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  Emmanuel Aklasu

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

  References

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

   

  Further Reading

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

   

  Published March 2024

  

  Barbara Lutz-Sterzenbach

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

  

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

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

   

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

   

  Reference

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

   

  Published March 2024

   

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  Yaw Sekyi-Baidoo

   

  The Akan linguist¹ staff icon represents various aspects of the philosophy, values and symbolism of clan, town or ethnicity. The elephant icon, like other symbols of the Asante empire, is used in fabric and stool designs as well as the finial of the staff (Sarpong (1971:24), which is an important group formal identity symbol. Users of the staff include storytellers, clan linguists, and, most characteristically state linguists. Yankah has this to say about the state linguist staff:

   

  “Every Akan chief or king has two or more staffs. The higher a chief’s status the wider the range of staffs, since and important chief deals with a greater variety of social and political situations and has to match various situations with relevant messages (1995: 33).”

   

  The meaning and artistic significance of the finial of the linguist staff may be seen by considering the choice and artistic design of the finial, the identity of the user, and finally, the context in which the staff is used. The identity of the user, in this context, is the linguist of the King of Ashanti, a very powerful Akan monarch, whose influence and control is acknowledged over centuries and across different parts of Ghana.

   

  The paper examines the motivations for the choice and representation of the Elephant-Calf symbol, and the overall cultural and social significance of the use of this symbol.

   

   

  The Symbol in Context

  Two aspects of the image might are important for our current discussion: the finial itself, and the upper shaft on which sits the base carrying the finial. The upper shaft consists of two veiny lines which with a wisdom knot in their middle. The next is the finial – Mother Elephant with its Calf Standing on it.

   

  The choice of the elephant is based on the preeminence of the elephant as an animal. The elephant is universally used as a royal symbol of power and strength, and among the Akan of Ghana, Kwarteng (2006) reports that the paramount chiefs of Denkyira, Eguafo, Abura, Ajumako, Abeaze, Offinso, Wassa Amenfi have elephants as their royal symbol. The elephant is called ‘sono’ in Akan, and the morphological connection between the name and the Akan expression for immensity ‘so’ seems to emphasize the natural immensity of the elephant, which is also be expressed in the following:

   

  ‘Ɔson akyi nni aboa.’

  (There is no animal beyond the elephant).

   

  The leadership and protection associated with the elephant is represented in the saying:

  'Wodi esono akyi a hasuo nya wo. '

   (When you follow the elephant you are safe from the early morning dew of the bush)

   

  The Akan see the immensity of the elephant from the social, political and spiritual perspective also. Socially, the flesh of the elephant is socially significant as it, unlike all other animals, provides meat for the whole community for an extended period. Politically, its parts, skin, ears and tusks are crucial aspects of the insignia of royalty. Again, spiritually, among animals, the elephant is seen to have the greatest ‘sasa’, a kind of spiritual force normally associated with humans. The ‘sasa’ is a spirit which protects its possessor through life and which assails its killers after its death. Sekyi-Baidoo (1994) reports of extensive activities for preventing the ‘sasa’ of the elephant from escaping from the carcass to assail its killer. Overall, the elephant stands for physical, spiritual and social preeminence among the Akan.

   

   

  The Representation

   

  The Upper Shaft

  According some traditional consultants, the veiny lines, as seen above, represent the demands of the governance of the empire, which are controlled by the knot, symbolising the cohesion, control and direction of the Asantehene.

   

  The Parent Elephant

  The finial representation captures the side view of the elephant, showing major aspects of its immensity and power - the body, which showcases its immense size, the heavy legs, showing its matchless stability, strength and force; the trunk, with which it breathes, smells, grasps and lifts objects and produces sound; and the tusk, with which it digs, lifts, gathers, attacks and defends itself.  The limbs and the trunk are presented in neutral posture: both feet firm on the ground and the trunk lowered – not picking anything nor blurting - suggesting placidity. On the other hand, the tusks, bigger than natural, are lifted, pointing to an ever-readiness - not to attack, but to defend. It is on this placid but defence-ready image of the elephant that the dependant calf is placed - for optimal comfort and security. It is explained that this image symbolizes the prosperous relationship between the Asantehene and the people over whom he rules - not intimidating them with his supreme power and authority, but ensuring their peace and security.

   

  The Calf

  Interestingly, unlike the elephant, the calf is presented panoramically - without the details of ears, tusk and trunk - its source of perception, control, nourishment and defence, for which it would depend on the mother. This is understood to symbolise the governance relationship in the Ashanti Kingdom where the subjects look to the Asantehene for intelligence, protection and support.

  According to traditional informants, the elephant-calf image is sometimes interpreted as symbolizing the permanence of the supremacy of the Ashanti Empire - from 1701 to present – perhaps, unlike others powers which rise and fall.

   

  

   

  Significance

  As intimated above, beyond its art and royal attraction, the elephant-calf image of the Ashanti royalty reflects ethnic and universal ideals of effective leadership, which is for cohesion and protection and, rather than for oppression.  This is evident in the symbol of the wisdom knot and the image of the elephant carrying the calf.  This education on the effective use of power is relevant to majority/minority and local as well as international rich/poor contexts. On the reverse, it also points to the Akan and universal idea of responsible followership - submission and trust, and is easily utilised for the education of children. The image, thus, represents an effective blend of governance, culture and education.

   

   

   

   

  References

  • Kwarteng, K. O. (2006). The elephant in pre-colonial Ghana: Cultural and economic use values. Journal of Philosophy and Culture, Vol. 3 (2) June 2006: 1 -32.
  • Sarpong, P. (1971). The sacred stools of the Akan. Accra: Ghana Publishing.
  • Sekyi-Baidoo, J. Y. (1994) The Aesthetic and cosmological features of the Akan hunters’ song. MPhil Dissertation, Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, Legon
  • Yankah, K. (1995). Speaking for the chief: Ȯkyeame and the politics of Akan royal oratory. Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

   

   

   

  Footnote:

   

  1) The term „linguist“ has been adopted in Ghana for the Akan designation  „Okyeame“ in an attempt to find an English equivalent for the role of the chief´s or king´s diplomacy attendant. This may have arisen out of the acknowledgement of the linguistic capabilities displayed by the attendants, whose main resource was language.

   

   

  published January 2021

   

   

   

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

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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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  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  The Mandela House is located in Vilakazi Street 8115, Orlando West, Soweto. Now a museum, the Mandela House Museum is where the struggle icons Winnie Madikizela Mandela and her husband Nelson Mandela lived. There, they brought up their two daughters Zenani and Zindzi. Nelson Mandela spent little time at the house as he had to go underground during the struggle between 1946 until 1990s. He was arrested in 1962.

   

  Winnie Mandela had to bring up the children while continuing the struggle. She was banished to the Free State town of Brandfort in 1977. Winnie Mandela was born in Mbongweni village, Bizana, Transkei on 26 September, 1936. She married Nelson Mandela in 1958. The marriage to a freedom fighter was a lonely one. The police often raided the Vilakazi Street 8115. Her husband was absent with meetings and amidst the turbulence she had to bring up the girls. In October 1958 she took part in the lady’s march to protest against pass laws. This was similar to the one in 1956 in Pretoria. She was an anti-apartheid activist and politician. She divorced Nelson Mandela in 1996 and was the minister of arts and culture from 1994 to 1996. She led a quiet life  and on her 80^th birthday, she was honored by family friends and politicians, including Julius Malema and the future President of South Africa, Cyril Ramaphosa, and Patricia de Lille, former mayor of Cape Town. This demonstrated her relationships with all political parties. She passed on 2 April 2018. A true mother of the nation.

   

  Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was born in Umtata on 18 July 1918. At the famous Rivonia trial, Mandela was brought before the court for his involvement in sabotage and violence in 1962. He was imprisoned for 27 years in total. He was first sent to Robben Island but later transferred to Victor Verster Prison in 1988. He was released from prison after 27 years in 1990 and he came home for only 11 months, after which he moved to a bigger home in Houghton, Johannesburg. The former State President, de Klerk, ordered his release and removed a ban on the political movement the African National Congress. Mandela served as President of the African National Congress (ANC) from 1991 to 1997. His Presidency is known for his legacy in ending racism, trying to fight poverty and inequality.  He was dreaming of a nation free of racism with all people living together with all colours; the so-called Rainbow Nation. He wanted freedom without violence but the oppressors started killing his people. He then formed the Umkhonto we Sizwe, a military arm of the ANC. Nelson Mandela received a Nobel Peace Prize in 1993 with former state President of South Africa, Frederik Willem de Klerk.

   

  The Mandela House has four bedrooms and one of them goes down memory lane. It brings both tears and relief, knowing that the Mandelas survived petrol bombs and bullets in the house during riots. The Mandela House Museum contains several honorary degrees awarded to Nelson and Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. It also hosts artefacts, memorabilia and artworks including “Tears of Freedom” by Leonard Katete, a Ugandan living in Kenya. The museum is a monument of history, harbouring family photographs dating back as far as the 1950s.

  The Nelson Mandela Museum is open for public tours and photographs are allowed.

   

  Vilakazi Street was also home to Bishop Desmond Mpilo Tutu, who was an Anglican Bishop and theologian well known for his humorous and critical speeches that call to order the freedom fighters. He played a major role during the anti-apartheid and human rights struggle for South Africa. Bishop Desmond Tutu was honoured with a Nobel Peace Prize for his achievements in opposition to South Africa’s brutal apartheid regime. He took a non-violent yet fearless stance against the oppressors, a characteristic that made him stand out amongst the liberation leaders. He articulated the sufferings of ordinary South Africans in clear manner and at the same time spoke up about the oppressive regiment. It is not surprising that Bishop Tutu’s Peace Prize paved the way for strict sanctions against South Africa in the 1980s.

   

  Bishop Tutu chaired the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in 1995. Due to the fact that South Africa had suffered many wounds during apartheid, the many crimes committed by white rulers and atrocities against the black majority, the commission was established to “enable South Africans to come to terms with their past on a morally accepted basis and to advance the cause of reconciliation." The lack of social cohesion mainly due to racial disharmony led the newly elected Government led by Nelson Mandela to put together the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) under the chairmanship of Bishop Desmond Tutu. Cases such as the Soweto Riots (1976), in which Hector Pieterson was killed, were discussed; the Sharpeville Protests (1960 and 1984) and a number of other prominent cases were dealt with. Forgiveness was recommended as the fundamental condition of healing.

   

  Vilakazi is also known for the Hector Pieterson Memorial and Museum, which were established to remember the Soweto uprising on June 16, 1976. Hector Pieterson was shot during the revolt on the day when schoolchildren demonstrated against the use of Afrikaans as a language of instruction for middle and secondary school.

   

  Vilakazi Street and the Nelson Mandela Museum attract a number of tourists. The street is vibrant with good local food, music and dance. It has created small businesses in the township and is thereby contributing to the local economy.

   

   

  References

  • https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/winnie-madikizela-mandela
  • https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/tutu-and-his-role-truth-reconciliation-commission, retrieved 26 January, 2019
  • https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/peace/1993/mandela/biographical/ , retrieved 26 January, 2019

   

   

  published April 2020

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  Priscilla Kennedy

  CONNECTING THE DOTS

  A Pilgrimage.

  My studio is literally a skein; an element that forms part of a complex whole. Everything that forms part of its composition to me is like a thread being pulled through the eye of a needle to form a tapestry of narratives as body of works. I have absolutely no idea of what impact the connection of these dots/knots will fabricate or the entirety of its arrival and that to me is where I get immersed in roller coaster of jouissance. That is how the idea of process even in the most pleasurable way becomes an integral part of the context in which I work as an artist.

   

  Unravelling.

  Here, I connect the dots/knots within the current situation running through my artistic journey. The space in itself has multiple sub spaces I call ‘moods’’. I swing in-between these moods literally in pursuit of a certain expression towards my interests and concerns. These mood swings take off from my IDEA BOARD (https://www.explore-vc.org/en/galleries-content/idea-board.html) where my thoughts appear partially in flesh. That for me becomes my point of departure into streams of decision making. In totality, it’s a snapshot of all my thoughts as a cohesive whole where I can make choices guided by my ultimate motivation at a given time, on a particular body of work.

   

  Then I swing into my RED BOOK (https://www.explore-vc.org/en/galleries-content/red-book.html) where I narrow down my thoughts into writings as part of a research. In transition from the previous mood of writing to this new mood is the optimum to my purpose, which refers to the making or the tangible expression. I deliberately swing back and forth between these two moods to create a certain dialectical relationship between them as a deliberate and crucial aspect to my practice. This opens up my explorations and discussions of the subject of the body, the politics of marginalization and subjugation from a feminine perspective with the use of materials and techniques connected to a certain body presence (craft).

   

  Enchanted by the Familiar.

  I see the body as a fluid material that morphs with time or momentarily based on certain conditions or instances. It is like that one thing that is connected to several things. I am interested in that materiality of the body that allows it to be transient. And in terms of that materiality, what it can become and what it can do.

   

  So, to me, the idea of the female body aside its continuous flux is my interest in something about it that creates a permanent or ongoing relationship with itself. That is how the idea of the hand with regards to craft becomes crucial to my practice. This is in reference to its past and present subtle association with subjugation or oppression or basically how the idea of subjugation and oppression is tied to work categorized in the frame of the domestic. That sense of marginalization or the coupling of an idea to a body that makes it lay claim to a certain power absence is of interest to me.

   

  With the hand, I rethink the value of craft.

  Through that there is already an acknowledgement of a certain distance that is brought back to close proximity with the body through intimate artistic approaches like thread embroidery and tambour beading. This is where I swing to my TAMBOUR TRESTLE SPACE (https://www.explore-vc.org/en/galleries-content/tambour-trestle-space.html), here, I make laborious and intimate embroideries that feature beads. I perceive this process of beading as a metaphor in reclamation of the self, while highlighting the residue of power that still lingers within the very same system of subjugation. It is a subtle performance that happens in the studio yet inherent to the context.

   

  A thousand Yards Away and Within.

  I am tempted to refer to my whole studio as a bigger idea board where certain themes and artistic strategies come together to form narratives and contributions to subjects of interest. In constant exploration and experimentation, a mash up of all these themes and artistic strategies may birth a work of art that offers a blend of fabric cut-outs merged with beaded patterns or forms in the current state of my practice. Yet, I am open to exploring diverse forms of expressions in relation to the context as time goes on.

   

  Absorbing the Far Fetched.

  I connect with materials from a perspective where I perceive them as political instruments that exist in time and not only as objects of enjoyment. I believe in the idea of a common vocabulary in the use of familiar materials and objects because they inherently possess personal and cultural meanings from spaces they have been.

   

  In Pursuit of…

  If I’m to imagine my destination (the ideal work) from the swinging I’ve been doing for some time now, I assume I’m going to arrive at a magical tapestry composed of fabric cuts outs of feminine bodies fused with other forms of embroidery that may features threads and beads. These materials and artistic approaches may be composed to create fantastical characters, emerging out of a playful hybridization of the human body and sometimes other life forms.

  My destination may not be a narrow one, I believe, but one of diverse interesting processes where I can achieve limitless possibilities in my creative projects. The narratives within the symbolic realm of imagery seek to emancipate the oppressed feminine body through a material and technique culture.

  

  Ernst Wagner

  

   Fig.2 & 3: Table in front of the window with bead embroideries (Photos: Priscilla Kennedy)
  

   

  In the photo we see the artist's studio; in it, work tools (such as rubber gloves, a sewing machine, rulers), materials to stimulate the artistic process (e.g. image sources, sketchbooks, materials) and artistic work results. The room is painted white, even the crumbling block in the right-hand corner. This echoes the idea of the "white cube" with neutral walls as a currently still valid basic model for exhibition spaces of contemporary art. Everything is very clean and tidy. On the three tables in the room, materials and tools are arranged like in a still life. For example, on the table in front of the (curtained) window, an arrangement showing, among other things, a round embroidery frame with a bead embroidery that is not yet finished: work in progress. Everything is obviously deliberately placed in this museum-like working space, which thus develops a programmatic expressiveness.

   

  

  Fig. 4 & 5: Print outs on the wall, red book (Photos: Priscilla Kennedy)
  

   

  Fabrics, textiles play a major role in this scenario. They are simply material (the kente fabrics on the right) or supports for the two larger works (also on the right). But they also play a major role in the many pictures (DIN A 4 printouts on the left wall), now as depicted clothing: women's dresses in older prints, on works of art (from ancient Egypt) to more recent photographs. Surprisingly, there are images of the vestments of Catholic priests and, beyond that, abstract fabric patterns, ornaments. Working with fabric (which also includes the embroidery frame) is repeatedly found as an important field of work for feminist-oriented artists or for a feminist-oriented visual language in contemporary art.

   

  The DIN A 4 printouts are partly annotated in writing, which reinforces the impression that we are dealing with a "picture atlas" in the sense of Aby Warburg or an "atlas" in the sense of Gerhard Richter, i.e. an often surprising compilation of pictures which in this combination can or should provide very systematic suggestions for pictorial design and for reflecting on contexts.

   

  This also includes the other collections of pictures in the room, in the photo album, on the computer or in transparent sleeves (on the right-hand table), which are obviously often biographically oriented, for example through the baby and children's photos, or through images of their own artistic works.

   

  The overall picture is thus dominated by central aspects of current "global art", an art that could just as easily be shown in Berlin or New York. In this one, however, site-specific aspects, i.e. aspects related to Kumasi, Ghana or West Africa, emerge again and again: the kente fabrics, the photos in the album, even the materiality and construction of the walls speak of the place of origin.

   

  

  Fig.6:  Priscilla Kennedy, o.T., experimental study (courtesy the artist)

   

  This coming together of different thematic layers becomes clear once again in a detail, the painting that the artist presents in her studio on the right wall and which she herself sees as a technical experiment (see illustration below).^[1] It shows an adaptation of Ingres' painting "Great Odalisque" from 1814, now in the Louvre. The superimposed head of an older white man (Arthur Schopenhauer) is reminiscent of the same pictorial strategy that the Guerilla Girls successfully tried out with the odalisque in 1989 by putting a gorilla head on it ("Do women have to get naked to get into the Met. Museum?"). While the other elements of the work vary the forms from Ingres' painting, mainly in colour and technique, there is one crucial addition in this work: a small baby in silhouette, black, looking up at Schopenhauer and casting a shadow on the pale odalisque body. The whole thing is printed or embroidered on a transparent, light fabric that throws folds.

   

  

  Fig. Ingres, The Great Odalisque, oil on canvas, 1814, Louvre (Copyright CC)
  

   

  These references make the picture seem familiar to Europeans, but in its combinatorics and with the harsh contrasts it is enigmatic, just like Kennedy's studio itself. Here, an icon of Western art is cheekily alienated, here the canvas becomes a thin nettle, here the woman becomes a man, the soft cushion becomes a hard wedge, the white woman gets a black baby. On the one hand, objects and their meanings are thus unambiguously designated and named, but at the same time, through the artistic formulation and its combination, they are placed in an enigmatic resonance space, which immediately eludes the unambiguous settings that have just been made. An "in-between space" between black and white skin colour, man and woman, opaque and transparent, old man and young child, European (old) art and West African (young) art.

   

  If one looks back through this image (which is taken here - against the artist's intention - as a key image) to the studio, one finds very similar constellations there: empty chasubles of Catholic, i.e. male priests against female bodies in erotically charged clothing, falling, soft fabrics against rigid measuring instruments from geometry lessons, physicality against abstract patterns and ornaments. With such contradictions Kennedy creates an experimental constellation, she spans a field that reports on possibilities in between without letting them culminate in a final work. The open, unfinished field of experimentation thus becomes the actual "work".

   

   

  ^[1]              "This work does not have a title. I considered it as an experiment to try printing with a blend of embroidery. What is actually piercing through from the back is also part of the experimental process where I made heat transfers again behind the fabric to see the interplay of images from various directions of the material. I do not consider it as a work but as an experiment. " (Information from Kennedy to the author via email on 5.10.2022)

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  Annette Schemmel

   

  The photo at hand was shot in Paris in the 1920s. We are looking at a beautiful young woman with very fair skin who seems to have sunken her head on a table as if for a rest, while her left hand is carefully exposing a polished mask made from dark wood. The woman is Kiki de Montparnasse alias Alice Prin (1901 – 1953), Man Ray’s lover, a model for many painters and herself a successful artist. Supposedly, Kiki was central for the myth of the Montparnasse as an artistic enclave in Paris.³ The mask is simply “African” in the eyes of my pupils at first. I want them to learn that we are looking at a portrait mask⁴ of the Baule people in Ivory Coast. Pupils should also understand that such carved portraits served to honor an important member of a Baule society, a woman in this case. A dancer wearing a similar mask would incorporate the portrayed notable at the occasion of ritual dances, thus celebrating her achievements.⁵ This specific mask’s features are balanced and dignified, harmonious but not realistic, a point to which I will come back later.

   

  Meanwhile I shall argue that Man Ray’s picture thrives on carefully staged contrasts. The title that has come to stick with this photograph hints not only at black-and-white photography itself, but also at the most obvious contrast, at the White and Black⁶ skin or surface of the picture’s protagonists. Yet there are further opposites linking the lady and the mask in the picture, namely the opposites of young, ultra-modern and lively versus ageless, “primitive” and inanimate, matt versus shiny, skin versus wood, a seemingly passive woman versus the upright face of the mask, holding versus being kept. The photo historian Wendy Grossman has described how these opposites relate: “Almost as if it were a direct cast, the vertical mask, with its shiny black patina, is a negative mirror image of the reclining model’s ovoid face, echoing her pursed lips, closed eyes, and tautly styled coiffure. Parallel symmetrical shadows extend beneath the two perpendicular forms, coupling face and mask in a shallow and austere space.”⁷

   

  Clearly, Man Ray has smartly staged the Black and the White. By the time he shot this picture, Man Ray was making a living of object photography in Paris, then the world capital of fashion. It might therefore come as no surprise that this picture made its first appearance in an early print medium dedicated to beauty and fashion, the Vogue magazine. When the issue came out in 1926, everything “exotic” was fashionable in Paris, especially arts from (indirect) African origin, such as Jazz, Josephine Baker or, well, the mask in Man Ray’s photograph.⁸

   

  Beyond its uncontested fashionable appeal “Noire et Blanche” unveils some deeper, more unsettling meanings, some of which I intend to unfold here. A simple reading is ready at hand if one places this artwork in the historical context of the colonial era. In 1926, the mask’s country of origin belonged to Afrique Occidentale Française. On this backdrop, the dreamy woman holding the mask in Man Ray’s picture appears to be a Freudian slip in the form of a photograph, an unconscious idealization of colonial domination. Are we looking at a personification of the imperial power of France carefully embracing its colony Ivory Coast?⁹

  Next, we could follow a feminist lead towards interpretation. This photograph stages two females, whilst an important third actor of this mise-en-scène is invisible, the male photographer. Through his camera, the male artist is looking at the passive naked woman und at the artefact of a culture that is foreign to him. Obviously, the mask has become passive, too, once removed from its original context. In this reading, Man Ray’s photograph appears as a staging of the desire for submission – the submission of the idealized female and that of the cultural “other”. As viewers, we are lured into this voyeuristic pleasure, unless we take some critical distance.

   

  Following a suggestion of some South African colleagues, we shall now look at this photograph through the lens of the Martinican author Franz Fanon. In his famous psychoanalytical text “Peau noire, masques blancs”, Fanon is pointing at the phenomenon of the essentializing construction of a Black soul (“l’âme noir”).¹⁰ Following Fanon, Man Ray’s photograph can be considered one of those efforts by European (and certain African) artists of the classic Modern era to catch hold of an imagined essence of Black culture. This effort needed to objectify Blackness in order to make this construct palpable and acceptable. Arguably, in “Noire et Blanche” the ’black soul’ lies in the hand of a white person and is reduced to an object, the sculpted mask. Furthermore, it could be argued with Fanon that Man Ray used the Blackness of the wooden object, the “noir” that is readily associated with the ‘continent of darkness’ in the collective imagination of Westerners,¹¹ in order to highlight his girl-friend’s Whiteness. We know that contrasts help at intensifying and it is no secret that White is a color (of skin) that Europeans tend to associate with innocence and purity.¹² Arguably, this racialized contrast of the “Noire” and the “Blanche” served to celebrate qualities that Man Ray projected onto Kiki de Montparnasse, his partner.

   

  So far, I have tried to make clear that the artwork “Noire et Blanche” is not only a showcase of female attractivity, but that this photo also has a violent dimension to it because it relies on certain colonial mechanisms of distinction. As an art teacher, it is my ambition to make this picture’s ambivalence understandable for my pupils. I know that pupils are more likely to learn if they are allowed to make their own discoveries,¹³ for instance by exploring ‘real’ scientific data through the Internet. From our classroom, we can access the Metropolitan Museum’s online collections, which include a comparable portrait mask.

   

  

   

  Website of the Metropolitan Museum, New York

   

  Other than the black-and-white photograph by Man Ray, the museum’s more recent color picture unveils the fine shades of brown and red tones that are characteristic of the tropical wood used for Baule masks. Obviously, such masks are not Black in reality. Furthermore, pupils can learn from the provenance info that the Baule mask in the Met’s collection was famous amongst art lovers and artists in Paris and Berlin already before WW1.¹⁴ This insight helps to understand why Man Ray might have chosen a similar object for his photograph: artists tend to learn from each other.

   

  As a continuation, I like to encourage my pupils to sum up the museum’s text about the characteristics of portrait masks by the Baule by means of notes in German language. In doing so, the learners realize that these masks are carved according to a complex canon of beauty, that the forehead is high for a reason, namely in order to represent intelligence, that the polished surface signifies good health and that a representation of a person can convey dignity even if the proportions of its face have been exacerbated. This is new to many youngsters, whose frustration with their own efforts at realistic drawing has shaped their preference for artists’ realistic skills. Pupils also learn from the online information that this mask can only be brought to live as part of a performance, thus discovering a problematic aspect of its preservation in a museum.

   

  Coming back to “Noire et Blanche” with this new knowledge, my pupils realize that Man Ray’s photograph is concealing much of the knowledge that is available today. They understand that it is worthwhile to research background information for non-European art, even if this requires leaving their textbooks behind and going an extra mile with their foreign language skills. In the course of the classroom discussion that follows we are wondering why a Baule community would have let go of their precious mask, a question leading to recent restitution debates.¹⁵ Furthermore, the teenagers understand that the coquettish presentation of the mask in the hands of a naked European woman might be read as a sign of lacking respect by members of its culture of origin. At this point of the discussion some pupils have experienced a change of perspectives. This experience of assuming a position previously perceived as ‘other’ in the course of a lesson is the very purpose of our engagement with this artwork at school, arguably it is also the purpose of looking at art altogether.

   

  Let me summarize this approach. Comparing Man Ray’s photograph “Noire et Blanche” with the mask from the Metropolitan museum’s collection is a way to scrutinize a canonical picture from a critical perspective without denying the aesthetic appeal of the historic photograph. By way of this lesson I hope to enable changes of perspective and to build sensibility for post-colonial readings of pictures amongst pupils. Taking a bold stance, I shall claim that such lessons are conducive to a more general type of visual competence because I like to think that my pupils’ experience with the implications of this attractive historic picture might encourage them to also critically scrutinize any other picture in the future.

   

   

   

  References

   

  [1] For a thorough photo-historical analysis read Wendy A. Grossmans insightful article “Unmasking Man Ray’s Noire et blanche”, American Art, Vol. 20, No. 2 (Summer 2006), pp. 134-47.

  [2] For instance, Man Ray is mentioned in the widely used text-book Epochen der Kunst. Von der Moderne zu aktuellen Tendenzen (Hsg: Robert Hahne, Oldenburg Schulbuchverlag GmbH, 2013, S. 150/51). In this book, information about him and the photo “L’Enigne d’Isidore Ducasse” (1920) are featured under the header of „Fotografie und Film im Surrealismus“. It can be argued that „Noir et Blanche“ is surrealistic as well, since it seems to be illustrating Lautréamonts famous phrase “beautiful as the chance meeting on a dissecting table of a sewing machine and an umbrella” (Lautréamont alias Isidore Lucien Ducasse, „Die Gesänge des Maldoror“, 1874.), with Man Ray’s “chance meeting” bringing together a white woman and a wooden mask.

  [3] en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Prin (last accessed on August 26, 2019).

  [4] Wendy A. Grossman’s article “Unmasking Man Ray’s Noire et blanche leaves no doubt that the mask in the picture is actually an airport art version of a Baulé mask, by the way (p. 136).

  [5] Collection Records of the Metropolitan Museums (Baulé Masken), www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/317834 ((last accessed on May 3rd, 2017), also https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/319512 (last accessed on August 26, 2019)

  [6] In this text, I will spell Black and White with capitals in order to highlight the cultural construct of Race.

  [7] For the complex history of the title see Wendy A. Grossman, “Unmasking Man Ray’s Noire et blanche”, pp.140.

  [8] More about this fashion in en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josephine_Baker (last accessed on August 26, 2019).

  [9] Research on Man Ray does not support this easy hypothesis however. In Wendy A. Grossman’s article from 2006, the origin of the photograph is described as an open-ended artistic process partly sparked by commercial interest, partly by a collaborator, but not by political intention. However, I would like to argue that art works tend to transmit more or less unconscious convictions of their authors and their peers, which makes of  artworks valuable witnesses of their times.

  [10] Frantz Fanon, “Schwarze Haut, weiße Masken”, translated by Eva Moldenhauer, Wien: Turia + Kant, 2013, p. 14, 147.

  [11] Fanon makes this point in “Schwarze Haut, weiße Masken” (2013), p. 158.

  [12] “Symbolik der Farben, Formen, Zahlen” in Lexikon der Kunst, Bd. VII. S. 153-154, E.A. Szeemann Verlag, Leipzig 1994.

  [13] I am here referring to pupils from eleventh grade of the Bavarian Gymnasium, whom the syllabus obliges to explore aspects of the body in art during half a year.

  [14] Collection Records of the Metropolitan Museums (Baule masks), www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/317834 ((last accessed on May 3rd, 2017), also https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/319512 (last accessed on August 26, 2019)

  [15] For a thorough introduction to this question read Felwine Sarr’s and Bénédicte Savoy’s “restitution report” commissioned by the French state. http://restitutionreport2018.com/ (last accessed on April 1, 2020).

   

   

  published April 2020

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  Donna Pido

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

   

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

   

  

   

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

   

  Summary of Discussions

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  References cited

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

   

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

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  Ronnie Watt

   

  The discriminatory apartheid politics in twentieth-century South Africa were designed to advance the political, social and economic empowerment of the white citizenry; the  entrenchment of Western culture and values; to transform the black populace into a labour force and limit their education and training. Within that white supremacist dogma, black material culture’s only footing was its anthropological and ethnographic interest. The output of the pottery, weaving and print workshops of Rorke’s Drift came to stand in symbolic defiance of all of that.

   

  Rorke’s Drift grew from the missionary work of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in South Africa’s KwaZulu-Natal Province Under the initial management of Peder and Ulla Gowenius who were recruited from Sweden, the centre was conceptualised for the training of black members of the local community to produce art and crafts as a means of self-support. The pottery workshop at the centre was established in 1968 by the Danish potter Peter Tyberg.

   

  Whilst the Zulu culture is predominant in the province, it also accommodates other cultural groups. The majority of the initial group of women recruited for the pottery workshop belonged to the Sotho group and had the skills to produce utilitarian pottery for brewing, cooking and storage in traditional forms, decorated with applied motifs and incised elements (Fig 2).h The women were also familiar with traditional Zulu pottery forms in monochromatic colors (hues of black and brown) and  decorative motifs that included pinched surfaces, geometric designs and raised linear coils. These were and continue to be produced with hand-building techniques and pit-firing.

   

  

  Figure 2

  A traditional vessel (ukhamba) for the serving of beer in the Zulu culture, 1965, hand-built, burnished and decorated with applied raised designs (amasumpa), collected in Melmoth in KwaZulu-Natal Province, South Africa, 24 x 29 cm, Collection of Iziko Museums of South Africa, Cape Town, ©Michael Hall

   

   

  

  Figure 3

  Traditional Zulu vessels collected in KwaZulu-Natal Province, South Africa, c.1990 to 1996, various potters, hand-built, burnished and decorated with incised and raised designs, Collection of Ian Garrett, ©Ian Garrett

   

  The potters were introduced to Western production techniques, materials and kiln technology at the workshop. They were also shown books and magazines that exposed them to pottery forms outside of their culture and convention such as of Pueblo Indian and Nigerian pottery (Hosking, 2005, p. 33 and Gers, 2015, p. 268). It was the dictum of Rorke’s Drift to promote individual expression flowing from “an innate naivety and conceptualism” (Leeb-du Toit, 2012, p. 79) but the resulting works had to have appeal for Western consumers. In the pottery this culminated in a “composite globalised identity” (Hosking, 2005, p. 57) that married Scandinavian late-modernism and indigenous African knowledge systems. Freddie Motsamayi (2012, p. 24) described it bluntly as an example of an invented tradition in which new forms of African expression were produced for the benefit of Western patrons.

   

  Whilst staying for the most part within the parameters of traditional Sotho and Zulu forms, the women potters created their versions of Western forms of bowls and vases and also vessels that approached sculptural forms or were distinctly sculptural forms. The decorations which referenced indigenous culture usually covered most of the surface and were applied as incised or built features and painting in layers of slips. The works became progressively more intricate and composite with richly painted and texturally decorated surfaces (Hosking, 2005, p. 96).

  A new form that emerged in the workshop oeuvre was the “bird pot” introduced by Judith Mkhabela who worked in the studio during the 1970s. This was a pot with a pedestal base to which the head, wings and tail of a bird were added. Whether this form was Mkhabela’s own innovation is not a certain fact. It might have been modelled on the nineteenth century European hen-on-nest form (Maggs and Ward, 2011, pp. 155–156) that served as a container for fresh eggs. It is equally likely that the pot referenced two other indigenous cultural vessel forms, namely the bird-shaped earthenware vessels made by the South Sotho cultural group for possible use as water containers, water coolers or egg storage (Riep, 2011, p. 185) and the other being the totemic pig and elephant vessel forms made by the amaHlubi tribe associated with the Basotho cultural group (Garrett, 2020).Over the years this form was adapted by some of the other potters such as Elizabeth Mbatha (Fig 4).

   

  

  Figure 4

  Elizabeth Mbatha at work in the Rorke’s Drift pottery workshop in 2014, ©Ronnie Watt

   

  Rorke’s Drift pottery was first . Two years later, the gallery acquired hand-built and thrown works from the studio for its permanent collection. This was significant for being the first ceramic works by black South African artists to be acquired for inclusion in a public collection during the apartheid era. The best of the pottery was selected to be sold in overseas outlets with Sweden and Germany as prime destinations. The potters set a precedent amongst South African black potters by signing their works on the feet of the pottery and further adding the date and kiln data alongside the leaf logo of Rorke’s Drift (Fig 5). This practice copied Western potters who identified their works with potter’s marks, signatures or monograms.

   

  

  Figure 5

  The foot of the double bird vase bears the name of the potter Elizabeth Mbatha [sic], the kiln  data and the leaf-form logo of the Evangelical Lutheran Church Centre for Art and Craft at Rorke’s Drift, ©Ronnie Watt

   

  As a collective and as individuals, the potters defied tradition and convention, Western perceptions and expectations of traditional pottery. The potters preserved elements of  indigenous form and designs in their pots alongside the non-traditional features and sculptural appendages (Figs 6, 7). This illustrates the statement by the ceramics art historian Elizabeth Perrill (2008, [Sp]) that Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) of materials, methods, forms and values are not monolithic and permit an expansion of innovative aesthetics within and as a continuation of a culture.

   

  

  Figure 6

  Lephina Molefe, Stacked vessel, 1980, hand-built and glaze-decorated reduction-fired stoneware, 26 x 17 cm, Evangelical Lutheran Church Centre for Art and Craft at Rorke’s Drift, South Africa, private collection, ©Ronnie Watt

   

   

  

  Figure 7

  Euriel Mbatha, Figurative vase, 1984, hand-built and glaze-decorated reduction-fired stoneware, 21 x 13 cm, Evangelical Lutheran Church Centre for Art and Craft at Rorke’s Drift, South Africa, Collection Minette Zaaiman, ©Ronnie Watt

   

  The demand for Rorke’s Drift pottery started to wane in the 1990s for several reasons. Dealers and collectors broadened their interest to include the other indigenous potters who had since come to the fore. Problems with the management of the centre and financial constraints detracted from the promotion of the pottery and the recruitment of new potter talent. The quality of the pottery deteriorated after the introduction of commercial clay bodies and glazes and there was little variance in the forms and their decorations. The potters were no longer producing for the local and international collector market but had to produce works that met the expectations and budgets of tourists.

   

  As “tourist art”, the twenty-first century pottery of the ELC Art and Craft Centre at Rorke’s Drift reveals forms and decoration intended to meet buyers’ tastes and budgets. The purposeful re-orientation towards the tourist market to tap into that source of revenue, is not a slur on the history, aesthetics or ethos of the studio. As in the earlier works, the more recent works illustrate an entanglement of the maker and the made, relevant to a new context of time and circumstance.

   

   

   

  References

  • Garret, IW. (2020). Personal correspondence.
  • Gers, W. (2015). Scorched earth: 100 Years of Southern African pottery. Johannesburg: Jacana.
  • Hosking, S. (2005). “Tradition and innovation: Rorke's Drift ceramics in the collection of the Durban Art Gallery, KwaZulu-Natal.” Unpublished MA (Fine Arts) dissertation. University of KwaZulu-Natal, Pietermaritzburg.
  • Leeb-du Toit, J. (2012). Rorke’s Drift ceramic traditions in context. In J. Stretton (Ed.), All Fired Up: Conversations between storerooms and classrooms (pp. 77-81). Durban: Durban Art Gallery.
  • Maggs, T. & Ward, V. (2011). Judith Mkhabela: An inspirational potter from KwaZulu-Natal. Southern African Humanities (23), September, 151–71.
  • Motsamayi, MF. (2012). “The Bernstein Collection of Rorke’s Drift ceramics at the University of KwaZulu-Natal: A catalogue raisonné.” Unpublished MA (Art History) dissertation. University of KwaZulu-Natal, Pietermaritzburg.
  • Perrill, E. (2008). Indigenous Knowledge Systems (IKS) & Zulu Ceramic Arts: Azolina MaMncube Ngema, One Woman’s Story. Interpreting Ceramics 10, [Sp]. Retrieved from www.interpretingceramics.com/issue010/articles/01.htm.
  • Riep, DMM. (2011). “House of the Crocodile: south Sotho art and history in southern Africa.” Unpublished PhD thesis. University of Iowa, Iowa City. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.17077/etd.0dzbhfvg.

   

   

  published November 2020

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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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• 

  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

  

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

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

   

  One could differentiate between a maiden and a married woman just by looking at the hairstyles they wore. The people also used natural hair treatments that conditioned and softened it to keep it in good shape. The Akan often said ɔbaa n’enyimyam nye ne tsirhwin which literally means ‘The glory of a woman is her hair.’ This expression underscored why women in precolonial Ghana cared so much about their hair. They spent a great deal of their time in pursuance of their hair beauty culture practices. During puberty rites, female adolescents are given special education on hygiene, good grooming and hair beauty culture practices and treatments because of the premium society placed on the hair. Consequently, hair became a significant communicative symbol used to express moods such as bereavement, joy; and in some cases, power and authority. For example, a male child who lost his father, mother or close relation cut the hair down to the skin (Figure 3). He appeared hairless on the head as a sign of bereavement. Some Akan female adults wore a hairstyle called takua, done by holding the hairs together atop the head and with thread to stand upright. To them, such a hairstyle is design-less and simple in paying homage to the dead.

   

  
  Figure 3: Man with hair cut to the skin as a signal of bereavement. (Image
  courtesy: Godhit, 2017).

   

  
  Slave Trade, Colonialism and Western Education in Black Hair Stigmatisation

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

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

   

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

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

   

   

  
  References

   

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

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• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

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

   

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

   

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

  Examples of footprints

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

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

   

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

   

   

  published January 2020

  

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

  Sleeping Corals

   

  Sleeping Corals (© Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi)

   

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

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

   

   

  published January 2020

Read more …

• 

  Esther Kibuka-Sebitosi

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  References

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

   

   

  published May 2020

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  Kerstin Pinther

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

   

  

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

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

   

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

   

  

  Attia, Kadar. Déconstruir - Reinventer. 2012 

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

   

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

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  Jane Otieno

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

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

   

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

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

   

  

  Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

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

   

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

   

  

   Detail (Photo: Avi Sooful)

   

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

   

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

   

  CONCLUSION

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

   

  REFERENCES

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

   

  Photo credits

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

   

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  Leonie Chima Emeka & Stefan Eisenhofer

   

  Born 1984 in Nairobi (Kenya), Armitage received his artistic training in London (UK). Living and working in both places today, he praises each of these cities as substantial to his creative practice. His inspirations spring from many different sources – from political events, mass media affairs and pop culture to personal memories and experiences as well as from Eastern African and European folklore. He merges together the stories and experiences of two cities and weaves them into a narrative of interregional interest. Often starting with Kenyan local myth he is developing global tales of political critique and rebellion concerning global demands on democracy, data protection, ecological and human rights — always overlaid  by the meaning of the break between the “West and the Rest”, between human and un-human, between the exploitation of life and its inviolable dignity. In his work, Armitage investigates the idea of Africa as a mirror for Western phantasies and success stories of the Global North: the wild and untamed nature on the one side and the violated racialized bodies and political and ecological catastrophes on the other.

   

  The painting “Baboon” was on view in the exhibition "The Paradise Edict“ at Haus der Kunst in 2020 as part of a series of five oil paintings depicting tropical animals. On tropical background various monkeys in erotic posture invite the viewer to an examination of sexuality at the boundaries between animality and humanity, erotics and exotics. Also the “Baboon” strikes the eye with its suggestive sexuality. In the clearing of an overgrown rainforest, the monkey lies on the ground in a very human attitude. A bare stone supports its right arm as if the ape was resting on a natural chaiselongue. Within the apparently wild environment, the animal seems rather cultivated.

   

  The baboon oscillates between human and animal; not only in its posture but also in its physique: Feet and face are animal, while the rest of its body looks almost human; it has no fur or hair but pronounced muscles on his bare chest. Despite its muscles the ape’s body looks youthful and slightly lanky. It reminds to Michelangelo’s David for which it is commonly known that the legs and arms are extra-long compared to his body in order to mark his youth. Like a juvenile not yet fully grown the baboon, too, has long arms and legs. Neither a child nor yet a man, both an ape and a human body, the baboon hovers between child and man, between man and animal, between innocence and animal sexuality.

   

  Instead of the characteristic fig leaf of early modern European sculpture, there is a large bundle of bananas between the monkey's legs. The individual bananas, sketched on the yellow surface, are quite phallic in shape and the banana bundle tends to overemphasise the male sexual organ, while the ape’s physical penis is hidden behind it. The banana is probably the most common fruit in the Global North that still bears the tag ‚exotic‘. It is not the monkey’s body, that is sexual; but the bundle of bananas both hides and emphasises the phallic and states an allegory for the conceptual connection between exotic and phallic.

   

  Its absence makes it ever more present, as its leaves the concretisation of sexuality to the viewer’s imagination. In fact the image could be both innocent or sexual, as not only the penis is hidden behind the bundle, but also the ape’s left hand that reaches out to his underbelly. We can not see, but only guess where it rests, and what it is doing there. In his suggestiveness Armitage opens a space of confusing erotic tension and a critique of the sexualisation of race. With the figure that hovers between youth, man and animal, Armitage challenges the relations between black masculinity and sexuality in the Global North. It was Franz Fanon in "Black Skin-White Masks“ (1952), who once posited, that in European Subconscious "the Negro“ is the genitals par exellence, reduced to a giant penis. In this painting Armitage investigates the complex relations between blackness and phallus in Western concepts of masculinity.

   

  Like many of Armitage’s paintings also the “Baboon” presents an overlay of heaven and hell and is taking up the title of the exhibition “Paradise Edict”. They are referring to African and European as well as global paradise fantasies and hopes. They are aiming often at an ordered, decreed and prescribed paradise. They reveal the mandatory and obsessive aspects of these Garden of Eden-Imaginations, disillusioning global Out-of-Africa-fantasies, distorting eternal and natural laws to man made illusionistic laws.

   

  Armitage uses lubugo, a fabric made from fig-tree bark, in lieu of canvas for his paintings. This cloth is Ugandan in origin and has a long history of social, religious and political meaning and use there. Armitage first came across lubugo in 2010 on a Nairobi tourist market. The use of this now somewhat Pan-East-African-material corresponds with his visual vocabulary. Armitage combines European with Eastern-African materials, forms and strategies and waves them into complex, yet alluring compositions that remember the entangled history of painting through the ages and continents and rewrites new relations in between.

   

  published January 2021

   

  About Michael Armitage's initiative in Nairobi "Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute (NCAI)" see Link.

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  Ernst Wagner

   

  Based on the Ghanaian interpretation, it quickly became clear that certain ideological or political positions are immediately connotated with the respective image selection. These in turn are linked to historical and social experiences, which Winkler (2021) recently elaborated on the basis of the history of Germany. In our case, the West German, left-liberal intellectual milieu is of particular interest, since all the German project partners involved in the discussion can probably be assigned to such a milieu. "In the 1970s, the view prevailed among liberal and left-wing intellectuals in former West German, which objectively was not a nation state, did well to see itself as a >post-national democracy<. In the 1980s, this led to the conviction among many that the time of the nation state had passed and that Europe only had a future as a post-national union. [...] The self-destruction of one's own nation-state [in Nazi Germany - author's note] led to the conclusion that the nation-state as such had outlived its usefulness, and the term ‘national’ was equated with nationalist. [...] In Germany the idea that the nations had to merge into a European republic found a broader public echo." (Winkler 2020 p.186)

   

  For art educators, the majority of whom probably feel committed to this idea of Germany as a post-national democracy, the question of a current symbolisation of national unity^[1] is therefore obsolete. It cannot therefore be relevant to art education. A consensus in the German team on how at least the general topic could be addressed could be reached by the proposal to deal with the topic on another level, and to use Hans Haacke's installation "Der Bevölkerung" (2000, courtyard of the German parliament in Berlin) to deal with the topic of "national unity" in a contemporary art lesson.

   

  Hans Haacke (*1936) is a German-American artist who has lived and worked in New York since 1965 and whose conceptually influenced works primarily address art-political processes. 

   

  

   

  Figure 2: View into the courtyard of the Reichstag building. © Hans Haacke / VG Bild-Kunst. 

   

   

   

  Haacke's installation "Der Bevölkerung" is located in a courtyard of the Reichstag building. This architectural context is part of the work. The building was constructed at the end of the 19th century, during the Second German Empire (1871-1918). In neo-baroque style, it paid homage to the national pomp under emperor Wilhelm II. Damaged by fire in 1933, it was further damaged during the Second World War. Located directly on the Wall to East Berlin, the dome was finally blown up in 1954. In reunified Germany, however, a new function was found for the building. Rebuilt according to plans by Norman Foster in the 1990s, it now serves the German parliament, the Bundestag.

   

  

   

  Figure 3: View of the façade of the Reichstag building with the inscription "Dem Deutschen Volke" © Hans Haacke / VG Bild-Kunst. 

   

   

   

  Hans Haacke built a 21 x 7 metre rectangular, flat wooden enclosure in this building. He then asked the MPs to gradually fill it with soil from their respective home regions. In the middle of the box, the inscription "Der Bevölkerung" (To the People / Population) can be read, in white letters illuminated from the inside. The typeface corresponds to the inscription "Dem Deutschen Volke" (To the German People / Nation), which has been on the outside of the building's west portal since 1916.^[2] According to the initiator, the invitation to bring soil from the constituencies is valid as long as members are democratically elected to the German parliament. A webcam, belonging to the installation (www.bundestag.de), takes a picture every day at 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. and thus allows a take a look at the development of the project since 2000 and at the current situation.

   

  

   

  Figure 4: An MP distributes the home soil from his constituency in Haacke's installation. © Hans Haacke / VG Bild-Kunst. 

   

   

   

  When Haacke proposed to install this large-scale installation in the new parliament in 1999, ten years after German reunification, it triggered a heated public discussion. Many MPs found the words "Der Bevölkerung" (To the People / Population), which appeared to be a dedication, inappropriate and provocative. Haacke was deliberately alluding to the older inscription "Dem deutschen Volke" (To the German People / Nation) on the outer façade. In contrast to this, he used the term " Bevölkerung - population" to refer to all the inhabitants of Germany, including people who do not have German citizenship and live here. According to his own statement, Haacke was inspired by Bertolt Brecht when deciding on the lettering. Brecht had written in 1935 in exile that whoever said population instead of people would avoid many lies (Brecht 1935). Haacke is obviously also concerned with the question of how words can and should be used in the context of a national parliament to designate the basis of this democratically elected representation of the people/population. Does the term "Volk" fit, a traditional, conventional but loaded and perhaps not at all accurate term? Or would be the term "population" better, a word that sounds unfamiliar and strange at first, but perhaps makes more sense. The discussion intended on such questions is part of Haacke's work.

   

  Similar discussions were triggered by the idea of having MPs bring home soil. For many, this was reminiscent of the National Socialist blood-and-soil ideology. Or they criticised it as "kitsch" because of the well-intentioned but overused symbolism. Obviously, the work here plays with this iconographic tradition (“Heimaterde”), but reinterprets it just as it reinterprets the lettering. At the same time, the installation is constantly changing as a result - both through the ever-changing soil and through the growth of the plants over the course of the year.

   

   

  

   

  Figure 5: Screenshot of the project's website https://derbevoelkerung.de 

  © Hans Haacke / VG Bild-Kunst. 

   

   

   

  The installation is thus in constant dialogue with the population designated in the inscription, tries to involve the MPs and responds as a living piece of nature to the stone surroundings of the parliament building. The work of art is thus never fully completed.

   

  Haacke's art project was particularly controversial in parliament; only by a narrow majority did the MPs finally vote in favour of the realisation of the artwork in 2000 after a specially scheduled debate in the Bundestag. The entire debate is documented on the project's website - as another part of the work (Bundestagsdeabtte 2021).

  ---

    [1]         I.e. a "small German" solution after 1990 and with shifted borders after 1945.

   [2]         It was designed by the Art Nouveau artist Peter Behrens.

   

   

  References

  • Brecht 1935: Bertolt Brecht. Five Difficulties in Writing the Truth. www.literaturwelt.com/werke/brecht/wahrheit.html (13.10.2021)
  • Bundestagsdeabtte 2021: https://derbevoelkerung.de/bundestagsdebatte/
  • Kaernbach 2011: Andreas Kaernbach. Projekt „DER BEVÖLKERUNG“ im Reichstagsgebäude. https://www.bundestag.de/besuche/kunst/kuenstler/haacke/haacke-198996 (13.10.2021)
  • Winkler 2020: Heinrich August Winkler. Wie wir werden, was wir sind - Eine kurze Geschichte der Deutschen. Munich (Beck)
  • Winkler 2021: Heinrich August Winkler. Das widerspruchsvolle Erbe des Otto von Bismarck. In: FAZ of 18.1.2021, p.6

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• 

  ELVIS NKOME NGOME

  The selection of informants was randomly done as we were only interested in identifying the most relevant resource persons within the research areas like members of defunct and existing regulatory societies, traditional rulers, herbalists, and other village notables with measurable experience in material culture and their symbolisms which is the interest of the author in this paper. The paper consists of three parts: an introduction, the background issues or the historical antecedence, and the core, which deals with interpretation of the motifs on the objects, significance and ends with a summary.

   

  African arts and cultures predates the colonial and missionary encounter in Africa. Some of the works provide useful information about indigenous craft industries such as pottery, carvings, iron metallurgy, weaving and much more. This article made use of works of earlier scholars who discussed aspects linked to the current paper. I also exploited some archival records, for example, file No. E.P.4929, entitled “Assessment Report [on] Bali, Bamenda Division- Cameroon Province (1925) by W.E.Hunt, District Officer, National Archives Buea, NAB. The works are framed into three broad thematic: objects made out of clay; objects made out of iron, and those produced out of wood and forest fiber materials.

   

  Wooden Carvings and Clay Objects

  Traditionally, the Bamenda grass fields and the Western Grassland regions of Cameroon are known for their mastery in the production and commercialization of various art works. In this region, craftsmanship is believed to be handed down from one generation to the next; from father to son. Grassland traditional architecture, objects, and symbols were unique from the point of view of their aesthetics, decorations and uses. In the 19^th Century, a German Military Officer, Hans Glauning’s Official Report of 1906 on the Pre-colonial Nso (Banso) described grasslands houses in the following words:

  The Banso houses, some 5-6 meters high to the roof, are [were] roomy and neatly built in Grassland style. The floors are paved with small pebbles. Each village has at least one meeting and drinking hall with carved door posts. Both frontages of the meeting house in Kumba were hung with about 900 skulls of Bamum and Nsungle warriors…^[1]

   

  The above extract clearly describes the pre-existing cultural and social institutions the European came across in the Bamenda grassland in early phase of the 19^th century. The people were talented carvers, weavers and painters. The most remarkable designs were and are still royal stools, bangles, and door / window frames on houses that helped to show various layers or classes in society. On the door or window frames for example, were carefully carved motifs of animals and other selected creatures. The motifs were interpreted and symbolized cultural and political differenceswhich the society was aptly stratified. 

   

  According to Knopfli (1995a, 2000b) the carved posts were sometimes awards from the Fon, Kwifo as gifts to some notables, cult members, or other great men. These sculptures on wooden frames sometimes depicted great societal achievements of fons and great men and women in society. Also, in royal circles, such sculptures bore symbolic representations of warriors, heroes, and royal animals such as buffalo, lion, python, elephant and leopard appeared conspicuously carved on the chosen object. Other creatures like lizards, tortoise, and scorpions were widely engraved on Grass field arts. Besides, inanimate objects like iron gongs and cowries were represented on objects.
   

  The zoomorphic and anthropomorphic Ethno-historical Dimensions of Cameroonian Carvings

  To better appreciate the origins and meaning of some of the animal motifs on artistic objects, it would be important to understand the cultural and philosophical dynamics of some of the zoomorphic motifs on the objects and what they represent. There are different animals reproduced in aesthetic designs by the carvers like lion, scorpions, tigers, toads, various species of lizards and a host of other non-living things. However, for the purpose of this paper, we shall focus more on the lizards depicted on the wooden board (the ‘Blue Rider Post’). As far as lizards are concern, Hans Knopfli (1990), studied various kinds of lizards which were/are common in the Western Grasslands of Cameroon. The stylistic motif of lizard is one of the most common designs in wood sculpture in the region, but also in many forest areas of Cameroon such as in Kribi in the South Region, amongst the Ejagham group in Manyu and Meme Divisions in the South-West Region of Cameroon. Generally, lizard motifs, or appear on various works of arts such as royal stools, masks, doorframes, drums, clay pots, title cups, and on embroidered robes and caps.^[2]

   

  However, the actual meaning of the lizard symbol is not quite clear. Knopfli noted that lizards are treated with maximum respect in the grassland. The belief about lizards include the idea that twins, chiefs and ancestors can transform themselves into lizards and that lizards have the spiritual ability to drive away witches. These however, does not close the page on their relevance in the cultural settings of different communities. In Africa, different groups perceive lizards differently according to their customs and traditions which have of course redefined their outlook as a people.  There are three main types of lizards common to the grassland groups: the rainbow lizard (known in Bafut as kwifongu).^[3] Another type of lizard is called the majuku lizard in Bafut language. This lizard is used by witch doctors to send and direct lightning in cases of theft, adultery, land stealing etc. Apart from the majuku, there is also the kukub (Mungaka language) lizard. This is a smooth skinned lizard with a long tail and it is very swift running lizard.

   

  In Mungaka language it is called kukub, in Bafut language it is called akongse and in the Babanki language it is called fekeke, while Bakossi called it ebote-ngule. Worthy to note is the fact that most of the grassland sculptures carried this and other kinds of lizard motifs on door and window frames as well as traditional stools. Such insignia symbolized authority and deity, and life (Knopfli, 1990:58) In recognition of the above notion, one is tempted to argue alongside Knopfli that lizards therefore symbolizes life. He further states that any design of two or three rows of lizards round a stool with interlocking fore and back legs expresses the fullness of life.

   

  Interpretation of the Motifs on the ‘Blue Rider Post’: New Perspectives

  The information that follows herein is a fair, reliable and verifiable opinions of our informants who after careful examination of the photographed images gave their interpretations of the motifs on the ‘Blue Rider Post’ in its entirety. It is important to point out that the motifs are zoomorphic (animal), anthropomorphic (human-made) and inanimate gestures in the form of dots and circular/square indications.

   

  The object has two sides which are embellished with similar motifs. The motifs include: dark patches, white dots, red marks, two human-like heads at the top, lizards, squared shape, circular shape in the middle of the object, and at the bottom, two human figures or deities. It is important to look closely at the object in order to have a clear interpretation of its motifs. According to recently collected data, the various marks like red, white and black confer or indicate various meanings according to the customs of the resource persons and sampled communities in Anglophone Cameroon. In this connection, the white colours stands for purification, membership, fertility, peace, prosperity, life, and an ‘eye’ like in the liengu female society.

   

  Similarly, informants in Buea hold that the red colour represents danger, defence, and blood of sacrificed animals, authority and bravery. While, the black colour on the other hand, also represent prestige, authority, danger, and power. All these colours are still used by members of some cult agencies and cultural dance associations in most parts of South-Western Cameroon and the Cameroon-Nigeria Cross River Region. The red colour was extracted from either clay or camwood, while the white dot came from certain milky plants in forest. Existing cultural associations in Meme, Manyu and Kupe Muanenguba make use of these colours. The use of these colours as painting or decorations by associations like the Monikem and Oroko dances depicts closer similarities of the embellished colours used by the originators of the so-called ‘Blaue Reiter Pfosten’.

   

  The upper/top layer with heads represents ancestors who watched over or protected the chief or king on the throne. Lizards on the carved object too represents many aspects or dimensions of community life as messengers, bravery, fertility, protection, and courageousness. On the hand, the square ark and the circular parts depict various things. While the square ark symbolizes the village’s sacred house such as etana, njeb, mbwog, the circle on the contrary represents the village, environment or community. The environment or the village is governed by the king or chief, who derived his authority and spiritual wisdom from the environment which was guided by ancestors.

   

  Lastly, at the bottom side of the object there is a human-like figure, which assumes the status of a village ‘god’ or deity. The two figures at the bottom of the other side are depicted to pay allegiance to their superior king or the hegemonic ruler and played the role of mediator between the spiritual (dead) and the living in society. This is what the two little human-like at the bottom represent. They also played the role of messengers, mediators, seers, defenders, source of fertility and councillors to the reigning kings.

   

  In terms of name, the object was recognized by various informants in areas where the tradition of either its use or production was common like amongst the Bakundu, and Ejaghams of Anglophone – South-West Cameroon. As a spiritual object, some informants called it ndo’obe while others called it nsibiri. According to Ayuk Divine Ndifon and Ernest Effim Lahluh, the object was likely the cult object of the Epke society in Ejagham, and the carvings on its represent a cult writing called nsibiri which could only be read and interpreted by those initiated into the inner core of the secret agency.  The nsibiri depiction is used by members of the Epke cult, who opined that the object was probably dismantled from its original structure in a violent context.

  By situating the object within the forest regions of Cameroon especially amongst the Ngolo, Bakundu of Ndian and Meme Division, and also the fact that there is cultural legacies that identifies with certain features of the so-called Blaue Reiter Pfosten, convinces the researcher to claim this region and its constituent villages as the likely source communities of the object whose biodata lacks comprehensive information to reconstruct its origins and provenance in recent years in spite of its popularity in the global North than in the Global South where it came from.

   

  Summary

  The paper has attempted to deconstruct the so-called Blaue Reiter Pfosten by tracing its seemingly obscured origin, its possible source societies and the meanings attached to its assorted motifs and much more. Based on current data it seems probable that the object was a religious medium of one of the cult agencies or a ritual symbol of some cultural associations or cult that flourished in villages that straddle the Cameroon-Nigerian Cross-River Region, including Ejagham, and Ekoi ethnicities in Manyu and Ndian Divisions of Cameroon. Other possible source villages of origin include Ngolo, Ikiliwindi, Bombe-Bakundu and Ngolo-Bolo. One of the likely reasons for arguing in favour of this assertion is because the above named villages share the same traditional religious, political and cultural beliefs that made used of similar posts for their initiation, divination, protection and other important rituals. It is believed that such an imposing object with impressive characteristics and diverse colorations: red, white and black dots had other uses which only core members of the cult agencies could analyse. This is because the secrets of any cult are kept jealously by its members and non-members are not allowed to know its real meaning. This is another difficulty realized in deconstructing the object.

   

  As earlier mentioned, the object depicts the life of a true traditional African society where there is an inseparable bond between the dead and the living on the one hand, the community leader and his courtiers and deities on the other. However, because of lack sufficient information about this object because failing memories our informants, it seems difficult to ascertain the exact period when the object was made. It is however, true in my humble view that the object was customarily used by the peoples of the originating villages prior to the arrival of European missionaries and German colonial authorities in Cameroon by 1884. 

   

  References

  Chem-Langhee, Bongfen and Fanso, V.G., eds, “Nso and the Germans: The First Encounters in Contemporary Documents and in Oral Tradition”, 1996,

  H, Knopfli. Sculpture and Symbolism. Limbe: Presbook Publication, 1998.

  Ngitir,V.B. “Bamenda Grassfields royal collections and museums from ancient times to the beginning of the 21^st century: The symbolisms and Conservation of Palace Art,” Yaoundé: thesis, Department of History, Yaoundé I, 2014.

  Interviews

  Name of Informants	Profession	Age	Date & Place	Language	Interviewer (s)	Ethnic Group
  Prince Remigius L. Endeley*	Teaching/Museum manager	47 years old	27/07/2020, Buea.	English	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakweri (SW)
  Dr.Venantius Ngwoh Kum	University Lecturer	55 years old	5/08/2020, Buea.	English	Ngome Elvis N.	Esu (Wum) – (SW)
  Ekema M. Ahone	Teaching	65 years old	Tombel, 25/07/2020	English Language	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakossi (SW)
  Michael Emeh	Retired state Agent	84 years old	17/07/2020, Ngob-Baseng, Tombel	English Language	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakossi (SW)
  Prince Nzum’etoe	Researcher/Farming	45 years old	Bakweri-Town-Buea,17/07/2020	English Language	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakossi (SW)
  Richard Tarkang	Retired State-Agent	64 years old	Kumba, 1/08/2020	English Lang.	J.B. Ebune	Banyang (Mamfe) –(SW)
  Mosses Ebollo	Retired state-agent	84 years old	27/07/2020, at Kumba	English Lang.	J.B. Ebune	Bakundu –Ibemi (SW)
  Pa Esseme	Retired farmer	84 years old	Kumba, 13/07/2020	English Lang.	J.B. Ebune	Kokobuma-Bafaw (SW)
  Moka Williams M.	Farming	40 years old	06/07/2020, Wolikawo-Small Soppo, Buea	English Lang	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakweri (SW)
  Prince Kombe David Monono*	Farming/security guard	46 years old	13 October, 2020, Great-Soppo-Buea	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakweri (SW)
  Ikome Kingue	Traditional healer	70+ years old	Bonduma, Buea, October 28, 2020	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakweri (SW)
  Mathias Nyoki	Retired soldier	55 years old	Great-Soppo, Buea, 2020	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakweri (SW)
  Nteh Roland	Teaching	46 years old	28/09/2020, Limbe	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakossi (SW)
  Joss Clinton	Security Guard	46 years old	Limbe, 13/09/2020	English Lang./Pidgin	Ngome Elvis N.	Menchum (NW)
  Chief Ekumbe Thomson*	Traditional Ruler	74 years old	Bakweri-Town Buea, 16/10/2020	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Mbonge-Bakundu (SW)
  Tita Oliver T.*	Teaching	54 years old	22/09/2020, Limbe	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Misaje-(Dongamantong) –NW.
  Paul Mukete	Retired state-agent	80+	Great-Soppo-Buea, 23/10/2020	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bakossi (SW)
  Simon Buma*	Church Worker/PCC	61 years old	Great Soppo, 17/10/2020	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Bali-Nyonga (NW)
  Allen Maimbo B.	Building	58 years old	15/09/2020, Limbe	English Lang.	Ngome Elvis N.	Basum- (NW)

   

   Footnotes

  ^[1] “Nso and the Germans: The First Encounters in contemporary Documents and in Oral Tradition” in Chem-Langhee, Bongfen and V.G.Fanso (eds.), 1996, 123. Quoted in Ngitir (2013): 169. See the entrance to the second Courtyard of the Fon’s Palace, Bali-Nyonga in 1907.

  ^[2] Knopfli (1990), 55.

  ^[3] The word is a combination of the kwifon, the name of the much feared secret society and ngu fowl. Kwifongu then means ‘danger to fowls’.

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  Natalie Göltenboth

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

  Footnotes

   

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

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

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

   

   

  References

   

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

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• 

  George Juma Ondeng

   

  Given the ownership structures of museums in countries such as Germany, the local politicians will never support repatriation requests if they still solely understand objects as pieces of art/craft. It is high time we appreciate spirit, soul and body of these objects. To illustrate this point, I will use the three funerary posts, the vigango (singular kigango) from the Giriama Community in Kenya which are part of the museum collection in Munich. Museum audiences and art enthusiasts in the Global North admire the artistic side of these objects. The truth is, they are not objects according to the producing community. Vigango are souls of the departed elders and thus an integral part of the Mijikenda community. Vigango are also significant to the Giriama as a way of communicating with Mulungu (God). The vigango serve as media of communication with Mulungu since they are no longer trees (wood) but humans (spirits). The vigango are very tall and are made largely for those who have attained the highest status in the society. Vigango are anthropomorphic carvings. They are made using valued indigenous species of hard wood through a lengthy ritual process. There are also strict rules to handle a fallen kigango. Thus their presence in museums collections are highly contestable!

   

  Perhaps Western museums ought to exhibit the processes involved in making of these objects more. To have a better understanding of these objects it is important to learn how they are used in their original community. To make a kigango, an appropriate hardwood tree is selected and prayers made to sanctify it and transform it from being a tree to a human spirit. Vigango are normally handled with great care usually wrapped with white cloth and erected when it is still dark (around 5am).

   

  The vigango provide protection to the community and ensure the education and progress of the family and members of the community in general. The living Mijikenda believe that the dead members of their community not only have influence on them but also that their special needs must be met for which they would receive blessings of good health, abundant rainfall and bountiful harvest. Otherwise they would cause trouble to them when neglected as indicated by the presence of termites or snakes in the house. When a kigango falls down it is left to rot away, under no circumstance it can be picked up and given to a museum or treated as part of a museum collection. A new kigango would be made to replace it. They can be erected somewhere in the kaya or in homestead and as much of the kigango is under ground as above the ground.

   

  Understanding vigango therefore should move beyond the motifs and patterns shown in them and look at the cultural significance and what they represent in Giriama community. As human spirits, Vigango are revered in Kenya and thus treated as human remains. Therefore no one dares to tamper with the fallen ones for fear of the repercusions. Besides, it is locally known in Giriama society that those community members who were complicit in removal of vigango for sale as works of art met early death. While such assertions may be hard to ascertain, it shows how valuable they are to the local Giriama community. It is worth noting that this community reveres the remains of their elders in exactly the same manner they treat vigango. Which brings the question, if they are considered as human spirits by the makers, should museums keep them in their storages? Should they not be treated as part of human remains because the process of working the trees into vigango transforms the trees into anthropomorphic characters with special influence over the living?

   

  If that was to happen, first, the only vigango that should remain in Western museums could be those purposely commissioned by holding museums for purposes of advancing their artistic values. If such a kigango is to be exhibited, it should be accompanied with a community documentary which gives the community an avenue to explain to the world the role of the object in their community including changes through time and space.

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• 

  Rosa Pfluger

   

  The Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Sydney Opera House, the Empire State Building in New York – it is not uncommon for innovative and striking buildings to become symbols of the cities they were built in. Architectural landmarks turn into trademarks of their cities. They shape the city’s silhouette and make it recognizeable.

   

  In Munich, a big city in the South of Germany and provincial capital of Bavaria, one of the most striking buildings is the Frauenkirche, which loosely translates to “Church of Our Lady”. It is dedicated to Virgin Mary, the Mother of Jesus Christ, who plays a big role in Munich as she is said to be the patroness of Bavaria. Its 99 meter (324 ft) high twin towers with the characteristic cupola roofs rise high over the inner city (as it is still prohibited to build any higher than them within the inner city). It is - by all means - not the biggest or even most beautiful church of its kind. Neither is its location in the city center, on plane ground and narrowly surrounded by pubs, shops and historic residential houses, spectacular.

   

   

  Up to this day, the Frauenkirche is the tallest building in Munich's inner city. View from the Academy of Fine Arts, Munich ©the author

   

  Still: The citizens of Munich have great sympathy with the brick building and identify strongly with it. There are several reasons for that: First of all, about 30% of the people living in Munich identify as roman catholic Christians and therefore have a religious connection to the 500-year-old church that is still in use for almost daily services. But the number of Catholics decreased drastically since 1925, when more than 80% identified as Catholic. In conclusion, there must be other reasons why this church is so important for Munich.

   

   

  A people’s church

   

  What makes this church indeed quite unique is the way it came to be: Munich didn’t lack any churches at all. In 1468, when the construction of the Frauenkirche was started, only 13,000 people resided there and there already was (and still is) a cathedral in the city center: Saint Peter’s church, or simply: Alter Peter (Old Peter). The Frauenkirche was enormously large compared to the city’s size and can house 20,000 standing people. It was built within only 20 years, which is faster than any other church in Europe at that time. The construction was probably initiated by the citizens – and can therefore be seen as a sign of confidence and emancipation of the common people in regard to the ruling class. (Which makes it all the more tragic that the towers were abused early on as platforms for cannons during the Landshuter Erbfolgekrieg at the beginning of 16^th century, a war between two aristocratic families contending for heritage.)

   

  As a side note, Germany’s supposedly very first photography, taken in 1839, shows the twin towers of the Munich church.

   

   

  Muslim towers on a German church?

   

  The two cupola roofs made of oxidized copper give the cathedral its unique and unmistakeable shape. Originally, it was meant to be topped by gothic pinnacles (comparable to those of the cathedral in Cologne, Germany). But at the beginning of 16^th century, architectural (and overall artistic) style changed drastically with the advent of the Italian renaissance. Pointed church spires suddenly seemed old-fashioned. And so, for more than 30 years, the two towers of the Frauenkirche remained “headless”.

   

  Lukas Rottaler, who was assigned with the construction of the roofs, was long thought to be inspired by Venetian churches, precisely the cathedral Madonna dell’Orto. Indeed, the 14^th century Italian church has a high brick tower with a cupola roof that might look a little like the Frauenkirche, if you turn a blind eye. But the origins of the onion-like shape are assumed to reach way back and way farther: Rottaler probably saw a woodcut of Jerusalem, which shows the Dome of the Rock. This dome, erected in the 7^th century and therefore the oldest edifice of the Islamic world, marks a place that is equally important for Muslims, Christians and Jews – the dome itself though is Muslim. That didn’t keep Rottaler from taking inspiration from the Dome of the Rock for his building project at a Catholic church in Munich. Hence, the Frauenkirche is shaped by originally “oriental” roof tops.

   

  Moreover, many churches in the rural outskirts of Munich, which were built in the following centuries, are oftentimes crowned by bulbous cupola roofs. This drop shape, which contrasts the villages’ common saddle roofs, now naturally is a part of the landscape as well as of the baroque style.

   

   

  The devil, a Munich sense of humor, kitsch, tourism and modern lifestyle

   

  One more reason why the Frauenkirche is so important for the Munich identity are the many legends surrounding it, which are an inherent part of many children's upbringings. The story of the bet between the devil and the constructor of the church, master bricklayer Jörg Ganghofer is widely known among Munich citizens. Ganghofer bet his soul that in this church there would be no windows. As soon as the church was complete, the devil entered the back of the church through the main portal and looked around. Indeed – there were no windows visible! Of course, the church has big windows which let an even stream of light enter the gigantic room. Ganghofer skillfully placed the massive pillars framing the middle section of the nave so that they cover all windows from a certain point of view – and thus won the bet! The devil was outraged and stomped his foot on the ground. This footprint is still visible in floor tiles (image below). In his temper, lucifer left in a rush, which caused a chilly gust of wind that up to this day blows around the church. 

   

  

  The devil's footprint ©the author

   

  There are many more legends like these surrounding the historical center of Munich. The fact that they are not forgotten but very much part of social life shows how much the people of Munich value their ancient traditions and customs. Also, these legends – and the legend about Jörg Ganghofer is a prime example for that – often showcase a certain sense of humor, mischievousness and boldness. Possibly typically Munich qualities.

   

  

  The unique twin towers as logo: A design for a Munich tourism agency ©Georg Schatz, schatzdesign.de

   

  Today corporate logos, kitschy souvenirs but also everyday products reference the Frauenkirche’s silhouette. The Munich tourism agency „München Tourismus“ markets the city with the slogan “simply Munich”: approachable, hospitable, relaxed. It’s all about “Genusskultur, Kulturgenuss”, which translates to „culture of enjoyment, enjoyment of culture”. According to the agency, tranquility, love for old things and the so called “Bavarian cosiness” are trademarks of the Munich way of life. Compared to the daringness of Lukas Rottaler and Jörg Ganghofer, the constructors of Munich’s biggest cathedral, these qualities seem rather tame.

   

   

   

   

  References:

   

  • Forschungsgruppe Weltanschauungen in Deutschland: „München: Religionszugehörigkeiten 1925-2018“, https://fowid.de/meldung/muenchen-religionszugehoerigkeiten-1925-2018
  • E. Wagner, S. Wimmer, L. Sedghi: „Isar-Arabesken – Spuren des Orients in München“, München 2013
  • https://stadtfuehrung.info/stadtfuehrungen/zeitreise_muenchen_anhand_alter_fotos_und_bilder
  • https://www.muenchen.travel/artikel/ueber-uns/die-marke-muenchen
  • https://www.historisches-lexikon-bayerns.de/Lexikon/Frauenkirche,_M%C3%BCnchen#Der_Neubau_im_15._Jahrhundert 
  • https://www.venediginformationen.eu/kirchen/kirchen-in-venedig-teil-3/madonna-dellorto/madonna-dellorto.htm 
  • https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tempelberg#Islamische_Bebauung:_al-Masdschid_al-Aqsa
  • https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frauenkirche_(M%C3%BCnchen)#Bau_der_sp%C3%A4tgotischen_Kirche

   

   

  published November 2020

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• 

  Bernadette Van Haute

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

  ^[3] Yale News 2017.

  ^[4] Yale News 2017.

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

  ^[6] Yale News 2017.

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

  ^[8] Edo 2019, p. 80.

  ^[9] Edo 2019, p. 85.

  ^[10] Yale News 2017.

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

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

  ^[13] Yale News 2017.

  

  Nobumasa Kiyonaga

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

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

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

  ^[5]              Shonibare 2019.

   

  

  Ernst Wagner

  A life-size, headless, female mannequin balances on a globe showing the African continent from the front. Her Biedermeier-style clothing in bright colours shows a deep décolleté, the fabric pattern is Dutch Wax, which can be inferred from the information on the work. In combination with the birdcage and the three colourful birds outside the cage, the sculpture is reminiscent of surrealist montages or Magritte paintings. If one takes the object seriously, however, one gets the impression of a strange balance of lability and stability, of theatricality and ridiculousness, of immediate sensuality and learned allusiveness.

   

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

   

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

   

  Alluding seems to be the most adequate term to grasp the specificity of the visual language of this work. Nothing is clearly asserted, no thesis is posited. Rather, a dazzling, assembled, ambiguous figurine stands in the context of 18^th-century colonialism, alluding to many themes that are especially significant today: Women's roles, capitalism, domination and exploitation of nature, colonialism, freedom and oppression.

   

  In our context, the question now remains as to how this work is located in the transcultural contact zones. It is now in a US collection of British art, the "Yale Center for British Art". The artist himself, on the other hand, is almost always referred to as a British-Nigerian artist; he himself uses his English title of nobility, CBE (Commander of the British Empire), in his name. Since documenta 13, he has been one of the best-known representatives of a Global Art. In terms of iconography, the work is also located at these interfaces. Through montage, it merges these associations into a hybrid that can ultimately no longer be resolved, an in-between that can no longer be assigned. This creates a fundamental openness that is repeated when we ask about its meaning: can we read the work as ironic alienation? Or as a commentary on history? Or as homage or, on the contrary, as criticism of the historical figure Pinckney? As a reflection of current and very serious issues or as a harmlessly playful object?

   

  A video on the website of the museum where the work is now located shows an analogous reception history (Yale News, 2017). How does the work constitute the “ideal” viewer? He or she is a decoding, deciphering viewer who allows the iconographic fixation to fail with relish because of the sensuality of the playful object, just as the narrative of Mrs Pinckney fails because of the mannequin's instability. The ideal, contemporary viewer simultaneously enjoys the openness and yet sees him-/herself confirmed in her anti-colonial habitus.

  

  Discussion

  Discussion

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

   

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  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

  Different cultures may practise different hair beauty culture. Some of the hair beauty cultural practise could be unisex or may distinguish between sexes. In this instance, hair becomes a tool for sexual differentiation and serves as a precursor to one’s gender. It may tell which part of the world a person hails from. That notwithstanding, one may borrow hairstyles from different cultures other than his or her own for fashionable reasons since fashion inspiration is multicultural. Based on the cultural orientation and the role of a particular hairstyle to a group, society or institution, hair aesthetic ideals may be preserved as a tool for identity construction. A typical example of a hairstyle that has remained resilient even in the face of (neo)colonial and imperial hair aesthetic regimentation of the West on Africa is kentenkye hairstyle (Akan Women’s Hairstyle, 2008), popularly renamed as dansikran. Legendary has it that, queen mother Nana Kwaadu Yiadom II, (1917 - 1945), the sister of Nana Prempeh I, of the Asante Kingdom, performed the majestic Adowa dance during the restoration of the Asante Confederacy around 1935 in her kentenkye hairstyle, which inspired the then Governor’s description of her kentenkye hairstyle as a 'dancing crown' (Akrase, 2008) due to its visual effect during the dance. The phrase ‘dancing crown’ was linguistically corrupted as dansinkran which has become the popular name of the hairstyle.

   

  The dansinkran hairstyle is noted for its simple, yet iconic stature in purely indigenous Ghanaian cultural milieu. Its selection was informed by its historical epoch, purely indigenous natural hair beauty care and treatment and socio-political significance in Ghanaian chieftaincy. It has proven to be an unadulterated Ghanaian hair fashion practice necessary in the decolonisation of hair fashion discourse. It is important in the decolonisation of hair discourse in the sense that it is purely Afrocentric which has evolved from its symbolic status to contemporary appropriation. The use of purely natural and sustainable hair treatment cosmetics with little or no harmful effect on the body makes it worthy of handing down to youth. This is because, there has been influx of artificial hair cosmetics with detrimental dermal effects which many youth subscribe to in the name of modernity without recourse to its side effects. The historical significance and interest of this hairstyle for posterity, especially as something of Africa practise, contributes in this regard to the decolonisation process. Dansinkran polity and politics among Akan kings, queens, chiefdom and the society in general reinforced its choice.

   

  This hairstyle is achieved by trimming down the peripheries of the crown of the head almost to the skin while the remaining portions are trimmed to define the oval shape of a wearer’s head. The haircut gives the head a calabash-like shape. A natural black pomade-like colourant mixture composed of powered charcoal, soot and sheabutter, is then applied to the hair to give it intense blackened appearance. Charcoal has been in use for hair treatment in precolonial Ghana for many centuries. Considering the intense heat coupled with dust particle in Ghana and other African countries, the use of charcoal as hair treatment helped to protect their hairs from dust build up, dirt, oil and sebum that settled on scalp and negatively affects hair quality and growth. It implies that charcoal promotes hair growth. The natural hair colourant used in this process armours the hair with lustre and protection against bacteria and fungi. It nourishes the scalp and protects it from dandruff infections and maintains the hair’s natural moisture level. The eye lashes are also darkened to complement the facial look of a wearer.

   

  The haircut helps to focus on the facials of a wearer since the hair receives little or no elaborate ornamentation. Usually, queen mothers who wear this hairstyle are not supposed to wear earrings during possessions or durbars. Judging from the benefits of charcoal in natural hair treatment it is not surprising that it features as essential ingredient in modern cosmetics manufacturing.

   

  The dansinkran hairstyle serves as a socio-cultural barometer, political signifier and as a religious marker. This hairstyle help to identify queen mothers and female kings from other females. It is a symbolic hairstyle that was a preserve of the Akan feminine chiefdom and royals. Some priestesses also wear this hairstyle. Politically, the hairstyle symbolises authority, royalty and power of a female king or queen mother. In this sense, the hairstyle is status-defining in terms of the social rank. It is considered as inevitable lifestyle heritage that needs to be preserved among the chiefdom. When a king or chief passes on, a queen mother who is not wearing that hairstyle is not allowed to pay homage to him/her.

   

  In the case of queen mothers, they complement this hairstyle with a feminine Ghanaian fashion classic named queen mothers’ style. This classic consists of a wraparound fashion of a six-yard fabric that stretches from the chest regions to beyond the knee, which is accentuated by another six-yard fabric draped in toga style. The wearing of this classic in addition to the hairstyle has bestowed onto it, the name dansinkran, hence, both the hairstyle and the classic are named as such. Despite the symbolism of the hairstyle, it now worn by the youth in contemporary times. It has acquired the name sweat. The only difference is that the youth who wear the hairstyle do not apply the charcoal mixture on their hairs. It has become unisex hairstyle among the youth.

   

  The Western hair superiority politics could not erode the many centuries old hair identity visual code and marker that characterised the majority of the chieftaincy institutions in Ghana. As a traditional lifestyle culture that has proved unyielding despite black hair discrimination and politics, it is an important tool in the decolonisation of Afrocentric hair beauty culture practice and education.

   

  References

  • Akan Women’s Hairstyle. (2008). Retrieved from https://www.abibitumi.com/community/culture/akan-womens-hairstyles/
  • Akrase, N. (2008). Pomp, power and majesty. Retrieved from http://akrase.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html

   

   

  published March 2020

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  Njeri Gachihi

  Meaning

  Ingolole serves several purposes in the circumcision ritual. It serves to mystify the ritual and more so the initiate. While wearing almost identical masks, the initiates become undisguisable in this full seclusion regalia. It is believed that even evil spirit sent would have a problem identifying the target and hence revert to sender. On the other hand, the masks also serve to wade off and scare women and children who are not supposed to interact with them during the seclusion. Even when they go out of the forest and make processions on major roads singing and dancing, the women and children should stay away. Part of the chants, dance and singing done is meant to break loose ‘childhood/boyhood’ which is symbolized by the breaking of the crown - palm reeds attached on the ingolole. Some do manage to break it which is a sign of physical strength and masculinity as well as spiritual and ritual wellbeing.

   

  The dance that the initiates perform is know as bukhulu/bakhulu which means elder. Bukhulu henceforth, cosmologically viewed, means unity with the ancestors and is also used to symbolize fertility or the life-giving seed (seminal fluid). The effort of breaking the reed henceforth translates into becoming an adult and gaining all the permission to undertake the adult roles and the responsibilities associated with it. This means that this right gives the initiate the ability and power to engage in full conjugal and social responsibility. Last but not least, the initiates spend a lot of time in the open. Ingolole then serves to protect them from the scorching rays of the sun, protect them from sweating too much when dancing and at night serves to protect them from biting cold, wild animals and insects.

   

  

  Cutout: Presentation at Nairobi National Museum, Ingolole (Circumcision Mask), Museum Fünf Kontinente and Nairobi National Museum. Photo: Njeri Gachihi.

  Is Ingolole an Artwork or a Ritual Object?

  The ingolole as a form of ritual art, seems to bear witness to the resilience of the Tiriki culture; what Bakhtin might have called the 'carnivalization of the social order'. A central reason for using this mask, it seems, is to affirm the Africanization of the arena, both public and private, where a culturally appropriate image reigns. The mask usually invests the wearer with signs of power over evil, while modelling him on the norms of masculinity and respectability. The ingolole is one item of art that is yet to be transformed from artefact to curio (or momento). This is apparently so because its mechanism of distinction is yet to mobilize political as well as economic categories. This mask resonates well with the notion that visual art communicates cultural values. It is a complex ideological communication that derives its symbolism and references from culture. Yet it also draws its form and content from the fundamental tenets of the magical appropriation of power through the manipulation of depiction and elucidation.

   

  Therefore, the Tiriki Circumcision mask, Ingolole is not only an artistic representation. It is a ritualistic object that embodies several meanings. It is known to invest the wearer with signs of power over evil - in that the wearer is set apart from his enemies that would intend to inflict harm. It is believed that the evil spirits sent to cause harm on the initiate would find it difficult to positively identify the initiate. At the same time, it causes mystery around the initiates making their looks terrifying and hence keeping off those who are not permitted to come near newly initiates. Physically, it protects the young boys from scorching sun, biting cold and insects while in seclusion. Once ingolole is used, it is kept and passed on from generation to generation. A used one is still valuable to the family and must be kept safely to avoid causing harm to the members of the family. Hence, this is an item of art that cannot be easily transformed from a ritualistic artefact to a simple curio craft.

  There are not many Ingolole’s in our Museum in Nairobi. Two are however exhibited in the permanent exhibition, Cycles of life, at the Nairobi National Museum.

   

   

  

  Presentation at Nairobi National Museum, Ingolole (Circumcision Mask), Museum Fünf Kontinente and Nairobi National Museum. Photo: Njeri Gachihi.

    

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  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

              

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

   

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

   

   

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  References 

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

   

  Footnotes 

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

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

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

   

   

  published February 2021

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  Elfriede Dreyer

  Over the last three-and-a-half centuries, South Africa has experienced volatile and turbulent histories of a colonial, postcolonial and global kind. These brought on substantial nomadic movement of people, leading to political and social displacement, and hybrid identities. Since 1652, as a multifariously colonised country South Africa has shown cultural patterns of movement in and out of the country, and from place to place. The country 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 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 ironically – especially since 1948 during apartheid – such mine workers were allowed to work underground but once above ground they had to return to townships outside the large cities. During apartheid, non-whites or ‘people of colour’ were removed from the city and forcibly established in townships outside the city; they were only allowed as workers into the city; and had to carry passbooks (identity documents) on them all the time.

   

  Such nomadic identity as a result of marginalisation and displacement is still presiding, but for different reasons since 994 and the end of apartheid. From this time onwards there has been a immense influx of people from all over the African continent to South Africa in search of greener pastures. Whereas during apartheid many intellectuals and people ‘of colour’ emigrated from the country, over the past two decades there has been an outflux of people due to a strong degree of political uncertainty and actions of political redress in the post-apartheid constitution, or to convicted beliefs of ‘not belonging’ to the new political dispensation.

   

  Senzeni Marasela’s series of works entitled Waiting for Gebane (2015-2016) entails a continuation of her previous work, such as the embroidery series Theodorah in Johannesburg (2006) and Sarah, Senzeni and Theodorah come to Joburg (2011). In the latter works she explored her relationship with Johannesburg as city and experiences her mother had when she first arrived there. She used embroidery as technique and thread due to its associations of fragility, and conceptually she considered the issue of black women in migration to the cities. Theodorah was depicted as travelling to the city with the aim to finding out exactly what it is that has made many people disappear into Johannesburg. She is uncertain of what she is actually looking for. In the 2014 exhibition catalogue for Nomad bodies at the Wintertuin gallery of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp (curator: Elfriede Dreyer), Marasela stated that “I continuously return to the city, looking and relooking as it undergoes massive transformation. Having grown up in a catholic environment, penance informs a great deal of methods which are labour intensive. The city of gold is important as a transitory space: people go through the city, they come to the city and many dream of this city. There is something impermanent about this city, and it is precisely at this point that I began to write my own histories. The social climate of the city has never been favourable to the women that enter it. It is deliberate that I leave the city arid, without indications of lived experiences, as I seek to build the Johannesburg I can safely occupy.”

   

  However, in Sarah, Senzeni and Theodorah come to Joburg the artist includes herself and Sarah Baartman also as nomads or pilgrims in the city. The three women’s plights are fundamentally different – Theodorah is on ajourney looking for her lost son Gebane; Senzeni is on her journey finding her foothold as individual, and colonial Sarah was displaced to Europe from the Eastern Cape– but they are one in their search for a place, recognition and restitution. They are each other’s doppelganger in their journey through the city of Johannesburg which forms the backdrop to the works. The metaphor of the rhizome is of particular interest to an engagement with nomadic identity in the context of a continent such as Africa. Already in 1987 Deleuze and Guattari (1987:7). coined the idea of rhizomatic being, stating that the “rhizome itself assumes many diverse forms, from ramified surface extension in all directions to concretion in bulbs and tubers”. Living on a vast continent, Africans are accustomed to long journeys; however, poverty, violence, civil wars, imperial infiltrations and oppression have resulted in a generalised nomadic condition where people are constantly moving and travelling in the search for a better life and even survival. However, in a wider sense, globally, Rosi Braidotti (2011:3) states that 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.” Braidotti has been engaged since the 1990s 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).

   

  Zygmunt Bauman (in Hall & Du Gay 1996:19) views the ontologies of nomadic identity as becoming critical when there is uncertainty as to where one belongs, a view that is crucially relevant to emerging urbanising African identity. `the figure of Theodorah can be aligned with the idea of the flâneur, which Bauman appropriates in his presentation of the stereotype of the pilgrim who as a stroller is on a teleological journey – ordered, determined and predictable (Bauman in Hall & Du Gay 1996:21). Comparing the contemporary world to a desert through its fragmentation, Bauman views it as being inhospitable to the notion of the pilgrim, being unable to leave a footprint in the sand. The forward march of the pilgrim (Theodorah) is equally compromised and in the context of the wind effacing footprints (of Gebane) and the rhythmical similarity of the desert environment, the pilgrim goes in circles (Bauman in Hall & Du Gay 1996:23). “The overall result is the fragmentation of time in episodes, each one cut from its past and from its future, each one self-enclosed and self-contained. Time is no longer a river, but a collection of ponds and pools” (Bauman in Hall & Du Gay 1996:25).

   

  As in these afore-mentioned works, in the series Waiting for Gebane the artist’s mother is depicted as going from her rural environment to the ‘big city’, Johannesburg, in a search for her son Gebane who left for the city and never returned. She becomes a nomad in her searching ritual, but it is a dystopian journey, providing no teleological “good ending” and leading nowhere, since she cannot find him. The works depict a potent image of Africans searching for a better life elsewhere, but simultaneously failing in finding answers to their economic and other dilemmas. Waiting for Gebane explores cultural and artistic mappings of the social and political power geographies and complexities that dominate cities. Of pertinent interest here is how people’s decolonial transition from rural to urban contexts have been voiced, claimed, renegotiated and contested, especially in the context of capital cities as locations where there is a conflation of global and local influences. Mendieta (2001:15, 23) argues that cities have become the “vortex of the convergence of the processes of globalization and localization … [and] epitomes of glocalization, to use Robertson’s language (1994)”; and that the “city is the site at which the forces of the local and the global meet: the site where the forces of transnational, finance capital, and the local labour markets and national infra-structures enter into conflict and contestation over the city.”

   

  In Marasela’s work, contemporary African identity is characterised by particular cultural histories, as well as by identifiable patterns of transitivity and how people construct their identities psycho-geographically. Dispossession of the embodied and embedded self is articulated so that the city and placelessness become sides of the same coin (Braidotti 2011:6). Braidotti (2011:7) argues that “The contrast between an ideology of free mobility and the reality of disposable others brings out the schizophrenic character of advanced capitalism”, which is nowhere more visible than in the political and social extremities in South Africa. Marasela’s work expresses the idea that meaning is created through the crossing of space and distance between bodies, or as Soja (1989:133) argues, “To be human is not only to create distances but to attempt to cross them, to transform primal distance through intentionality, emotion, involvement, attachment.”

   

  New decolonised Identities emerge through movement through in the world and interfaces with alterity. Often, it is a sense of alterity or the attraction to the exotic other that produces nomadism. Waiting for Gebane thus presents the ambivalent Baumanian idea of the pilgrim-tourist who keeps going in circles, driven by a non-teleological sense of survival and looking for a better life, which might not lead to a ‘good ending’. Nomadic identity is essentially rhizomatic here, and in South Africa – also in an amplified sense on the African continent – 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.

   

  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

  • 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. 1987 [1980, French original]. A thousand plateaus. New York: University of Minnesota.
  • Hall, S and Du Gay, P (eds). 1996. Questions of cultural identity. London/New Delhi/Thousand Oaks: SAGE.
  • Mendieta, E. 2001. Invisible cities: a phenomenology of globalization from below. City: analysis of urban trends, culture, theory, policy, action 5(1):7–26.
  • Soja, E. 1989. Postmodern geographies: the reassertion of space in critical social theory. New York/London: Verso.

   

   

  published February 2020

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  Ming Zhang

  The importance of the series entitled by "Dream of Dunhuang"

   

  The Dunhuang Dreams series from the 1990s marked the emergence of a new opportunity for meticulous figure painting. After his in-depth study of the Dunhuang murals and his many field trips, Yongli Tang drew inspiration, adhered to the core of traditional painting and incorporated the expressive strengths of Western painting to achieve a bold innovation in artistic expression.

  In the creating of meticulous figure paintings, there are three crucial ingredients, including the use of line, modeling and coloring.

   

  Modeling and Line

   

   

  Fig. 2: Part of painting of hairpin ladies in the Tang Dynasty ,Zhou Fang, active late 8th–early 9th century, Ladies Wearing Flowers in Their Hair, handscroll, ink and color on silk, 46 x 180 cm, Liaoning Provincial Museum, Shenyang province, China - copyright: public domain / Wiki Commons.

  
  Fig.3: Part of Memories Of Childhood, Yongli Tang, 1998, Copyright: the artist.

   

  Line is the most basic language of Chinese painting, and Chinese painting is concerned with the use of frames and calligraphy and focused on the expression of the structure and rhythm of the object's form, instead of the shading and the in-depth of the object. The series of works is mainly presented by the use of line in the traditional painting while the shading and the linear perspective of the sketch is enlighteningly integrated in the form of relief.  The series Dream of Dunhuang innovatively uses linear sketches to portray and shape exaggerated figures, with extreme variations between lines. The spirit of the lines fits the mood created by the picture, while the light and dark faces are integrated to provide a detailed portrayal of the main figure. The juxtaposition of realistic and extracted Dunhuang symbols, modern and ancient figures, temporal and spatial wholeness, and a conceptual form of expression are harmoniously presented in the picture, and the modeling has both traditional cultural roots and modernity.

  Coloration

  Dunhuang murals have undergone thousands of years of natural and man-made changes in color, with some peeling and mutilating. It looks like a rich, deep, ancient palette that allows the viewer to achieve a secondary aesthetic pleasure. Being in the sacred, quiet rock cave, the soul is purified, and the individual remains in the flow of the years, achieving spiritual transcendence.

   

  In order to pursue the sense of history in Dunhuang murals, Yongli Tang used Black and White as the main colors and interspersed with azurite, stone green, earth red and other traditional colors for embellishment. The color of cooked brown was used to present the figures’ skin. The author could not be confined with the realistic object so that he exaggerated color changes to highlight the subjective emotional orientation of the picture.

  In the series of works, virtual dyeing method was innovatively applied to highlight the freehand of the picture.  Dyeing high places or low places could be switched freely according to needs, and dyeing is not limited by the line, which presents a vague sense of void.  In addition to the traditional color setting techniques, for example, flat painting, rendering and over-dyeing, the author developed the method of shedding. The thick painting and shedding methods set off each other. To be more precise, the author piled up degummed white powder on the base color, then chafed and patted, with some of the white powder falling off naturally. The rest was blended with the base color.  The use of large areas of white color does not cause the picture to be chalky. During the painting process the shedding of white color is like the painting of the freehand work. With the controlled brushwork, there are uncontrollable and accidental factors, which gives the mottled and dappled left on the murals by the years. The thickness, light and dark, cold and warm of the white color is presented in an exceptionally subtle way, creating a harmonious and quiet relationship between religious culture and modern beliefs.

  Material Texture

  Stable social and cultural environment made the painting language of meticulous painting was solely and smoothly developed for quite a long time. In the late 1980s, political, economic and cultural changes leaded to the activation of the painting community and the reflection on tradition. New painting materials were triggered a change in creative thinking.

   

  In his artistic practice, Tang Yongli discovered the texture beauty of the materials and used it in the painting process: mineral colors have a sense of luster, strong covering power, and can be repeatedly modified; the watercolor is rich and delicate; the shedding effect of degummed white powder reproduces the oxidation and wind erosion of mural; the layering of these colors gives the picture a sufficient sense of history and ethereal inspiration. Tang Yongli uses this as an opportunity for a new language, to expand and to strengthen it, as well as to form a new language paradigm. The beauty of the material texture becomes part of the creation and an aspect of the work to be tasted. The author chooses colored silk as the bearer, which is tough and can be used in a variety of techniques such as thick painting, shedding and reverse painting, and pigments such as ink, mineral color, lithopone powder and watercolor are used.

   

  Classical meticulous painting can only do addition, not subtraction. The use of these material techniques breaks the border of the painting on silk. It also allows us to add and subtract freely and to change a single direction to a multi-directional expression (i.e., highly realizing self-consciousness).  The expression of the free state of mind, workmanship, painting, color, texture and other factors become a new organism.

  Summary

  The series of Dunhuang Dream presents the interaction of multiple factors, scholarly artistic interrogation and the creation of diffuse imagery, as well as the attribution and transmission of spirit. It opens artistic horizons for the modern development of meticulous painting. The development of Chinese contemporary art has always been to move forward with the review and inheriting of history. They find visual art resources to reinterpret, redevelop and re-create them with a contemporary view, thinking and aesthetics, which will form a dynamic and growing tradition.

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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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• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

  We may be right to assume that the level of awareness just at a little over four years of its implementation should not be too alarming. However, analyzing such low level of SDGs awareness among a people a country whose president is a Co-Chair of the Eminent Group of Sustainable Development Goals Advocates in Africa leaves some cause to worry.

   

  The good news however is that, not being directly aware of the SDGs in the way they have been blueprinted does not mean the people are insensitive to its calls and claims. The fact is that, most of the demands of the SDGs are already embedded in the culture and belief systems of the people, and I consider this as an important resource to deploy for awareness creation and enthusiastic implementation of the SDGs.

   

  For the realization of UNs commitment to leave no one behind in the mobilization of the citizens of the world to achieve the 2030 agenda (UN, 2020) therefore, I am of the belief that efforts at linking the relevance of the 17 goals to cultural manifestations of the people should be highly considered. The image shown above is a demonstration of how various traditional symbols speaks to the SDGs in a language which is understood by the traditional Ghanaian. These symbols transcend language barriers and their meanings are inherent within their traditional belief systems, making the goals both physically and spiritually relevant to people.

   

  The meanings of the symbols are as follows:

   

  	Ese Ne Tekrema (The teeth and the tongue) Symbol of generosity towards one another. Through the formation of a linear relationship in diversity towards a common goal, both the personal and societal needs of the people will be realized.
  	Funtumfunafu Denkyemfunafu (Siamese/conjoined crocodiles) Symbol of brotherly feeling, caring and sharing. The society stays stronger when people coexist in the belief that we all smile and grow together when we feed and enjoy the good things in life together.
  	Dua Afe (Wooden comb) Symbol of sanitation, cleanliness and beauty. This symbol reechoes the essence of physical and spiritual wellbeing through personal and environmental cleanliness.
  	Nea Onnim No Sua a, Ohu (Anyone who does not know is capable of ‘knowing’ through education) Symbol of educational opportunities. This symbol plays down ignorance by reminding people of their inert capabilities to get educated to any level of their preference. In other words, opportunities for quality education exist for all.
  	Obi Nka Bi (No one bites the other) Symbol of equal regard, recognition and treatment for all. No one bites the other as a value ensures that all genders and age groupings have equal rights for existence in the society which allow them to listen and be listened.
  	Sesa Wo Suban (Change your life) Symbol of deterrence and admonition towards all unapproved societal behaviors that affect the natural environment. This symbol represents strong advocacy for transformation and dynamic life patterns that affect nature. One of the unacceptable life patterns this symbol is currently addressing is the Ghanaian youth’s preference for wealth through illegal mining which destroys precious water bodies
  	Pempasie (Sew in readiness) Symbol of production and sustainability. This symbol emphasizes the importance of societal preparedness and readiness for the future through effective production and management of all resources for posterity.
  	Aya (Fern) Symbol of resourcefulness through resilience, self-reliance, hard work and judicious engagement of the environment and its resources.
  	Nkyimkyim (Twisting) Symbol of collective action towards the building of the human society through initiative, dynamism, versatility, innovation and resilience. Indeed, building a successful society, like life itself, is not a smooth journey. The journey of life is tortuous and it requires a great amount of innovation and creativity to sail through.
  	Nkonsonkonson (Chain) A symbol of unity. This symbol, depicting two links in a chain, advocates for the need to heal the componentized society since in unity lies strength.
  	Eban (Fence) A symbol of love, safety and security. The fence symbolically secures and protects the family from unhealthy activities outside of it.
  	Hwehwe Mu Dua (Measuring stick) Symbol of examination and Self/Quality Control. This symbol emphasizes the need for circumspection in all human endeavors. It directs attention to self and quality control in everything including production and consumption. It admonishes against over consumption, over production and all forms of egoistic instincts and behaviors which adversely affect the general good of the society.
  	Nyame Biribi Wo Soro (God resides in the heavens) Symbol of reverence to the heavens, the abode of the Supreme Being. Recognition to the ‘heavens’, or the skies as the residence of the supreme being is tied to the belief that all good things come from the heavens – rains, sunshine, fresh air, etc. The ‘heavens’ need to be respected for continuous flow of life-given goodies.
  	Ananse Ntentan (Spider’s Web) Symbol of knowledge and wisdom about the complexities of life. This symbol alludes to the intricate personality of Ananse, the spider, a well-known character in Ghanaian/African folktales. In Ananse’s world, all facets of life need to be somehow manipulated, positively or negatively, for good or bad reasons. This sometimes led him to dire situation. Ananse therefore is a character for admonitions and reprimanding. Being conscious about the character of Ananse guides your steps against any unfair treatment to the world around you, be it the skies, on the land, in the waters or below the waters.
  	Asase Ye Duru (The Earth/Land is heavy) Symbol for reverence and recognition to the providence and the divinity of the ‘Earth/Land’ and everything associated with it. The ‘Earth’ is the mother to everything. It carries the entire humanity, trees, water bodies, the sea (and what is in it and beneath it), big and small animals, etc. This why it is described as ‘heavy’. Respect/reverence to the Land is respect/reverence to life.
  	Mpatapo (Knot of Pacification/Reconciliation) Symbol of bonding and adjudicatory factor which brings back parties in a dispute to a peaceful, harmonious and reconciliatory coexistence to ensure unified and strong societies and institutions.
  	Ti Koro Nko Agyina (One Head does not forma Council) Symbol for partnership, collaboration and teamwork. This symbol emphasizes the importance of cooperation and collective efforts in the realization of all goals. Obviously, the attainment of the SDGs is a collective responsibility. No one nation (one head) can make it happen. It takes the concerted efforts of the entire citizenship of the world.

   

  Bibliography

  • Adinkra Brand, A. (2020, November 15). African adinkra symbols and meanings. Retrieved from Adinkra Brand: https://www.adinkrabrand.com/blog/african-adinkra-symbols-and-meanings/
  • Kasahorow Adinkra Library, K. A. (2020, November 15). Adinkra symbols and meanings. Retrieved from Kasahorow Adinkra Library: https://www.adinkrasymbols.org/symbols/nkyinkyim/
  • United Nations, U. (2020, December 7). Sustainable Development. Retrieved from Uited Nations: https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/development-agenda-retired/

   

   

  published January 2021

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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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  Ernst Wagner

  

  On the left construction of the horizon and vanishing point, on the right with the viewer inserted (visualisations by the author)

   

  With the help of this grid, he succeeds in creating a way of convincing representation, an interpretation that photography (invented almost 400 years later) would also deliver. I.e. a representation that is ‘correct’ in terms of perspective.

   

  The woodcut itself also follows this principle of ‘correct’ linear perspective. The horizon is marked as the sea horizon in the right-hand window; the  vanishing point  of the grid lying on this horizon. This vanishing point also assigns a specific, clearly determined space to the viewer's eye. It is at the same height as the depicted artist, and on the right, the ‘male side’ of the image. In this way, the viewer is not only a witness to the event, but also a confidant and accomplice of the drawer / the artist.

   

  In terms of composition, the symmetrical layout is particularly striking. As in a coat of arms, we see two equal-sized fields on the left and right, divided by the grid frame. In both parts, two windows, also of the same size - each with a view to the outside.

   

   

  Subdivision according to centre lines, additionally thirds. The vanishing point is on the right perpendicular.

   

  In the left part of this emblematic image, the woman. The flowing cloth emphasises her nakedness rather than covering it. She is bedded on soft cushions, 'lying according to the artist's will' (to speak with Dürer in his accompanying text). Her raised lap turned towards the man, her eyes look closed, her left hand rests on her thigh. The table on which she lies works as a presentation plate.

   

  Dichotomies

  With this composition, the image formulates an almost striking dichotomy. To name just a few aspects that are particularly significant in our context:

   

  Woman: naked and thus ahistoric, i.e. "timeless", with closed eyes and diffuse spatial orientation.	Man: clothed and armed, watching closely, focused on the woman in front of him.
  Woman: In her passivity she has a powerful presence in the picture; she is - lying - the theme (the object) of the emerging drawing.	Man: He is actively engaged, sitting, taking action. He is an individual subject, drawing the ‘object’ on paper.
  In the window: 'free', lively nature.	In the window: reduced nature, mostly just the horizon line.
  Tall, naturally growing trees outside in the open air.	One small, domesticated and cultivated 'tree' in a pot, indoor.

   

  This dichotomy is not only emphasised by the narrow format and the symmetrical layout, but above all by the clear separation of the two ‘worlds’, which is achieved by means of the grid frame, i.e. an important tool in (Dürer’s) art. This again cements the structure of distance established by the artist: On the right, the male attention to the woman is conceived as (and through this reduced to) distanced looking and the spellbinding drawing of what he sees. The woman, on the other hand, presents herself - against a lively backdrop - as the ‘target object’ behind the frame. In this way, however, it is not only the clichéd gender roles being fixed, gender roles as they will be significant throughout the next centuries. But there is more at stake.

   

  Panofsky had characterised this kind of linear perspective "as a symbol of a beginning, when modern anthropocracy was setting itself up" (1980: 126). That perspective initially puts the world at a distance. Above all, it opposes ‘subject’ and ‘object’ to each other in a clearly separated way. The aim of this procedure and the underlying model of thinking is to make the world 'calculable' in a 'modern' way: At last, even in a picture, one can say whether a line, a shape is right or wrong. The world is thus degraded to a supplier of 'appearance data' (Rebel 1996: 198). The data selected are now recorded - through a technical procedure - by the isolated and disembodied eye. In this process, the eye is the representative of a specific 'pictorial intellectuality'. Dürer emphasises: "the eye is the noblest sense of all" (Rebel 1996: 200). This gives the rational mind the decisive role, which becomes the ‘signature’ of the Renaissance. And, perspective is its symbolic form, its paradigm. Linear perspective represents "the world as it can be in the idea alone. It constructs the world" (Belting 2008: 27) according to cognitive principles.

   

  In the woodcut, this rational, intellectual way of seeing belongs to the man. The woman, on the other hand, has her eyes closed, she does not look. (She is looked at.) With regard to the anthropocratic claim of the (male) rational mind, woman (as a sensually tangible allegory) thus becomes the indeterminate, unmarked “Other” (Latour 2017: 38). Ultimately she becomes the representative of the natural: she is naked, ‘as nature created her’ and thus timeless, i.e. untouched by a specific contemporaneity. She must - in order to become visible - be 'captured' by the man on the right, who has an individual face and is dressed in a contemporary manner.

   

  Above all, the specific form of relationship of the two sides to each other are decisive for our question. As already shown, we find here a clear subject-object relation. The man (who represents civilisation, culture, the domestication of nature) is the active, acting, looking, mentally grasping subject who now ‘subjects’ the woman as a passive object to his artistic appropriation (and through this the 'naked', non-civilised nature that is embodied by her).

   

  Latour points out that this conception is specifically European: "What occidental painting invented [...] and of which no trace can be found in any other civilisation" (Latour 2017: 38). From there, there is an striking parallel to the conquest of the "New World" by European powers in colonialism, as the image below shows.

   

  

  Theodor Galle/Jan van der Straet. Vespucci discovers America.1589. (https://www.deutsche-digitale-bibliothek.de/item/C6QXUXQLVIKAIVADBOAJ7ZM3WXLWTVT5)

   

  References

  • Belting 2008: Hans Belting. Florenz und Bagdad – Eine westöstliche Geschichte des Blicks. München (Beck)
  • Latour 2017: Bruno Latour. Kampf um Gaia. Berlin (Suhrkamp)
  • Panofsky 1980: Erwin Panofsky. Die Perspektive als „symbolische“ Form. In: Erwin Panofsky. Aufsätze zu Grundfragen der Kunstwissenschaft. Berlin (Volker Spiess)
  • Rebel 1996: Ernst Rebel. Albrecht Dürer, Maler und Humanist. München (Bertelsmann)
  • Zur Lippe 1981: Rudolf zur Lippe. Naturbeherrschung am Menschen. Bd. 1. Frankfurt (Syndikat)

   

   

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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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  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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  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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  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 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).

   

  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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  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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  Runette Kruger

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

   

  References

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

   

   

  published March 2020

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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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  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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  Leonie Chima Emeka

   

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

   

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

   

  

  Fig. 1, detail

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

  Fig. 2, detail

   

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

   

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

   

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

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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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• 

  Constanze Kirchner

  The motif Paradiesgärtlein originates from Christian imagery. It was painted many times in the 15th century, especially in Italy and along the Rhine. The enchanting devotional picture shows Our Lady enthroned on a bright red cushion in the middle of the garden, tall, in a radiant blue robe, as the figure dominating the picture. Her head is bowed and she is reading a book. A crown with leaves distinguishes her as the Queen of Heaven.

   

  

   

  The Christ Child is playing at her feet. The other female figures in the left half of the picture are also to be understood as Holy Virgins because of their splendid clothing. A clear assignment of these saints is uncertain (Keazor 2001, p. 231 ff.). St. Barbara is probably drawing water with a golden spoon from the (life) well in the foreground on the left, because legend attributes to her miraculous powers in overcoming a period of drought. And it could be St. Dorothea who picks cherries from the (life) tree and puts them into the basket, although – according to the legend – the cherries are handed to her (ibid.). The figure holding the plucked instrument (psaltery) to the infant Jesus is interpreted as St Catherine of Alexandria or St Agnes. She is distinguished by a golden diadem with floral decoration and by her flowing hair (ibid.).

   

  

   

  The group of figures on the right consists of the pensive Archangel Michael, also crowned with a golden plant, and – facing him – St. George in chain mail, next to whom lies a small dead dragon. A third figure, probably St. Oswald, bends down to both of them, as a raven peeps out from behind his knee (ibid., p. 233). He is holding on to the tree of knowledge. Saint George has of course already conquered the dragon, which stands for evil, and looks expectantly at Mary. Under another tree sits a frightened monkey with the distinct features of the devil.

   

  

   

  According to biblical legend, he is held in check by the Archangel Michael, the fighter against evil and guardian of paradise. The apples mentioned in the creation story, which tempted to sin, lie ready on the hexagonal, bright white stone table. Wine and bread refer to the Last Supper. The table is compositionally remarkable, dividing the male group of figures from Mary.

   

  Both paradise and the garden stand for a protected, enclosed and bounded place that provides food and water as well as peace and quiet. In the garden, flowers, herbs, fruits and grasses blossom and grow, spanning a supra-temporal, idealising arc from spring (lily of the valley) to midsummer (roses). Especially the white-flowered plants, such as the lilies, stand for the purity of Mary. Just like the plants, twelve birds of different species are depicted in detail and realistically - and thus identifiable (Brinkmann/ Kemperdick 2002, p. 93).

   

  Compositionally, the colour scheme dominates the picture: the secular blue sky frames the graceful Mary leaning towards the book, whose blue robe corresponds with the blue clothing of St Barbara and that of the archangel. The white garments of the saintly figures, the wall in white tones and the light-coloured table enclose the baby Jesus, also dressed in white, in their midst. At the same time, the bright red of the virgins' robes, the red of Mary's book, her seat cushion, St. George's sleeves, the blossoms and fruits reinforce the clear composition, which is additionally underlined by the complementary green of the plants and once again places Mary at the centre of the picture's action. The spatial effect is essentially determined by groupings and overlaps of the figures and pictorial objects; there are no shadows in the heavenly world.

   

  The figures appear relaxed, peaceful and serene, the colourfulness and the abundance of vegetation with springing water embody serenity and earthly happiness. The Holy Virgins are engaged in an occupation that does not cause any trouble. The clothing and hair ornaments are reminiscent of courtly life in a well-tended castle garden. This is also indicated by the killed animals, which are not usually part of the heavenly world, as well as a tree of knowledge that does not bear fruit. This combination of the divine world as a heavenly paradise with the impression of earthly reality characterises the picture to a great extent and thus lends it a peculiar mood, explosiveness and tension in its contemplativeness.

   

  

   

  There are numerous studies on the painting technique, the use of colour, the symbolism, the identification, function and activities of the saints, the plants and animals. Also research has been done on provenance in the monastic context or on the attribution of the picture type as ‘hortus conclusus’ (closed garden as a symbol of Mary's virginity). ‘Hortus conclusus’ is often alluded to in paintings of Mary - a garden with an enclosure and with certain plants that refer to Mary (lily, rose, but also lily of the valley or strawberries) - as can also be seen in the Paradiesgärtlein. At the same time, however, the Paradiesgärtlein evokes associations with the gardens of pleasure and love, as found, for example, in engravings by the Master of the Gardens of Love in the mid-15th century (http://bildersammlung-prehn.de/de/node/946, 06.03.2019) - and in this ambivalence once again clearly emphasises the link between divine and earthly worlds of life.

   

  What does the Paradiesgärtlein mean?

  The Paradiesgärtlein defies a clear interpretation. The duality of good and bad is hinted at, but the victory of good in paradise over evil or sin – represented by the dead dragon and the vanquished devil – is clearly emphasised. However, the ideal state in paradise is not unbroken: With their tilted heads, the figures in the painting appear pensive, as if they know that there is a life of tormenting reality outside their shelter. The garden as a retreat from the dangerous outside world protects, where in everyday life there is oppression, fear of hunger or sudden death. With the devotional image, religion offers comfort in the promise of salvation to a paradisiacal existence in which the threatening is banished. The imponderable reality is countered by the protective enclosure of the massive wall – outside, the world is full of danger.

   

  The devotional image builds a bridge from this world to the hereafter and vice versa. It opens up a view into eternity and thus into a transcendental space of experience that lies outside finite everyday experience. Visual means are used to create access to the divine, an access that at the same time recalls one's own experience of the world and yet enables the imaginative experience of transcendence.

  As an anthropological constant, the idea of a transcendent reality, which usually characterises life after death, runs through many cultures. Experiences of transcendence are described in many ways and often refer to extrasensory perceptions and supernatural forces to which the respective belief is tied.

   

  Why is the painting interesting for art education?

  Transcendence and spirituality are often at the core of cultural traditions - in this case Christian heritage. It could be exciting to enter into a conversation about this and to draw on examples of non-European cultural testimonies of faith from the 15th century. In this way, world history can be opened up and a Eurocentric perspective on the history of Western art can be expanded. (As the epitome of European beliefs about the Garden of Eden, the work also stands at the end of the medieval conception of nature and art.)

   

  The image announces divine truth: In paradise, the world is in order. Outside the garden, man lives in untamed nature and is exposed to all incalculable events. With its religious context of origin, the painting's function is primarily to depict an otherworldly, divine order that illustrates the promise of salvation after death in contrast to the earthly hardships of the late Middle Ages. But the pictorial interweaving of earthly and heavenly life already points beyond the late medieval conception of the image. The shielded divine world view experiences ruptures, opening and change.

   

  Not only can the work paradigmatically explain the end of the Middle Ages and the development of art history. Furthermore, the it invites discovery: plants can be identified, animals and groups of figures with their actions tell stories that can be researched, re-enacted, developed further and transformed into the present day. And last but not least, the linking of divine and earthly reality allows analogies to virtual and real, individual and global worlds of life.

   

  References

  • Brinkmann, Bodo/ Kemperdick, Stephan (eds.): Das Paradiesgärtlein. In: German Paintings in the Städel: 1300 - 1500, Catalogues of the Paintings in the Städel Art Institute. Frankfurt am Main/ Mainz 2002, pp. 93 -120
  • Leaflet of the Städelsches Kunstinstitut on the work: "Das Paradiesgärtlein", c. 1410-1420. Upper Rhenish Master, mixed media on oak, 26.2 x 33.4 cm. Städelsches Kunstinstitut, Frankfurt am Main o.J., o.S.
  • Historisches Museum Frankfurt am Main, Prehn'sches Kabinett. http://bildersammlung-prehn.de/de/node/946 (06.03.2019)
  • Keazor, Henry: "Manu et voce". Iconographic Notes on the Frankfurt Paradise Garden. Original publication in: Bergdolt, Klaus/ Bonsanti, Giorgio (eds.): Opere e giorni: studisu mille anni d'arte europea dedicati a Max Seidel, Venezia 2001, pp. 231-240. http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/artdok/2344/1/Keazor_Manu_et_voce_Ikonographische_Notizen_zum_Frankfurter_Paradiesgärtlein_2001.pdf (07.03.2019).

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  Kwasi Ohene-Ayeh

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

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

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

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

   

   

  Footnotes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

   

   

  References

   

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

   

   

  published May 2020

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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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  Gertrude Nkrumah

  Inversion of Hegemony with Ideas of Femininity

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

   

  References

   

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

   

  Footnotes

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

   

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

   

  published January 2021

  

  ISB_Team

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

  
  (Download the text in German)

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

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

  © Museum Fünf Kontinente

   

  Description

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

   

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

   

   

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

  
  

   

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

   

  Material and technique

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

   

  

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

   

  Interpretation of the Munich figure within the original Ghanaian context

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

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

   

   

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

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

  Fig. 7: Hieroglyph Anch

  (Photo: https://anthrowiki.at/Anch)

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Sources

  This text is based on:

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

  References

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

   

  Footnotes

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

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

   

  

  Christin Winter

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

  Footnotes

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

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

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

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

   

  
  
  

Read more …

• 

  Niklas Wolf

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

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

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

   

   

  References

   

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

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  Avitha Sooful

   

  Resistance is a reaction against a power that often elicits violence. Anti-Apartheid organisations in South Africa reacted against racial discrimination that resulted in violent responses from the police and army as well as arrests and banning of such organisations. Various strategies were implemented to draw attention to Apartheid atrocities that included the wearing of t-shirts with images denoting protest and resistance. Wearing such a t-shirt suggests an embodied, individual response of protest as well as a collective message when seen together in mass demonstrations. When used as objects of protest, t-shirts became public announcements of dissatisfaction against Apartheid.

   

   

   

  published March 2020

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  Stefan Eisenhofer

  In 1971, El Loko moved to Germany to study sculpture, painting and graphics with Joseph Beuys, Rolf Crummenauer and Erwin Heerich at the Staatliche Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, where he graduated as a master student in 1977. He created woodblock prints, sculptures, installations, drawings, graphics, photographs, paintings and performances in almost four decades, using an extremely wide range of working techniques and forms of expression. El Loko participated in numerous solo and group exhibitions on several continents and his work has been widely published. In addition, he repeatedly organised workshops for artistic and intercultural exchange in Europe and Africa.

   

  El Loko, who lived and worked in Cologne (Germany) until his death in 2016, was one of the first African artists to venture into the art worlds of the West. His autobiographical book "Der Blues in mir" (The Blues in Me) - published in 1986, written in German and illustrated with woodcuts by the author - vividly recounts how he had to fight for and invent his identity and his path as a human being and artist at that time.

   

  In Germany, at the suggestion of Beuys, El Loko experimented from 1972 onwards primarily with woodcuts before turning to painting in the mid-1980s. His series "Landschaften" (Landscapes), which interspersed colourful architectural elements with human faces, bodies and body parts and aesthetically dealt with the theme of threat, confusion and alienation in an urban context and how to overcome them, subsequently gained great popularity.

   

  Subsequently, it became characteristic of El Loko that, for all the diversity of his work, he took up certain themes almost cyclically. His series of works "World Faces", "Cosmic Letters" and "Figure Landscapes" played a special role here, which he reinterprets again and again, seeking different perspectives and positions. Through a non-hierarchical treatment of the face or the bust portrait, the "World Faces" convey the vision's striving to abolish the differences between people of different origins, world views and gender. A utopian striving for a universal language and a global identity manifests itself in his series of works "Cosmic Letters", in a sense an alphabet of his own characteristic visual language. In paintings and pigmented steles made of wood and steel, El Loko combines ornaments, figurations, signs and ciphers of different origins and strives, by means of this symbolic sign language, for an art language that can be understood worldwide and for the construction of a meaningful world of his own.

   

  Inspired by Joseph Beuys and the dissolution of the conventional bourgeois concept of art, El Loko also turned to temporary art actions from 1976 onwards. He developed his "duel performances", which combined poetry, song and drum rhythms and were characterised by the principle of rhetorical surprise and immediate reaction to each other.

   

  In his installations, El Loko deals primarily with Western images of Africa and clichés in an often provocative manner. In his popular work "How to explain pictures to a pack" (1995), he ironically takes up Joseph Beuys' action "How to explain pictures to a dead hare" (1965): A gathered pack of 70 animals stands in front of a map of Africa hanging on the wall, composed of various elements and symbols like a puzzle. With this installation, El Loko not only posed questions about images of Africa, but also traced his own situation at the same time: The pack as the world that lies outside of him looks on the one hand expectantly, on the other hand more or less uncomprehendingly at him as an artist. In "The eternal mask" (2006), the artist painted 50 portrait photos of Africans with acrylic, alluding to Western views of African people: Through the disfiguring colour, the faces lose their individuality, become anonymous and frightening. In his work "Africa down", partly done in Cologne (Germany) and finished in Cape Town (South Africa), El Loko addresses the positions of Africans in the world. The visitors to the exhibition were forced to walk on 256 photos of Africans and 53 African national flags lying on the floor, through which the artist makes the oppression and devaluation of Africa and its people through colonialism and through corrupt, selfish and ignorant African rulers almost physically comprehensible. His provocative installation "Mohrenköpfe - Hohlköpfe" (2005), which questions the role of kleptomaniac politicians of black skin colour who systematically ruin their own continent and do not care about cultural matters or the economic or social development of their countries, aims in a similar direction. As in all his works, El Loko was not interested in simplistic answers or accusations, but in a serious examination of painful and uncomfortable topics as well.

   

   

  Image 1 & 5: Vogelakrobatik, 1996, 250x30x20, Museum Fünf Koninente, Munich.

  Image 2: PE.VO.TO.7, EL Loko, 2017, 135x99cm, Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich.

  Image 3: El Loko, Museum Fünf Kontinente (at the center: Karin Guggeis, El Loko, Stefan Eisenhofer).

  Image 4: Dokponou (Der Gescheiterte - The failed), El Loko, 2013, Acrylic on canvas, 80x120 cm, Copyright Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich.

   

   

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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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  Ernst Wagner

  The English Garden perceived as harmonious, lovely, picturesque or graceful to visitors in our present day, is charged with political resistance, struggle for power, projection of social utopias or flight into resignation. Like many interesting creations, these gardens are microcosms full of contradictions – particularly during the time they were created in the early 18th century: utopia and idyll, a mirror of society and its antithesis, dream and melancholy, imitation of nature and going beyond nature.

  
  Stowe House Park, less than 70 miles northwest of London, is considered to be the first and most definitive site of an ‘English Garden’ – Lancelot Brown (1716 – 1783) who was employed there was the first person whose life-long occupation was that of a landscape gardener. The Stowe gardens embodied the ‘English Garden’ paradigm like no other and Benton Seeley’s guidebook (1742), the first garden guidebook to be published in the world, helped to spread Stowe’s influence throughout the 18th century as the model for the ideal English garden.

  As a country estate of the Temple family, it was – many decades before the redesign – first committed to Baroque, i.e. French models: symmetrically laid out, geometrized nature, combined with the pompous splendor of the manor building. The early model was abandoned and the new complex design of 26 hectares followed more innovative principles, for good reason; however, it still remained a status symbol of the wealthy family.

   

  Thus the many buildings that were built in the park are demonstratively not Baroque. After all, Baroque embodied absolutism, which was despised. Instead, they were inspired by Renaissance, Gothic, antiquity, or Chinese architecture, pre-baroque styles or styles found geographically outside the borders of England. Each style tries to evoke its own mood: Gothic stood (and stands) for the morbid, the unearthly, China for the exotic, antiquity for the free citizenry.

   

  In this sense, the names of the garden parts can be understood as allegories: Temple of Concord and Victory, Grecian Valley, Stauen von Saxon Deities (Germanic Deities) or Homer and Socrates, Gothic Temple, Elysian Fields and many others refer to cultural regions that represent a different, supposedly better social order. It is about an alternative concept to the absolutist principles, about freedom. The dedication inscription on the Gothic Temple makes this very clear: “To the liberties of our Ancestors”.

   

  This directly decipherable political iconography is complemented by a differentiated iconology of forms. For example, the grass around the Temple of Ancient Virtue is subtly maintained as a lawn, while the grass around the ruins of ‘contemporary virtue’ grew wild until the ruins disappeared completely. The outdoors devours the contemporary, decadent, (neo-) absolutist tendencies. Thus nature was liberated from geometrizing corsets just as society was liberated from absolutism. As in free nature outside the garden with its unbridled forms, the garden becomes a free landscape in which free people move freely.

  This conception of how such a landscape garden should look was influenced by three main sources: from the personal memories of nature that English nobility brought back with them from their Grand Tours through Europe; various descriptions of exotic Asian gardens; and, finally, from the classical landscape paintings by Ruisdael, Lorrain or Poussin.

   

  Areas in the garden were designed for such three-dimensional pictorial stagings, which in Stowe featured over 90 selected scenes (or one might call them intriguing or harmonious compositions) that could be experienced from certain spots or areas in the garden. The visitor had to and has to set out to walk in order to experience all the spaces and perspectives along the way. Winding paths, which repeatedly open up to surprising glimpses of the unexpected, lift the visitor from everyday life and put him in a special mood. Hence, the course of the path is the central means of the landscape designer to develop his own dramaturgy. He steers the visitor and controls what he sees and when. What the visitor doesn’t see are typical walls. Instead the use of ha-has, a recess in the landscape similar to a sunken ditch, creates a vertical barrier while preserving an uninterrupted view of the landscape. The fine line between art and nature disappears.

   

  The ever-changing weather, light and appearance of the plants, and the multifold of views along the way, allow the visitor to immerse himself again and again in an entirely new visual experience. This sensual experience should have a purpose. In the five-volume Theory of Garden Art by Hirschfeld, published 1779-85 in Leipzig, the aims are clearly outlined: On the one hand, the education of the observer through the enjoyment of art (“inner true cheering up of the soul, enrichment of the imagination, refinement of feelings”) and on the other hand, the “beautification of an earth which is our home for a time”. The aim is thus the refinement of nature by man as well as the refinement of man by nature.

   

  The Temple family had initially acquired its immense wealth through sheep farming, and on the basis of its economic success it provided members of the English parliament for generations, including four prime ministers. English politics in the 18th and 19th centuries would be inconceivable without its influence. Richard Temple, 1st Viscount Cobham (1675 – 1749), who was a key figure in the founding of the park at Stowe, was initially a successful army commander in the War of Spanish Succession against France. In the early 18th century, however, as a supporter of the ‘Glorious Revolution’ (1688/89), which had led to the abolition of absolutism in England, he was marginalized by internal adversaries, which made the development of his garden so important for him.

   

  In search of an aesthetic alternative to the ideologically rejected French garden (as the embodiment of absolutism), Chinese or Japanese gardens offered a central source of inspiration. William Temple had already published a book on Asian gardens in 1690. These gardens were above all a counter-model to the symmetrical arrangement of geometrically limited flowerbeds, the prototype of which was the park of Versailles. The irregular, free composition of trees, plants, stones, and water in Asian gardens was the model for a natural appearance that was as natural as possible and, in turn, created with the highest degree of craftsmanship, that is, artificially. In 1738, this enthusiasm for Asian gardens led to the construction of a Chinese house in Stowe – the first in garden history – an innovation that found its successors in many gardens throughout Europe.

   

   

  Reference

  Sibylle Hoimann, Garten; in: Fleckner U., Warnke M., Ziegler H. (eds.), Handbuch der politischen Ikonographie, Vol. I, München 2011 (Beck), pp. 388.

   

   

  published January 2020

   

  

  Prudence Lau

  At the moment, I find it fascinating that such English and Chinese or Asian cultural exchange upon the built environment started so early on in the 18th century. It reminds me of the Chinese garden that focuses also on landscape, and an emphasis for reflection and escape from the outside world.

   

   

  published January 2020

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  Azar Emami Pari

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

  

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

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

   

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

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Resources

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

   

  Acknowledgments

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

   

   

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

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

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

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

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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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  Ebenezer Kwabena Acquah

   

  This essay seeks to draw readers’ attention to the National Theatre of Ghana in order to recognize its relevance within the country’s visual cultural landscape. The National Theatre is a monumental edifice situated in the nation’s capital, Accra. It is supported by the government, and largely devoted to musical performances and stage productions, among others (Wilson, 1988). Theatrical performances in the National Theatre are part of the nation’s cultural heritage and present the people with creative thoughts and reflections on life. The establishment of the National Theatre of Ghana was, to a large extent, largely supported by the National Theatre Movement of the 1950s by cultural experts like Efua Sutherland and Professor J. H. Kwabena Nketia (Agovi, 1990).

   

  The National Theatre was completed on December 16, 1992, commissioned and handed over by the Peoples Republic of China to the Government of Ghana on December 30, 1992 (www.nationaltheatre.gov.gh/history/ retrieved 2020, August 7). The Theatre was designed to be used by people from all walks of life and diverse age groups. Since its inception, the National Theatre has hosted a number of performances and exhibitions from both local and international communities with the intention of promoting visual culture in a heterogeneous global landscape.

   

   

  Location, Structure, and Artistic Appreciation

  The boat-like building is located near the junction of Liberia Road and Independence Avenue, adjacent to Efua Sutherland Children’s Park, in Accra’s central district.

   

  Three distinct structural forms comprise The National Theatre building, with each structure housing its own performance group/company: the National Theatre Players, National Dance Company, and the National Symphony Orchestra. A closer look at the entire structure reveals three distinct parts aside from the structural forms mentioned earlier. The upper part portrays three boats joined together, supported by rectangular piers with curved outward projections, and a rectangular base with entrance and exit openings. In fact, the entrances and windows seem to be carved out of the rectangular base. All of the entrances are elevated from the ground level with a staircase, which leads up to the glass entrances and into the building (https://3rdworldarchitecture.wordpress.com/2018/02/04/national-theatre-of-ghana/ retrieved 2020, August 7). The base is designed to create a projection at the entrance that provides visitors with the necessary protection from inclement weather.

   

  

  National Theatre. Aerial view over National Theatre. Photo: Cheng Taining, 1997, link: https://archnet.org/sites/1413/media_contents/15315.

   

   

  Above the base, there are distinct white forms. They taper upwards from the centre and meet towards the outside of the base. The walls curve inwards and are lifted just above the solid base, with glass in between them, making the base and white forms more distinct and thereby reinforcing the differences between them. Small white tiles cover these forms, giving the building its shape and colour. A closer look at the shape of the National Theatre reveals a display of three boats/canoes or fishing vessels that meet at a central point, which takes the form of a captain's bridge. The entire structure is supported by curvy piers and rests on a rectangular base as presented in the image above.

   

  A careful study of the architectural ‘language’ of the National Theatre reveals a combination of interior and exterior Asian architecture, symbolic Ghanaian forms and boat construction. Generally, Chinese architecture is based on the relevance of influential local cultural traditions and adherence to hierarchy (Lianto, 2020). It prioritizes spatial designs with balanced symmetrical central pivots and a reverence for nature and aesthetics. Additionally, the dominant use of red represents happiness, which is also found throughout the interior of the National Theatre.

   

  The curvy structure of the theatre in general nods towards Asian architecture. The seating space is segmented along stepped floors and the undulating structured ceiling is reminiscent of waves with openings defined by lighting systems. In fact, the use of sculptural forms and other Ghanaian art works effectively combine with the architectural structure to convey the visual cultural landscape of the National Theatre.

   

   

  Sculptures in Public Space

  Sculptural forms executed by Ghanaian artists are carefully displayed outside the National Theatre. The following image shows a sculptural work that depicts a Sankofa, a traditional Ghanaian symbol.

   

  

  Emefa Jewellery, Sankofa, 2015, H: 11ft., Presented by Values for Life NGO to the National Theatre, Photo: Wisdom Dzigbordi.

   

  The Sankofa represents taking the opportunity to reflect upon the past and applying significant and relevant ideas to current developments. Thus, the past has something relevant that must be considered and utilized as part of contemporary practice.

   

   

  Education and Cultural Relevance

  The National Theatre of Ghana is a significant cultural centre in Accra, Ghana and the entire form of this visual cultural structure provides people from diverse walks of life a place for entertainment and relaxation. The building is a visual architectural icon for the city and is an influential hub for creative art performances. It therefore serves as an important edifice to promote the arts, offering both Ghanaian and foreign artists a place to express their creativity.

   

  In addition to providing entertainment and relaxation, the theatre seeks to educate people and stakeholders (who periodically use the place) on the responsibility of the National Theatre of Ghana as a strong cultural institution that ensures the development of culture, including the performing arts, and the need to respect cultural values. Through this education, the activities of the theatre are brought into focus, preserved, promoted and transmitted to the next generation for posterity and the promotion of visual culture across the world.

   

   

   

   

   

  References

  • Agovi, K. E. (1990). The origin of literary theatre in colonial Ghana, 1920-1957. Research Review, 6(1), 1-22.
  • Frimpong, M. (2015). Towards an audience development plan for the National Theatre of Ghana. Unpublished Thesis. University of Ghana, Legon.
  • Lianto, F. (2020, August 9). Building structure system of Chinese architecture, past and present. Retrieved from https://www.academia.edu/33602498/BUILDING_STRUCTURE_SYSTEM_OF_CHINESE_ARCHITECTURE_PAST_AND_PRESENT
  • National Theatre of Ghana (2020). History of the National Theatre of Ghana. Retrieved on January 10, 2020 from http://www.nationaltheatre.gov.gh/history
  • Wilson, E. (1988). The theatre experience (4^th ed.). New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company.
  • 3rdworldarchitecture.wordpress.com (2018, January 4). National Theatre of Ghana. Retrieved from https://3rdworldarchitecture.wordpress.com/2018/02/04/national-theatre-of-ghana/

   

   

  published August 2020

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  Nobumasa Kiyonaga

  Katsushika Hokusai, Nami-ura

   

  Many Japanese feel astounded when they know that Hokusai is considered as the most famous Japanese artist in the Western countries. The art-historical assessment in Japan also turns out differently than one would probably expect from a Western perspective. For example, it was only in 1997 that one of his works was admitted as Japan’s cultural heritage for the first time by the Japanese Ministry of Culture.

   

  In order to understand this understatement, one needs to understand the socio-historical context of the time of the period when Hokusai produced this work: In the Hokusai's lifetime, an ukiyo-e master was considered as a mere craftsman. This, for example, represents a strong contrast to the Kano school artists, whose focus was primarily on Chinese painting. Many of the Kano school artists worked as the shogunate’s official painters, which enabled them to be part of the warrior class. In feudal society there was an unbridgeable clear class difference between those artists and ukiyo-e masters. Moreover, ukiyo-e was considered vulgar, as it was a medium for common people and some were even pornographic. Today “ukiyo-e” specially represents Japanese woodblock prints of the later Edo period. But actually the term ukiyo originally has a Buddhism-originated, rather pessimistic meaning, namely: “transitory world”, which contrasts to the word jōdo as “pure land” or “paradise”. “Ukiyo-e” in this context would mean “images from this world”. However, it was precisely in the Edo period mentioned about the attempt of reinterpretation, especially among townspeople, to perceive, affirm and even enjoy this temporary, worldly world as something positive. Accordingly, despite its originally negative meaning of the word, motifs that came to mean everyday, life-affirming, bourgeois life were often chosen for “ukiyo-e”.

   

  In the Hokusai's lifetime his artistry¹ in this sense certainly met with positive response and interest from the townspeople in Edo (today Tokyo). But it was French art critics and modern artists at the end of the 19th century who gave Hokusai “world-class” status. With the style of the so-called Japonisme they hoped to get impulses or artistic suggestions from the color woodcuts or lacquer works to overcome the hopelessly frozen academic European art from their viewpoint; bold, asymmetrical compositions, spontaneous drawing, strong colors, overcoming the central perspective. It seems clear that the view of these Europeans on Japanese works of art was from the beginning selective. And obviously Hokusai was an ideal projection here.

   

  In Hokusai's extensive oeuvre the “Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji” is regarded as his main work. Among all of Hokusai’s works, “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” particularly has attached special attention in the West until the present day. Already in 1897 Camille Claudel (1864-1943) created her work “La Vague”, which was inspired by “The Great Wave” and in 1888 Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890) pointed out the special nature of this work in a letter to his brother. Eventually “The Great Wave” established itself as an “global icon” as one acknowledged today². According to the English art historian Christine M. E. Guth, it was decisive for the enormous spread of the picture that in the West, “The Great Wave” was chosen as the title to differ from the original “The Backside of the Wave”. In this way, the image has been separated from the original context³.

   

  The fascination, which this work still holds globally today, certainly lies all in the geometrical or typically Japanese asymmetrical composition and the dynamic representation of the big waves. Thereby the horizon is set unusually low, which additionally serves to increase the effects. The position is actually very unnatural and almost impossible. Here it is important to point out that this perspective representation was a result of Hokusai's attempt to appropriate or interpret the European central perspective. It was in the early 18th century that the Japanese began to deal intensively with this Western style of painting. By directly connecting the foreground and the distant view without a middle ground, they found a particularly effective means of dramatic representation, which in reality deviated from the actual Western painting principles. The Japanese art historian Shigemi Inaga calls this typical Japanese expression “chūkei-datsuraku (falling out of the middle ground)”⁴. Many ukiyo-e masters liked to make use of this manner. Also in Hokusai's “The Great Wave” it seems to have succeeded impressively. As already expressed in the original title “Nami-ura” (the backside of the wave), the picture draws the viewer's gaze deep into the inner side of the devouring movement of the waves. Thereby a literally sublime feeling is awakened in the observer. In front of this mighty natural phenomenon, the people in the picture look powerless, as if they were merely driven by the waves. The holy Mount Fuji silently watches all this sight from far away.

   

  Mount Fuji, a 3776 meter high volcano, is not only the highest mountain in the country, but has been worshipped as a religious object in ancient Japan. On the one hand, Fuji with its rich water reservoir provided fertility, but on the other hand its eruptions caused great damages to the population. Accordingly, it was always regarded with a certain reverence and in the 9th century the first shrine for the fire god “Asama” was built on it. The mountain then also became a holy place for Buddhists. The Mount Fuji worship became especially popular during the Edo period. The most eloquent example is Hokusai’s “Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji”. Otherwise Mount Fuji was chosen as subject of the painting again and again since the 11th century at the earliest. Later, at the peak of nationalism in Japan, especially during the second Sino-Japanese War and the Pacific War (1937-1945), the mountain was identified with the nation “Japan” per se and eventually became an authentic “national symbol”. After World War II it was then seen as a symbol of the new, revived Japan. Based on these historical backgrounds it seems obvious that many Japanese perceive something particularly familiar in the depiction of Fuji in the work “Nami-Ura”. In this sense, it is quite significant that Mount Fuji was recognized by UNESCO as a World Cultural Heritage in 2013, as a “sacred place and source of artistic inspiration”.

   

  Today, the image “The Great Wave” is often used for merchandising products of museums,  such as coffee mugs, plates, notebooks, ties, T-shirts, wristwatches or umbrellas, and is extremely successful. The Japanese government finally jumped on this trend at the beginning of the 21st century when it developed a state-sponsored marketing strategy based on “Cool Japan”, a neologism created by the American journalist Douglas McGray, in which the Japanese subculture such as manga or anime would play a major role. The motif was also used for the “Cool Japan” project. Guth sees this as the final recognition of Hokusai on the Japanese side⁵.

   

  Inaga writes that Hokusai was an artist who had gained his unique historical significance in the international context of Japonisme "as a sociological phenomenon“⁶. The shift in Hokusai's evaluation for over a century makes his creative approach a complex construct of the artistic, cultural and social development of the Edo period. Inaga notes that “many things that today are considered the essence of Japanese aesthetics were actually refined in dealing with imported culture. […] Cultural characteristics are not revealed in isolation, which shields itself from foreign influences, but rather through curiosity about the outside world“⁷. Especially Hokusai's art is a prime example of this statement.

   

   

  Footnotes

  ¹ The concept of art with the European sense did not exist in Japan at that time yet. For this reason the author avoids the term “art“ at this point. It was only after the opening of Japan to the Western countries in the 1850s  that the term was newly introduced from Europe as a translation word.

  ² Christine M. E. Guth (2017): 21 Seiki no Yōroppa · Amerika bunka no naka no “Ōnami” (eng: The Great Wave in Twenty-first Century Euro-American Culture), in: exh.cat. Hokusai and Japonisme, Tōkyō: Kokuritsu seiyō bijutsukan (The National Museum of Western Art) und Yomiuri shinbun Tōkyō honsha, p. 296.

  ³ Guth (2017): Ibid.

  ⁴ Shigemi Inaga (1999): Kaiga no tōhō ­– Orientarizumu kara Japonisumu e (eng: The Orient of the Painting: Orientalism to Japonisme, Nagoya: The University of Nagoya Press, p. 90ff.

  ⁵ Guth (2017): pp. 298-299.

  ⁶ Inaga (1999): p. 174.

  ⁷ Shigemi Inaga (2018): Nihon-bijutsu-shi no kindai to sono gaibu (eng: The modernity of Japanese art and its outside) Tōkyō: Hōsōdaigaku kyōiku shikōkai, p. 33.

   

   published June 2020

  

  Ernst Wagner

  Hokusai, The Great Wave off Kangawa

   

  A raging sea, mighty waves, spray falling like snow from their crests. The waves form huge claws that hover precariously over the fishermen in their fragile boats. Adapting to the shape of the mighty waves, the boats’ bows thrust their way ahead towards the left. The energy of the boats speeding forward is compositionally absorbed by the propulsive force of the water pushing to the right. Hypothetically, the viewer is positioned in the water and is in just as much in danger as the oarsmen.

   

  In the centre of the wave trough’s mighty movement, we see the static Mount Fuji diminutive in the distance. Although one could almost overlook it due to its size and similar colour to the water it is the central subject of this woodcut, one in a series of “36 views of Fuji”, completed by Hokusai.  Fuji’s peak lies in the golden section and serves as a stabilising element. The mountain, holy in Shintoism^[1], appears like a vision, promising (unattainable) security. A pale white cloud above it takes on the shape of the wave adding to the threatening atmosphere. It is somewhat irritating how Mount Fuji and the waves approach each other through colour, form and lines. Even the drops of water coming out of the spray look like snow falling on Fuji’s peak. The small rowers crouching in their boats do not even see the mountain. In comparison with the other pictures in the series, this sheet displays the most dramatic representation in juxtaposition to the calm steadfastness of Fuji. The other 35 sheets mostly depict Fuji in idyllic everyday scenes or in quiet, monumental sublimity. (The great differences in style show that the series was published over a span of several years.)

   

  The composition is like a snapshot of a scene at its dramatic climax. We, the observers perceive it from the distance and, at the same time, we are right in the middle of it. The giant wave is about to crash over the boat on the left, while the other two boats, swift as arrows, are heading right into it as well. According to historical accounts, they are fishing boats that are on their way back with their catch to the mainland, to Kanagawa, a place in the bay of Edo, today's Tokyo. But none of this is visible in the print. Instead, Hokusai illustrates a powerful and dangerous nature in which men must integrate themselves in order to survive. The picture displays the fishermen nestled within the frame of the wave. In this way, Hokusai creates a timeless and emotionally moving metaphor for man at the mercy of nature. He thus takes a specific artistic position that makes him interesting in comparison with European paintings by e.g. Caspar David Friedrich or William Turner who address a similar experience.

   

  The title and Hokusai’s name appear in the upper left corner of the print in Japanese script. The concept of combining image and script is typical for Far Eastern traditions. We can find more features that can be considered as typical for Japanese woodcuts: flatness, reduction of colours, graphic patterns (e.g. the light and dark stripes in the water) and black lines outlining or defining the objects. Hokusai uses these means with expressive exaggerations, which often take on caricature-like features, for example in the representation of the spray or the frightened fishermen in their boats.

   

  However, since Hokusai also uses Western pictorial principles, especially the conception of space and the idea of a dramatic climax, he created his own visual language, based on his reception of Western painting. This is significantly demonstrated by his treatment of spatial depth. Looking through the waves at the central motif – in this case Mount Fuji – from an observer's point of view is committed to the Western concept of perspective formulated in the Renaissance: the picture as a window to the world, which appears in perspective. In Hokusai's work, this European concept of space merges with the traditional Japanese art of colour woodblock prints, which was characterized by emphasized two-dimensionality, contrasting empty spaces, ‘abstract’ pictorial structures, and dynamic linearity. Hokusai's mediation between two culturally different pictorial conceptions ultimately led to his being more popular in the West today than in Japan itself.

   

  The opening of Japan after 1853, forced by US gunboat politics – and supported by European governments – triggered trade between Japan and the world. At first, some Japanese woodblock prints were used as packaging material, which may seem surprising to lovers of this art form today. Fortunately, they were discovered and enthusiastically received by artists in France. Among those were Hokusai’s prints and his popularity grew rapidly throughout Europe and elsewhere. The collecting frenzy of Japanese art (Japonism), which was also triggered by this, influenced Post-Impressionism, Art Deco and Art Nouveau and, in particular, architecture and design such as was taught at Bauhaus. Just as Western visual language came to Japan, Asian visual concepts now influenced art in Europe.

   

  Ukiyo-e

  Hokusai, trained in painting and woodblock printmaking, is considered a master of the multi-coloured ukiyo-e woodblock prints. From the early black and white prints, an extremely refined multi-colour printing process with up to fifteen woodblocks was developed during his lifetime. For the production of the plates and complicated printing process there were highly specialized workshops, for which – in our case – Hokusai provided the templates. Compared to other prints, however, relatively few plates were needed for the 'Great Wave': three for the different shades of blue, one each for the colour of the boats and the sky, and black and grey. As some of the prints found today show considerable traces of wear on the plates, we can assume that hundreds or thousands of prints were printed from the same plates. The peaceful Edo period (1603 - 1867) had led to new forms of expression as well as to the mass production of woodblock prints, such as those by Hokusai.

   

   

   

  ^[1]              At 3776 m, this volcano is Japan's highest mountain. Its shape is elegant and at the same time monumental, memorable and easy to recognize. In Shintoism it is a holy place. Moreover, as it has repeatedly been a "source of artistic inspiration", not only for Hokusai. It was recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site in 2013.

   

   

  published September 2020

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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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  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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  Estelle Vallender

  Mary Sibande’s sculpture The Reign (2010) affects the viewer due to its interplay of bipolarities such as European/African, male/female, past/present, working class/bourgeoisie, private/public, reality/fiction. It forces us to scrutinize our contemporary thinking about the past in relation to the present. The criticism of the colonial era and the rebellion against limitations, that history has placed on identity is inherent in the work, which focuses on African women, historically oppressed as Blacks, as workers, and as women. As a sign of resistance and tribute to all Black women fighting for equal rights it raises questions about race, class and gender.

   

  Vaulting on a boisterous horse, a life-size female figure is displayed in the hyperrealistic sculpture. Rider and mount – both made of fiberglass – are identical in color, creating a consistent medium of presentation for the abundant dress supported by a scaffolding of white and purple undergarments rimmed in Broderie Anglaise, a technique of embroidery, which originated in 16^th-century Europe. In addition, the mannequin wears a white apron tied into a voluminous bow at the back and a white headscarf covering her hair. On the one hand, the distinctive elements of the apparel such as puffed sleeves, petticoats and ruffles can be identified as characteristic features of 19^th-century Victorian fashion. The style of clothing popular in Great Britain was brought to Africa by the settlers during the unprecedented expansion and consolidation of the British Empire, where it became a symbol of colonial rule. On the other hand, the specific blue color in combination with the white headscarf, collar and apron refers to the uniform of South African maids, that has hardly changed until today. Domestic service – established in the earliest days of European colonisation and later assured by Apartheid – has long been a major sector of the South African labour market. In 2010, the same year the sculpture was created, “the domestic worker industry employed 18% of all women, and 80% of domestic workers were women, with poorly educated Black South Africans making up the vast majority of these women.” (Bosch & McLeod, 2015, p. 135, quoted after Dinkleman & Ranchod, 2010) Readily available at local supermarkets the artist draws on the maid’s uniform and uses the mass product as starting point for her textile hybrids. Born into a line of domestic workers that stretches back three generations, Sibande makes her family history the subject of her art. (Dodd, 2010, p. 467) From silicone casts of her own body she created a fictional character named Sophie [the English name given to her grandmother by her white employer, as Corrigall (2010, p. 155) states]; as alter ego, homage, and representative of former and current domestic workers, she appears here as the protagonist of the work. Through the interplay of the Black body and the dress oscillating between workwear and sublime gown, Sibande performs a subtle manipulation of the semiotics of fashion and their social function as indicators of status, gender, and affiliation (Corrigall, 2015, p. 150). Power relations are explored and the dichotomy of maid and mistress, which implies further bipolarities such as colonist and slave, oppressor and oppressed, European and African, woman of substance and pauper, is deconstructed. “Sophie” occupies the role of the white landlady and thus claims a social position denied to her by repression and racism, whereby her outfit can be read as recovery of autonomy through dispossession of the 'Other'. Regarding the title of the work, the words reign and rein are played on here. In The Reign she is holding the reins both figuratively and metaphorically.

   

  The composition is, also due to its surface property and shade, reminiscent of the European equestrian statue, a portrayal of a sovereign, politician, or commander on horseback, that has functioned since antiquity as a tried and tested means for the demonstration of male power. During colonial rule it was also introduced in South Africa; two well-known examples are the statues of Louis Botha (general in the Second Boer War and first prime minister of the South African Union) in Cape Town and Cecil Rhodes (British entrepreneur and one of the leading players during the high point of imperialism) in Kimberley. Thus, the equestrian statue as a form of representation of white supremacy is anchored in the collective memory of South African society and is here referred to, deconstructed, and reinterpreted by Sibande.

   

  By replacing the idealized male character with a Black female figure, the artist adds an additional layer to the postcolonial debate about South Africans as oppressed Blacks and oppressed workers: women’s limited scope of action in the patriarchal system. Through the usurpation of potentiating positions of power – the mistress first, the sovereign second – Black femininity is calling for an uprising. Dodd (2010) points out that the maid, who is expected to disappear, unseen and unheard, into the background of private life and thus remained socially and culturally invisible for a long time, has assumed the center stage, boldly announcing herself to the world in the gallery room. Her visibility in public space was once again enhanced as the sculpture was featured during the 2010 World Cup within the city of Johannesburg on the side of a building as large, photographic mural. To ensure a dominant and imposing presence, Sibande shows the mount in the so-called pesade: Using the horse's body as a shield and its front hooves as a weapon, the rider is erect according to the movement of the rearing horse and is usually depicted in paintings and sculptures as a battling hero with a sword in his hand and a determined expression on his face. “Sophie” can thus certainly be understood as an insurgent and tribute to all Black women fighting for equal rights. But in my reading the absence of a weapon and the daydreaming character of the human figure, which has her eyes closed as if in trance, break with art historical tradition and expose the scene as an objectification of inner desires and empowering imaginations. The overcoming of class and gender boundaries as well as of limitations, that history has placed on identity, still more of a wishful thinking than an actual condition. This is also evident in the ambivalent figure of the horse, which on the one hand symbolizes the momentum of the protest movement, but on the other hand can also be interpreted as the oppressive system that must be made compliant. While circling the sculpture, it becomes visible, that the dynamics of the animal are not necessarily reflected in the rider’s posture. In a fragile intermediate state, half falling, half vaulting, she presents herself to the viewer from one side as if she were controlling the horse, and from the other as if she would be thrown off at any moment. The Black woman exploring options in the political and social field is thus in a constant balancing act between control and loss of control, combat and lethargy, fiction and reality.

   

  In the large scale work The Reign, Mary Sibande calls on the elaborate attire of the Victorian era to, in some way, refashion our contemporary thinking about the past in relation to the present. She is intent on collapsing binaries around race and power, and alerting us by means of the textile, which is a linchpin of identitarian negotiations, to unexpected interplays between apparently oppositional and asymmetrically related cultures; the plastic body thereby serves in accordance with the functionality of the mannequin as an accessory that reinforces the statement. Clothing is used performatively and, in addition to the cultural reappraisal of national history on the macro level, functions on the micro level as a vehicle of expression and personal search for the artists own postcolonial identity.

   

  References

  • Bosch, Tanja / McLeod Caitlin: Dress, Address and Redress. The relationships between female domestic workers and their employers in Cape Town South Africa, in: Global Media Journal African Edition, Vol. 9 (2015), p. 134-155.
  • Corrigall, Mary: Sartorial excess in Mary Sibande's “Sophie”, in: Critical Arts 29 (2015), p. 146–164.
  • Dodd, Alexandra: Dressed to thrill. The Victorian postmodern and counter archival imaginings in the work of Mary Sibande, in: Critical Arts 24 (2010), p. 467–473.
  • Long Live the Dead Queen (Exhibition Catalogue). Gallery MOMO Johannesburg 2010, Johannesburg 2010.

  

  Avitha Sooful

  In my reading of this work, I am tempted to and almost seduced by the immediate crutch of a colonial critique that is rooted in positioning the rider and horse within a Eurocentric frame. Instead, I re-read the words spoken by the artist Mary Sibande in an interview held with Malibongwe Tyilo (2021) from the Daily Maverick that crystalises Sibande’s thinking. “My work is not about complaining about apartheid, or an invitation to feel sorry for me because I am black and my mothers were maids. It is about celebrating what we are as women in South Africa today, and for us to celebrate we need to go back, to see what we are celebrating. To celebrate, I needed to bring this maid” (Tyilo 2021).

   

  In summary, Sibande speaks of celebrating black women today and this is vested in the courage that black women had during apartheid to protest against such experiences. It was my responsibility as a researcher to seek out these celebratory moments that Sibande speaks about in her work. In response to the sculpture The Reign (2010), the artist portrayed Sophie riding a black horse that stands on its hind legs referred to as rearing. The rearing of a horse is associated with aggression, disobedience, or pain that is experienced by the animal and in this case, the horse appears to be a mare rather than a stallion. The rearing can also be caused by an inexperienced rider however, it appears that Sophie is calm and in full control of the horse that she rides. Would this animal not be a metaphor for all black women during apartheid in celebration of their aggression, disobedience and pain endured while facing the inhumanity that was meted out to them? In retaining this thought, would Sophie then not be a symbol for all the black female leaders who led the women’s struggle during apartheid and who were also labourers on the farms and domestic workers in cities?

   

  I think that Sibande deliberately played with the pronunciation of the words reign and rein when she titled the work. On the one hand, the work references the reign of black women who were revered as queens when they marched and protested their abuse. The fact that they were severely undermined by apartheid restrictions made them more militant than men. During the years of abuse under apartheid, anger festered within black women, giving rise to 60 000 women who marched to the Union Buildings in Pretoria in 1956, a protest against the pass laws and the 1957 Public Utility Transport Corporation (PUTCO) bus boycott which began in Alexandra. Women also formed the Natal Organisation of Women (NOW) in 1983, The Federation of Transvaal Women (FEDTRAW) in 1984 and the United Democratic Front Women’s Congress (UDFWC) in 1987. Women as members of these organisations protested and marched against high rents, increased food prices and demanded the release of incarcerated black leaders.

   

  Sibande also references rein in this work that indicates the control that the rider has on the horse or the female leadership over the thousands of women who marched on apartheid via protest marches and the formation of women’s organisations. This idea of control via the use of a rein is indicated by the blue length of the rein attached to the horse that Sophie loosely holds in her hands. This shows that Sophie does not require or impose an aggressive response to the rearing horse but allows the horse to perform as Sophie does sitting on its back. In this paused moment, control is about leadership that is asserted without force.

   

  The Reign (2010) appears to include the seeds of democracy with Sibande’s use of the purple undergarment that the rider wears. This introductory period would be 1989 into the 1990s when the African National Congress and many other anti-apartheid organisations were unbanned, and many political prisoners were released including Nelson Mandela which allows for the greater celebratory moments that Sibande refers to. The year 1989 is significant apart from it being the year when violent protests took place nationally, in schools, universities and on the streets. It was the year when the police used purple dye in water cannons to spray protestors, a dye that did not wash off easily and was referred to as the purple rain.

   

  When one considers the idea of protest during apartheid, it was a performance by a mass of people, a performance that included song, dance, body gestures and movements that emulated, ridiculed, and promoted a different approach to the ‘norm’. The rearing horse is a performance indicative of the protests that fuelled the journey to democracy. A journey that demanded sacrifices from black people of their time, lives and brutality that can only be imagined. In my view, the meters of the blue dress that Sophie wears is a metaphor for the millions of workers who participated in this struggle. The sculpture is a metaphor for the black female struggle during apartheid, her struggle against patriarchy and a demand for equality that was situated within the broader apartheid struggle. These two struggles gave birth to the adoption of the Women's Charter (1954) and the Freedom Charter (1955) in Kliptown, Soweto.

   

  There is no doubt that the work is a critique against colonial rule however, the manner in which Sibande has invented and presented the work, is saturated with the achievements of black women within metaphors of significance that describe the black female struggle without pity. It celebrates black female achievements in eroding the inhumanity imposed by apartheid specifically on women who endured the slurs and oppression of race, class and gender.

   

  The fact that Sophie sits with her eyes closed, allows her to reminisce about the periods that announced the celebration of black women’s victories against the apartheid beast through women’s protests, boycotts, arrests, torture, fragmented family lives and mass marches. The domestic attire is Sibande’s prop for the historical enactments that define black women’s contribution to the struggle against apartheid.  

   

  In my view, Sibande’s work The Reign has encapsulated black women’s struggle not only against apartheid but their right to equality within a South African democracy.

   

  References:

  • Tyilo, M. 2021 Iconic South African Works: Mary Sibande’s ‘The Reign’. Daily Maverick. 22 June (online)

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  Bongani Mkhonza

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Bibliography
  Birch, D. 2009 The Oxford Companion to English Literature (7 ed.) The Theatre of the Absurd (1942). Oxford University Press.
  Bulfinch, T. 19AD Bulfinch’s mythology : the age of fable : the age of chivalry : legends of Charlemagne. New York: Modern Library.
  Fairclough, N. and Wodak, R. 1997 Critical discourse analysis, in T. van Dijk (ed.), Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction. Vol. 2. London: Sage, pp. 258–84.
  http://www.krugerpark.co.za/africa_bateleur_eagle.html (Access 20 January 2019).
  https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/role-cecil-john-rhodes-british-south-african-company-conquest-matabeleland (Accessed 19 January 2019).
  https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/cecil-john-rhodes (Accessed 19 January 2019).
  http://www.unwomen.org/en/news/in-focus/women-and-the-sdgs (Accessed 23 January 2019).
  https://vashona.com/en/dictionary/sna/chapungu (Accessed 20 January 2019).
  Gallery Momo 2016 [Sethembile Msezane unpublished artist statement]. Gallery Momo, Johannesburg.
  Msezane, S. 2017 Kwasuka Sukela: Re-imagined Bodies of a (South African) 90s Born Woman [exhibition catalogue]. Exhibited at the Gallery Momo, Cape Town 15 February to 18 March 2017.
  Muzari, G. 2013 When a luck-bringing bird falters. The Standard News. Zimbabwe.
  van Dijk, T. (ed.) 1997 Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction. 2 Vols. London: Sage.
  Wodak, R. 2001b What CDA is about — a summary of its history, important concepts and its developments, in R. Wodak and M. Meyer (eds), Methods of Critical Discourse Analysis. London: Sage, pp. 1–13.

   

   

  published November 2019

   

   

   

  

  Janina Totzauer

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

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

   

  Published December 2021

   

  Translation by Matthew Bremner

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  Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

   

   

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

   

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

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

   

  

  
  Categories of Ahenema. © Osuanyi Quaicoo Essel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

  Ahenema names and Semiotics

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

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

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

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

  
  Meaning of some ahenema designs

   

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

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

  
  Ahenema symbolisms in enstoolment and destoolment

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

  
  References

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

   

   

Read more …

• 

  Leonie Chima Emeka

   

  Four figures of captured Africans in black and white marble support a massive triumphal arch on their shoulders. On white marble cushions rests the heavy construction with a sculpture of the doge Giovanni Pesaro in its center. flanked by four virtues — Fides, Fortitudo, Caritas and Justitia — the effigy states justice, faith and militant power as the virtues of the Venetian Republic under the reign of Giovanni Pesaro.¹ With striking vividness the tomb seems to propagate the subjection of the black body in favour of the Venetian civilisation.

   

  The literally black skin of the slaves, their round faces, full lips and swallowing round eyes encourage the assumption that what we see here is a typed representation of the so called ‘Sub-Saharan African’. Our perception today is materially influenced by the knowledge of images of Blackamoors in American and European popular culture, as well as the concrete exploitation of the black body during colonialism and slavery. The experience of Venetians in the 17th century, however, was considerably different to our postcolonial and post-slavery perception today. What nowadays generates emotions of horror and contempt, was meant to advertise a short reign that lasted merely one year from 1658 until the doge's death in 1659.² The tomb was built in 1669, ten years after Giovanni Pesaro’s demise, according to the design of the famous Venetian architect Baldessari Longhena (1598-1682).³

   

  The figures of the black slaves are by most accounts ascribed to the German sculptor Melchior Barthel (1625-1672) and relate, not to Africans captured in the transatlantic slave trade, but to the people enslaved in the war against the Ottoman Empire in defence to the island of Candia (today Crete) which was partly lead under Pesaro’s command.⁴ The weapons and armour which adorn the entablature suggest that the tomb in the shape of a triumphant arch refers to a victorious war. The iconography of victory, however, is a vast exaggeration of the truth, as Pesaro had not been considered successful in his defence of Candia and “ironically the island fell in the hands [… of the Ottoman; note from the author] in 1669, as the monument was completed”.⁵ Other than the slave’s de-humanising features might suggest the monument does not legitimise systematic exploitation of the black body equally to blackamoor iconography. Although the transatlantic slave trade had already started when the Pesaro tomb was completed, many more Europeans suffered enslavement in North Africa than has previously been commonly acknowledged.⁶ Venetian enslavement was such a common experience, that “both Ottomans and Venetians counted their imperial rivalry partially in terms of slaves taken and returned”.⁷

   

  In 1669 Great Britain, which later became the most investigated in the transatlantic slave trade, lost more people to Ottoman enslavement than the other way around. The military strength of the Ottoman Empire rather suggests that the compositional subjection of the black marble slaves are meant to refer, or even constitute, a military strength that was strongly challenged in Pesaro’s lifetime. Unlike the blackamoor iconography, the grave is not to be understood as a visual manifestation of the transatlantic slave trade and colonialism, but postulates a militaristic superiority that was in fact strongly challenged.

   

  Although the black marble slaves in Venice precede blackamoor imagery and its historical context, one cannot disconnect our perception from the traumatic history that would follow. It is hard to overlook the de-humanising effect of the eternally oppressed African sculptures and not to remember the disturbing past of systematic enslavement and its visual representation in de-humanising blackamoor imagery. Even if compared to another massive monumental sculpture featuring Africans as captives the black marble slaves remain singular in their artistic strategy of de-humanisation of the black body.

   

   

  

  © Leonie Chima Emeka

  Giovanni Bandini, Grand Duke Ferdinando I de' Medici 1597-99,
  marble, and Pietro Tacca, I quattro Mori, 1621-26, bronze, height 33 ft. 3 in. (10.14 m) 

   

  

  © Leonie Chima Emeka

   

   

  

  © Leonie Chima Emeka

  Pietro Tacca, I quattro Mori, 1621-1626, Piazza Micheli, Livorno

   

   

  The Monument to Grand Duke Ferdinando I de' Medici in Livorno, Tuscany, is considered the first public monument in early modern Italy to depict enslavement of the black body as a violent act and might have served as a model for the black marble slaves in Venice.⁸ The four bronze figures were manufactured in 1626, only 33 years before the Venetian sculptures, by Pietro Tacca. The four Livorno slaves are in fact a later addition to the monument of the likeness of Ferdinando I. Grand Duke of Tuscany.⁹ Tied to the pedestal they are meant to be understood under the control of Ferdinand I. It is the slaves’ strength and the explicitly forced subjection of these muscular bodies that indicate the elegant but lean Ferdinando I as a strong, assertive and powerful figure.

   

  The four attributes of power completed in Pesaro’s youth, might have offered an alluring imagery for the later Doge, who had been highly criticised and actually taken to court for his military actions in defence of the Isle of Crete.¹⁰ Also the Venetian slaves represent physical strength as they support the massive tomb on their shoulders. The round eyes and big lips in the grimacing round faces which are contorted to an almost animal expression, however, mark the Pesaro slaves as hideous beings. The Venetian Slaves surpass their models in Livorno transcending the degree of de-humanisation to evoke the impression of the African slave as inferior. The slaves in Livorno, who wear a challenging or defeated expression, invite sympathetic emotions while the Venetian figures are deformed to almost caricatures. The status of dominance and subjugation is already apparent in the Venetian figures themselves. Not the presence of the chains, nor their mere position marks them as victims of subjection. It is rather indicated that the subjection is already incorporated in their hilarious features. In presence of the Pesaro slaves one cannot help but feel the uncomfortable impression, that it is the slaves themselves, their explicitly depicted inferiority, which legitimises their enslavement. Barthel’s artistic strategy of de-humanisation marks a shift in the representation of the black body in European imagery. If racism is defined as the naturalisation of the inferiority of the black body it concludes: the Monumento al Doge Giovanni Pesaro is a racist monument before systematic racism.

   

   

  Footnotes

   

  ¹ Identification of virtues: da Mosto, p.250.

  ² Da Mosto, p.253f.

  ³ Da Mosto, p.251. Longhena’s plan can be found in the Zentralinstitute für Kunstgeschichte in Munich.

  ⁴ Ascription and life dates: Kaplan, p.186. Residency in Venice and Ascription: De Mosto, p.251.

  Ascription to Ottomans and War of Candia: Da Mosto, p.238, p.249, p.253. Kaplan, p.186.

  ⁵ Kaplan, p.186. Although Kaplan and De Mosto name “Turks”, I chose the term Ottoman according to Lowe’s statement, that the term ‘Turks’ was often used to describe the whole Ottoman Empire. Da Mosto, p.253.

  ⁶ Davis, p.87ff.

  ⁷ Rothman, p.429

  ⁸ Rosen, p.38.

  ⁹ Construction of pedestal and sculpture: 1597 and 1599 by Giovanni Bandini ibid., p.38.

  ¹⁰ Da Mosto, p.254.

   

   

  published July 2020

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• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

   

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

   

  The Artist – Vincent Akwete Kofi

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

   

  Description and interpretation

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Conclusion

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

   

  References

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

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

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

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• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

   

  References

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

   

   

  published August 2020

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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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• 

  Lize Kriel

  A German bowl inscribed in Africa

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

  References:

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

   

   

  published February 2020

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  Paul-Henri Souvenir ASSAKO ASSAKO

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

   

  References

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

   

   

  published February 2020

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  Ebenezer Kow Abraham

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah and the Placemaking Paradigm  

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Theophilus Kwesi Mensah and the Collective Memories of Winneba

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

   

  

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

   

  

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

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Conclusion

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

   

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

   

  References

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

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  Ernst Wagner

  Collaborating with pupils on projects

  But he also invites e.g. school classes to his farm to carve. Smaller installations are created here or at their school. Through this, the children become responsible producers. They are proud of their work, and they experience that they can leave their own mark on the site.

  

  Carving action with the pupils of the local school, Photo: Andreas Kuhnlein, 2006.

   

  Embellishing the public space

  Kuhnlein's approach to designing public space is varied, for example when he carves a large mountaineer for the local sports shop (1992), designs the panels on the maypole (1993), a fountain in front of the town hall (2000), or sets up a large sculpture in the yard of the local school (2001). He also created many works as commissions for private individuals.

  

  Plan of Kuhnlein’s works in the public space of Unterwössen (dark red: no longer existing), Image: Ernst Wagner, 2021.

   

  Interventions

  As early as 1999, a third, political dimension can be added to the collaborative actions (e.g. working with children) and the embellishment of the public space. Three examples:

   

  

  Andreas Kuhnlein, Installation Stillstand, 1999 - 2020, aluminium, H: 9m, W: 5m, Unterwössen, Photo: Ernst Wagner, 2020.

  Exhortation: Stillstand

  There had been a large inn in the middle of the village, which fell victim to a fire. The ruins stood in the heart of the village for two years, after which the large property lay fallow for years - as an "open wound" in the middle of the village. At some point, enough was enough. Kuhnlein welded a huge shovel and pickaxe out of aluminium (H: 9m, W: 5m). Overnight and to the surprise of the residents, he placed it - entitled "Stillstand" - (literally: standstill) on the very plot of land.

   

  Formally, this work shows great similarity to Claes Oldenburg's "Pickaxe", which has been installed on the banks of the Fulda in Kassel for documenta 7 in 1982. Here, too, the alienation of an everyday object by enlarging the scale and changing the material. But Kuhnlein's intervention developed a completely different meaning. What in Oldenburg's case is an ironic gesture, in Kuhnlein's it was a publicly made accusatory reference to the standstill.

   

  After the decision to redevelop the site (now a food supermarket), the installation was removed again by the artist - it had fulfilled its function. In its place, in the same year and on the opposite side of the street, was a smaller wooden figure entitled "Drang nach Oben" (Urge upwards), which has been "observing" the site ever since.

  

  Andreas Kuhnlein, Drang nach Oben, 2007, wood, Unterwössen. Photo: Ernst Wagner, 2021.

   

  Remembering: The Refugees' Cross

  A second example of such critical interventions is much more modest, almost invisible. During and after the Second World War, many refugees had settled in the village. To preserve the memory of their contribution to village life, especially to the opening of the village community towards diversity, Kuhnlein restored in 2013 - on his own initiative and without payment - the “refugees’ cross” that had existed since 1950 and was slowly weathering away. He also did it against resistance. In this way, he prevented the (often conflictual) period after 1945 from disappearing from the village's memory.

   

  Remembrance and Atonement: Devotional room

  The last example of his artistic memory work is about a topic that was taboo in the village for a long time, the abuse of children by a local Catholic priest for years in the 1950s/1960s. Three of Kuhnlein's friends were victims of that priest at the time. Traumatised and without local understanding, two of them became victims of alcoholism. This and the way it was dealt with in the village and by church authorities has occupied Kuhnlein ever since. Lengthy disputes with church authorities followed. Finally, he suggested setting up a place of remembrance for the victims in the village’s church, the very church of the perpetrator, the abuser. For him, a way of coming to terms with the past, for the community to face up to it. Finally, Kuhnlein's idea and design proposal was commissioned and implemented in 2022.

   

  

  The church of Unterwössen, Photo: Ernst Wagner, 2021.

   

  

  Andreas Kuhnlein, Devotional room: Working model of the installation, wood, paper, 2021.

   

  

   

  

  Andreas Kuhnlein, Devotional room: Woodwork, 2021, wood, Unterwössen. Photo: Ernst Wagner, 2021.

   

  The installation is located in a small room directly adjoining the choir of the church, on the base floor of the church tower. The narrow room with unplastered walls, made of rough quarry stones and with two small light openings on the sides, seems both intimate and oppressive. Kuhnlein created three wooden works for the front wall: an abstract resurrected Christ in the centre, flanked by two reliefs. These show in abrupt perspective Christ before Pilate on the right and Christ on the cross on the left: condemnation - sacrificial death – resurrection. In the context of the abuse that is being thematized here, this combination results in an allusive space for thought.

   

  The composition follows late Gothic altars: fully sculptural figure(s) in the centre, narrative reliefs on the wings. The use of the two contrasting pictorial languages also corresponds to this. In the centre, the jagged, abstract, expressive, almost dissolving Christ, typical of Kuhnlein, as a condensed symbol cut out of the trunk with a chainsaw; on the wings the smooth surfaces telling the Christian story of the sacrificial death, now created in conventional carving technique. The contradiction is enormous and remains unreconciled - but united in the triptych. Although small in size, the works appear almost monumental in space.

  The inscriptions in the two windows on the left and right allude to the occasion:

   

  Jesus, desecrated and silenced

  Many did not want to hear the truth

  The victims of abuse have been caused much suffering by the silence of the Church
  Lord have mercy

   

  Through this the memory of the abuse inscribes itself as a still open wound - too many victims and contemporary witnesses are still alive - in the space of the church. The resistance to this remembering was great, but the artist's negotiating and assertive power in a process lasting several years were greater in the end.

   

  Conclusion

  The role of Kuhnlein's art and his artistic personality in the microcosm of the social space of the village is fascinating. His art is globally oriented but locally focused. It asks questions and answers them in the concrete situation. Decorative: How does the public space of a village organise itself aesthetically? Collaborative: How can space be shaped through co-creation? And finally, related to the interventions: What forms of collective remembering / forgetting / repressing does a community develop and what role can art play in this?

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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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  UEW Team

  The Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu stool is a carved traditional wooden stool designed with an Akan symbol known as Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu (pronounced ‘fuun-tum-fu-ne-fu den-cheem-fu-ne-fu). This type of stool called asԑsԑgua in Fante (a dialect of Akan people from Ghana) is an art-cum-utilitarian object. It is basically composed of three main parts namely the animu (top) which is the seat; the mfinfinin (middle) which bears the design that gives identity to the stool; and the wiabour (base) which is the part that touches the ground and gives stability to the stool (Antubam, 1963; Amenuke, Dogbe, Asare & Ayiku, 1991). In this particular image, the middle portion, which is the focal consideration for this presentation, is created with the Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol.  The size of the stool is composed of a base that measures 53cm x 28cm, the top arc-shaped seat that gives the stool a length of 55cm and an overall height of 42.5cm.

   

  The stool was presented as a special gift to the Chairman of the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC), who doubled as the then Head of State, Flight Lieutenant Jerry John Rawlings by the Chiefs and people of Dormaa in the Bono Region of Ghana. It was brought to the Ghana National Museum through the State protocol in 1992. Flight Lieutenant Jerry John Rawlings led Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (A.F.R.C) to power through coup d’état on June 4, 1979 and prepared the grounds for the coming of the third republican constitution. In the same year, Dr. Hilla Limann was inaugurated as the president of the third republic after winning the election.  Rawlings returned to power on December 31, 1981 through another military takeover with his Provisional National Defence Council (P.N. D.C) of which he was the chair. Rawlings’ PNDC party stayed in power for almost eleven years before working out for the adoption of the Fourth Republican constitution through a referendum on April 28, 1992 (Essel, 2019). Subsequently, presidential election was held, which he led the National Democratic Congress (NDC) to win. Though the exact date he received the stool as a gift is unknown, it might have been received within 1981 to 1992, judging from the period of his military regimes and constitutional terms of office before the Ghana National Museum received the stool as part of its collections.

   

  The artist who carved this stool is anonymous. Within the context of the Ghanaian traditional creative work productions, this is not strange, since artworks produced in precolonial and traditional Ghanaian societies were hardly signed by the artists who produced them. This was because the artworks were communal, that is, they were produced for use by the community. The chiefs and kings had varied proficient artists in their courts or communities who produced artworks for the community. With the Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu stool being a special gift to the then president of the state, it might have been created by a revered and creative carving-artist in the Dormaa community.

   

  The Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol falls within tangible artistic creations which takes its name from the Akan expression for Siamese crocodile. Akan is a major Ghanaian language, which is spoken by about 48 percent of Ghana’s total population as first language, and by an additional 35 percent as additional first language or second language (2010 Population and Housing Census). The symbol derives its name from an Akan proverb which suggests that the Siamese crocodiles share a common stomach and yet struggle for food. Semantically, fun means stomach while funtum means ‘put together’ or ‘mixed together’.  Funtum also represents the rubber tree that produces a milky sticky substance used to glue items together. Fu-ne-fu (literally, ‘stomach and stomach’) represents two stomachs joined together. Dԑnkyԑm is crocodile. Dԑnkyԑmfunefu, therefore, means ‘two crocodiles with stomachs joined together’. On the other hand, funtum, as verb, also means ‘to stir something up with tension’, generally producing dust. This also draws attention to the struggle or the confusion that comes with the two crocodiles struggling to feed.

  

  Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol (Photo: the author)

   

  The Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol (see Figure above), is a graphical representation of two crocodiles rendered in silhouette in a perpendicular orientation with a conjoined and centred stomach, which is a common food receptacle. There are four juxtaposed arc-like lines interspersed and connected by four diagonal lines, creating a rhombic shape at the centre of the symbol. The four arc-shaped lines suggest the limbs, with the prominent sharp-tapered edges attached to the forelimbs placing emphasis on the cephalic regions. At a casual glance, the idealised limbs appear to be same in size, yet a close observation reveals that the forelimbs slightly outsize the hindlimbs. Two tadpole-shaped linearity with sharp-tapered edges placed perpendicularly to fuse with the limbs give a heightened impression of two reptile figures put together.

  The Akan expression fun, which is the stomach in the case of the Siamese crocodiles, has two levels of meaning in Akan worldview, the superficial and the hidden. The Siamese crocodiles have a common stomach yet the two heads scramble for food. Each tongue yearns to have a taste of the food, though the gulps of food consumed by each enter a common receptacle. The complexity of this allegorical image could also be found in its multifaceted cultural interpretations.

   

  Criteria for Selection (Educational Relevance & Quality)

  The Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol belongs to the family of Adinkra symbols. The symbols encapsulate the general Ghanaian philosophical thoughts and ideologies, cultural values, beliefs and practices. Its origin and first usage is traced to the Asante nation state, which is part of present day Ghana (Rattary, 1927). Its usage predates the 19^th century as recorded by Bowdich (1819).

  The multi-layered meaning of the Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol tells its usefulness and educational relevance in the Ghanaian society. Due to its historical, socio-cultural and national importance in Ghana, Adinkra features in the design of decorative and functional artworks. The Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol designed into carved wooden stool symbolises unity in diversity, democracy, shared destiny and female-male duality. Giving visual annotation to the idea of unity in diversity, the compositional structure of the Funtumfunefu-Dԑnkyԑmfunefu symbol shows formidable stability, an attribute of unity. There is deliberate inflation of emphasis depicted by the prominent sharp tapered edges attached to the forelimbs, which connotes power, energy and aggressiveness in the process of scrambling for ‘food’ by the Siamese crocodile. Viewers who do not understand the true symbolism of the image sometimes greet the aggressive depiction and the centred common stomach with negative interpretation. However, in the same stable composition, the graceful movement that bedews the tadpole-shaped figures placed at right-angled position creates an impression of diversity.

   

  Methods/Interpretation/Research Questions

  The asԑsԑgua (stool) in Ghana symbolises the soul of the society and serves as inoffensive symbolic link between the people or the subjects and their head of state or king (Antubam, 1963). It implies that the stool has both political and nationalistic useful to the citizenry and their ruler. In this instance, the stool reminds its users and observers of the need to engage in activities that will lead to unity rather than divisive tendencies. It teaches the Ghanaian society of shared destiny and the need to strive for oneness irrespective of one’s political affiliation, social standing, physique or race. The integration of the Funtufunefu Denkyemfunefu symbol into the political significations of stool symbolism therefore combines the essence of communal leaving and nationalistic feeling with power and governance. Just as the Funtufunefu Denkyemfunefu stool symbolises unity in diversity, and nationalism, the coat of arms of Germany also symbolises national unity. In this sense, both are thematised on unity and national consciousness.  Both designs are abstracted animal figures and play allegorical role in the semiotic interpretations of the symbols.

   

  

   

  The coat of arms of Germany

  https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bundeswappen_Deutschlands [28.010.24]

   

  In terms of artistic presentation, both were rendered in silhouette. The Funtufunefu Denkyemfunefu stool gives expressive meaning to unity by underscoring that individual difference, diverse shades of opinions and social standing that usually operate in the search for unity but must end in oneness of purpose for the national good. The broad vertical lines that conjoin the flanked arc-shaped lines to give impression of the wings of the eagle figure suggest strength, power and authority of the Germany coat of arms (Figure 3).  

  The common symbolic ideology in both the Germany coat of arms and the Funtufunefu Denkyemfunefu stool is to strive for oneness. Exploring the design concepts, socio-cultural and identity connections between these two images create opportunities for new levels of greater bilateral understanding and integration.

  Obviously, interrogating images of this nature and identifying their essence within their traditional setting vis-à-vis other cultures is likely to help to eliminate prejudices about visual cultures among nations and reduce the barriers in visual communication.

   

  References

  • Amenuke, S. K., Dogbe, B. K., Asare, F. D. K., Ayiku, R. K., & Baffoe, A. (1991). General
  • knowledge in art for senior secondary schools. London: Evans Brothers Ltd.
  • Antubam, K. (1963). Ghana’s heritage of culture. Leipzag: Koehler & Amelang.
  • Bowdich, T. E. (1819). Mission from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantee. London: Cass.doi: 10.1017/CBO9781107444621.
  • Essel, O. Q. (2019). Dress fashion politics in Ghanaian presidential inauguration ceremonies from 1960 to 2017. Fashion and Textiles Review, 1(3), 35-55.
  • Rattary, R. S. (1927). Religion and art in Ashanti. . London: Oxford University Press.

   

   

  published March 2020

  

  Bea Lundt

  I am fascinated by the Ashanti-stool, being a symbol of soul of society, “to house the spirit of the Asante nation - living, dead and yet to be born” (Wikipedia), as it is described in this article. Travelling in Ghana very often, I had been told the background-story of this object again and again, so I know its importance to the people. Additionally, you can find several publications describing its meaning.

   

  The beginnings are rooted in the 17th century when the Asante-confederacy was founded.  As the legend tells, the Golden Stool fell from the sky as a religious legitimation of the King Osei Tutu, representing wealth and power of the region. During colonial times the Asante defended the stool against the British. They had been very successful to repulse the European invaders until they were finally beaten. So, for me the Golden Stool is also a symbol of anticolonial defence. People identified with this object as the representative symbol of their culture and protested any robbery of it. The stool as the main symbol of authority of the confederation gives the feeling of security and duration. Every 5^th year it is presented to the public during the Akwasidae-Festival in Kumasi. As I read, there is also a Golden Stool of other ethnic groups, Denkyira and Ga. It is very interesting that this object can be constructed in different shapes and can also be decorated in quite different ways with additional meanings.

   

  

   

  Golden Stool of Asante on its throne, the hwedom dwa, with its immediate caretaker (1935), United Kingdom Government, © public domain 

   

  One of the most exciting buildings I have ever seen, is the Golden Jubilee House (Flagstaff House) in Accra, which is the Presidential Palace and office of the President of Ghana (completed in 2009). Its architecture is following the model of the Golden Stool of the Ashanti people.

  

   

  Golden Jubilee House - Flagstaff House (open access, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Golden_Jubilee_House.jpg)

   

  The example of decoration which is chosen in this article is the Adinkra-symbol for „unity in diversity“. It always remembers me of the European story of Menenius Agrippa and the plebs, a narration which is bequeathed since Greek antiquity. It uses the body as metaphor for the society. The stomach is the symbol for the ruling elite. All the other parts of the body are in a revolt against the stomach, whom they define to be lazy. As the story moves on, they learn that they have to accept the different organs with its different functions because all of them need each other and work together. Also the two crocodiles have to accept that they live with a common belly whilst they both gain different food, which might be the symbol of diversity of the individualistic interests and spiritual goods from outside. They are equal beings which is an important difference to the European story which is used to play down rightful claims of disadvantaged groups.

   

  The comparison of this symbol with the German coat of arms, the eagle: Germany has a quite different history and structure as e.g. Great Britain, France or Spain, countries who have a long tradition being structured centralized. The federal organized structure in Germany makes „diversity“ of the different regions much stronger in our consciousness than the longing for oneness. The state “Germany” just exists since the end of the 19^th century; it comprises a hybrid population with many migrants from all over the world. It has to be blamed for two world wars and was divided in 1945; so the centres changed.

   

  The eagle is a very old symbol found in the old Orient, e.g. in Egypt. Today it is also used by other countries like Austria or the USA. So it is not a specific part of the German culture or political tradition. Also, the traditional setting of this figure is joined to problematic contexts and even has a negative meaning as it often represented imperial endeavours, dictatorship, holocaust, state control and militarism. Very often the eagle is designed in a satirical critical way.  A collection of this caricatures can be found in the “Haus der Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland” (House of History of the Federal Republic of Germany) in Bonn. It might be pedagogically interesting to follow these different performances and messages of the original pattern of this bird.

   

  Reference

  • Catherine Meredith Hale: Ananse Stools and the Matrilineage. Doctoral Dissertation Harvard University 2013; openly available via https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dash.harvard.edu/bitstream/handle/1/11004913/Hale_gsas.harvard_0084L_11004.pdf?sequence%3D3%26isAllowed%3Dy&source=gmail&ust=1594720839716000&usg=AFQjCNHu7lCXklUnOk2v6aQFdM2GjPKefw"> https://dash.harvard.edu/bitstream/handle/1/11004913/Hale_gsas.harvard_0084L_11004.pdf?sequence=3&isAllowed=y

   Published July 2020

   

   

   

  

  Ernst Wagner

  The EVC team from Ghana has chosen this traditional stool that plays a ritual role in the Akan culture. This stool uses a specific symbolic language. The two ravenous and competing crocodiles have a common stomach, i.e. their bodies are fused together. Thus this symbol "represents the idea of unity in diversity, democracy, shared destiny and female-male duality.” But then the text above goes further. It compares the symbol from the Akan culture with the German national coat of arms, which also shows a stylised animal, an eagle. There are many similarities between both symbols, the animal, the shape, the symmetry. Therefore – so the assumption in Ghana – the German coat of arms also has the same meaning as the Akan symbol: national unity. The assumption from Ghana, the equation, triggered an intense discussion in the German team of teachers in 2019. A German historian would say this interpretation is wrong. But, on the other hand, the eagle is definitely used in this sense, e.g. by politically right-wing groups in Germany.

   

   

  This figure presents a simplified visualisation of an extremely complex dispute that took place over several months - from a German perspective.

  1. The partners in Ghana selected the stool, interpreted it and made a connection to the German coat of arms.
  2. The addressees in Germany were very surprised by this, which led to intensive research into the symbols of the Akan culture. Through this, an acquaintance with the unfamiliar form of artistic expression took place.
  3. But, there was also an examination of the equation of meaning in the German coat of arms. The German team took up various aspects: the idea of the stool as a seat of power with symbolic adornment (as here with the English throne). But, the question of what image could be associated with the theme of "national unity" in Germany led to something quite different: the photo of cheering people on the Berlin Wall in 1989, when the division between the communist-totalitarian part of Germany and the capitalist-democratic part collapsed. This photo is much more anchored in the collective cultural memory than the coat of arms in respect to unity.
  4. In this way, the interpretations were discussed and negotiated together.
  5. Similarities and differences between the various cultural symbolisations could be identified,
  6. In a final reflection, the German team formulated their own learning experiences in this process.

   

  Of course, everything was much more complicated and complex, but for the moment, perhaps the following conclusions can be drawn:

  • The team in Ghana presents artefacts that are considered as important for the own context, the team in Germany tries to understand it, but starts a critical discussion when it comes to a German object, the coat of arms.
  • The interpretations are negotiated with each other on eye level.
  • The objects from Ghana and Germany (the stool and the coat of arms), although obviously completely different at first, are related to each other, come into contact with each other. Complex-entangled interactions of the objects themselves occur.
  • What is initially seen as separate from each other becomes entangled in this way. The boundary between ‘one's own’ and ‘the other’ becomes fluid.
  • This creates a hybrid intellectual space in which ambiguity becomes a paradigm.

   Published August 2022

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• 

  Werner Bloß

   

  Administrative, esoteric and patriotic purposes until the first half of the 19^th century

   

  After an initial sighting the clothing can still prove to be expectable in the context of its time and regionality. While the medieval weapon seems useful for the guard's task, the hat's purpose can be seriously doubted. But peculiar as the outfit might be, it must have identified its possible former wearer as a civil servant, who was authorized, e.g. to punish violations of the rules. To protect the vineyard, a Saltner had to be reliable, vigilant, fearless, persuasive and loud. In addition to this executive function, there was also an esoteric one: Myths have developed claiming that a Saltner is able to defend himself successfully not only against thieves and ravenous animals, but also against attacks from the otherworld. Thus, the formerly more modest hat might have taken on a fetish-like function as well, alongside an expectedly Christian context — similar to the magic „Hexenkreuz“ (a shoe-length iron forged in the shape of a cross, von Hörmann 1872, p. 41-47) which should be part of the equipment of a Saltner too.

  
         

  Fig. 1, 2: Meraner Saltner, Germanisches Nationalmuseum, 1875/1899 © Germanisches Nationalmuseum
  

  In addition, there are other striking features of the costume. Apart from the hat, many handed down costumes of vineyard keepers look very similar to that of an outstanding Tyrolean folk hero. As to the beard, most vineyard keepers on contemporary pictures also come very close to Andreas Hofer, the leader of the Tyrolean popular uprising of 1809 (fig. 3). Thus, two hero constructions could be woven into the image of these objects: the brave guardian with supernatural powers and the defiant folk hero who successfully defended his country against the Bavarian occupiers (at least for a short time).

   

  

  Fig. 3: Franz Defregger: Andreas Hofer, 1894, oil on canvas, Tiroler Kaiserjägermuseum, Innsbruck (© CC-BY-4.0 CC) 

   

  Tourist purposes in the course of 19^th century

   

  A steady evolution of this appearance towards hypertrophic splendor (cf. Ramming 1997, p. 119) could be observed. Whom did the vineyard keepers want to impress? Did the scary outfit or its models also have the function of a lure, even a courtship dress? One could speculate a lot about this, as well as the question of the addressees and the success of this posing in the rural environment. Indeed, there were harsh rules that state how vineyard keepers had to behave towards women (cf. von Hörmann 1872). Like the myths of nocturnal seduction attempts by witches in the vineyard, they also point to the possibility of their transgression (Matscher 1933, p. 217). The clearest indications of courtship even in the sexual are found indirectly where the vineyard keepers discovered their tourist attractiveness in the later 19th century. Here it was not only a matter of inspiring the exoticism expected from the outside. The Saltner in the role of „Papageno“ (Halbritter 2005, p. 88) offered a masculine performance to a changing — even female — audience, too. And the public, frightened by the wild man in the vineyard, gladly paid for this thrill with the usual, officially regulated tax for trespassing — and then sent a postcard with a picture of such a strange imposing guy out into the world (op. cit. p. 88-104, fig. 4).

   

  

  Fig. 4: Meraner Saltner. Postcard sent 1907. © CC-BY-4.0 austria-forum.org

   

   

  Use in the attempt of nation building until after 1900

   

  The emergence of traditional costumes in the 19th century was due to an increased interest in regional distinctiveness. The dependence on supra-regional trade, a corresponding desire for a special appearance and the burgeoning tourism in picturesque South Tyrol drove this development further. The purchase of the object by the GNM in 1899 was completely in line with the museum's historistic concept. Unique characteristics were to be collected to support the idea of nation-building in the German-speaking area which includes parts of South Tyrol (Austria till 1918, then Italy) too. The interest in the costume can thus be attributed to an implicit concept of „Großdeutschland“, the desire for identification even far beyond the national borders of that time (and also today). In 1905 the Saltner-figurine became a part of a multi-figure panorama of German traditional costumes in the museum. But 100 years later Jutta Zander-Seidel, curator of the exhibition „Kleiderwechsel“ (that means "change of clothes") at the GNM judged harshly about the former exhibition practice: Neither does the object represent the peasant costume of the past in its historical authenticity, nor does it reach beyond documents of historicized festive culture at that time (cf. Zander-Seidel 2002, p. 76).

   

   

  From carnival use to cultural appropriation and appreciation

   

  On top of that, the object wasn't even bought in South Tyrol at all, but from a Munich costume fund. The painter Franz Defregger is said to have worn it at a Munich artists' masked ball in 1883 (Ramming 1997, p. 16-18). Was it merely a product of his imagination, made to poke fun at the strangers across the near borders, at those archaic mountain people with their culture, which at the time was perceived as weird, backward, even exotic? There is evidence that Defregger designed costumes too (Irgens 2010, p. 14).

   

  Then it would also be possible that parts of the costume were actually copied, e.g. by using early photographs of Native Americans, perhaps to make the appearance seem even more exotic. The foxtails hanging down on both sides of the face, the necklace of wild animal teeth or the splendor of the feathers come quite close to such cliché images. And Franz Defregger showed great interest in Chief Rocky Bear, for example, whom he met and portrayed in 1890. Rocky Bear had come to Munich (Bavaria) with Buffalo Bills' Wild West Show as a living exhibit (Assmann e.a. 2020, p. 123). But this was seven years after the masked ball. In addition, the object at the GNM is said to have been touched up in the early 20th century, so that it could fit the cliché of the pictorial and written sources of the 19th century even better (Selheim 2005, p. 274).

   

  In the same supposedly colonialist view, Defregger made a painting for an Austrian encyclopedia called „Kronprinzenwerk“ (1885-1902, fig. 5). In this illustration, the figure of the Saltner is used just as clichéd and exoticizing for his country, Tyrol, as we know it, e.g. from images of snake charmers and the Indian subcontinent. But the picture shows a man who looks much like both the Nuremberg specimen – and the artist himself. Could this still be a form of self-exaltation, an act of othering (Said 1985)? If we take into account that Defregger himself was a native Tyrolean, this perspective escapes its chauvinistic dress and shows us a completely opposite form of individual expression and a corresponding search for identification: When abroad, the successful painter dressed like a person of status in his native country.

   

  

  Fig. 5: Franz Defregger: Ein Saltner bei Meran. 1890, Xylography by M. Kluszewski. © CC-BY-4.0 austria-forum.org

   

   

  Conclusion

   

  It has taken one century for this change in function to be clearly named in the GNM (cf. Zander-Seidel 2002, p. 148): from an uncertain practical object of use to a product of tourist expectations, from a carnival costume to a decided construction of national identification and back again. The outfit of the vineyard keeper is neither particularly artistic nor valuable. But the questions it is able to generate lead far into a dense field of visual communication across times, national borders and continents, to ideas of foreignness and (self-) exoticization and ultimately to the question of how we deal with them today. The costume of the Saltner and its related outfits seem to come from the supposedly “good old time“. But they illuminate a rather fleeting moment in which historical upheavals in Europe (e.g. early globalization, increased emigration, advanced secularization, consequences of colonialism, desperate search for identity and nation building) are reflected in a peculiar object. They can lead to the question of how to deal with other traditions on the one hand or with the individualization of (male) appearance (e.g. in the later star cult) on the other. The fact that a whimsical hat can still serve an extremely dubious yet visually powerful purpose today was demonstrated by the million-fold shared footage of the self-proclaimed "shaman" storming the Washington Capitol in early 2021.

   

  Special thanks to my students at Gymnasium Wendelstein who enriched this analysis with plenty of valuable questions and discoveries.

   

   

  References

   

  • Assmann, Peter/Irgens-Defregger, Angelika/Hess, Helmut. 2020. Defregger. Mythos — Missbrauch — Moderne. Innsbruck, München: Hirmer.
  • Ramming, Jochen. 1997. Weinberghüter und Heimatwächter. Der ‚Meraner Saltner‘ zwischen Amt und Emblem. In: Jahrbuch für Volkskunde 20. Paderborn. München. Wien. Zürich: Schöningh. p. 116-141.
  • Halbritter, Roland. 2005. Saltner – Weinberghüter – Touristenschreck – Vogelscheuche – Papageno – Alpenindianer. „Ihm gebe Kreizer a comprar tabacco; dann still sein gut Freund“. In: Der Schlern, Bozen. August edition 2005, p. 88-104.
  • Irgens, Angelika. 2010. Was Tiroler und Indianer im Herzen verbindet, Bayerische Staatszeitung (BSZ). 23.04.2010 (ePaper) and: Unser Bayern 4/2010, München (Verlag Bayerische Staatszeitung)
  • von Hörmann, Ludwig. 1872. Die Saltner. In: Der Alpenfreund, Monatshefte für Verbreitung von Alpenkunde unter Jung und Alt in populären Schilderungen aus dem Gesammtgebiet der Alpenwelt und mit praktischen Winken zur genußvollen Bereisung derselben. Dr. Eduard Amthor (ed.), Volume 5, Gera, p. 41-47, proofread for SAGEN.at by Mag. Renate Erhart, august 2005. Spelling carefully reworked and brought up to date: http://www.sagen.at/doku/hoermann_beitraege/saltner.html. Called on 7.02.2021
  • Matscher, Hans. 1933. Der Burggräfler in Glaube und Sage. Bozen 1933. Found at sagen.at and carefully reworked by Leoni Wallner. December 2005. http://www.sagen.at/texte/sagen/italien/meran/burggraefler_matscher/wimmetzeit.htm. Called on 7.02.2021.
  • Said, Edward. 1985. Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient. London: Penguin Books.
  • Selheim, Claudia. 2005. Die Entdeckung der Tracht um 1900. Die Sammlung Oskar Kling zur ländlichen Kleidung im Germanischen Nationalmuseum. Published by Germanisches Nationalmuseum Nürnberg.
  • Zander-Seidel, Jutta (ed.). 2002. Kleiderwechsel. Frauen-, Männer- und Kinderkleidung des 18. bis 20. Jahrhunderts (Die Schausammlungen des Germanischen Nationalmuseums). Published by Germanisches Nationalmuseum Nürnberg.

   

   

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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)

Read more …

• 

  Patrique deGraft-Yankson

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

  published February 2020

  

  Ernst Wagner

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

  Challenging the Western concept of art

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Learn more about El Anatsui.

   

   

  published February 2020

  

  ISB_Team

  Two perspectives on one work of art
  

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

   

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

  "Dear Patrique, dear Ernst,

   

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

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

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

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

   

  Annette"

  
  
  

Read more …

• 

  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

Read more …

• 

  Mahmoud Malik Saako

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

   

  Artistic features of the Qur'an

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

   

  

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

   

  Material used for the Qur'an

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

   

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

   

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

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

   

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

   

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

   

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

   

  Uses of the Qur'an

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

   

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

   

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

   

  

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

   

  Where is the Qur’an kept?

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

   

  

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

   

  Appendix

  When is it read and how?

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

   

  Islam in West Africa

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

   

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