above the knees of the figure in a truncated cone shape. The upper left arm is raised above the head to hold the globe and the right arm is bent and oriented as if to rest on the hip with the fist closed.

   

  

  Steve Mvondo, NadègeNN: Sumégné, Nouvelle Liberté (Creative Commons left / right) 

   

  A dynamic posture that gives the work pride of place, but also conveys a sense of fragility. This proud appearance is further suggested by the expressiveness of the statue's circular head, which draws a smiling face or a sun. The attention paid to the elegance of the statue can be seen in the details of the adornment on the work. The neck is outlined with a grey band that acts as a necklace. The same band is used to define the belt worn by the figure. A sort of waistcoat covers the figure's torso and contributes to the attention to the adornment being a characteristic detail of the work. The care given to the detailed elaboration of this kind of waistcoat enhances the drawing, engraving, upholstering, painting and sculpting skills, which allow the artist to easily interweave the traditional with the modern and the modern with the traditional through the technique. The technical game describes a stirring of the memory in which Sumégné crosses the past and the present in a delicate process of balance, harmony and construction of a work of art that the work gives to appreciate.

   

  The accelerated modernity of mentalities is accompanied by deviations rather than guaranteeing the expression of freedoms favorable to the construction of a collective identity and a more social dimension of the meaning of development in the cities. The Cameroonian city must cease to be a mere showcase for political celebration / instrumentalization and a springboard for socio-professional accomplishment for city dwellers and become the real space for a new life, a sustainable life. Art, as illustrated by Nouvelle Liberté, has embarked on this path by investing itself materially and conceptually in the urban environment: The contemporary art scene in Cameroon's economic capital, which is one of the most active and committed in urban Africa, is itself in constant movement. Objects, ideas and practices are given new meanings on a daily basis, often politically, and which, like “La Nouvelle Liberté", highlights questions of identity, the right to speak and self-determination (D. Malaquais, 2006, 122).

   

  Published 2020

   

  References

  • Alberro Alexander & Buchmann Sabeth. 2006.  Art after conceptual art, Vienna, Austria, Generali Foundation, pp.9-10
  • ANDRIAMIRADO Virginie. 2002. « Tout est prétexte à la création », entretien avec Ndary Lo, in « Africultures, n° 48 » Éditions l’Harmattan, 63-67
  • 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
  • Danimbe Joana.2021. Joseph Francis Sumegne, le méditoire du Jala’a, Paris, Ed. Fondation Blachère
  • Dominique Malaquais, « Une nouvelle liberté ? Art et politique urbaine à Douala (Cameroun) », Afrique & histoire 2006/1 (vol. 5), p. 111-134.
  • Lagnier Sylvie. 2001. Sculpture et espace urbain en France, histoire de l’instauration d’un dialogue 1951-1992, Paris, Ed. l’Harmattan
  • Pensa Iolanda & als. 2017. Public art in Africa, Genève, Metis Presses

   

  ^[1] Vocabulary borrowed from the Senegalese sculptor NDARY LO, who designates "daptaïsme" as a philosophical principle on which his art is based, and which consists in adapting to everything and in all circumstances. The artist collects salvaged objects that he diverts and manipulates according to the circumstances of his creation. So, the urban ecosystem adapts and cobbles together alternative solutions on a day-to-day basis.

   

  

  The artist working in his studio 2019 (Photo Ernst Wagner)
  

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  Prudence Lau

  State Theatre, originally named Empire Theatre, was opened in 1952. According to interviews with veterans from cultural circles, the Theatre was the “very origin of Hong Kong’s entry to the world of high arts” (South China Morning Post, Jan 11, 2017). It was Hong Kong’s cultural hub and only to be eclipsed by the City Hall that opened four years later in 1962. Located in North Point on Hong Kong Island, it was founded by a Russian-Jewish impresario Harry Odell, a legendary giant in the history of Hong Kong entertainment. Odell had started a film distribution company ‘Harry Oscar Odell’s Commonwealth Enterprises Corporation Ltd.’ in the post-war years and arranged for internationally acclaimed artists to perform in Hong Kong and in the theatre, including the late Taiwanese famous pop singer Teresa Teng, the late British tenor Peter Pears and Katherine Dunham’s Broadway dance company (South China Morning Post, March 2, 2016).

  
  The Theatre was also a popular venue for live shows such as Chinese drama, opera and musical performances. The roof of the auditorium is suspended from external parabolic concrete roof trusses, which are exposed to the public and serves as a prominent feature and trademark of the building. This ingenious design also freed the auditorium from pillars and allowed for flexible internal arrangements. Designed by a Chinese architect S.F. Liu, the Theatre is moreover fronted by a large decorative relief panel with the artwork by renowned Lingnan artist Mui Yu-tin featuring the ancient Chinese tale of ‘The imperial warlord Dong Zhuo and the legendary beauty Diao Chan’. Together with the framed squared architraves and banded windows harmoniously fronting the elevation of the Theatre, there is a distinct Modernist and Art Deco quality to the whole building.

   

  In 1959, it was renamed State Theatre, and due to practical reasons the building has since then been converted into a theatre-cum-shopping complex, and a multi-storey block with shops, residential flats and a night club was opened in the adjacent site. The Theatre finally ceased to operate in 1997, and has today changed its use to a billiard centre with removable partitions sealing off the upper deck of the auditorium. The rest of the complex currently consists of a rundown shopping mall, still in function, and small residential flats.

   

  In July 2015, a local property developer started to purchase various property rights within the State Theatre complex, and rumours of demolition and redevelopment of the site started to spread. Eventually, after substantial consolidated public efforts towards the Theatre, it was finally given a Grade 1 historic building status in March 2017. The State Theatre, narrowly escaping demolition, is only the third building after the Bank of China (built 1952) and the City Hall (built 1962) listed as a Grade 1 historic building in Hong Kong that is built after 1950, indicating a flaw in local heritage policy to value modern built heritage.

   

   

  published January 2020

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  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

   

  The image shows the deciduous large Jacaranda tree that grows up to 20-30 m high. The leaves are bipinnate produced in conspicuous large panicles, each flower with a five-lobed purple corolla. The fruit is oval flattened capsule containing numerous seeds. The Jacaranda in Pretoria flowers between September to November with purple flowers that paint the whole City purple. For this reason, Pretoria is called the Jacaranda city.

   

  Known for its alluring lilac blossoms, the Jacaranda tree (Jacaranda mimosifolia) is native to South America and was introduced for decorative purposes way back in the 1800s to South Africa. In Pretoria, the Jacaranda was first introduced in Arcadia in 1888. Its beautiful flowers are characteristic of the springtime in Pretoria, City of Tshwane, Gauteng Province, where it fascinates the residents by putting a light purple carpet all over the roads.

   

  Although the purple flowers remind the University students of the exams that take place around that time of the year, the elegant beauty of the Jacaranda flowers calms down the souls of many residents. Legend has it that when a flower from the Jacaranda tree drops on top of your head, you would pass all of your exams. Therefore, students wish for on eof the soft blossoms to drop one of its tubular flowers on their heads as they pass under this magical tree. The seeds, on the other hand, are enclosed in a brown, oval and flat capsule, which bursts open when dry, releasing flat winged seeds.  They disseminate via wind dispersal to the savannah, woodlands, rocky ridges, riverbanks and all sorts of habitats.

   

  To the conservationists, this deciduous beauty is an invasive species. Its origin is reported to be South America, particularly Argentina and /or Brazil because of the name’s Guarani origin in Argentina. The tree is regarded as an invasive species in South Africa and Australia. In South Africa, it is labelled as preventing growth of native species. However, in other parts of Africa such as Zambia, Zimbabwe and Kenya, the species is also present without being considered invasive yet.

   

  In Pretoria, City of Tshwane, Gauteng province, the Jacaranda trees are enormous and line the pavement of the streets and inhabit roadsides, as evident in the images above. When they flower, they paint the whole City purple and it is spectacular to witness. The images portray the beauty and elegance of the tree that perhaps is draining the native ecosystem, which not to many are aware of.

   

  Jacaranda blossoms are stunningly beautiful, but hidden underneath is the contradiction of the tree being an alien species that prevents indigenous trees from growing. Indeed, not “all that glitters is gold”. For this reason, the Jacaranda tree is no longer allowed to be planted in Pretoria.

   

  Water scarcity is the most alarming problem of the twentieth century next to climate change in conservation. The sustainable Development Goal (SDG) 15 aims to protect, restore and promote sustainable use of terrestrial ecosystems, sustainably manage forests, combat desertification, and halt and reverse land degradation and halt biodiversity loss. In the meantime, SDG goal 11 promotes sustainable cities and communities.  The dilemma of keeping the City green with trees and balancing the water ecosystems with the proper tree planting is a challenge that must be tackled through a multi-inter and trans-disciplinary approach to sustainable development. The Jacaranda tree is an example of this contradiction.

   

  Apart from being beautiful ornamental trees, the Jacarandas' wood is used for furniture and other crafts. Meanwhile, programmes to address the social economic problems in communities were linked to alien species like the Jacaranda. These programmes aim at the sustainable management of natural resources through the control and management of alien invasive plants, by removing the species and thereby bringing employment to the youth, as part of the expanded Public Works Programme. The objective is to reduce the impact of invasive alien trees on water resources.

   

  All over the world, trees and plants are introduced for various purposes. These trees contribute to multiple services for instance fodder, timber, medicines, fruits, shade and ornaments. Now as resources become scarce - especially water -, conflicts are beginning to emerge. Benefits and costs of these species are weighed against the endurance of the people and impact on the environment. Many strategies involve physical removal of alien vegetation. The benefit-cost analyses conducted so far have shown that the investment in clearing invasive species cost for example R116 in riparian areas, which equals about 6,40 US-Dollars (Marais and Wannenburgh (20008). However, it is important to remember that clearance seldomly results in total elimination.

   

   

  References

   

  • Jacaranda Jacaranda mimosifolia, retrieved from http://www.invasives.org.za/legislation/item/265-jacarandajacaranda-mimosifolia
  • Marais, C and Wannenburgh, A.M. (20008) Restoration of water resources (natural capital) through the clearing of invasive alien plants from riparian areas in South Africa — Costs and water benefits.
  • South African Journal of Botany 74 (2008) 526–537
  • https://www.news24.com/Archives/Witness/Theyre-beautiful-but-jacarandas-can-do-harm-warns-expert-20150430
  • Bolsmann, E. (1997). Jacaranda – Pride of Pretoria. Pub Be My Guest Publishers, Pretoria pp. 40.
  • Potgieter, M.J  and A.Samie (2019).  Ethnobotanical survey of invasive alien plant species used in the treatment of sexually transmitted infections in Waterberg District, South Africa, retrieved from: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.sajb.2019.01.012

   

   

  published May 2020

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  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

   

  The logo takes on the formal look of the chips used in the “Abbia” game. It is a traditional game that was played only by men in the South Cameroon Plateau until the beginning of the colonial period. In its general form, the logo is comprised of two main parts: an upper part which bears the phrase “The University of Yaoundé 1” (in French and in English) and a lower part that is defined by the slogan in Latin words “sapientia collativa cognitio” (wisdom is collected cognition).

   

  The central part of the upper component of the logo features four human figures organized around a table. The rigid geometrization of the composition of the logo and the regularity of the lines give great expressiveness to these graphics. The treatment of the shape of the logo exhibits remarkable influence by traits of the “Abbia” token. The geometric schematization of the pattern and the ogival shape of the logo scrupulously drawn by regular lines determine the elements that mark this influence.

  

   

  The name of the game “Abbia” refers to “hazard”, “a game of chance where bets are placed, which may be a simple gourd of palm wine, a human being (woman or child), livestock, or the player's farm or plantation etc.” (Cyrille Bela, 2006). These are not just simple tokens but a characteristic artistic expression that is pertinent to the sculptural heritage of South Cameroon’s population. These tokens obtained from the pits of the sapotaceous fruit (Mimusops le-testui), present on their smooth faces a wide variety of anthropomorphic, zoomorphic, geometric subjects, etc. minutely engraved in bas-relief by the artists. In addition to their use for the game, Abbia tokens are also ideograms and pictograms that have sometimes been associated with divinatory practices (Maurice Pervès, 1949: 27). Designing a logo that is inspired by them is significant from a dual aesthetic and symbolic perspective capable of inspiring elements of content to national identity.

   

  On the independence trajectory of the 1950 – 1960 period, the year 1957 is significant. It is marked by the creation of Cameroonian citizenship and the adoption of the first symbolic acts of the nation. After the investiture of André Marie Mbida, the first Prime Minister of the State of Cameroon on May 15th, 1957, the Legislative Assembly of Cameroon (ALCAM), on November 10 of the same year, chose the first national emblems: national anthem, flag, and a motto. From that moment, the visual and artistic elements revealed themselves and displayed their importance very early in the narrative of the history of the Cameroonian nation and the constitution of its heritage. The adoption of these national identification symbols is not unequivocal. We note with regret the anonymity of the authors/creators of these national emblems: “but we must nevertheless state the fact that no specific and nominal mention was made of the Cameroonian authors of the national anthem thus chosen. Later in 1960, the same silence will be reserved for the author – also Cameroonian, of the seals of the Republic of Cameroon, without us fully understanding the meaning to be given to these oversights” (J. E. Pondi, 2012: 65).

   

  The trauma created by the sanctions imposed by the colonial powers on the various forms of reference to local iconographic and symbolic culture could justify the timidity of an exaltation of visual culture and its authors. The elements of visual and symbolic language such as the logo will come from an experience of distant memory and sporadic circumstances for several years. We observe, for example, that for several years the University of Yaoundé remained without a logo. The covers of the University’s annals of 1969 and 1970 illustrate this and bear only the words “Federal University of Yaoundé”. During the same period within the intellectual elite of the aftermath of independence, a nostalgia for traditional artistic culture is expressed in a literary modality. For example, one of the most important cultural journals created by this elite in 1962 is called Abbia in reference to the art of “Abbia”.

   

  The absence of details on the date of creation and the conditions for the adoption of the logo of the University of Yaoundé does not exclude the probability that it was designed and produced by Engelbert Mveng between 1983 and 1987. Everything suggests that Mveng's legitimacy to take credit for the creation of this logo has not been subject to any reservations. As a Jesuit priest and artist/researcher, Engelbert Mveng’s cultural sensitivity, his academic reputation and his important artistic promotion action must have facilitated the adoption of the logo by the University’s administration. (Engelbert Mveng was Director of Cultural Affairs at the Ministry of Education and Culture from 1966 to 1974. Then, from 1983 to 1987, he was Head of the History Department at the University of Yaoundé.)The 1993 University Reform with the establishment of new state universities in Cameroon was also a significant factor in the creation of this logo. In Yaoundé, for example, the presence of two universities undoubtedly required the elements of visual identity capable of distinguishing the University institution from the others.

   

  Universities are considered by politicians as the contexts for the conception of modern culture with identity characteristics for the young nation. Mveng (1930-1995) does not lose sight of this perspective. This is how he undertakes the re-appropriation and integration of traditional knowledge and skills in the creative process of the logo. The author applies his theory of the “loi de creation esthétique” (aesthetic process of creation) to the graphic design of the University of Yaounde’s logo.

   

  The simplified form of this process is “OLMC” where O represents “natural object”, L represents “essential line of the object”, M is for “motif”, and C represents “composition”. This process was inspired by a methodological scheme of synthesis that Mveng (1980) notes by studying traditional artistic practice in several African societies. Mveng observes a recurrence of certain principles of creation: the observation of the natural object, the graphic representation of the object limited to the essential line and finally the use of the essential line as motif / sign in the composition of the works of art. The practical applications of this process favoured the development of an iconographic style and a production of works with a characteristic and very singular visual identity. This style is characterized by a schematic reinterpretation of the elements that surround us in patterns that we arrange in the compositions, which we transpose on different supports. In 1966, Mveng, inspired by the idea of ​​modernizing “traditional African art”, created the “Art Nègre” workshop in Yaoundé. This workshop became a veritable laboratory for graphic design of iconography called to mark a cultural renewal.

   

  Thanks to the privileged social and political position held by Mveng (priest, academic and artist), the Negro Arts Workshop succeeded in producing several works (paintings, drawings, sculptures, collages, etc.) both in Cameroon and in the diaspora. The workshop brings together artisans from various regions of Cameroon. It created a form of co-incorporation and also developed an important part of the production of religious art there. On the same methodological principles of “aesthetic creation”, the workshop produced the first liturgical imagery which presents the characteristics of the phenomenon of inculturation in the Cameroonian Catholic Church.

   

  The University which the logo identifies is an educational context that predicts the future of society. The development of this society depends on the quality of training/education, skills and values ​​that the school gives to young people. Education extends to everything from economic expansion to civic spirit. It engages the individual and collective prosperity of the country recalled in 1965 by Ahmadou Ahidjo (first president of the Cameroonian republic). The motto of the University in Latin: “sapientia collativa cognitio” displays the ideas that are dear to this institution whose mission is to train each Cameroonian well, to make him an artisan of prosperity and to make him a participant in the management of the state (J. C. Bahoken and E. Atangana, 1975).

  The mention in French and English of “Université de Yaoundé 1/University of Yaoundé 1”, which follows the contours of the upper component of the logo, mainly reflects the bilingual nature of the Cameroonian University. Of course, this bilingualism is one of the symbolic markers of the political and cultural history of the unity of Cameroon. It expresses national political unity and guarantees openness to the participation of the Cameroonian University in transnational and intercultural dialogue that is essential for the development of the country. To use President Ahmadou Ahidjo's words during the inauguration of the said University on November 17, 1967, the University is an instrument of “dialogue with all nations of good will”.

   

  Nowadays, the vices which characterize Cameroonian society such as corruption, the weakening of the patriotic and nationalist spirit in favour of ethnic and regional withdrawals, the weakening of the civic spirit, the inadequacy between training and employment and unemployment, to cite only these examples, expose the weaknesses of the education system in the country. The factors responsible for such an assessment are inter alia linked to the problems of immaturity of educational references very often adopted in a circumstantial manner (at random). Learning suffers from a lack of ingenious practices linked to the social transformation project. In other words, the educational project has a hard time building learning methods that take into account the socio-cultural, political and economic flows and bridges now established between here and elsewhere, today and tomorrow. As George E. Hein (2011) wrote, understanding learning as a social activity is a principle for considering successful education. An educational project which does not take this into account would venture to commit the fate of society at random as in the scenario of the game of “Abbia” where the most important goods of the players were randomly bet.

   

   

  Download Paul-Henri Assako Assako's presentation on the origin of the logo by following this link.

   

   

   

  References

  • BAHOKEN J.C. et ATANGANA Engelbert. 1975. La politique culturelle en République unie du Cameroun, Éditions Les Presses de l’Unesco.
  • BELA Cyrille. 2006. l’art des abbia : une forme d’expression sculpturale des pays pahouin, in « Afrique : archéologie et arts », 4 | 2006, p. 83-90.
  • George E. HEIN. 2011. Constructivist learning theory//1991, in education, documents of contemporary art, London, Edited by Felicity Allen.
  • MVENG Engelbert.1980. L’Art et l’Artisanat Africains, Éditions CLE, Yaoundé.
  • PERVÈS Maurice. 1949. Parmi les Fangs de la Forêt Equatoriale : le jeu de l’Abbia, Revue de géographie humaine et d’ethnologie n° 3, p. 26-41.
  • PONDI Jean-Emmanuel, 2012, (Re)découvrir Yaoundé ! Une fresque historique et diplomatique de la capitale camerounaise, Yaound Ed. Afric’Eveil.
  • https://journals.openedition.org/aaa/1373.
  • https://www.osidimbea.cm/cameroun-okoba/cameroun-1967/

   

   

  published February 2020

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  Elfriede Dreyer

   

  The Richtersveld National Park in South Africa has some of the most beautiful and hardy vegetation in the world. The 'botterboom' ('butter tree') (Tylecodon paniculatus) is but one example hereof. According to Wikipedia (RICHTERSVELD 2008), "The plant appears to have wide tolerance of growing habitats, growing in weathered rock in the north to coastal sands in the south. The plants can reach heights of 2 m making them the largest of the tylecodons. Tylecodon paniculatus is summer deciduous. The plants conserve energy by photosynthesizing through their 'greenish stems' during the hot dry summer months. The yellowish green, papery bark is a very attractive feature of this plant and has given rise to the common name. During the winter, plants are covered with long, obovate, succulent leaves clustered around the apex of the growing tip. [...] In nature the plants tend to grow in groups, making a spectacular show when they flower. [...] The shrub is reported to have a surprisingly weak and shallow root system for its size." This plant is representative of many other African succulents and bulbous plants that have shallow root systems and can therefore easily adjust to desert and other harsh environmental conditions. They change their leaves into thorns and the surface to protect the plant against the loss of water.

   

  The metaphor of the succulent is of particular interest to an engagement with nomadic identity in the context of a continent such as Africa that has been subjected to "wicked, messy problems". Being similarly exposed to a severe environment, African people have accustomed themselves to survive in difficult circumstances and to a large extent have become nomadic as a result. In many cases they have adopted itinerant lifestyles and form groups for protection, safety and cultural coherence. Living on a vast continent, they are accustomed to long journeys; however, poverty, violence, civil wars, colonial and other imperial infiltrations and oppression have resulted in a focused nomadic condition where people are constantly moving and travelling in the search for a better life and even survival. Aligning contemporary culture with nomadism, Polish sociologist and philosopher Zygmunt Bauman (1996) appropriates the stereotype of the pilgrim who is on a teleological journey - ordered, determined and predictable - but cannot come to rest and leave a footprint in the sand. They operate through a 'shallow root system'.

  Bulbous succulent plants are essentially botanical rhizomes, a concept that inspired the notion of the rhizome as a philosophical concept, initially developed by Gilles Deleuze (philosopher) and Felix Guattari (psychotherapist) in their Capitalism and schizophrenia (1972 -- 1980) project. Deleuze and Guattari (1987:7) state that the "rhizome itself assumes many diverse forms, from ramified surface extension in all directions to concretion in bulbs and tubers". In "A thousand plateaus" (1987 [1980]) they introduce the concept of the rhizome as follows (assigned to cultural patterning):

   

  1. Principle of connection: any point of a rhizome can be connected to any other

  2. Principle of heterogeneity: any point of a rhizome can be connected to any other

  3. Principle of multiplicity

  4. Principle of a signifying rupture: a rhizome may be broken, but it will start up again on one of its old lines, or on new lines

  5. Principle of cartography and

  6: Principle of decalcomania: a rhizome is not amenable to any structural or generative model; it is a map and not a tracing.

   

  Deleuze and Guattari's model allows for a cultural view that entertains non-stable relationships, subjectivity, relationalism, multiplicity and volatile positions. Similarly, Italian contemporary philosopher and feminist theoretician Rosi Braidotti (2011:3) views the nomadic predicament and its multiple contradictions have come to age in the third millennium after years of debate on the "'nonunitary' - split, in process, knotted, rhizomatic, transitional, nomadic - so that fragmentation, complexity and multiplicity have become everyday terms in critical theory." Since the 1990s Braidotti has been engaged with the question as to what the political and ethical conditions of nomadic subjectivity are, grounded in a "politically invested cartography of the present condition of mobility in a globalized world" (Braidotti 2011:4).

   

  South Africa has experienced turbulent histories over the last two centuries and nomadic movement was brought on by volatile colonial, postcolonial and global upheavals, leading to political and social displacement and consequently hybrid identities. Having been a British as well as a Dutch colony, South Africa has since 1652 shown cultural patterns of movement in and out of the country, and from place to place. During apartheid non-whites or 'people of colour' were viewed as not belonging and were removed from the city; forcibly established in townships outside the city; only allowed as workers into the city; and had to carry passbooks (identity documents) on them all the time. For many decades now, in postapartheid South Africa, migrants from all over the continent have been flocking to the country in search of a better life and even survival, and they mostly live in temporary shelters. Many other sociological and cultural problems have emanated as a result of the migrant issue, based on subjective racism, xenophobia, crime and fear for the other.

   

  Identity (and subjectivity) in the African modernist context is neither stable nor fixed, and the corporeality of the artist-as body and the artwork-as-process in this specific part of the world henceforth has produced liminalities in many ways. Often rooted in a rural or small-town environment, African artists generally tend to move to multicultural, cosmopolitan cities where gallery and industry networks are in closer proximity. Those in the rural remote parts of Africa make it their business to connect through digital and social media in order to stay connected, current and noticed.

   

  The art of South African artist Diane Victor provides an eminent example of nomadic identity depiction. The artist utilises various ephemeral media in her work, such as ash, crushed charcoal and staining. In Perpetrator 1, 2008, a so-called smoke portrait, she has used the deposits of carbon from candle smoke on white paper to draw with. The work is exceedingly fragile and can be easily damaged, disintegrating with physical contact as the carbon soot is dislodged from the paper, and in this way speaks about the fragility, precariousness and insubstantiality of a nomadic human condition. Although the smoke portraits started with a series on AIDS victims in 2003, Victor continued to depict various other individuals, commenting on ephemeral politics and ideas, and life generally as a temporal entity. In this work she depicts a perpetrator with reference to the previous South African apartheid dispensation and the atrocities of its perpetrators, but also to counter racism and the violence committed in the name of political redress. The Perpetrator's race is indeterminate, but his gender is certain, as well as the cruelty of his dispensation. Severed from the body, the Perpetrator's head becomes a rhizome that is not 'rooted' in a body, but uprooted, derooted, and floating with tubular arteries as corms hanging from it like a beheaded monster.

   

  As an ephemeral, nomadic image, Perpetrator 1 speaks about a decolonial condition that presents the ambivalent Baumanian idea of the pilgrim-tourist who keeps going in circles, driven by an ideological sense of survival. Nomadic identity is essentially rhizomatic, and in Africa, as in many other parts of the world, the drive to belong and the utopian quest for a better life have resulted in identity being redefined, renegotiated, rerooted and sprouting in many directions.

   

   

   

  References

  • Bauman, Z. ‘From pilgrim to tourist – or a short history of identity’. In Hall, S and Du Gay, P (eds). 1996. Questions of cultural identity. London/New Delhi/Thousand Oaks: SAGE.
  • 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.
  • Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. 1976. Rhizome: Introduction. Paris: Éditions de Minuit. [based on Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s  Capitalism and schizophrenia project (1972 - 1980)].
  • Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. 1987 [1980, French original]. A thousand plateaus: capitalism and schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi. London: Athlone Press.
  • RICHTERSVELD NATIONAL PARK - VEGETATION: BOTTERBOOM (Tylecodon paniculatus). 2008.Available: https://www.richtersveldnationalpark.com/vegetation_botterboom.html (Accessed 3 January 2019).

   

   

  published April 2020

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• 

  Stefan Eisenhofer

  Godfried Donkor is now considered one of the most renowned British artists with numerous acclaimed solo and group exhibitions in Africa, Europe, North and Latin America, including "Around the world in 80 Days" at the ICA (London), "Pin Up" at the Tate Modern (London) and "Authentic/ Excentric" at the Venice Biennale 2001. His multimedia visual art practice incorporates collage, printmaking, photography, film and performance. He is joint founder of "AISS-Art in Social Structures" and has participated in a number of residency programs in Africa, Europe, the US, and the Caribbean. In his works, Donkor creates visual references to the buried and repressed relationships between "black and white", between the upper and lower classes.

   

  Based on profound research, he tells multifaceted counter-histories that reveal the hidden principles of production and exchange in historical and modern societies. At the core of his work are questions about the stereotyping of black people and their reduction to their physicality - firstly in slavery, then in sport, in the fashion- as as well as in the sex industry. In his work "From Slave Ship to Champ" (1992), for example, the slave ship, contrasted with images of black boxers in classic prizefighter poses, becomes a kind of "womb" and „uterus“ of particular types of racism. In Donkor's work, the historical slave trade also becomes a metaphor for current degrading mechanisms of the globalised world and leads to the question: How far is it from slave ship to champion - is it very far, or not far enough?

   

  He questions the supposed "neutrality" of stock market prices and statistics in his series "Financial Times", in which he uses the serious-looking stock market pages of this newspaper as a background and alienates them collage-like with black and white images or full-colour glossy magazine figures of boxers and African women.

   

  "The black body“ as a commodity in Western culture is also the focus of his "Southern Vogue" series. He traces the ways in which women's bodies, in particular, were and are degraded into marketable commodities and how people were and are degraded into financial objects. Donkor's work has much to do with the fragile and ever-threatened dignity of human beings. He asks questions about victimisation and innocence, about the balances and imbalances of the world, but does not allow for one-dimensional quick answers. Rather, he creates not only alternative histories, but also alternative icons. In his "Browning Madonna", "Black Madonna" (2002/6) and "Birth of Venus" series, for example, he takes up Western pictorial motifs, "africanises" them and thus creates a field of tension between the elevation and exploitation of - not only black - women and men.

   

  Donkor's conceptually multilayered works are often inspired by places that played an important role in the historical slave trade. The artist uses the architecture of these places and the goods that were and are produced there to refer to the social conditions and interactions that lie behind them. This is exemplified by "Once upon a time in the West there was lace" (2007), with which Donkor reflects parallels between modern day and historical slavery through cotton and lace in Nottingham (UK). The luxury good lace, that is still synomymous with this English city, stands for the lavish lifestyle of the elites of the 18th and 19th centuries and at the same time for the exploited manufacturers who were often forced to live in great poverty. Donkor links this status symbol with his horrific history, and at the same time refers to the exploitative mechanisms of the current economic world.

   

  The location also plays a leading role in the performance/fashion/video installation "Jamestown Masquerade" (2004). The Ghanaian coastal town of Jamestown is one of the first communities to make contact with Europeans in the 18th century. In Donkor's work, this place now becomes an archetypal city for commerce exchange and a symbol of the cultural interplay between Europe and West Africa from the 18th century to the present. In this performance, Present day Jamestown becomes the setting for a masquerade of fashion and memory in which African performers wear English costumes from the 18th century and are accompanied by music by Handel and Mozart. In this way, Donkor also points out that the meeting of two cultures does not necessarily have to be destructive, but can also offer a great deal of creative scope for both sides.

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• 

  Elfriede Dreyer

   

  Originally, South Africa was discovered by the Portuguese in 1488, but this was not permanent, just like the Dutch settlement in 1652 that is generally viewed as the birth date of the country. In 1795 the Cape Colony fell under British rule again; it reverted back to Dutch rule in 1803; and again to the British  in 1806. From the onset of colonisation, the transatlantic slave trade was immense and especially South-East Africa was a main source of slaves. The colonisation of Southern Africa had as main purposes the setting up of refreshment posts where food and other essential stock could be collected, as well as the trading of slaves. The indigenous nations were subject to the whims and fancies of the colonisers, and they were sexually and labour-wise exploited; families were broken up and those who resisted were punished and often killed by whipping, shackling, hanging, beating, burning, mutilation, branding and rape. In many cases the slave ships themselves were killer machines since the slaves were packed into the haul like sardines with little attention to hygiene.

   

  In addition, South Africa is extraordinarily rich in mineral resources and gold, which has brought about massive wealth, but also instability. Johannesburg was established in 1886, due to the so-called gold rush, with fortune seekers and diggers flooding to it from all over the world to the country. Since then the gold mines have attracted an influx of locals as workers, which contributed to much nomadism, but especially since 1948 during apartheid, such mine workers were ironically allowed to work underground but once aboveground they had to return to townships outside the large city.

  Since 1948 when the country became locally governed by the Afrikaner-dominated right-wing National Party, whilst still regarding Queen Elizabeth II as head of state as a relic of British imperialism, attempts were made to throw off the colonial yoke permanently, and on 5 October 1960 the country became an independent Republic. At all times there have been resistance to the ruling governments by groups of all cultural origin, but especially during the 1980s and early 1990s there was severe resistance to the ruling policy of segregation: a period that saw much abuse, violence and many incarcerations. In 1990 Nelson Mandela as leader of the oppositionist African National Party was released from prison and in 1994, as part of a peaceful handover, he was inaugurated as the new president of the country with the ANC as government.

   

  It is clear that, as a country, South Africa has been torn apart by politics, and especially by the impact of colonisation. The postcolonial impulse is therefore inordinately robust in this part of the world. The notion of the postcolonial is closely linked to that of the postmodern, and according to Gen Doy (2000:204), author of Black Visual Culture: Modernity and Postmodernity, much of current art practice is “often relating to issues discussed in postcolonial theory such as identity, displacement, mixing of cultures and peoples (hybridity) and indeterminancy.” Post-colonialism could be viewed as a response as well as a resistance to colonialism, whereby issues such as historical events, beliefs, traditions, conventions and languages are evaluated and critiqued in an attempt to uncover the superiority and centrality of certain systems of thinking. Ideas of superiority and power relations play a core role in postcolonial investigations, but a main problem in much postcolonial theory is to nurture the idea of static black culture, which in reality is constantly changing and adapting to new developments and ideas. Decoloniality or decolonialism originated as a Latin American movement which focuses on understanding modernity in the context of a form of critical theory applied to ethnic studies. Similarly it is a response to colonialism. It seems to be more radically critical than postcolonialism which indicates more of a general resistance. Coloniality is generally understood as the sentiment and logic essential to the evolvement of Western civilisation from the Renaissance to today. Foundational to decoloniality is the deconstruction or decoding of the coloniality of power. This logic is commonly referred to as the colonial matrix of power and has its own set of theories and methodologies.

  Since the 1980s, the work of internationally renowned South African artist William Kentridge (b. 1955, Johannesburg) has mainly served the purpose of commenting on socio-political issues in the country. He is best known for his prints, drawings, operas and animated films. A work of special interest is his The refusal of time of 2012 (hereafter referred to as ‘TRT’), since it presents a clear image of postcolonial legacies and decolonial sentiments that have resulted in an eclectic mélange of narratives, experiences and events. Particularly interesting is also how the artist mixes various kinds of technologies in sophisticated way.

   

  TRT premiered at Documenta 13 (2012) in Kassel, Germany, specially commissioned by the curator of Documenta 13, Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev, and since then it has been exhibited at various other venues in Japan, Italy, Australia, the United States, Brazil, Holland and Finland. The work was produced in the artist’s studio in the Maboneng district in downtown Johannesburg and as a prelude to Documenta 13, a series of notebooks entitled 100 notes – 100 thoughts was published by Hanje Katz in 2011. In South Africa, the artistic production was shown first from November to December 2014 at the Johannesburg Art Gallery and then at the National Gallery in Cape Town in 2015. A collaborative piece, the artwork entails teamwork with Peter L. Galison, Philip Miller and Catherine Meyburgh. The chamber opera, Refuse the Hour (made in collaboration with Miller, Meyburgh, Dada Masilo and Galison) - with an international cast of eleven, including dancers, musicians, performers and vocalists - is the theatrical accompaniment that laid the groundwork for the artwork and is also an independent production. Prominent in the production is the artist presenting a lecture-performance on productive procrastination, myth, entropy, empire, black holes, the ancient Greek myth of Perseus and Einstein, surrounded by animations, swirling dancers, singers with megaphones, instrumentalists and a solitary physicist (BAM | Refuse the hour 2015).

   

  As an installation, TRT comprises five digital film projections on thirty-minute loops and a large automaton, occupying the entire space of a single, large hall. In the dark enclosed space of TRT, a hive of moving figures and intersecting stop-frame imagery ensues in the five film projections, creating an impression of vibrating energy. The complex imagery includes the artist as one of the performers, walking, reading and performing acts such as changing hats; a female figure, dancing and producing ‘wagon wheels’ and other acts; figures in comical scenes in colonial rooms à la George Méliès; figures in a laboratory-like space, maybe busy with experiments; dispersing and flying anamorphic fragments becoming human figures, representing a kind of chaos rendering; a rhinoceros; silhouettes; ticking metronomes and clocks; and imagery of inter alia megaphones, starry skies, stop-frame animations and drawings. On the other hand, chaotic time is presented as humanly, existentially and imaginatively inferred. Mortal conceptions of the physical body appear in the form of chaos imagery of disintegrating matter; and swirling moving figures, transgressed boundaries, and fleeting script and words render an awareness of temporality and transience in order to defy conceptions of certainty and fixed systems. The moving human agents in TRT ‘transgress’ the confines of the delineated boundaries of each projection by walking across the edges, and by so doing become displaced and emplaced in in-between, liminal zones.

   

  Kentridge positions the human body centrally in TRT. Technically, his scientific and conceptual method levies each projection that transforms intermittently from the graphic, more abstract imagery into the stop-frame animations to human figures (including the artist himself performing), clothed idiosyncratically in contemporary as well as traditional outfits. Other transmutations include a turn to colonial comical scenes with actors performing in rooms with historical architecture; walking and dancing figures; and figures in shadow procession, recalling some of Kentridge’s well-known earlier works. The sculptural automaton and ticking metronomes are given equal presence in the five film projections, which generates the comment that technological development has shown progress from elementary, handmade technologies to advanced digital technologies, but that the embedded techniques and processes are equally relevant.

   

  In TRT, preference is given to a conceptual engagement with the human technological condition instead of a lofty statement about science itself. Kentridge ‘relegates' science to technology and succeeds in generating comment and meaning through the very processes of the techniques used. In the five ancillary virtual ‘rooms’, an artificial environment has been created, entrenched in the technologies of the digital age, which has borne witness to emerging engineerings such as electronic communications, artificial intelligence and biotechnology. Symbolically comment is generated in terms of politics as ‘experimentation’ and human beings as the victims thereof. Set in virtual reality, the rooms in the Méliès-type comical scenes in TRT resemble colonial architecture, but notably these are graphically hand-drawn. Through very technique of the linear and expressive sketching of doors, windows and other paraphernalia, heterotopic ‘frames’ are created that resonate with the racial and gender regimes of the histories of colonial culture in South Africa. Several spaces are represented in the work, but in a dualistic sense they are both material and immaterial, and ambivalently premised.

   

  The flying particles in TRT subtly reveal thin red lines, crossing and indicating geographical points of intersection, but without explanation of what they represent. Metaphorically they could function as boundaries, relational reference points, historical markers, psychographical moments or points of reference wherefrom the ‘walk’ into time takes place or even the liminal ‘place’ where life and death meet. The particles become chaotic and finally disintegrate, almost in reflection of the processes of memory and how everything fades in time.

   

  References

  Doy, G. 2000. Black Visual Culture: Modernity and Postmodernity. Gen Doy London: I.B. Tauris. 

   

  About the artist

  William Kentridge (born 28 April 1955) is a South African artist best known for his prints, drawings, and animated films.  His political perspective is expressed in his opera directions, which involves different layers: stage direction, animation movies, influences of the puppet world. He has staged Il retorno d’Ulisse in patria (Monteverdi), Die Zauberflöte (Mozart) and The nose (Shostakovich). Berg's Lulu  premièred at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and in 2017 Wozzeck (Alban Berg) premiered at the Salzburg Festival.

   

   

  published February 2020

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• 

  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"

  
  
  

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  Niklas Wolf

  In ancient Egypt there was an elaborate system of reproduction around representative works of art. Gypsum casts of royal statues ensured that images of rulers were comparable and consistent nationwide. The formal type of a portrait bust, however, is as special as the material of Nefertiti’s representation. Stone figures, combined with a publicly effective installation, corresponded to ideas of permanence and a ruler’s longevity. The stone bust’s surface is coated with gypsum, which enabled a particularly fine design, and brightly coloured paint. The latter is preserved in its original condition (Tyldesley 2018).

   

  Technology, material, surface and the design of the object play an important role in Nora al-Badri and Jan Nikolai Nelles’ project The Other Nefertiti (Pinther 2018). This project intentionally raises a number of questions that refer to discourses about provenance and access to both one’s own and foreign cultural assets, as well as their relocation. Moreover, it points towards a possible democratization of globally significant, mobile artefacts. What happens to a visual object when it is reduced to the essence of its digital data? How can digital processes and media be part of such discourses, and even possibly their solution?  As part of an artistic intervention, the two artists penetrated the space of the museum and photographed the bust with concealed scanners, from which they were able to generate a multitude of detailed data to create a 3D print. Within the framework of a Common Creative License, this data is accessible online to the general public and provides “immaterial material” for future images as well (Nelles 2016). Anyone with access to the Internet and a 3D printer will therefore be able to print a copy that corresponds to the shape of the original, thereby democratizing the cultural asset. This gesture directly counteracts how strongly the accessibility of such assets are typically regulated – not even amateur photographs are permitted in a museum context, as the Berlin State Museums (Staatliche Museen zu Berlin) retain sovereignty over the object and its image. Both the generation of the data and the symbolic return of a Nefertiti copy and its burial in the Egyptian desert were documented on film. The project thus becomes part of a discourse critical of museal practices such as those of the Berlin State Museums: in reaction to the publication of the data, they referred to the legality of ownership, the ban on photography and the possibility of various – strictly regulated – accesses to the object and its reproductions. (SPK 2016)

   

  Questions of accessibility and the relocation of cultural assets were also the topic of a seminar held at the Ludwig Maximilian University in 2019. A female student, who gave a lecture on the relocation of Nefertiti, contributed to the discussion by printing a Nefertiti bust using data from the Nefertiti hack. In contrast to the Berlin original and a printout based on Nelles and al-Badri’s data, this bust was greatly reduced in size and made of fluorescent material. A significantly expanded conception of art developed amidst questions of reproducibility, reproduction, aura and figurative trademarks. Unlike the officially signed copies produced by the Berlin Gipsformerei, these replicas are made at a greater distance from the original. No direct contact is necessary, the distribution is globally possible. There are several processes of translation and transformation that create new networks between bust and recipient. First, an immaterial object – the data set – is created, which gains new materiality through printing. The latter is freely scalable, a series of enlarged or downsized reproductions can be made, which would nevertheless correspond in scale to the dimensions of their source; materially, a Nefertiti created that way would never (want to) correspond to the bust of Nefertiti. Artists thus become the authors of new “truthful” objects. The story of the original begins to overlap with the narrative of its reproduction: the intriguing story of outwitting and interrogating the museum becomes an immaterial and performative work of art, which exists on an equal footing with the shapeless dataset and the multitude of printed and altered Nefertiti busts.

  What can an object do as a representative? Which discursive spaces does it operate within? What kinds of questions can be asked of the original and copy? Which terminologies are capable of describing new metamorphical translation processes and aesthetics?

   

  Critical comments on the Nefertiti project point out that simple, transportable scanners would not be able to capture images that would allow such high-resolution data sets. It is possible that Nelles and al-Badri gained access to professional scans commissioned by the Berlin State Museums or that they themselves had a replica of the bust scanned (SPK 2016). Both remarks are difficult to verify after the fact and do not affect the intention of the project.

   

  Little is known about Nefertiti’s life; she encountered the global visual memory through a singular object, the portrait bust exhibited in Berlin, which stands for timeless glorified beauty and power in its own right. Questions about the accessibility of such images are already inscribed in the contexts in which they were created. In the ancient Egyptian tradition of exhibiting, powerful pictures worked between showing and concealing, they functioned as temporarily enlivened representatives of royal or divine power (Hornung 1971). Closely bound to constantly changing contexts of religion and rule, they had a constitutive memorial function in society, represented absent power, and were threatened by iconoclastic destruction. With the beginning of the colonization of the African continent by Western powers, Egypt’s cultural heritage was of particular archaeological and political interest to both public and private collections, as well as the art market.

  (Read more on the history of the Nefertiti bust and the concept of partage...)

   

   

  In contemporary terminology used to discuss ancient Egypt, terms of similarity (likeness) were summarized in discourses between original and copy: tut means (perfect) similarity; image, role and model coincide in one object and correspond to each other. Tut ankh is a living image (Tyldesley 2018) – (…) conceptual art was designed to represent the exact nature of a thing or person in the simplest way possible (…) (Tyldesley 2018). Perhaps the busts of Nefertiti – the dislocated cultural artefact in Berlin, as well as the multitude of possible reproductions from 3D printers worldwide – fall into very similar transcultural categories of representative likeness.

  Delve deeper into the reception history of the bust.

   

  References

  • Hornung 1971: Hornung, Erik. Der Eine und die Vielen. Altägyptische Götterwelt, Darmstadt 1971
  • Nelles 2016: Nefertiti Hack. Artist homepage: http://nefertitihack.alloversky.com (25.01.2019)
  • Pinther 2018: Pinther, Kerstin; Weigand, Alexandra (Hrsg.). Flow of Forms / Forms of Flow. Design Histories between Africa and Europe, Bielefeld 2018
  • SPK 2019: Stiftung Preußischer Kulturbesitz: „Nefertiti Hack” ein Schwindel?, 09.03.2016. http://www.preussischer-kulturbesitz.de/meldung/article/2016/03/09/nefertiti-hack-ein-schwindel.html (25.01.2016)
  • Tyldesley 2018: Tyldesley, Joyce. Nefertitis Face. The Creation of an icon, London 2018

   

   

  published February 2020

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  Bea Lundt

  A helplessly wretched female figure: The “Little Mermaid” in Copenhagen 

   

  Well known worldwide is the monument of the „Little Mermaid“ in Copenhagen. The figure is called  a “national symbol” for Denmark and a “landmark” for Northern Europe. The bronze sculpture of 125 cm height was constructed by Edward Eriksen in 1913. It shows a naked young woman, her feet like the tail of a fish. The intention of the sculptor was to honour and remember Hans-Christian Andersen (1805-1875), the Danish author of the story „Den lille Havfrue“ (The little mermaid). The place which had been chosen for erecting the monument is a rock in the water near the open sea; the figure turns her face to the shore of the Danish capital Copenhagen.

   

  

   

  "Little mermaid"  by Edward Eriksen 1913, 125 cm, Copenhagen harbour,
  https://dreamguides.edreams.de/daenemark/kopenhagen/die-kleine-meerjungfrau

   

  With this installation the country accentuates its identity of being involved in the element water and its representation in literature and culture. The famous piece of art transports different messages and reactions, has its own life and a specific history.

   

  The narrative behind this figure, a fairy-tale for children, is well-known in Europe: A young mermaid wants to get into contact with a prince she loves. But he never recognizes her and marries a noble woman. The mermaid dissolves to foam, which flows back in the ocean. But also she is transformed to stay as a ghost in the air, where she can be part of earthly life and earn an immortal soul.

   

  As a being of the nature the mermaid is part of the “other” of civilization and as subordinated to human and especially masculine beings. The title marks her to be “little”, not having a name and individuality. She did not receive any respect and interest, not even for her female beauty. By this ignorance she is killed, with no traces of her life. The story shows the most helplessly wretched female figure in literature we can imagine.

   

  Within a memory-culture the monument might help a region of seafarers to feel superior over the sea and the beings involved with this element. Denmark was a colonial power. From overseas came goods and wealth on trading-ships. People from West Africa were deported as slaves to the Danish colonies Carribean Islands, where they had to grow sugarcane. The Molasses, the essence of this plant, was brought to Northern Europe, where Rum was made from it, the central product which made towns very prosperous. In visualizing a sentimental mythical story from the period Biedermeier the monument helps to divert from this context or even to suppress it. But the symbolic meaning might also be an accusation against (male) neglection of the nature and a warning for girls to hope to win the dream prince. It also can be seen as a protest against monarchy, aristocratic lifestyle and the glorified royal history of the country.

   

  Performance and public reactions

   

  Many tourists visit the monument every day and there are activities and actions around it. It stimulates the wish of giving the mermaid the attention she did not get in the story, as a symbolic compensation. There are also anonymous acts of aggression and destruction against the statue (see examples). Feminist groups protest against the offer of a voyeuristic view on a naked woman in this exposed location, this is also done by conservative circles in a prudish mentality. The statue also provoked campaigns of environmentalists who added her slogans demanding protection of other creatures being under control of human power like the whales for example.

   

  An independent queen in Premodern Times: Melusine

   

  The fairytale of Andersen is a modern adaptation of older stories and there are lots of distinctions within the development of this symbolic figure. Very common throughout several European languages is a narration about a female figure with the name Melusine, which is derived from the french word “mere” (mother) of the Lusignans, an influencial  family, living in France and in Cyprus, from where the legend might have reached Africa. In the shape of a woman she marries a nobleman and rules over the country, building it up in an innovative way. When her husband discovers her in the bathroom being half a dragon, she flies away. In the official belief she is said to be a dangerous demon with no soul, destroying Christian families. But in aristocratic traditions the mermaid is understood as the ancestress of their gender and put in their heraldry. In illustrations in books she is depicted as a courtly lady with half the body of a fish, standing in a basin; the destructive element of water being abolished. She is not a victim, but the active part in the plot; when she leaves, her big family suffers and the country loses its strong ruler with her outstanding creativity.

   

  The twofold character of Melusine represents very well the beginnings of noble families: Polygamic life was common, and  when the institution of the Christian marriage was imposed, one of the spouses of a ruler needed to be sent away. The element water might hint at the origin of the mistress from a village near the river outside the castle, which is on top of a hill. In popular narrations she was given an aura of mystery, having the body of a dangerous monster.

   

   
                    

  Melusine. The mermaid as a court lady and the ancestress of noble families (woodcut and illustration of a manuscript 15th century), Thüring von Ringoltingen: “Melusine”. In der Fassung des Buchs der Liebe  (1587), hg. Hans-Gert Roloff, Reclam Verlag Stuttgart1991, S. 3.
   

   

   

  She is discovered having half a fish-body (book illustration 15th century), Thüring von Ringoltingen: „Melusine“ First printing Basel: Richel, around 1473/74. digit. ULB Darmstadt urn:nbn:de:tuda-tudigit-35087

   

  

   

  She flies away (book illustration), from "der Seelen Wurzgarten“. St. Peter pap. 23, Coburg bei Schwäbisch Hall 1467 (digitized by the ‘Badische Landesbibliothek Karlsruhe’, 65v.)

  
   

  The modern tale of a beauty killing her lover: Undine

   

  With the name “Undine” (lat. “unda”: wave) in Romanticism the mermaid-figure develops vampiric qualities, killing her lover by a kiss when he marries another woman.

  This motif inspired many paintings. They channel phantasies and visions about the chances and problems of a partnership between persons from different origin and about death as the consequence of an unsuccessful encounter. How can strange-looking persons, which come from or over the sea, be integrated?

   

  

   

  Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué (1777 – 1843), novel, 1814, published by Karl-Maria Guth. Berlin 2015, Painting by John William Waterhouse 1872.

   

   

  Conclusion

   

  Premodern times reflect the mermaid mainly as bringing fertility from nature to mankind, hoping to gain a soul through marriage with a human being. There are systematic changes to this story during modernity, which might result from the background of colonialism as absorption and subjugation of everything  different and “strange”. Men are longing for its attractiviness, but also fearing that this inclusion of a natural being might cause protest and fury. The European tradition can be said to be a parable about migration and exchange between different worlds, the mermaid being a symbol-figure for the futile attempt of colonizing the other.

   

  The task of a transcultural comparison: Mami Wata

   

  In Ghana I learned about Mami Wata, a traditional African figure, the patron of fishermen. In Quidah (Benin) I saw her as a goddess of the python, the holy snake. She has her own shrine where specifically educated priests pay tribute to her to keep her merciful. The name is interpreted to be a pidgin-version of „Mother of the water“. Scholars from Europe assumed that Melusine was carried on ships' bows in the 15. century from Europe to the West-African coast, where her narrative interlaced with local narrations with their own long tradition of water-goddesses. But: It might also be the other way round, from West-Africa to Europe, probably on the trade-roads through the Sahara. There, the legend emerged much earlier and arrived in Europe as early as the 12^th century, when the mermaid-stories began to gain popularity. How is a figure transformed when it is transferred to a region with such different history and traditions?

   

  

   

  Temple of the Python, “Holy Forest”, Quidah (Benin) 2015  Foto: Nina Paarmann

   

  

   

  Fishing boat in Winneba (Ghana) 2012, Foto: Nina Paarmann

   

  

   

  Quidah (Benin) 2015: “Slave Road”, Text: “memorial for the ‘tree of forgetting’ which had to be orbited, nine times by the male and seven times by the female slaves”, Foto: Nina Paarmann

   

   

   

   

  References

  • Hans-Christian Andersen: „Den lille havfrue“ (The little Mermaid) fairytale, in: Sämtliche Märchen 1-2, München 1974 (hg. Nielsen, E.).
  • Bea Lundt: Melusine und Merlin im Mittelalter. Modelle und Entwürfe weiblicher Existenz im Beziehungsdiskurs der Geschlechter. Ein Beitrag zur Historischen Erzählforschung. (Diss. 1990), Fink-Verlag München 1991.
  • Bea Lundt: Wassergeister als universales Motiv. Paracelsus’ Deutung der Nymphengestalt und die Figur Mami Wata in Afrika. In: Nova Acta Paracelsica. Beiträge zur Paracelsus-Forschung (NF 28). Hg. Pia Holenstein Weidmann. Bern u.a. 2018, S. 9-40

   

   

  Edited by Kelly Thompson.

   

   

  published February 2020

   

   

  

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  Mermaids at the East African coast

  The Mermaid in Copenhagen reminded me of the stories I heard when I visited the coastal town of Mombasa, East African coast in Kenya. This was back in the University days when   I accompanied my friend Salome to visit her mother in Mombasa. We travelled by bus all the way from Kampala through Nairobi to Mombasa, a long journey of over 24 hrs. We landed at “Mwembe Tayari” Kiswahili translation “ripe mangoes”- this market is a vibrant place with all sorts of mangoes to eat. It was a market of all diverse cultures:  Arabic, Swahili, Bantu and the main language was Kiswahili- a mixture of Arabic and Local Bantu languages. The myths, stories and folklore are all mixed taking origins from Arabic and African descent.

  
  

  Back to the Mermaid stories, once upon a time, a man went to have a drink at one of the Mombasa bars. He drank and went home with a woman. Before they slept, the mermaid wangled her fins to switch off the lights. He ran out of the house and told the whole town up to Malindi, a faraway town.

   

  Mermaids are both a mystery and envy because they are told to be very beautiful women who come, seduce men, and then disappear in the night. Another story was that the mermaids were “Genie” or ghosts, which are really demons of the sea.  When my Pastor friend, the late Lule went to preach the gospel in Mombasa, he had to cast out many. He told me that one night he slept only to be woken up a mermaid to command him to go and leave town. He just prayed in the name of Jesus and she left without a trace in a closed door. He said, when you see one, you need to do some spiritual warfare; use the Name of Jesus and the Blood of Jesus as weapons of mass destruction.

   

  Stories of mermaids are varied but when told by a Swahili woman; you need to sleep over, as they never end. You need to have some “mandazi” (sweet like a doughnut) and African Tea with Masala (spices) as you listen to these rich African tales. Will keep you posted when I visit again.

   

   

  References

  • http://blog.swaliafrica.com/mami-wata-the-mermaids-in-african-mythology/2/
  • Dona Fish, Angola, ca. 1950

   

   

  published February 2020

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  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.

   

  
  
  

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  Amanda du Preez

  The first selfie selected is taken by a reporter Yuzrig Meyer who reported for the Bushradio blog and is taken in Cape Town with students congregating in the background. The second selected image is taken by Michelle Gumede for the student paper Wits Vuvuzela of a student of the University of Witwatersrand (Johannesburg) enrolling in January 2016, while the university campus is locked down by security guards and police officers after bloody clashes between students and police.

   
  The two selfies should be differentiated as the first image is an actual selfie (image maker and taker are the same person) while the second is an image of a selfie-taker (Image maker differs from image taker). In the first image the direction boards towards CPUT CT (Cape Town University of Technology) campus, and the Damelin building (Private Tertiary Training Institution) in the background are clear indicators of its location. The selfie-taker is visible in the righthand side of the image forming a montage by merging his own image with that of the protestors in the background. The second selfie-taker is wearing a T-Shirt with the slogan #FeesMustFall while making a typical selfie ‘duckface’ with the security guards looking on in the background. She is provoking the security guards by asserting her presence as a protestor in their midst.

   

  The two images are selected to engage with the growing selfie scholarship also in the field of image studies. The selfie has predecessors in the rich tradition of artists painting portraits and self-portraits, and then democratized further with the invention of photography as a means of self-expression to include a broader audience and artistry. Until finally in the contemporary moment anyone with a smartphone can create a self-portrait or rather, take a selfie. The two images sampled here showcase the expressive and participatory possibilities of selfies as voicing dissent against the powers that be on the one hand, and on the other hand, showing solidarity with those uprising. As such they form part of a new visual activism that is created via online participation and images.

   

  Interpretation(s):

  The selfie is notorious for its insertion of the human subject into the digital sphere that appear ubiquitously on social media platforms. More than any other mediating technology the front-facing smartphone has enabled the human subject to create and capture images of the self as never before. The immediacy and the circulation of selfies are extraordinary.

  Depictions of the self is however not a new venture within the history of images, in fact, any reflective surface has sufficed as a tool for creating self-images in the past. Most notably the mirror which shares an intimate relationship and history with self-portraiture and self-representation. The progenitor of the selfie can probably be found in Andy Warhol’s self-portraits taken in photo booths (circa 1964-1965). The selfie that became a substantial category on its own since 2012 and 2013 has elevated self-expression to a new level. The two selfies collected here fall within the insertion of agency within the image, as both photographers insert themselves and their subjects within political events. In the first selfie, the creator can only be seen in the bottom half of the image so that the world behind him becomes visible. In the second selfie, the photographer also puts the selfie-taker on display surrounded by an environment of contestation. The images state: look at me but even more importantly, look over my shoulder at the world behind me. I am a witness to these events, and by sharing this image with you, you are also now becoming complicit and a witness to the event. It is a calling forth of a visible agency.

  The attempt of the artists to show his or her witnessing of an event – being there – is also not a new endeavour in the history of images. We are reminded of Jan van Eyck’s (1390-1441) signature and presence left in the small mirror in The Arnolfini Portrait (1434), and later Diego Velázquez’s (1599-1660) mocking presence in the company of royalty in Las Meninas (1656). In all these instances, the artists insert or interject themselves into the picture plane. In the case of Ernst Ludwig Kirchner’s (1880–1938) Self-Portrait as Soldier (1915) we see the artist inserting himself into the horrors of war, with an arm lost (although only imaginary), trying to work through the aftermaths of terror. Granted it is not the same interjection we see as in the case of the selfies but one may argue that something of that tradition of witnessing, making present, announcing an event is already born in these earlier examples from Western art history.

  The selfies selected here as part of the #FeesMustFall events testify to being present to a historical event and also to being interpellated into the activities. Interpellation as used by the French Marxist philosopher, Louis Althusser shows the status of the individual as always already being a subject subjugated in terms of power and ideology. The selfie makes that power hegemony visible as the subject negotiates his or her status apropos the powerful and ideological hegemony. There is an awareness in the #FeesMustFall selfie that not only bears witness to the riotous event but also positions the self in a particular participatory and supportive position towards what is happening. As Yuzrig Meyer euphorically states about his participatory #FeesMustFall selfie: “I may not have been around in the apartheid era in freedom struggle as an active participator, but from my experience of today I (sic) may have a better understanding to what it was like to be in the atmosphere of passionate comrades and the feeling of camaraderie in the air.” It is both an act of uncovering how power works, by making power visible, especially in the second selfie, and showing solidarity with the riots by inserting the face of selfie-taker as a montage onto the events in the background, as in the case of the first selfie.

   

  These two selfies could also be interpreted as decolonising images as they disrupt what can be considered to be colonizing powers and assert themselves as agents of what Nicholas Mirzoeff (2011) terms “the right to look” and moreover, asserting “the right to be seen”. These two images refuse to look the other way by pretending nothing is happening. Instead, they inject themselves into the event and confront us as viewers with their message.

   

  Discussion of the interpretations:

  If we accept the interpretation that these two selected examples of selfies create a new decolonized agency by inserting themselves as both witness and participant of the #FeesMustFall events, it can be suggested that selfies allow for an expansion to the gamut of the traditional self-portrait. The contribution or democratic expansion of the selfie to the history of self-portraiture can be identified in at least the following three categories, namely skills required, immediacy, and generating a broader reach expanding the self-portrait genre. These three categories are not exhaustive but add to the meanings attributed to the two #FeesMustFall selfies.

   

  In the case of skills, one does not require much talent or particular artistic skill to take a selfie. Where the self-portrait traditionally required set skills in the medium utilized for creating the self-portrait, whether painting, sculpture, etching or photography, the artists had to master basic techniques. This is not the case for producing a selfie. One merely requires a front-facing smartphone and the willingness to share in order to create a selfie. In this respect the selfie can be interpreted as a democratizing tool.

   

  Similarly, whereas the creation of a traditional self-portrait mostly implied time (duration) and space for the artwork to be executed and to be exhibited, the selfie can be immediately uploaded online and shared. The selfie also potentially has a far broader reach than the traditional self-portrait as it can be viewed by hundreds (conservatively estimated) of viewers immediately after being shared. The selfie thus further democratizes the self-portrait by being available instantly and anywhere. The selfie is not bounded by time or place and space, as is the traditional self-portrait – it crafts a tele-presence.

  Although, like all images the selfie is a complex and multi-layered occurrence and therefore not all selfies produced can be considered as democratizing and destabilizing agents. What is however accurate for most selfies is that they expand the genre of self-portraiture in significant ways.

   

   

  published November 2019

   

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  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  Rainbow Nation

  
  The rainbow in the Bible given in Genesis 9:16 is a reminder that we have a covenant with God not to destroy the earth again by floods. “I set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be for the sign of the Covenant between Me and the earth,” says the Lord. God had made a covenant with Noah and his seed for generations. Genesis 9:9. And I, “behold, I establish my covenant with you, and with your seed after you”. Since we are all Abraham’s seed, we are covered in this covenant, although Jesus makes a better covenant in the New Testament. Returning to the rainbow nation, this covenant is saying “ no more destructions”. It is as if God is saying we should no longer fight each other but live together in peace. He made us all people with different colours (rainbow).

  
  The metaphor describes a people with multi-cultures living together. The image of the flag is a symbol of togetherness or unity. The different colours. Adopted in 1994, the red, white and blue were adopted form the colours of the Boer Republic while the yellow, black and green were taken from the ANC (African National Congress) flag. The black colour is a symbol of the people; the green represents fertility of the land while the gold represents the wealth from minerals beneath the soil. The ANC adopted these colours way back in 1925.

   

  Associated with the flag is the national anthem. This is unique in that it has many languages:

   

  • Nkosi sikelel’ Afrika
  • Maluphakanyisw’ uphondo lwayo,
  • Yizwa imithandazo,
  • yethu,
  • Nkosi sikelela,
  • thina,
  • lusapho lwayo.
  • Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso,
  • O fedise dintwa la matshwenyeh
  • O se boloke (Ntate)
  • O se boloke
  • setjhaba sa
  • heso,
  • Setjhaba sa
  • South Afrika
  • – South Afrika.
  • Uit die blou van onse hemel,
  • Uit die diepte van ons see,
  • Oor ons ewige gebergtes,
  • Waar die kranse antwoord gee,
  • Sounds to call to come together,
  • And united we shall stand,
  • Let us live and strive for freedom,
  • In South Africa our land…

   

  Songwriter: Cornelius Jacob Langenhoven

   

  Summary

  The Rainbow metaphor is characteristic of a nation that aspires for peaceful living; building a peaceful nation. The symbol taken from the Bible donating the Noahic covenant reminds us that God will no longer send the floods to destroy us.

   

  The flag is a symbol of unity between the Boers and the African National Congress colours, which represents the whole of South Africa. It is a sign of hope and nation building.

  Associated with the Flag and the Rainbow nation is the National anthem. It is written in many languages signifying the rainbow nation of multi-cultures.

   

  References

  • https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_nation
  • https://www.worldatlas.com/webimage/flags/countrys/africa/soafrica.htm

   

   

  published January 2020

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• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

   

  South Africa gained its independence in 1994 with Nelson Mandela becoming the first black President on the fall of apartheid. The problem was: Even after the demolition of the apartheid system, social cohesion was a challenge as people still lived and gathered in separate groups, according to their race. Freedom had come but the people still segregated themselves. One of the ways to promote social cohesion is through sport. The hosting of the 2010 World Football cup therefore was a welcome opportunity.

   

  The photograph shows the First National Bank Stadium or simply FNB Stadium. It is also known as the Calabash, because of its resembling an African vase. It is located near Nasrec and bordering Soweto and Johannesburg.

   

  The Department of Arts and Culture defines Social cohesion as “the degree of social integration and inclusion in communities and society at large, and the extent to which mutual solidarity finds expression among individuals and communities”. This means that South African communities or society is cohesive when “ the extent that the inequalities, exclusions and disparities based on ethnicity, gender, class, nationality, age, disability or any other distinctions which engender divisions, distrust and conflict are reduced and/or eliminated in a planned and sustained manner. Thus, with community members and citizens as active participants, working together for the attainment of shared goals, designed and agreed upon to improve the living conditions for all”.

   

  Based on the above understanding,  building a nation is a complex process that entails “a society with diverse origins, histories, languages, cultures and religions come together within the boundaries of a sovereign state with a unified constitutional and legal dispensation, a national public education system, an integrated national economy, shared symbols and values, as equals, to work towards eradicating the divisions and injustices of the past; to foster unity; and promote a countrywide conscious sense of being proudly South African, committed to the country and open to the continent and the world“.

   

  The hosting of the World Football Cup therefore was an optune moment in the history of the nation. According to Barolsky, (2011) sport was used as a catalyst to build a non-racial, non-sexist, democratic, prosperous and free South Africa. The FIFA World cup in 2010 referred to  it as „African and South African. The Bafana Bafana team received great support from home. The social cohesion was divided into three dimensions: Civic, Social and Economic."

   

  The impact of the FIFA World cup was significant in building social cohesion. There was little doubt that the World cup was an “extraordinarily unifying moment for the country as whole, which broke down social, racial and even gendered barriers as women were increasingly drawn into the fervor around the a game usually predominantly watched by men.” (Barolsky, 2011)

   

  References

   

  • Barolsky, V (2011).Impact of 2010 soccer World Cup on social cohesion and nation-building, Technical Report · January 2011.
  • DOI: 10.13140/2.1.2007.5841
  • Retrieved from https://www.researchgate.net/publication/271700976
  • Department of Arts and Culture statement on Social Cohesion

   

   

  published April 2020

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• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

  Akan definition of Colour

  The Akan people have no precise terminologies that assign a ‘name’ which interprets into the meaning of colour the way it is understood in English and other languages. In other words, most of the answers to the question ‘what is colour’ makes very little meaning to a pure Akan speaker whose understanding of colour transcends a scientific definition. In spite of several efforts by contemporary linguists to subject the Akan concept of colour to nomenclatural consideration, the traditional Akan people continue to describe hues by their relationship with similar colours in nature.

  Consequently, terminologies in Akan, which are associated with the word colour, are likely to describe what a hue looks like in association with the natural (or in few occasions, manmade environment) or how a hue makes one feel, think or behave. Among numerous attempts at coming up with an Akan word for ‘colour’, the ones many respondents settled on were yɛbea, subea, su, husuo, ahusuo and bↄbea. These words, which mean almost the same in Akan, literally describe the nature, quality or, probably more precisely, the physical look/appearance of something. By implication therefore, the terminologies deduced are more general and their usage go beyond the description of just the colour of an object or a situation under discussion.

   

  Colour names

  Colour names among the Akan people, are often given directly after identifiable objects within the known environment. Therefore, names given to colour in Akan have the tendency of affecting the perception, understanding and accurate adaptation of colour among the Akan people. Name, like colour itself, has strong cultural significance. Therefore, names that are understood in one’s language are likely to have better cultural associations and connections with their people than those that sound foreign.

  In this regard, many Akan people are of the opinion that all efforts at identifying names for colours should continue with the culture of associating colours with the local names of known objects among the Akan people. For instance, if there are names such as ahabanmon (fresh leaves) for green and akokↄ serade/akokↄ aŋoa (chicken fat) for yellow, there could also be names like ahabanfunu/ahatawfun (dead leaves) for brown, gyafrane/gyanframa (fire flames) for orange, gon/dwene (gray hair) for gray, etc.

   

  Number of colours

  The number of colours recognizable by a traditional Akan are as many as those identifiable and describable in nature. As already indicated however, recognized Akan colour names and their identification are mostly in relation to those discernible in nature, for which reason their descriptions are broadly categorized. The following are colours available in the traditional Akan language.

  • Kↄkↄↄ (Red)

  To a very large extent, kↄkↄↄ, the sound of the name of the colour identified as red among the Akan people is more onomatopoeic than semantical in interpretation. Kↄↄ, the root word, visualizes the sensation of the word glow. Therefore, kↄkↄↄ actually connotes more to complexion with a strong bright colour. It commands an ambience of hot brightness, usually with scorching visual sensation, rather than a simple colour name. For this reason, kↄkↄↄ is attributable to all objects that emit some warmth in their visual ascriptions. Therefore, whilst a ripe pepper is described as kↄkↄↄ, ripe mangos, ripe oranges, glittering gold, burning coal, sunny skies, flames, the skin of a ‘white man’, etc. are all kↄkↄↄ as well. In the Akan colour scheme therefore, colours that could be placed analogous to kↄkↄↄ include red, orange, pink, wine and the like.

  • Fitaa/Fufuw (White)

  Fitaa/fufuw is white, light, plain, spotless, clean, neat, pure, holy, untainted and incorrupt. Moreover, fitaa/fufuw is always associated with cleanliness, purity, victory and spirituality. It denotates white coruscating brightness, visual spotlessness and stainlessness. No matter where it is spotted, the associated psychological and spiritual experience comes naturally, and this is inert in almost every Akan.

  Another dimension of fitaa/fufuw is its direct association with light especially when it reflects bright objects to shine. When something shines or sparkles, or hyerɛn as it would be said in Akan, it is associated with brightness and for that matter, white. In this regard, a spark that would be lighted by any colour to give the feeling of brightness will be described as fitaa. The reason is that the psychological feeling of brightness invoked by the sensation is more important than its sensation on the eye.

  • Tuntum

  One does not need to understand the word tuntum to be able to link its semantic association with weight and heaviness. Tuntum connotes darkness and visual weight, and technically expressed, all the cool colours on the colour wheel fall within the brackets of colours in this category. Tuntum connotes darkness, gloom and heaviness. To the Akan, tuntum does not only stand for black, but absence of lightness, brightness, shine, glow, gaiety, happiness and sparkle. This is not to say that tuntum in Akan spells doom. Just as with all the other colours, the reason behind its application is what matters most to the Akan. For instance, the weight and compactness of tuntum also represents unmatched strength and solidity. Hence, expressions such as black power, black beauty, black star and black magic connote the highest levels or degrees attainable in the referent condition. So, whereas tuntum or dark colours are used in the expression of gloomy and moody conditions or situations, they are also considered for situations that require seriousness, formality, deep concentration, calmness, maturity, strength and energy. Again, in its association with darkness and stillness of dark night, tuntum also connotes calmness, coolness, rest, quietness and serenity.

   

  The Akan Colour Chart: Minimal Dimensions of the Akan Colour Scheme

  The following charts present attempts at putting into perspective the minimal dimensions of the Akan colour scheme. As mentioned earlier, everything that qualifies to be described as colour from the Akan point of view can be located within three broad colour spectra—tuntum (dark), fitaa (white) and kↄkↄↄ/memen (glow, spark, shine), and they physically manifest in the shades and tints of black, white and red. Right from this point, it is clear that colour among the Akan is perceived more with feelings than just the light sensation it emits. Therefore, the colours that fall under these themes are believed to share more physiological, psychological and spiritual feelings than aesthetical feelings (even though that is an integral part). In the examples of natural colours associated with colour names in the tables below therefore, the ripeness of pepper, mango, orange and tomatoes are all described as kↄↄ, establishing the overall feeling they evoke. The greenness of a virgin forest, the darkness of rain clouds, the depth of the deep blue seas and the blackness of charcoal are all tumm or tuntum (dark) because of their command of psychological heaviness. The bright skies, the white flower, cotton and the grey hair are all fitaa because they share similar ambience and invoke the same feeling of brightness. It should also be noted that apart from tuntum (black, dark), fufuw/fitaa (white, bright) and kↄkↄↄ/memen (red, glow, spark, shine), none of the associated colours has a name in Akan. What they have, at best, could be discussed as descriptions. In other words, colours of objects are rather described than named.

   

  The following charts illustrate colour from the perspective of the participants in this study, as illustrated by the author:

  

   

  Figure 1: Akan colour category Tuntum and its natural colour associations. (Photo: the author)

   

  

   

  Figure 2: Akan colour category Fitaa/Fufuw and its natural colour associations. (Photo: the author)

  

   

  Figure 3: Akan colour category Kↄkↄↄ/Memen and its natural colour associations. (Photo: the author)

   

  From the above charts, the Akan colour reference scheme above was derived.

   

  Implications for design and design education

  Cultural understanding of colour from Akan perspectives will direct how colours could be appropriately grouped under the appropriate themes to enhance effective appreciation of design as well as effective communication. It would also ensure that the role of language and cultural interpretation of colour is given due recognition in the design education process.

   

  Reference

  • deGraft-Yankson, Patrique (2020), ‘Of the Akan people: Colour and design education in Ghana’, International Journal of Education Through Art, 16:3, pp. 399–416, doi: https://doi.org/10.1386/eta_00041_1

   

   

  published November 2020

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• 

  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.

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  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

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  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

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  Bea Lundt

   

  Louis XIV (1638-1715), King of France, was painted by Hyacinthe Rigaud (1659-1743) in his palace in Versailles near Paris in 1701. The oil painting was larger than life: 277 cm in height and 194 cm in width. The official title reads: Portrait de Louis XIV en costume de sacre. The painting is exhibited at the Louvre in Paris (INV 7492, open access), and a copy is in the Bavarian State Painting Collection in Munich.

   

  In this portrait, the king is shown dressed in the official royal robes of the monarch, posing magnificently in front of his throne, which is placed in the background. In the painting are gathered together all of the traditional symbols of a ruler: the crown, the sword, and the ermine cloak, which uses the fur of this most precious animal.

   

  Hyacinthe Rigaud was a famous and experienced court painter and had many assistants in his big atelier, so we do not know which parts of the picture are actually done by him. Since photography was not yet established at the beginning of the 18th century, every court employed artists specialising in portraiture to show people what their ruler looked like, or rather how he was expected to look or wanted to be seen in order to legitimise a political programme of monarchy. Specific iconographic symbols and accoutrements were used to demonstrate the tradition of rulership, which was thought to be bestowed by divine right. Rigaud fulfilled the wishes and orders of his patrons, but he also showed subtle characteristics of the people he painted.

   

   

   

  ‘Absolutism’: Paradigm of a ruling structure that today is considered a myth

   

  Nowadays, the portrait is often used for educational purposes to visually substantialise Louis XIV as the most important representative of ‘Absolutism’ in Europe, the regime of direct rule with no control by a parliament or council: ‘L’etat c’est moi’ (‘I am the state’), he is said to have described his understanding of his place in the world. Research has discovered that he never really defined his role in this way (first in Bernier, 1988, p. 110). However, it is true that he was attributed with the image of being the central part of nature and the cosmos: as the ‘Sun King’, he was staged as the genesis and focus of all energy whence all life originates.

   

  Scholars of the early modern era (Henshall, Wrede, Reinhard) consider ‘Absolutism’ to be a myth constructed in the 19^th century. Since Gerhard Oestreich observed the ‘non-absolutistic elements in absolutism’ in 1969, many studies have pointed out that the king depended on an influential elite as well as a number of committees. A complex and effective network of groups existed as the executive authority controlling the political system, as Althoff and Stollberg-Rilinger have shown in their groundbreaking books on the political organisation of the late medieval and early modern states in Europe. In their publications, they describe the ritualised methods used in communication between the influential groups in order to find a consensus. As result of that scholarly discussion of the topos of ‘Absolutism’, Wolfgang Reinhard, like other scholars, recommends, ‘that one should abandon the term’ (p. 40). But, as it is rooted quite deeply in the historical consciousness, this does not seem so simple. Martin Wrede complains in his article ‘Absolutismus’ in the handbook Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit of the continuation of the topos, namely ‘the cliché, still firmly anchored in popular views of history as well as in textbooks, of the all-dominant, all-regulating, arbitrary state built on princely power and with a splendid façade’ [‘das in populärem Geschichtsbild wie Schulbuch nach wie vor fest verankerte Klischee des alles beherrschenden, alles reglementierenden, auf fürstliche Macht gebauten Willkürstaates mit prachtvoller Fassade’] (p. 33).

   

  The portraits of Louis XIV and other kings are used to prove the existence of this colourful glory, whilst in reality, the monarchs were representative figures and personal symbols. During Louis’s lifetime, France expanded its territory in Europe and overseas, which brought extreme losses and financial burdens to the people. Because of that disaster, it was necessary to produce a reputation of honour for the king.

   

   

   

  Interpreting the portrait

   

  The portrait shows Louis XIV at the age of 63, at the height of his success. But he does not appear as a strong and resolute ruler who travels around in his country, nor an active fighter who leads battles to defend his people. Pupils today always miss a specific physical ‘masculinity’ that they expect from a king They fault this person for not being able to move, run, or ride in his heavy clothes, high heels and white tights. He is forced to stay indoors, surrounded with sumptuousness. They perceive him as ‘feminine’, as the only part of his body he is presenting is his legs, much like a young woman in a miniskirt, and the grandiose wig with its long hair hinders many activities. The entire image seems ridiculous to today’s pupils. What we see here is an old, ill, vain man who is dressing up to fulfil representative duties. What pupils remark is not just some disrespectful observation but is in line with what we know about reality. Rigaud is a superb artist to show the man in his demonstration of the ritualised courtly pageant of luxury.

   

  There are more paintings showing Louis at different phases of his life. As all royal children, he was kept in the same pretty clothes as girls during the first six years of his life. Portraits show him even at the age of ten with facial features and accessories we perceive as feminine and fanciful, not suited to preparing for the life of a strong ruler. The official regent for Louis until he turned 22 was his mother, Anna of Austria. Louis strengthened the Catholic church but did not follow her order of monogamy: besides his six legal children, he had eleven illegitimate ones, all of whom he cared for (Bernier, Tischer, Wrede).

   

  The ideal of masculinity during this time was the mixed one of early modern times, when gender was more hybrid than in the 19^th/20^th centuries, and life concepts were not sharply polarised between men and women in different spaces, placing men in the public sphere (Dinges, Lundt). Also, the central symbolic figure for the state was not necessarily masculine; there were very influential wives, concubines, and even female rulers.

   

   

   

  Conclusion

   

  In the educational process, it is important to dismantle prejudices about past ideals for masculinity as being strong, powerful and heroic. The historic examples of individual men’s glorious performances on European thrones need to be questioned. Pictures like the one of Louis XIV can help to construct a different understanding of courtly life. If it is understood against the background of a plurality of life concepts for ruling men and women, it can help us to see the limitations of their power.

   

   

   

  References

   

  • Gerd Althoff: Rules and Rituals in Medieval Power Games, Brill Academic Publ. 2019.
  • Olivier Bernier: Ludwig XIV Die Biographie, Albatros Verlag 1988. English edition: Louis XIV, New Word City 2018.
  • Ida Blom, Catherine Hall, Karen Hagemann: Gendered Nations. Nationalisms and Gender Order in the Long Nineteenth Century, Bloomsbury 2000.
  • Martin Dinges (ed.): Männer-Macht-Körper. Hegemoniale Männlichkeiten vom Mittelalter bis heute, Frankfurt am Main 2005.
  • Karen Hagemann: Gender, War, and Politics: Transatlantic Perspectives 1775-1830, Palgrave Macmillan 2020.
  • Nicholas Henshall: The Myth of Absolutism. Change and Continuity in Early Modern European Monarchy, London 1993 (first published in 1992).
  • Bea Lundt: Die Grenzen des Heros. Vielfältige Männlichkeiten in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit. In: Martin Lücke (ed.): Helden in der Krise. Didaktische Blicke auf die Geschichte der Männlichkeiten, Berlin 2013, pp. 67-102.
  • Gerhard Oestreich: Geist und Gestalt des Frühmodernen Staates, Duncker & Humblot-Verlag 1969.
  • Wolfgang Reinhard: Geschichte des Modernen Staates, München 2007 (and elsewhere).
  • Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger: Des Kaisers alte Kleider. Verfassungsgeschichte und Symbolsprache des Alten Reiches, C.H. Beck Verlag 2^nd edition 2013.
  • Anuschka Tischer: Ludwig XIV, Stuttgart 2016.
  • Martin Wrede: Absolutismus. In: Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit vol. 1, Stuttgart 2005, cols. 24 -34.
  • Martin Wrede: Ludwig XIV. Der Kriegsherr aus Versailles, Darmstadt 2015.

   

   

   

  Translated from German by Kelly Thompson.

   

  published September 2020

   

  

  Bea Lundt

                              Prince Osei Owusu Bempah, from the exhibition "Orderly Disorderly" - End of Year Exhibition, KNUST (Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology) in Kumasi, Ghana, Museum of Science and Technology in Accra, 2017, © Prince Osei Owusu Bempah

   

  The artist Prince Osei Owusu Bempah from Ghana artistically examines in two art works the portraits of Louis XIV (and below a typical European equestrian portrait of a ruler, like e.g. Charles V, painted by Titian 1548, today at the Prado Museum in Madrid). "Bempah appropriates historical images in the form of painting, sculpture and photography. Considering images as a multiplicity, he is now drawn to news from social media, television, radio and newspaper. Information is crucial to the making of his works which extends beyond the visual representations. He reinterprets them in tapestry, embroidery, banners and uses plastic sacks, curtain accessories, second hand table cloths and silk in different configurations. He substitutes certain elements of the original images with mortars and pestles" (leaflet of the exhibition).

   

   

    

   Image 1:Prince Osei Owusu Bempah, from the exhibition "Orderly Disorderly" - End of Year Exhibition, KNUST (Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology) in Kumasi, Ghana, Museum of Science and Technology in Accra, 2017, © Prince Osei Owusu Bempah. (left)

   Image 2: Tizian, Carlos V en Mühlberg, 1548, H: 335 cm, W: 283 cm, Oil on Canvas, Museo del Prade. (right)

   

   

   

  published November 2020