For the past sixty years, one of African art history's most intriguing “problems” has been sorting out the temporal and spatial relationships among a diverse corpus of cast copper alloy artifacts from southern Nigeria collectively known as the Lower Niger Bronze Industry (LNBI). As an undergraduate at UCLA in the early 1970s, I remember sitting in Arnold Rubin's survey of the arts of West Africa and listening to him speak about these enigmatic cuprous objects associated with various sites and societies situated in the region surrounding the confluence of the Niger and Benue rivers, artifacts that sometimes share formal characteristics, sometimes not. Some had been documented in situ, most were museum pieces with little or no provenance. Though associated with different societies, their concentration in this circumscribed area, prompted questions about their histories and the relationships of the communities with which they are associated, questions that today are still largely unanswered. Who made them, when were they made, where did the material from which they were made come from, and how were they used in the societies with which they are associated?In 1963, the then keeper of the African collections of the British Museum, William Fagg, created the rubric “Lower Niger Bronze Industry” to differentiate this heterogenous group of artifacts from the better-known cuprous traditions of Igbo Ukwu, Benin, and Ife. He applied this appellation to fourteen objects that he had identified as possessing certain affinities. He speculated about their possible origins, considering when they were made and who made them, as well as their meanings in the societies in which they were documented. Over the last sixty years, the LNB corpus has expanded as more artifacts have been discovered, in the field but mostly in museum collections. During this time several scholars have grappled with this art historical enigma, but it is only recently that Philip Peek, a longtime specialist in the expressive cultures of southern Nigeria, has taken on the formidable task of sorting through the existing scholarship and material evidence associated with these provocative objects. The Lower Niger Bronzes: Beyond Igbo-Ukwu, Ife, and Benin, offers the first comprehensive study of this material. A warning, this book is not for the faint of heart. Though not a catalogue raisonné, it does examine a large representative sample from a corpus of over 1,000 objects and offers a deep dive into the analysis of this vast and varied body of metalwork, most carrying little if any provenance, to make sense of what it might tell us about the migration of people and things through time and space and the insights it might reveal concerning the precolonial histories of southern Nigeria. Peek presents prime examples of the full range of LNBs, effectively integrating sixty black-and-white and sixteen color photographs to buttress this impressive study.In a field (art history) that relies heavily on mo
{"title":"The Lower Niger Bronzes: Beyond Igbo Ukwu, Ife, and Benin by Philip M. Peek","authors":"Raymond A. Silverman","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00736","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00736","url":null,"abstract":"For the past sixty years, one of African art history's most intriguing “problems” has been sorting out the temporal and spatial relationships among a diverse corpus of cast copper alloy artifacts from southern Nigeria collectively known as the Lower Niger Bronze Industry (LNBI). As an undergraduate at UCLA in the early 1970s, I remember sitting in Arnold Rubin's survey of the arts of West Africa and listening to him speak about these enigmatic cuprous objects associated with various sites and societies situated in the region surrounding the confluence of the Niger and Benue rivers, artifacts that sometimes share formal characteristics, sometimes not. Some had been documented in situ, most were museum pieces with little or no provenance. Though associated with different societies, their concentration in this circumscribed area, prompted questions about their histories and the relationships of the communities with which they are associated, questions that today are still largely unanswered. Who made them, when were they made, where did the material from which they were made come from, and how were they used in the societies with which they are associated?In 1963, the then keeper of the African collections of the British Museum, William Fagg, created the rubric “Lower Niger Bronze Industry” to differentiate this heterogenous group of artifacts from the better-known cuprous traditions of Igbo Ukwu, Benin, and Ife. He applied this appellation to fourteen objects that he had identified as possessing certain affinities. He speculated about their possible origins, considering when they were made and who made them, as well as their meanings in the societies in which they were documented. Over the last sixty years, the LNB corpus has expanded as more artifacts have been discovered, in the field but mostly in museum collections. During this time several scholars have grappled with this art historical enigma, but it is only recently that Philip Peek, a longtime specialist in the expressive cultures of southern Nigeria, has taken on the formidable task of sorting through the existing scholarship and material evidence associated with these provocative objects. The Lower Niger Bronzes: Beyond Igbo-Ukwu, Ife, and Benin, offers the first comprehensive study of this material. A warning, this book is not for the faint of heart. Though not a catalogue raisonné, it does examine a large representative sample from a corpus of over 1,000 objects and offers a deep dive into the analysis of this vast and varied body of metalwork, most carrying little if any provenance, to make sense of what it might tell us about the migration of people and things through time and space and the insights it might reveal concerning the precolonial histories of southern Nigeria. Peek presents prime examples of the full range of LNBs, effectively integrating sixty black-and-white and sixteen color photographs to buttress this impressive study.In a field (art history) that relies heavily on mo","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"104 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508443","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Under the assumption that there is value in retrospectively examining one's earlier research to assess areas of omission or misunderstanding, I write this article some fifty years after my initial research in Ọ̀wọ̀, Nigeria, the capital city of a once powerful, sprawling kingdom on the eastern edge of Yòrùbá territory, bordering on the powerful Edo Benin Kingdom whose capital is a scant 75 miles south.As a neophyte researcher whose training prior to graduate study was in studio, what attracted me to the study of African art was the thoughtfulness with which African artists translated mental images and ideas into material form. I was entranced by sensitive abstraction in much African art as well as by idealized naturalism of the art of Ife.My choice of Ọ̀wọ̀ as a research site was inspired by Ekpo Eyo's recent excavation in Ọ̀wọ̀ in 1969, where he uncovered naturalistic terracotta objects whose idealized features reinforced Ọ̀wọ̀'s claim of origin from ancient Ife (Eyo and Willett 1980). At the same time, other objects suggested contact with Benin to the south. Seeing these ancient forms as evidence of links to different kingdoms, my project was to use art objects as indexes of cultural contact. I set out to Ọ̀wọ̀ to investigate leadership arts, intent on examining beautifully rendered forms that reinforced roles played by the hierarchy of the Olọ́wọ̀ (king), identifying objects that may derive from Yòrùbá prototypes and those that had resulted from contact with Benin.Over the years I have dealt with images of power and authority in Ọ̀wọ̀—chieftaincy garb, ceremonial swords, textiles and dress, and ancestral images that reinforce the authority of living men while honoring ancestors. (Some of the publications that have dealt with these include Poynor 1976, 1978, 1980, 1981, 1984, 1987a, 1987b, 1989, 1995, 2000, 2003, 2011, 2023; Poynor, Cole, and Visoná 2001.)While conducting my research in Ọ̀wọ̀ in 1973, I encountered several types of objects that, from my point of view at that time, did not fit the traditional categories of leadership art. Made of unfired clay, their medium was not as elegant as the more exquisite ivory, brass, and wooden objects Ọ̀wọ̀ is known for. They were called by several names, ṣìgìdì (pronounced shee-ghee-dee) and ìyègbè being the most often used. At that time, I was drawn to the more sophisticated arts used in leadership contexts and I pushed these earthen figures aside in my research agenda, although they did work in the context of governance.1The purposes of the clay figures were various. They functioned as gatekeepers on the one hand, or as violent forces to wreak havoc on enemies on the other. Both, I now realize, were in the service of important dignitaries within the hierarchy of the kingdom.The functions of objects discussed here are by no means limited to the Ọ̀wọ̀ or to the Yòrùbá. The use of images as guards, sentinels, watchdogs, tutelary spirits, doorkeepers or gatekeepers, detectives, look
{"title":"Gatekeepers and Vengeful Spirits of the Ọ̀wọ̀ Past: Word and Act Made Visible","authors":"Robin Poynor","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00727","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00727","url":null,"abstract":"Under the assumption that there is value in retrospectively examining one's earlier research to assess areas of omission or misunderstanding, I write this article some fifty years after my initial research in Ọ̀wọ̀, Nigeria, the capital city of a once powerful, sprawling kingdom on the eastern edge of Yòrùbá territory, bordering on the powerful Edo Benin Kingdom whose capital is a scant 75 miles south.As a neophyte researcher whose training prior to graduate study was in studio, what attracted me to the study of African art was the thoughtfulness with which African artists translated mental images and ideas into material form. I was entranced by sensitive abstraction in much African art as well as by idealized naturalism of the art of Ife.My choice of Ọ̀wọ̀ as a research site was inspired by Ekpo Eyo's recent excavation in Ọ̀wọ̀ in 1969, where he uncovered naturalistic terracotta objects whose idealized features reinforced Ọ̀wọ̀'s claim of origin from ancient Ife (Eyo and Willett 1980). At the same time, other objects suggested contact with Benin to the south. Seeing these ancient forms as evidence of links to different kingdoms, my project was to use art objects as indexes of cultural contact. I set out to Ọ̀wọ̀ to investigate leadership arts, intent on examining beautifully rendered forms that reinforced roles played by the hierarchy of the Olọ́wọ̀ (king), identifying objects that may derive from Yòrùbá prototypes and those that had resulted from contact with Benin.Over the years I have dealt with images of power and authority in Ọ̀wọ̀—chieftaincy garb, ceremonial swords, textiles and dress, and ancestral images that reinforce the authority of living men while honoring ancestors. (Some of the publications that have dealt with these include Poynor 1976, 1978, 1980, 1981, 1984, 1987a, 1987b, 1989, 1995, 2000, 2003, 2011, 2023; Poynor, Cole, and Visoná 2001.)While conducting my research in Ọ̀wọ̀ in 1973, I encountered several types of objects that, from my point of view at that time, did not fit the traditional categories of leadership art. Made of unfired clay, their medium was not as elegant as the more exquisite ivory, brass, and wooden objects Ọ̀wọ̀ is known for. They were called by several names, ṣìgìdì (pronounced shee-ghee-dee) and ìyègbè being the most often used. At that time, I was drawn to the more sophisticated arts used in leadership contexts and I pushed these earthen figures aside in my research agenda, although they did work in the context of governance.1The purposes of the clay figures were various. They functioned as gatekeepers on the one hand, or as violent forces to wreak havoc on enemies on the other. Both, I now realize, were in the service of important dignitaries within the hierarchy of the kingdom.The functions of objects discussed here are by no means limited to the Ọ̀wọ̀ or to the Yòrùbá. The use of images as guards, sentinels, watchdogs, tutelary spirits, doorkeepers or gatekeepers, detectives, look","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"2016 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508450","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
A few of us remember Hal, the fictional AI character that takes control of the spaceship Discovery One in the 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal1 was not friendly when the protagonist of the film interacted with him. He took over, refusing to cooperate with human “passengers.” The character was capable of performing tasks we recognize as AI (artificial intelligence) today: speech recognition, simulated speech, peforming visual input processing such as facial recognition, processing natural language (among other aptitudes), and even lip-reading. (He also was “naturally” ascribed a gender identity.) He assumed control against the will of humans who created him. Hal was said to have been created in 1992. Interestingly, many digital tools we use today were introduced about the same time: the World Wide Web, H-NET, PowerPoint, smartboards, learning management systems like Blackboard, JSTOR, and others.Although my university is agog about AI and plans to hire some 100 new faculty with AI experience,2 I have not paid much attention to it until now. However, recent communication from MIT Press Journals, distributor of African Arts, advised the African Arts editorial consortium:I had never heard of ChatGPT, but that plea (and recent uses of digital technology linking me to individuals and groups in Nigeria) made me process in my own mind the effects technology has had on our disciplines since I began studying African art fifty-seven years ago. In 1993, the World Wide Web was made public, greatly altering ways life is lived and making a profound impact on disciplines investigating African creative arts.4 And with the introduction of AI and the fear of higher education being turned “upside down” as the MIT email suggests, should we fear an academic version of Hal?5Allow me to muse over ways technology has had a bearing on my own studies and think in terms of where digital communication may lead. I look at the trickle of new technologies half a century ago, the ensuing flood of media and means of communication during ensuing several decades, and dire predictions presently being made.I first introduce an image I took in 1973 (Fig. 1). I stood on a street in Ọ̀wọ̀, Nigeria. A seemingly endless procession of middle-aged men dressed in handwoven drapes passed. Using my Canon camera, I snapped many images, not knowing who individuals were, what roles they played within their age grade, who they would become, or how they would be remembered. Fifty years later, because of digital communication, I can identify four of the men and can piece together arcs of their lives.I did not even know if the image would come out. A half century ago in Nigeria, colored film had to be mailed back to the United States for processing. It would not be until I returned that I would know if that shot was successful or not. Today digital photography, even on cell phones, reveals the quality of the photograph immediately, and it is shareable instantly by email, social media, or “the c
{"title":"Personal Reflections on Technologies and the Study of African Art","authors":"Robin Poynor","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00726","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00726","url":null,"abstract":"A few of us remember Hal, the fictional AI character that takes control of the spaceship Discovery One in the 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal1 was not friendly when the protagonist of the film interacted with him. He took over, refusing to cooperate with human “passengers.” The character was capable of performing tasks we recognize as AI (artificial intelligence) today: speech recognition, simulated speech, peforming visual input processing such as facial recognition, processing natural language (among other aptitudes), and even lip-reading. (He also was “naturally” ascribed a gender identity.) He assumed control against the will of humans who created him. Hal was said to have been created in 1992. Interestingly, many digital tools we use today were introduced about the same time: the World Wide Web, H-NET, PowerPoint, smartboards, learning management systems like Blackboard, JSTOR, and others.Although my university is agog about AI and plans to hire some 100 new faculty with AI experience,2 I have not paid much attention to it until now. However, recent communication from MIT Press Journals, distributor of African Arts, advised the African Arts editorial consortium:I had never heard of ChatGPT, but that plea (and recent uses of digital technology linking me to individuals and groups in Nigeria) made me process in my own mind the effects technology has had on our disciplines since I began studying African art fifty-seven years ago. In 1993, the World Wide Web was made public, greatly altering ways life is lived and making a profound impact on disciplines investigating African creative arts.4 And with the introduction of AI and the fear of higher education being turned “upside down” as the MIT email suggests, should we fear an academic version of Hal?5Allow me to muse over ways technology has had a bearing on my own studies and think in terms of where digital communication may lead. I look at the trickle of new technologies half a century ago, the ensuing flood of media and means of communication during ensuing several decades, and dire predictions presently being made.I first introduce an image I took in 1973 (Fig. 1). I stood on a street in Ọ̀wọ̀, Nigeria. A seemingly endless procession of middle-aged men dressed in handwoven drapes passed. Using my Canon camera, I snapped many images, not knowing who individuals were, what roles they played within their age grade, who they would become, or how they would be remembered. Fifty years later, because of digital communication, I can identify four of the men and can piece together arcs of their lives.I did not even know if the image would come out. A half century ago in Nigeria, colored film had to be mailed back to the United States for processing. It would not be until I returned that I would know if that shot was successful or not. Today digital photography, even on cell phones, reveals the quality of the photograph immediately, and it is shareable instantly by email, social media, or “the c","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"181 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508427","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Elijah Sofo, Edinam Kakra Avoke, Edwin K. Bodjawah
The term “morphing” is used in animation to describe the process of gradually transforming a sourced image, appearance, or form into another. This term amply reflects the state of contemporary painting in Ghana since her independence in 1957. The few published texts on modern and contemporary Ghanaian artistic developments have established at least three generations of contemporary Ghanaian artists and the periodization of their works. The notion of style has been used as the main method of classifying their artistic productions in response to these transformations. As a result, Maruska Svašek posits that, “In the history of Ghanaian artistic production … various individuals and groups have utilized the notion of style in order to present their arts as an expression of their ‘natural’ identity” (1997: 2). She suggests a seamless synergy between style and identity. The notion of identity and style in contemporary Ghanaian painting in this instance portends a merger between particular individual or shared innate attributes/ethos (as a result of relationships, sociopolitical, economic, and cultural factors, amongst others) and their corresponding artistic styles that culminate in the construction of what she describes as either individual or shared group identities.To define “contemporary Ghanaian painting” will mean clarifying the complexities of a now-historical but still evolving Ghanaian artistic phenomenon. Amelia Jones is of the view that the word “contemporary” refers to the present or that which is “in existence now” (2006: 1), such that contemporary Ghanaian painting denotes a current genre of Ghanaian artistic expression. However, we argue that this Ghanaian artistic genre has gone through several phases that are firmly rooted in Ghana's sociopolitical, economic, and cultural past, as well as the present (Fosu 2003).The first of three generations of modern and contemporary Ghanaian artists, according to Kojo Fosu (2013), is the “pioneers.” Svašek posits that the pioneers of contemporary Ghanaian art fought the “myth of static primitive traditions” and “claimed ‘European’ realism” (broadly defined and incorporating diverse styles, such as naturalism, impressionism, and figurative expressionism) as an artistic style to propagate their nationalist agendas of independence, decolonization, and the notion of the African personality (Svašek 1997: 5). The second generation, on the other hand, consists of artists who thematically freed their art from the dogmatism of the pioneers. Although this generation also adopted “European realism” or genre painting as their artistic style, they broke the myth of romanticizing their cultural past and started painting the life and scenes of the urban cities where they dwelled in the 1970s—specifically, Accra, the capital city of Ghana, and Kumasi, where Ghana's premier College of Art (Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, KNUST) is located. Painting, therefore, became a form of pictorial documenta
{"title":"Morphing Identity and Style in Contemporary Ghanaian Painting: Two Artists From Sekondi-Takoradi","authors":"Elijah Sofo, Edinam Kakra Avoke, Edwin K. Bodjawah","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00729","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00729","url":null,"abstract":"The term “morphing” is used in animation to describe the process of gradually transforming a sourced image, appearance, or form into another. This term amply reflects the state of contemporary painting in Ghana since her independence in 1957. The few published texts on modern and contemporary Ghanaian artistic developments have established at least three generations of contemporary Ghanaian artists and the periodization of their works. The notion of style has been used as the main method of classifying their artistic productions in response to these transformations. As a result, Maruska Svašek posits that, “In the history of Ghanaian artistic production … various individuals and groups have utilized the notion of style in order to present their arts as an expression of their ‘natural’ identity” (1997: 2). She suggests a seamless synergy between style and identity. The notion of identity and style in contemporary Ghanaian painting in this instance portends a merger between particular individual or shared innate attributes/ethos (as a result of relationships, sociopolitical, economic, and cultural factors, amongst others) and their corresponding artistic styles that culminate in the construction of what she describes as either individual or shared group identities.To define “contemporary Ghanaian painting” will mean clarifying the complexities of a now-historical but still evolving Ghanaian artistic phenomenon. Amelia Jones is of the view that the word “contemporary” refers to the present or that which is “in existence now” (2006: 1), such that contemporary Ghanaian painting denotes a current genre of Ghanaian artistic expression. However, we argue that this Ghanaian artistic genre has gone through several phases that are firmly rooted in Ghana's sociopolitical, economic, and cultural past, as well as the present (Fosu 2003).The first of three generations of modern and contemporary Ghanaian artists, according to Kojo Fosu (2013), is the “pioneers.” Svašek posits that the pioneers of contemporary Ghanaian art fought the “myth of static primitive traditions” and “claimed ‘European’ realism” (broadly defined and incorporating diverse styles, such as naturalism, impressionism, and figurative expressionism) as an artistic style to propagate their nationalist agendas of independence, decolonization, and the notion of the African personality (Svašek 1997: 5). The second generation, on the other hand, consists of artists who thematically freed their art from the dogmatism of the pioneers. Although this generation also adopted “European realism” or genre painting as their artistic style, they broke the myth of romanticizing their cultural past and started painting the life and scenes of the urban cities where they dwelled in the 1970s—specifically, Accra, the capital city of Ghana, and Kumasi, where Ghana's premier College of Art (Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, KNUST) is located. Painting, therefore, became a form of pictorial documenta","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"22 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508398","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
During a conversation in the summer of 2019 in Kinshasa with the sapeuse La Princesse, she said that she tells her son repeatedly, “You eat money from La SAPE.” We sat at an outside table of a nganda (bar) underneath the shade while her son sat within earshot of our conversation.1 I was struck by La Princesse's assertion because it had framed La SAPE as a source of money that enables one to eat. This is significant in light of academic and media (mis)representations of La SAPE, which often concentrate on the elegance, extravagance, and escapism of sapeuses and sapeurs. Speaking of La SAPE in terms of earning income shifts the focus to practicality rather than reinforcing its sensationalism.La SAPE stands for Société des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes (Society of Ambiance Makers and Elegant Persons), and its members are called sapeuses (for women) and sapeurs (for men).2 While its exact origins are unclear, La SAPE today is associated generally with Brazzaville and Kinshasa. Separated by the Congo River, the histories of these twin capitals are entangled yet distinct, as Republic of the Congo was colonized by France and Democratic Republic of the Congo was colonized by Belgium. In conversations that I had with sapeuses and sapeurs in Kinshasa, they consistently claimed that they are born members of La SAPE and that it is in their blood; in cases in which people want to become members of La SAPE, they have to work hard. They also describe a handful of qualities that make one recognizable as a member of La SAPE: being clean, behaving well, dressing well, and having a good attitude towards work. Kadhitoza, a member of La SAPE (Fig. 1), showed me his identity card, which listed sapeur as his occupation. This emphasis on work has been lost in academic and media representations of La SAPE in the United States and Europe.Therefore, my aim is to offer a reading of La SAPE as work in a few respects: as connected to public performance, as a way to earn money, and as a means of support for its members, their families, and individuals affiliated with (but not members of) La SAPE. I move the focus away from sensational readings of La SAPE to show how it is not escapism from one's reality of living in Kinshasa; rather, it is a response to the very challenges of living in the city. In particular, I discuss how membership in La SAPE is a practical strategy for sapeuses in Kinshasa, as the experience for sapeuses and sapeurs is distinct due to existing gender expectations and attitudes towards women working in public. However, this is not to exclude the idea that sapeurs consider La SAPE as a form of work. Instead, I deliberately narrow my focus to sapeuses, as sapeurs dominate academic and media representations. I begin by introducing the origins and history of La SAPE, and then discuss previous scholarly interpretations that depict it as a means of escapism. Then, I turn to the urban realities of living in Kinshasa, concentrating on the informal or secon
2019年夏天在金沙萨与公主的谈话中，她说她反复告诉儿子，“你吃了La SAPE的钱。”我们坐在树荫下一家酒吧外面的一张桌子旁，她的儿子坐在听得见我们谈话的地方我被La Princesse的说法震惊了，因为它把La SAPE定义为一个能让人吃饭的钱的来源。这在学术和媒体(错误)对La SAPE的表述中是很重要的，这些表述往往集中在优雅、奢侈和逃避现实的sapeuses和sapeurs上。从赚取收入的角度来说，La scape将焦点转移到实用性上，而不是强化其耸人听闻的效果。La SAPE代表societansuise des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes(氛围制造者和优雅人士协会)，其成员被称为sapeuses(女性)和sapeurs(男性)虽然确切的起源尚不清楚，但La SAPE今天通常与布拉柴维尔和金沙萨联系在一起。由于被刚果河隔开，这两个首都的历史交织在一起，但又截然不同，因为刚果共和国曾是法国的殖民地，而刚果民主共和国曾是比利时的殖民地。在我与金沙萨的sapeuses和sapeurs的谈话中，他们一直声称他们是La SAPE的天生成员，这是他们的血液;如果人们想成为La SAPE的成员，他们必须努力工作。他们还描述了一些使一个人成为La SAPE成员的品质:干净，行为得体，穿着得体，对工作有良好的态度。Kadhitoza是La SAPE的成员(图1)，他给我看了他的身份证，上面写着他的职业是sapeur。这种对作品的强调在美国和欧洲的学术和媒体对La SAPE的描述中已经消失了。因此，我的目的是在以下几个方面提供对La SAPE的解读:与公共表演有关，作为赚钱的一种方式，作为支持其成员，他们的家庭以及与La SAPE有关联(但不是成员)的个人的手段。我把焦点从La SAPE的耸人听闻的阅读中移开，以表明它不是对金沙萨生活现实的逃避;相反，它是对城市生活挑战的一种回应。我特别讨论了加入La SAPE对于金沙萨的sapews来说是一个实用的策略，因为sapews和sapeurs的经历是不同的，这是由于现有的性别期望和对女性在公共场所工作的态度。然而，这并不排除sapeurers将La SAPE视为一种工作形式的想法。相反，我故意将我的关注范围缩小到智人，因为智人主导着学术和媒体的表现。我首先介绍了La scape的起源和历史，然后讨论了之前将其描述为逃避现实手段的学术解释。然后，我转向金沙萨的城市生活现实，重点关注独立后时期的非正规经济或第二经济以及城市妇女工作的历史。之后，我认为La SAPE是一种利用与sapeuses和sapeurs的对话以及从表演研究中汲取灵感的作品。虽然La SAPE的成员早在20世纪初就已经存在了，但他们通过广告(比如2014年hsamctor Mediavilla为吉尼斯啤酒拍摄的短纪录片)、视频(比如2012年索兰格·诺尔斯(Solange Knowles)的《失去你》(Losing You)音乐视频)和网络文章进入美国和欧洲的时间大多是最近十年。La SAPE的成员以其外向和昂贵的服装而闻名，主要包括据说来自欧洲的西装，以及皮鞋，太阳镜，烟斗和手杖(图2)。由于他们特殊的着装风格和炫耀，他们被称为刚果花花公子，正如1989年的研究标题所证明的那样，dandies Bacongo: le culte de l' samlsamgance dans La societscongolaise contemporaine (Bacongo的花花公子)。(当代刚果社会对优雅的崇拜)，这是关于La SAPE的首批学术作品之一。虽然La SAPE开始的确切时间和地点尚有争议，但Didier Gondola断言，它可以追溯到布拉柴维尔殖民时期的最初几年，那里是法国殖民政府和欧洲人的所在地(Gondola 2010: 159)。在欧洲家庭工作的刚果男仆和仆人开始按照雇主的风格穿着，因为他们会得到二手衣服作为补偿(Gondola 1999: 26, 2010: 159)。菲利斯·m·马丁(Phyllis M. Martin)对布拉柴维尔殖民地的研究表明，从欧洲进口的布料、服装和配饰进入后来被称为法属赤道非洲的地区，已经进入了一种讲究穿着的文化，这也是La SAPE成员所信奉的价值观之一。 美国和欧洲的学术和媒体倾向于从两个方面将La SAPE解释为一种逃避现实的形式:一种字面上的逃避，即乘船前往欧洲，另一种象征性的逃避，即穿上griffes(设计师标签;法语俚语“标签”)。这两种逃避现实的方式是联系在一起的，因为La SAPE成员找到格里夫的方法之一就是去欧洲旅行并在那里买到格里夫。当刚果-布拉柴维尔和刚果-金沙萨在1960年获得独立时，由于经济、社会和政治混乱，这两个国家的许多城市青年在城市里很难找到工作(贡多拉2010:165)。许多年轻人将欧洲视为充满机遇的土地，纷纷逃往巴黎、布鲁塞尔和伦敦等西欧城市。然而，重要的是要指出，去欧洲旅行被认为是男人的冒险。mikiliste这个词被用来指男人，“指的是生活在欧洲的刚果年轻人，在较小程度上也生活在北美……Mikili在林加拉语中是mokili的复数，意思是‘世界’，已经成为欧洲的同义词。”当加上法语后缀时，这个词就代表了那些来到欧洲的年轻人”(贡多拉1999:28)。然而，生活在欧洲的mikilistes感到幻灭，因为他们面临歧视，发现自己接受了最不受欢迎的工作和恶劣的生活条件。对他们来说，转向La SAPE成为一种授权的来源，使他们能够在远离家乡和欧洲的地方创造新的身份(Gondola 1999: 28,30, 2010: 165)。同样，多米尼克·托马斯断言，来自刚果(布)和刚果(金)的年轻人都对曾经殖民过前者的法国很着迷。特别是，巴黎市被认为是年轻的布拉柴维尔人(布拉柴维尔的居民)可以实现梦想的地方对于La SAPE的成员来说，这意味着前往法国获得格里菲斯。最终，他们会回国，并期望自己的社会地位因为出国旅行而得到提高(2003:948-49)。这在视觉上的标志是他们展示的清洁，优雅的举止，最明显的是，戴着鹰头狮。如前所述，穿着来自范思哲、杜嘉班纳、山本耀司和伊夫圣罗兰等品牌的格里夫被学者和媒体解读为一种具象的逃避主义。贡多拉写道:“如果没有鹰头狮，人类就不会存在……如果精灵相信衣服造就人，那么他也相信鹰头狮创造了衣服……通过不惜一切代价获得鹰头狮，精灵为自己买到了梦想的一部分”(贡多拉1999:34)。这里所指的梦想是对拥有财富和富裕的渴望。因此，狮鹫象征着他们的佩戴者拥有财富和权力，即使在现实中他们并没有。然而，La SAPE成员对服装的重视是显而易见的。我遇到的sapeuses和sapeurs很自豪地指出他们穿的每一件衣服和配饰，详细说明每一件衣服的品牌(图4)。我还发现，他们看重服装的原因不仅仅是他们可以沟通的声望和权力。公主说，丈夫可以和你离婚，但衣服不能克莱门汀·巴蒂亚指出，由于La SAPE，当她睡觉时，她醒来时穿着衣服这些描述似乎将服装描绘成面对金沙萨不稳定生活的稳定之源。这似乎有助于这样一种观点，即穿着格里菲斯使La SAPE的成员能够逃离他们的环境
{"title":"Practical Work: Sapeuses (Women Sapeurs) in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo","authors":"Kristen Laciste","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00730","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00730","url":null,"abstract":"During a conversation in the summer of 2019 in Kinshasa with the sapeuse La Princesse, she said that she tells her son repeatedly, “You eat money from La SAPE.” We sat at an outside table of a nganda (bar) underneath the shade while her son sat within earshot of our conversation.1 I was struck by La Princesse's assertion because it had framed La SAPE as a source of money that enables one to eat. This is significant in light of academic and media (mis)representations of La SAPE, which often concentrate on the elegance, extravagance, and escapism of sapeuses and sapeurs. Speaking of La SAPE in terms of earning income shifts the focus to practicality rather than reinforcing its sensationalism.La SAPE stands for Société des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes (Society of Ambiance Makers and Elegant Persons), and its members are called sapeuses (for women) and sapeurs (for men).2 While its exact origins are unclear, La SAPE today is associated generally with Brazzaville and Kinshasa. Separated by the Congo River, the histories of these twin capitals are entangled yet distinct, as Republic of the Congo was colonized by France and Democratic Republic of the Congo was colonized by Belgium. In conversations that I had with sapeuses and sapeurs in Kinshasa, they consistently claimed that they are born members of La SAPE and that it is in their blood; in cases in which people want to become members of La SAPE, they have to work hard. They also describe a handful of qualities that make one recognizable as a member of La SAPE: being clean, behaving well, dressing well, and having a good attitude towards work. Kadhitoza, a member of La SAPE (Fig. 1), showed me his identity card, which listed sapeur as his occupation. This emphasis on work has been lost in academic and media representations of La SAPE in the United States and Europe.Therefore, my aim is to offer a reading of La SAPE as work in a few respects: as connected to public performance, as a way to earn money, and as a means of support for its members, their families, and individuals affiliated with (but not members of) La SAPE. I move the focus away from sensational readings of La SAPE to show how it is not escapism from one's reality of living in Kinshasa; rather, it is a response to the very challenges of living in the city. In particular, I discuss how membership in La SAPE is a practical strategy for sapeuses in Kinshasa, as the experience for sapeuses and sapeurs is distinct due to existing gender expectations and attitudes towards women working in public. However, this is not to exclude the idea that sapeurs consider La SAPE as a form of work. Instead, I deliberately narrow my focus to sapeuses, as sapeurs dominate academic and media representations. I begin by introducing the origins and history of La SAPE, and then discuss previous scholarly interpretations that depict it as a means of escapism. Then, I turn to the urban realities of living in Kinshasa, concentrating on the informal or secon","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"17 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508444","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Two photographic exhibitions at the National Museum of Africa Art offered profoundly different approaches to modern Nigerian visual culture. Iké Udé: Nollywood Portraits, a traveling exhibition, celebrated the Nigerian film industry from a transnational elite perspective. In contrast, Before Nollywood: The Ideal Photo Studio explored the popular studio photography of Solomon Osagie Alonge during the late colonial and early national era, documenting community leaders and middle-class lives in Benin City, Nigeria.Before Nollywood emerged out of long-term research, conservation, and curatorial partnership between the Edo kingdom, the people of Benin City, the Osagie and Alonge families, the Nigerian National Commission for Museums and Monuments, and the Eliot Elisofon Photographic Archives (EEPA) of the National Museum of African Art (NMAfA). The Alonge Project included NMAfA's major 2014-2016 exhibition Chief S.O. Alonge: Photographer to the Royal Court of Benin, Nigeria. In 2017, the Smithsonian presented parts of the show as a permanent gift to the National Museum of Benin in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria (Staples 2017b). This has allowed thousands of community members to encounter long-lost images of themselves, friends, and family members; to reflect on the popular visual history of Edo State; and to contribute to a continuing community-based research project on the city's social and cultural history.The deep excitement over the installation in Benin City was echoed at the October 1, 2022 opening of Before Nollywood at NMAfA, as dancers and drummers of the diasporic Edo community performed in the presence of many members of the Alonge family and the Edo Association of Washington, DC (Fig. 1). The excellent catalogue Fragile Legacies: The Photographs of Solomon Osagie Alonge (Staples, Kaplan, and Freyer 2017) remains a vital scholarly anchor of the overall project.Roland Barthes suggests that cameras are “clocks for seeing,” moving viewers back and forth across time's passage in sensuous, uncanny ways (Barthes 1981: 15). Indeed, the dominant sensibility pervading the Ideal Studio exhibition was not so much time's loss, as time regained, making time's passage visible while binding together discrete temporal moments. Entering the gallery, visitors saw a wall-sized mural photograph of the members of the Benin Social Circle, taken in 1938, the year of the organization's founding by the city's educational, cultural, and political elite (Fig. 2; center right is Nnamdi Azikiwe, who later became Nigeria's first president in 1963). A small diagram identified known members of the Circle and requested visitors’ help in filling in the blanks. In an evocative demonstration of the enduring vitality of Edo cosmopolitanism and resilience across the generations, a 2015 color photograph featured the surviving founding members of the Circle, along with curator Amy Staples, marking the 77th anniversary of the organization's creation, seated once more together in B
{"title":"Before Nollywood: The Ideal Photo Studio curated by Amy Staples. Iké Udé: Nollywood Portraits Originating curator: Selene Wendt; Smithsonian curator: Karen Milbourne","authors":"Mark Auslander","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00733","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00733","url":null,"abstract":"Two photographic exhibitions at the National Museum of Africa Art offered profoundly different approaches to modern Nigerian visual culture. Iké Udé: Nollywood Portraits, a traveling exhibition, celebrated the Nigerian film industry from a transnational elite perspective. In contrast, Before Nollywood: The Ideal Photo Studio explored the popular studio photography of Solomon Osagie Alonge during the late colonial and early national era, documenting community leaders and middle-class lives in Benin City, Nigeria.Before Nollywood emerged out of long-term research, conservation, and curatorial partnership between the Edo kingdom, the people of Benin City, the Osagie and Alonge families, the Nigerian National Commission for Museums and Monuments, and the Eliot Elisofon Photographic Archives (EEPA) of the National Museum of African Art (NMAfA). The Alonge Project included NMAfA's major 2014-2016 exhibition Chief S.O. Alonge: Photographer to the Royal Court of Benin, Nigeria. In 2017, the Smithsonian presented parts of the show as a permanent gift to the National Museum of Benin in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria (Staples 2017b). This has allowed thousands of community members to encounter long-lost images of themselves, friends, and family members; to reflect on the popular visual history of Edo State; and to contribute to a continuing community-based research project on the city's social and cultural history.The deep excitement over the installation in Benin City was echoed at the October 1, 2022 opening of Before Nollywood at NMAfA, as dancers and drummers of the diasporic Edo community performed in the presence of many members of the Alonge family and the Edo Association of Washington, DC (Fig. 1). The excellent catalogue Fragile Legacies: The Photographs of Solomon Osagie Alonge (Staples, Kaplan, and Freyer 2017) remains a vital scholarly anchor of the overall project.Roland Barthes suggests that cameras are “clocks for seeing,” moving viewers back and forth across time's passage in sensuous, uncanny ways (Barthes 1981: 15). Indeed, the dominant sensibility pervading the Ideal Studio exhibition was not so much time's loss, as time regained, making time's passage visible while binding together discrete temporal moments. Entering the gallery, visitors saw a wall-sized mural photograph of the members of the Benin Social Circle, taken in 1938, the year of the organization's founding by the city's educational, cultural, and political elite (Fig. 2; center right is Nnamdi Azikiwe, who later became Nigeria's first president in 1963). A small diagram identified known members of the Circle and requested visitors’ help in filling in the blanks. In an evocative demonstration of the enduring vitality of Edo cosmopolitanism and resilience across the generations, a 2015 color photograph featured the surviving founding members of the Circle, along with curator Amy Staples, marking the 77th anniversary of the organization's creation, seated once more together in B","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"5 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508448","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Debuting amid the 2022 edition of the Dak'art Biennial, Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022—curated by Guillaume de Sardes, Hélène Joubert, El Hadji Malick Ndiaye, and Ousseynou Wade, with project managers Chih-Chia Chung, Safia Belmenouar, Sophie Daynes-Diallo, Sarah Lagrevol—brought together works from four lending institutions: from France, the Musée Picasso and Musée du quai Branly-Jacques Chirac; and in Senegal, the Théodore Monod Museum of African Art as well as the host venue, the Museum of Black Civilizations (Fig. 1). The exhibition marked the passage of fifty years since a solo show of the Spanish artist's work appeared at the now defunct Musée Dynamique, Dakar's first art museum to be built under the supervision of independent Senegal's inaugural president, Léopold Sédar Senghor. To revisit this 1972 moment in 2022 was to implicitly remind audiences of the city's enduring status as an African superconductor in the circuitry of the global art world. But if Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022 was a reminder of such legacies maintained, it was also an opportunity to revisit Dakar's relationship to Picasso with critical hindsight.In the opening address of the 1972 Picasso exhibition, a show cosponsored by French president Georges Pompidou, Senghor praised the artist and suggested that his Andalusian roots gave ancestral backing to the role that African art played in the artist's creations. For Dakar's contemporary artists, Senghor proclaimed, Picasso was a model “whose kinship serves as a firm promise, and whose differentness serves as a powerful encouragement” (Senghor 1995: 228). But over the half-century that has passed since Senghor's laudatory remarks, Picasso's relationship to Africa has received important scrutiny. Simon Gikandi (2003) famously called out the “schemata of difference” upon which the artist's relationship to African art and people relied. Recent books by Suzanne Blier (2019) and Joshua Cohen (2020) have identified specific interactions shaping the artist's engagement with the continent and its cultural forms. And more broadly, the legacy of Picasso faces renewed critique well beyond the walls of academia, amid a public recognition of the role that exclusionary art canons and their protagonists have played in the ideologies of patriarchy and White supremacy.Given this context, the fraught hyphen in the title Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022 dangled provocative questions. How might the past five decades of research and criticism equip this show to cast new light on both Picasso and Senghor? What present-day concerns, particularly regarding the intertwined political and artistic institutions of Africa and Europe, could this exhibition lend greater historical depth? Could viewing the reciprocal relationship between the artist and a single city offer specificity, multidirectionality, and analytical rigor to Picasso-Africa discourse, guiding audiences beyond familiar accounts of the European artist's gaze upon a generalized continent?This exhib
《毕加索在达喀尔，1972-2022》首次亮相于2022年的达喀尔艺术双年展，由纪尧姆·德·萨尔兹、赫萨梅·朱伯特、埃尔·哈吉·马利克·恩迪亚耶和乌塞努·瓦德策划，项目经理钟奇嘉、萨菲亚·贝尔梅诺瓦、索菲·戴恩斯-迪亚洛、萨拉·拉格列夫等四家出借机构的作品汇集在一起:来自法国的musemade Picasso和musemade du quai branli - jacques Chirac;在塞内加尔，萨默多·莫诺德非洲艺术博物馆以及主办地点黑人文明博物馆(图1)。这次展览标志着这位西班牙艺术家的个展在现已不复存在的穆斯卡梅·迪米尼克博物馆举行了50年，穆斯卡梅·迪米尼克博物馆是达喀尔的第一家艺术博物馆，是在塞内加尔独立后的首座总统莱姆卡波德·萨默达·桑戈尔的监督下建造的。在2022年重温1972年的这个时刻，是在含蓄地提醒观众，这座城市在全球艺术界的电路中，作为非洲超导体的持久地位。但是，如果说毕加索在达喀尔，1972-2022是对这些遗产的一个提醒，那么这也是一个以批判性的后见之见重新审视达喀尔与毕加索关系的机会。1972年由法国总统蓬皮杜(Georges Pompidou)共同主办的毕加索(Picasso)展览开幕致辞中，桑戈尔赞扬了这位艺术家，并表示他的安达卢西亚血统为非洲艺术在这位艺术家的创作中所扮演的角色提供了祖先的支持。桑戈尔宣称，对于达喀尔的当代艺术家来说，毕加索是一个典范，“他的亲缘关系是坚定的承诺，他的差异是有力的鼓励”(桑戈尔1995:228)。但在桑戈尔发表这番赞美言论后的半个世纪里，毕加索与非洲的关系受到了重要的审视。Simon Gikandi(2003)提出了著名的“差异图式”，这是艺术家与非洲艺术和人民的关系所依赖的。苏珊娜·布莱尔(2019)和约书亚·科恩(2020)的新书已经确定了塑造艺术家与非洲大陆及其文化形式接触的具体互动。更广泛地说，毕加索的遗产面临着学术界之外的新批评，公众认识到排斥性的艺术经典及其主角在父权制和白人至上的意识形态中所扮演的角色。在这种背景下，《毕加索在达喀尔，1972-2022》这个标题中令人担忧的连字符引发了一些挑衅性的问题。过去50年的研究和批评如何使这次展览对毕加索和桑戈尔有新的认识?今天的关注，特别是关于非洲和欧洲交织在一起的政治和艺术机构，这次展览能提供更大的历史深度吗?观察艺术家与单一城市之间的相互关系能否为毕加索-非洲话语提供专一性、多向性和分析的严谨性，从而引导观众超越对欧洲艺术家凝视一个普遍大陆的熟悉描述?本次展览分为四个部分。每幅画都说明了一种不同的逻辑，旨在将毕加索和非洲大陆相互联系起来。其中第一个展览名为“毕加索在达喀尔的存在”，为这种洲际联系提供了最对等、最精确、最原始的方式。通过墙上的文字、历史报纸和其他档案材料，这个部分向观众介绍了毕加索的作品(尽管不是艺术家本人)在塞内加尔国家独立的前15年里在桑戈里安的多次露面。例如，一张模糊的新闻照片显示，1966年该市第一届世界黑人艺术节的一位幸运与会者获得了一幅名为Tête d'Homme Barbu的画作，这幅画是这位艺术家捐赠给该活动的彩券奖。1972年，毕加索在muse Dynamique的个展通过各种视觉和材料的形式呈现，包括宣传海报、装置摄影、展览目录，以及一些剪报。这些材料一起邀请观众思考桑戈尔和毕加索之间的交流如何影响后者的艺术创作，同时也影响了达喀尔的艺术家、观众和机构。剩下的三个部分不幸地放弃了第一部分所奠定的有希望的基础。相反，他们排练了熟悉的叙事，将艺术家与非洲联系起来，随着展览的进行，非洲变得越来越普遍。第二部分名为“工作室”(The Studios)，通过放大艺术家在欧洲工作空间的照片，展示了来自非洲的物品经常陪伴着他。这些工作室的照片中有许多与装饰毕加索环境的物品并置。 例如:毕加索坐在一把恩贡比琴旁边的一张比真人大的照片，这是一种生活在加蓬及其周边地区的人们制作的竖琴，它使旁边的玻璃橱窗相形见绌，玻璃橱窗里放着一个与照片上完全不同的恩贡比琴。尺度上的差异使ngombi变得外围化，使物体看起来屈从于它在照片语境中的作用。最引人注目的是，罗伯特·杜瓦诺(Robert Doisneau)于1958年拍摄的毕加索的照片《毕加索在工作室》(图2)被放大到从地板一直延伸到天花板。在这张图片中，这位82岁的艺术家站在他的作品前。他的十多幅油画围绕着他，还有两件可以辨认的非洲人物雕塑——也许是senufo pombia——部分地靠在墙上。毕加索张开双臂，一根手指指向天空，他的身体是欧洲白人男性英雄的象征性重写本的顶层;他的姿势同时让人想起拉斐尔的《雅典学派》(1508-11)中的柏拉图和《奥古斯都的第一门户》(公元1世纪)中的凯撒。在照片中，毕加索的身体将欧洲文艺复兴、古典古代和现代主义交织在一起，并伴随着西方知识分子、帝国和艺术的故事。这幅图像提供了丰富的材料，通过这些材料，我们可以挖掘毕加索遗产中最令人不安的意识形态。但在这次展览中，杜瓦诺的肖像不是作为挑衅，而是作为证据。这进一步证实了毕加索在他的工作室里有非洲艺术作品，用来证实该部分隐含的说法，即艺术家热爱和欣赏非洲，无论多么宽泛。展览的后半部分展出了毕加索的15幅绘画和雕塑作品，以及在非洲大陆创作的雕塑作品，还有更多毕加索的照片。一个名为“正式和技术通信”的部分根据视觉相似性来框定毕加索与非洲艺术的关系。例如，毕加索1906年的一幅画《少女的痛苦》(图3)，被误认为是与一件大约在同一时期(根据标签，是“20世纪初”)由一位安塔莫罗艺术家在当时的法国殖民地马达加斯加创作的丧葬雕塑搭配在一起。虽然这种并列性暗示了艺术家从雕塑中获得了灵感，但这幅画的墙壁文字并没有将其影响与马达加斯加艺术联系起来，而是与许多更有可能的候选人联系起来:伊比利亚雕塑，cmaczanne的几何方法，以及古希腊的人物雕塑。基于表面的视觉相似性，而不是具体的历史影响，这个部分基本上复制了1984年MoMA臭名昭著的展览“20世纪艺术中的原始主义:部落与现代的亲和力”所提出的“亲和力”的伪逻辑。展览的最后一个部分的标题是“绘画的神奇功能”(图4)。恢复桑戈尔在1973年对这位艺术家的赞美，这个部分的开头文本假设毕加索与非洲艺术的联系不仅在于他作品的形式上的相似，而且在更深层次上。这一节表明，毕加索和非洲大陆上形形色色的艺术家在制作物品方面有着共同的哲学甚至精神价值观。通过将毕加索的作品与非洲雕塑作品进一步配对，展出的作品是为了证实而不是质疑这一可疑的框架。引人注目的是，展览中没有那些最有能力从视觉上表现毕加索在达喀尔的遗产的人的作品和文字。塞内加尔的现当代艺术家，从那些在20世纪70年代观看毕加索作品的人，到那些评估这位艺术家在21世纪重要性的人，都没有被代表出来，尽管他们可能做出了令人着迷的贡献。例如，塞内加尔著名的桑戈里时代艺术家伊布·迪乌夫(Ibou Diouf)和帕帕·伊布拉·托尔(Papa Ibra Tall)分别以庆祝和怀疑的态度观看了毕加索1972年的展览。他们不同的态度和独特的作品本可以以非常精确和互惠的方式参与这次展览的毕加索-达喀尔前提。幸运的是，那些愿意离开黑人文明博物馆的人可以在一英里外的La
{"title":"Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022 curated by Guillaume de Sardes, Hélène Joubert, El Hadji Malick Ndiaye, and Ousseynou Wade","authors":"Lauren Taylor","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00731","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00731","url":null,"abstract":"Debuting amid the 2022 edition of the Dak'art Biennial, Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022—curated by Guillaume de Sardes, Hélène Joubert, El Hadji Malick Ndiaye, and Ousseynou Wade, with project managers Chih-Chia Chung, Safia Belmenouar, Sophie Daynes-Diallo, Sarah Lagrevol—brought together works from four lending institutions: from France, the Musée Picasso and Musée du quai Branly-Jacques Chirac; and in Senegal, the Théodore Monod Museum of African Art as well as the host venue, the Museum of Black Civilizations (Fig. 1). The exhibition marked the passage of fifty years since a solo show of the Spanish artist's work appeared at the now defunct Musée Dynamique, Dakar's first art museum to be built under the supervision of independent Senegal's inaugural president, Léopold Sédar Senghor. To revisit this 1972 moment in 2022 was to implicitly remind audiences of the city's enduring status as an African superconductor in the circuitry of the global art world. But if Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022 was a reminder of such legacies maintained, it was also an opportunity to revisit Dakar's relationship to Picasso with critical hindsight.In the opening address of the 1972 Picasso exhibition, a show cosponsored by French president Georges Pompidou, Senghor praised the artist and suggested that his Andalusian roots gave ancestral backing to the role that African art played in the artist's creations. For Dakar's contemporary artists, Senghor proclaimed, Picasso was a model “whose kinship serves as a firm promise, and whose differentness serves as a powerful encouragement” (Senghor 1995: 228). But over the half-century that has passed since Senghor's laudatory remarks, Picasso's relationship to Africa has received important scrutiny. Simon Gikandi (2003) famously called out the “schemata of difference” upon which the artist's relationship to African art and people relied. Recent books by Suzanne Blier (2019) and Joshua Cohen (2020) have identified specific interactions shaping the artist's engagement with the continent and its cultural forms. And more broadly, the legacy of Picasso faces renewed critique well beyond the walls of academia, amid a public recognition of the role that exclusionary art canons and their protagonists have played in the ideologies of patriarchy and White supremacy.Given this context, the fraught hyphen in the title Picasso in Dakar, 1972-2022 dangled provocative questions. How might the past five decades of research and criticism equip this show to cast new light on both Picasso and Senghor? What present-day concerns, particularly regarding the intertwined political and artistic institutions of Africa and Europe, could this exhibition lend greater historical depth? Could viewing the reciprocal relationship between the artist and a single city offer specificity, multidirectionality, and analytical rigor to Picasso-Africa discourse, guiding audiences beyond familiar accounts of the European artist's gaze upon a generalized continent?This exhib","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"17 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2023-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"135508447","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
An introduction is presented in which author discusses articles on topics including focuses on feasibility of conducting research abroad that is equally unpredictable and COVID-19 pandemic has prevented many of from going about business as usual, including traveling abroad.
{"title":"New Masks, New Meanings: Covid Perspectives on African Art History: Part 2: Coups, Pandemics, and Careers in African Art History","authors":"L. Homann","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00677","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00677","url":null,"abstract":"An introduction is presented in which author discusses articles on topics including focuses on feasibility of conducting research abroad that is equally unpredictable and COVID-19 pandemic has prevented many of from going about business as usual, including traveling abroad.","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"4-5"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47870800","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Moth to Cloth: Silk in Africa","authors":"L. Robertson","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00685","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00685","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"84-85"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46537433","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Afro-Catholic Festivals in the Americas: Performance, Representation, and the Making of Black Atlantic Tradition","authors":"H. Drewal","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00687","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00687","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"90-91"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43067167","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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