| african arts WINTER 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 4 Carnival Calabar1 is an annual international event that occurs around Christmas time in the city of Calabar in Cross River State, Nigeria. The festivities offer a platform that displays cultural hybridity, translating Caribbean carnival aesthetics in a local context that values fun but also provides an avenue for addressing important social, cultural, and political issues. Carnival Calabar tells a story that is uniquely our own, full of joy, pain, triumph, and struggle. From the point of view of a costume designer, I will explain how the visual language of carnival links the conversation on migration and helps us to understand the past, present, and future. Each year the state government, through the Carnival Commission, chooses a broad theme encompassing many stories that are first and foremost part of human experience, not limited to a specific time or culture. Themes over the years include: Carnival Queen (2005), Our Beauty, Our Culture (2006), Celebrating Our Heritage through Culture (2007); Sustaining Earth Treasures through Our Culture (2008), Land of Our Birth, Our People, Our Heritage (2009); Our Strength and Resilience, the Bedrock of Our Future (2010); Endless Possibilities (2011); Celebrating a New Dawn (2012); Ain’t No Stopping Us (2013); Celebration Time, 10th Anniversary (2014); Climate Change (2015); Climate Change (2016); Migration (2017); Africanism (2018); Humanity (2019). I design costumes for the Passion 4, the band who won in 2017. Our band has won the most competitions for best band (eleven times out of fourteen) so I’m proud to be a contributing member of this group. Costumes, as Barbieri (2018) finds, are principal ingredients for interpreting and communicating understanding about a performance to the audience and enhance visuals for the performance. Passion 4 competes annually with the other major bands such as Freedom Band, Master Blaster, Seagulls, and Bayside. There are other noncompeting bands from government organizations, such as the Joint Military and Paramilitary Band and the Governor’s Band; and from sponsors such as First Bank, United Bank for Africa, and Dangote (a large African manufacturer and supplier across Africa). The competition bands, or the major bands, have remained the same from carnival’s inception.2 The judging categories focus on floats, band on the move, costume and make up, interpretation of theme, best reflection of carnival spirit.3 The obstacles to putting together such a large and complex event are many. My account of the 2017 Carnival Calabar and the theme, Migration, is intended to share insight into the visual language of carnival design created with visual metaphors built from textiles, costumes, props, floats, and performances that traversed the twelve-kilometer route through a city that has been at the center of numerous migrations. Dancers’ feet move across the land that fueled the Bantu migrations, enabled a major outlet for the trans-Atlanti
{"title":"Carnival and the Theme of Migration","authors":"Umana Nnochiri","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00679","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00679","url":null,"abstract":"| african arts WINTER 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 4 Carnival Calabar1 is an annual international event that occurs around Christmas time in the city of Calabar in Cross River State, Nigeria. The festivities offer a platform that displays cultural hybridity, translating Caribbean carnival aesthetics in a local context that values fun but also provides an avenue for addressing important social, cultural, and political issues. Carnival Calabar tells a story that is uniquely our own, full of joy, pain, triumph, and struggle. From the point of view of a costume designer, I will explain how the visual language of carnival links the conversation on migration and helps us to understand the past, present, and future. Each year the state government, through the Carnival Commission, chooses a broad theme encompassing many stories that are first and foremost part of human experience, not limited to a specific time or culture. Themes over the years include: Carnival Queen (2005), Our Beauty, Our Culture (2006), Celebrating Our Heritage through Culture (2007); Sustaining Earth Treasures through Our Culture (2008), Land of Our Birth, Our People, Our Heritage (2009); Our Strength and Resilience, the Bedrock of Our Future (2010); Endless Possibilities (2011); Celebrating a New Dawn (2012); Ain’t No Stopping Us (2013); Celebration Time, 10th Anniversary (2014); Climate Change (2015); Climate Change (2016); Migration (2017); Africanism (2018); Humanity (2019). I design costumes for the Passion 4, the band who won in 2017. Our band has won the most competitions for best band (eleven times out of fourteen) so I’m proud to be a contributing member of this group. Costumes, as Barbieri (2018) finds, are principal ingredients for interpreting and communicating understanding about a performance to the audience and enhance visuals for the performance. Passion 4 competes annually with the other major bands such as Freedom Band, Master Blaster, Seagulls, and Bayside. There are other noncompeting bands from government organizations, such as the Joint Military and Paramilitary Band and the Governor’s Band; and from sponsors such as First Bank, United Bank for Africa, and Dangote (a large African manufacturer and supplier across Africa). The competition bands, or the major bands, have remained the same from carnival’s inception.2 The judging categories focus on floats, band on the move, costume and make up, interpretation of theme, best reflection of carnival spirit.3 The obstacles to putting together such a large and complex event are many. My account of the 2017 Carnival Calabar and the theme, Migration, is intended to share insight into the visual language of carnival design created with visual metaphors built from textiles, costumes, props, floats, and performances that traversed the twelve-kilometer route through a city that has been at the center of numerous migrations. Dancers’ feet move across the land that fueled the Bantu migrations, enabled a major outlet for the trans-Atlanti","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"18-31"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-11-17","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48575327","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":"Media Primitivism: Technological Art in Africa By Delinda Collier","authors":"Allison K. Young","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00675","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00675","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":" ","pages":"95-96"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46607454","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}
I wish I were visiting this exhibition in Sharjah, enjoying the experience of viewing art alongside others. But I’m not. Like most, I’m sheltering at home from a pandemic that has left us anxious and lusting for the before times of physical connections with art and people.1 For many, the virtual world has proven a feeble shadow of its gloriously three-dimensional counterpart. What does it mean to virtually experience a tangible exhibition in sensorial stillness, ourselves homebound in a very different way? Thanks to a virtual immersive 360° tour by Virtualeyes.ae on the Matterport 3D Showcase platform, Homebound: A Journey in Photography and Addis Foto Fest: Nine Years Survey are accessible from anywhere, at any hour. Originally scheduled to open March 23, 2020, the digital tour was created following the exhibition’s postponement. Bilingual in person, the virtual experience exists in Arabic and English-language versions. The presentation comprises two intertwined exhibitions. Galleries 1–4 present a mid-career survey of Muluneh’s fine arts and photojournalistic images curated by Salah M. Hassan with Sataan Al-Hassan (associate curator) of the Africa Institute of Sharjah (collaborative organizer of the exhibition with the Sharjah Art Museum and Sharjah Museums Authority). It is the first offering of Muluneh’s work in Sharjah, and her largest solo museum exhibition to date; works were mostly produced following her 2007 return to Ethiopia. The remaining four galleries comprise Addis Foto Fest: Nine Years Survey, curated by Aïda Muluneh. Available on the AI’s website as a PDF, the colorfully-designed bilingual catalogue replicates the checklist and wall didactics. An artist’s talk was presented digitally (Hassan 2020). Homebound includes 77 fine art and photojournalistic photographs.2 The exhibition does not diachronically chart Muluneh’s artistic evolution. Viewers must consider for themselves the internal themes and feedback loops of her oft-fantastical compositions. “Art” images are uniformly presented as white-framed large-scale prints, generally 80 cm square. In contrast, her documentary work is framed in black, and presented at variable scales. The latter framing and sizing conventions are also (above) 1 Installation view of works from the series The Memory of Hope, The Distant Gaze, The World is 9, and Past/Forward. Photo: Virtual tour screenshot by the author
我希望我能参观沙迦的这个展览,享受与其他人一起观看艺术的体验。但我不是。和大多数人一样,我在家里躲避一场疫情,这场疫情让我们对以前与艺术和人建立物理联系感到焦虑和渴望。1对许多人来说,虚拟世界已经被证明是其辉煌的三维世界的微弱阴影。在感官的静止中虚拟地体验一场有形的展览意味着什么,我们自己以一种截然不同的方式在家?得益于Virtualeyes.ae在Matterport 3D Showcase平台上的虚拟沉浸式360°之旅,Homebound:a Journey in Photography和Addis Foto Fest:Nine Years Survey可以随时随地访问。原定于2020年3月23日开幕的数字之旅是在展览延期后创建的。面对面讲两种语言,虚拟体验存在于阿拉伯语和英语版本中。该展览包括两个相互交织的展览。1至4号展厅展示了由萨拉赫·哈桑(Salah M.Hassan)和沙迦非洲研究所(与沙迦美术馆和沙迦博物馆管理局合作举办展览)的萨塔恩·哈桑(副馆长)策划的穆卢内美术和新闻摄影图像的职业中期调查。这是穆鲁内作品在沙迦的首次展出,也是她迄今为止最大的博物馆个展;作品大多是在她2007年返回埃塞俄比亚后制作的。剩下的四个画廊由艾达·穆卢内策划的《亚的斯亚贝巴艺术节:九年调查》组成。人工智能的网站上提供了PDF格式的彩色双语目录,复制了清单和墙壁教学法。一位艺术家的演讲以数字形式呈现(Hassan 2020)。Homebound包括77张美术和新闻摄影照片。2展览没有历时性地描绘穆卢内的艺术演变。观众必须自己考虑她经常幻想的作品的内部主题和反馈循环。“艺术”图像统一呈现为白框大型版画,一般为80厘米见方。相比之下,她的纪录片作品采用黑色框架,并以不同的比例呈现。后一种框架和尺寸惯例也是(上图)1《希望的记忆》、《遥远的凝视》、《世界是9》和《过去/前进》系列作品的装置视图。图片:作者的虚拟旅游截图
{"title":"Aïda Muluneh's Homebound: A Journey in Photography & Addis Foto Fest: Nine Years Survey","authors":"Kristen D. Windmuller-Luna","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00671","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00671","url":null,"abstract":"I wish I were visiting this exhibition in Sharjah, enjoying the experience of viewing art alongside others. But I’m not. Like most, I’m sheltering at home from a pandemic that has left us anxious and lusting for the before times of physical connections with art and people.1 For many, the virtual world has proven a feeble shadow of its gloriously three-dimensional counterpart. What does it mean to virtually experience a tangible exhibition in sensorial stillness, ourselves homebound in a very different way? Thanks to a virtual immersive 360° tour by Virtualeyes.ae on the Matterport 3D Showcase platform, Homebound: A Journey in Photography and Addis Foto Fest: Nine Years Survey are accessible from anywhere, at any hour. Originally scheduled to open March 23, 2020, the digital tour was created following the exhibition’s postponement. Bilingual in person, the virtual experience exists in Arabic and English-language versions. The presentation comprises two intertwined exhibitions. Galleries 1–4 present a mid-career survey of Muluneh’s fine arts and photojournalistic images curated by Salah M. Hassan with Sataan Al-Hassan (associate curator) of the Africa Institute of Sharjah (collaborative organizer of the exhibition with the Sharjah Art Museum and Sharjah Museums Authority). It is the first offering of Muluneh’s work in Sharjah, and her largest solo museum exhibition to date; works were mostly produced following her 2007 return to Ethiopia. The remaining four galleries comprise Addis Foto Fest: Nine Years Survey, curated by Aïda Muluneh. Available on the AI’s website as a PDF, the colorfully-designed bilingual catalogue replicates the checklist and wall didactics. An artist’s talk was presented digitally (Hassan 2020). Homebound includes 77 fine art and photojournalistic photographs.2 The exhibition does not diachronically chart Muluneh’s artistic evolution. Viewers must consider for themselves the internal themes and feedback loops of her oft-fantastical compositions. “Art” images are uniformly presented as white-framed large-scale prints, generally 80 cm square. In contrast, her documentary work is framed in black, and presented at variable scales. The latter framing and sizing conventions are also (above) 1 Installation view of works from the series The Memory of Hope, The Distant Gaze, The World is 9, and Past/Forward. Photo: Virtual tour screenshot by the author","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"84-86"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"44702502","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":"100 × Congo: A Century of Congolese Art in Antwerp","authors":"Hugo Deblock","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00672","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00672","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"87-90"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42807862","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":"Exchanging Symbols: Monuments and Memorials in Post-Apartheid South Africa","authors":"Amy Nygaard Mickelson","doi":"10.1162/afar_r_00674","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_r_00674","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":" ","pages":"93-94"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42405979","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}
| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 of decolonial work currently being undertaken in UK museums (Museums Association 2021). Meanwhile the government has warned museums that “as publicly funded bodies, you should not be taking actions motivated by activism or politics” (Dowden 2021) and projects exploring colonial legacies have received high-profile criticism from MPs and the rightwing media (Doward 2020). The sector also continues to wait for much-delayed guidelines on repatriation and restitution (often seen as a cornerstone of decolonial work) from Arts Council England. Yet “decolonizing” is now a term that appears regularly in funding bids, on museum websites, in redisplay projects and exhibitions amid concerns that the term has been co-opted, is becoming meaningless and is, anyway, impossible from within the institution (Kassim 2017). Some of these concerns echo those of de Greef, Goncalves, and Jansen about the university (2021: 1). In light of this, it is important that this exhibition is taking place at the V&A not only because of its high profile and international reputation, but also because of its long and troubled relationship with Africa. Founded in the mid-nineteenth century with a focus on art and design, today it holds the UK’s national collection of fashion and textiles and has extensive Asian holdings (which also include fashion), but Africa has not been part of its remit. As recently as 2009 the V&A’s collecting policy stated, “Objects are collected from all major artistic traditions ... The Museum does not collect historic material from ... Africa south of the Sahara” (V&A 2012). Although the policy only excluded historic material, in practice contemporary material was not collected either. North African objects were included and the museum has a large collection of embroideries from the urban coastal regions, but it did not, until recently and due to the work of Angela Jansen, collect North African fashion (Stylianou 2013, Jansen 2022). Furthermore, for much of the twentieth century the V&A not only excluded African fashion but also deaccessioned dress and textiles collected in the nineteenth and early twentieth century (including Madagascan weaving, Nigerian rigas, military uniforms, and royal Ethiopian robes) on the grounds that it was, and could only be, of anthropological interest (Stylianou 2013). When one thinks about the invisibility of Africa in fashion histories and museum practice, the V&A has surely been the example par excellence. This absence needs to be addressed. However, making African fashion more visible is not without its problems, not least that in bringing postindependence Africa firmly into the fashion canon (as an exhibition at the V&A must surely do), it only feeds into the colonial/modernity binary that “ultimately reinforces categories of racial, cultural, and temporal discrimination” (de Greef, Goncalves, and Jansen 2021: 4). In the introduction to the forthcoming Creating African Fashion Histo
b|非洲艺术2022年秋季第55卷,第1期。3 .目前在英国博物馆开展的非殖民工作(博物馆协会2021)。与此同时,政府警告博物馆,“作为公共资助的机构,你不应该采取由激进主义或政治驱动的行动”(Dowden 2021),探索殖民遗产的项目受到了国会议员和右翼媒体的高调批评(Dowden 2020)。该部门还在继续等待英国艺术委员会(Arts Council England)关于遣返和归还(通常被视为非殖民工作的基石)的指导方针。然而,“去殖民化”现在是一个经常出现在资金招标、博物馆网站、重展项目和展览中的术语,人们担心这个词已经被挪用,变得毫无意义,而且无论如何,在机构内部是不可能的(Kassim 2017)。其中一些担忧与de Greef, Goncalves和Jansen对这所大学的担忧相呼应(2021:1)。鉴于此,这次展览在V&A举办是很重要的,不仅因为它的高知名度和国际声誉,还因为它与非洲的长期而艰难的关系。它成立于19世纪中叶,以艺术和设计为重点,如今拥有英国全国时装和纺织品收藏,并拥有大量亚洲藏品(也包括时装),但非洲并不在其职权范围之内。就在2009年,V&A的收藏政策还宣称:“藏品来自所有主要的艺术传统……博物馆不收集……的历史资料。撒哈拉以南的非洲”(V&A 2012)。虽然该政策只排除了历史资料,但实际上也没有收集当代资料。包括北非物品,博物馆收藏了大量来自城市沿海地区的刺绣,但直到最近,由于Angela Jansen的工作,它才收集北非时装(Stylianou 2013, Jansen 2022)。此外,在20世纪的大部分时间里,V&A不仅排除了非洲时装,而且还排除了19世纪和20世纪初收集的废弃服装和纺织品(包括马达加斯加编织,尼日利亚rigas,军装和皇家埃塞俄比亚长袍),理由是它是,而且只能是人类学的兴趣(Stylianou 2013)。当人们想到非洲在时尚史和博物馆实践中的隐形性时,V&A博物馆无疑是一个卓越的例子。这种缺失需要得到解决。然而,让非洲时尚更加引人注目并非没有问题,尤其是在将独立后的非洲牢牢地纳入时尚经典(就像V&A博物馆的展览必须做的那样)时,它只会助长殖民/现代性二元对立,“最终强化种族、文化和时间歧视的类别”(de Greef, Goncalves, and Jansen 2021: 4)。在即将出版的《创造非洲时尚史》的介绍中:政治、博物馆和服装实践(由JoAnn MacGregor, Heather Akou和我合编),McGregor描述了策展人如何通过时尚揭露并正在“寻求修复种族化的排斥和欧洲中心知识和代表性制度的持久性”(McGregor 2022: 2)。这本编辑过的书出自布莱顿博物馆2016年举办的一次会议,与非洲时尚之城同时举行。非洲时尚之城是一个临时展览,通过个人的“风格故事”展示了卡萨布兰卡、内罗毕、约翰内斯堡和拉各斯的当代时尚。同时进行的是一个收集项目,从20世纪60年代开始为布莱顿博物馆收藏非洲时装。这个收藏项目是由一个由学者和当地有非洲时尚生活经验的人组成的小组指导的,他们定期会面,为博物馆创建一个愿望清单。博物馆随后试图获得这些物品,大量利用小组的个人和专业网络(Ojo, Mears, and Stylianou 2022)。对我来说,作为收集小组的一员和会议的组织者,我觉得这项工作很重要,原因有很多。
{"title":"Practicing Decoloniality","authors":"Chepkemboi J. Mang’ira","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00665","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00665","url":null,"abstract":"| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 of decolonial work currently being undertaken in UK museums (Museums Association 2021). Meanwhile the government has warned museums that “as publicly funded bodies, you should not be taking actions motivated by activism or politics” (Dowden 2021) and projects exploring colonial legacies have received high-profile criticism from MPs and the rightwing media (Doward 2020). The sector also continues to wait for much-delayed guidelines on repatriation and restitution (often seen as a cornerstone of decolonial work) from Arts Council England. Yet “decolonizing” is now a term that appears regularly in funding bids, on museum websites, in redisplay projects and exhibitions amid concerns that the term has been co-opted, is becoming meaningless and is, anyway, impossible from within the institution (Kassim 2017). Some of these concerns echo those of de Greef, Goncalves, and Jansen about the university (2021: 1). In light of this, it is important that this exhibition is taking place at the V&A not only because of its high profile and international reputation, but also because of its long and troubled relationship with Africa. Founded in the mid-nineteenth century with a focus on art and design, today it holds the UK’s national collection of fashion and textiles and has extensive Asian holdings (which also include fashion), but Africa has not been part of its remit. As recently as 2009 the V&A’s collecting policy stated, “Objects are collected from all major artistic traditions ... The Museum does not collect historic material from ... Africa south of the Sahara” (V&A 2012). Although the policy only excluded historic material, in practice contemporary material was not collected either. North African objects were included and the museum has a large collection of embroideries from the urban coastal regions, but it did not, until recently and due to the work of Angela Jansen, collect North African fashion (Stylianou 2013, Jansen 2022). Furthermore, for much of the twentieth century the V&A not only excluded African fashion but also deaccessioned dress and textiles collected in the nineteenth and early twentieth century (including Madagascan weaving, Nigerian rigas, military uniforms, and royal Ethiopian robes) on the grounds that it was, and could only be, of anthropological interest (Stylianou 2013). When one thinks about the invisibility of Africa in fashion histories and museum practice, the V&A has surely been the example par excellence. This absence needs to be addressed. However, making African fashion more visible is not without its problems, not least that in bringing postindependence Africa firmly into the fashion canon (as an exhibition at the V&A must surely do), it only feeds into the colonial/modernity binary that “ultimately reinforces categories of racial, cultural, and temporal discrimination” (de Greef, Goncalves, and Jansen 2021: 4). In the introduction to the forthcoming Creating African Fashion Histo","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"8-9"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-08-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49015099","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}
There is no doubt, given seemingly permanent social, environmental, and economic crises, that transnational solidarity is fundamental in the renewal and survival of art institutions. In the last couple of years, there have been several online discursive platforms—panels, symposia, colloquia—featuring artists, cultural critics, and academics to reflect on the consequences of global disasters such as the coronavirus pandemic on the livelihood of art practitioners and the sustainability of organizations and institutions based in the African continent, most of which are dependent on and competing for shrinking funding resources. In response to the precarity and desolation precipitated by crisis, there is revived urgency in solidarity through the ethics of care, healing, self-preservation, and other contingent strategies of survival. Alternatives such as online exhibitions, interventions, and forums seem to offer new prospects for how modes of practice and working relations across the African continent can be refashioned and large-scale transnational support networks can be formulated. Most significant is that a structurally altered art ecosystem modelled on generosity and collective empathy seems palpable. It is now possible, for example, to imagine the repositioning of institutions like museums as “spaces of care” and habituate therapeutic activities—sometimes ritualized and mysticized—in various initiatives, programs, events, and discursive platforms. The focus on recuperation and repair from psychosocial woundedness, ecocide, social injustice, and compounded trauma has enlivened the quest for slowing down to be in communion and to feel with others. Yet with the translocation of the hard work in affective labor from live to virtual spaces, there is also dilution of otherwise pivotal concepts and strategies demanded by solidarity. In very general terms, affective labor—already deeply entrenched in creative practice—is catalyzed and made visible. The disorienting simulation of social contact online, steamrolled by commercial traffic, trivializes the practice of “care,” leaving class polarization intact and impeding meaningful solidarity. One is reminded of the questions that the artist Naadira Patel so pointedly asks in the text included in her art work the future of work (2020): “how do we imagine a sustainable, more generous, more caring, more kind, unbiased, and more calm world of work?” and then “how radical is your self-care if you don’t post about it? [...] try the self-care app of the year? [...] how high is your social justice barometer?” Solidarity—civic, social, cultural, or political—among institutions, organizations, and art practitioners in the African continent is vital but it is predicated on volatile, uneven, constrained, and neocolonially bound societies. Take, for example, one of the rich historical intellectual legacies of cultural solidarity on the African continent: Pan-Africanism. Although bold in its ideals, Pan-Africanism is a
{"title":"After All Is Said and Done: On Fluid Solidarity and Survival","authors":"N. Makhubu","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00663","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00663","url":null,"abstract":"There is no doubt, given seemingly permanent social, environmental, and economic crises, that transnational solidarity is fundamental in the renewal and survival of art institutions. In the last couple of years, there have been several online discursive platforms—panels, symposia, colloquia—featuring artists, cultural critics, and academics to reflect on the consequences of global disasters such as the coronavirus pandemic on the livelihood of art practitioners and the sustainability of organizations and institutions based in the African continent, most of which are dependent on and competing for shrinking funding resources. In response to the precarity and desolation precipitated by crisis, there is revived urgency in solidarity through the ethics of care, healing, self-preservation, and other contingent strategies of survival. Alternatives such as online exhibitions, interventions, and forums seem to offer new prospects for how modes of practice and working relations across the African continent can be refashioned and large-scale transnational support networks can be formulated. Most significant is that a structurally altered art ecosystem modelled on generosity and collective empathy seems palpable. It is now possible, for example, to imagine the repositioning of institutions like museums as “spaces of care” and habituate therapeutic activities—sometimes ritualized and mysticized—in various initiatives, programs, events, and discursive platforms. The focus on recuperation and repair from psychosocial woundedness, ecocide, social injustice, and compounded trauma has enlivened the quest for slowing down to be in communion and to feel with others. Yet with the translocation of the hard work in affective labor from live to virtual spaces, there is also dilution of otherwise pivotal concepts and strategies demanded by solidarity. In very general terms, affective labor—already deeply entrenched in creative practice—is catalyzed and made visible. The disorienting simulation of social contact online, steamrolled by commercial traffic, trivializes the practice of “care,” leaving class polarization intact and impeding meaningful solidarity. One is reminded of the questions that the artist Naadira Patel so pointedly asks in the text included in her art work the future of work (2020): “how do we imagine a sustainable, more generous, more caring, more kind, unbiased, and more calm world of work?” and then “how radical is your self-care if you don’t post about it? [...] try the self-care app of the year? [...] how high is your social justice barometer?” Solidarity—civic, social, cultural, or political—among institutions, organizations, and art practitioners in the African continent is vital but it is predicated on volatile, uneven, constrained, and neocolonially bound societies. Take, for example, one of the rich historical intellectual legacies of cultural solidarity on the African continent: Pan-Africanism. Although bold in its ideals, Pan-Africanism is a","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"1-7"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-08-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48726295","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}
| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 For years, researchers have been searching for photographs made by Mabel Cetu, who “was said to be the first Black South African woman photojournalist” (Siopis 2006: 10). Cetu was a Black woman who worked as a nurse for more than twenty-five years before she was trained as a photographer in 1956, eight years after the National Party took over South Africa’s government and introduced apartheid—a system of institutionalized racial discrimination against people of color. She received her training at the monthly publication Zonk! African People’s Pictorial, which was launched in 1949 as the country’s first widely circulated magazine directed at a Black readership (Maingard 2020: 153). Perhaps because many magazines published their images uncredited at the time, it seems as if none of her images have been found, meaning that they have never been discussed in scholarly research.1 Critically examining Cetu’s photographs printed in Zonk! in 1956 and 1957 and analyzing in how far she might have been able to subvert common representations of gender, I want to reveal gendered power structures determining the field of photography in 1950s South Africa. The search for Cetu’s photographs can be understood as part of recent scholarly interest in female South African photographers working prior to 1994 (Newbury, Rizzo, and Thomas 2021; du Toit 2005; Corrigall 2018; Danilowitz 2005; Thomas 2018). It is interesting that, although most of these photographers, including Cetu, would probably not have considered their photographs as art, nearly all researchers concentrating on their works are art historians. While photographs had been displayed in a fine art context in South Africa from 1858 (Bull and Denfield 1970: 63), the 1950s photographs of Cetu and her contemporaries were only rediscovered in the late 1980s, when they started to circulate “as aestheticised images ... [ascending from the] grainy pictures in magazines” (du Toit and Gordon 2016: 158). The recent interest in these women’s photography can also be related to the efforts made in the field of humanities to broaden the canon and include more works by those groups that have historically been marginalized. For instance, the former director of the South African National Gallery, Marilyn Martin, claims that in South Africa’s history of photography, Black women form “the most telling absences” (2001: 51). During the 1950s, when Cetu began working as a photographer, the field of photography in South Africa was largely dominated by men and White people. The artist Penny Siopis takes the example of the photographs of the notorious 1956 Women’s March to point to the absence of women photographers covering the event (2006: 10). She claims that “Black women did not see photography as a viable profession. Those few chances to build a photographic career seemed limited to men, as witnessed in the photojournalism of Drum magazine of the fifties” (2006: 10). The lack of represe
{"title":"“Africa's First Woman Press Photographer”: Mabel Cetu's Photographs in Zonk!","authors":"Marie Meyerding","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00669","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00669","url":null,"abstract":"| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 For years, researchers have been searching for photographs made by Mabel Cetu, who “was said to be the first Black South African woman photojournalist” (Siopis 2006: 10). Cetu was a Black woman who worked as a nurse for more than twenty-five years before she was trained as a photographer in 1956, eight years after the National Party took over South Africa’s government and introduced apartheid—a system of institutionalized racial discrimination against people of color. She received her training at the monthly publication Zonk! African People’s Pictorial, which was launched in 1949 as the country’s first widely circulated magazine directed at a Black readership (Maingard 2020: 153). Perhaps because many magazines published their images uncredited at the time, it seems as if none of her images have been found, meaning that they have never been discussed in scholarly research.1 Critically examining Cetu’s photographs printed in Zonk! in 1956 and 1957 and analyzing in how far she might have been able to subvert common representations of gender, I want to reveal gendered power structures determining the field of photography in 1950s South Africa. The search for Cetu’s photographs can be understood as part of recent scholarly interest in female South African photographers working prior to 1994 (Newbury, Rizzo, and Thomas 2021; du Toit 2005; Corrigall 2018; Danilowitz 2005; Thomas 2018). It is interesting that, although most of these photographers, including Cetu, would probably not have considered their photographs as art, nearly all researchers concentrating on their works are art historians. While photographs had been displayed in a fine art context in South Africa from 1858 (Bull and Denfield 1970: 63), the 1950s photographs of Cetu and her contemporaries were only rediscovered in the late 1980s, when they started to circulate “as aestheticised images ... [ascending from the] grainy pictures in magazines” (du Toit and Gordon 2016: 158). The recent interest in these women’s photography can also be related to the efforts made in the field of humanities to broaden the canon and include more works by those groups that have historically been marginalized. For instance, the former director of the South African National Gallery, Marilyn Martin, claims that in South Africa’s history of photography, Black women form “the most telling absences” (2001: 51). During the 1950s, when Cetu began working as a photographer, the field of photography in South Africa was largely dominated by men and White people. The artist Penny Siopis takes the example of the photographs of the notorious 1956 Women’s March to point to the absence of women photographers covering the event (2006: 10). She claims that “Black women did not see photography as a viable profession. Those few chances to build a photographic career seemed limited to men, as witnessed in the photojournalism of Drum magazine of the fifties” (2006: 10). The lack of represe","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"54-69"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-08-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49641781","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}
| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 Silver pendants, camel saddles, and leather bags are typically featured in museums and books as examples of Tuareg art. These finely crafted objects were made for upper-status families or so-called nobles by artisans belonging to a class referred to as inaden. Such an approach emphasizes the striking objects commissioned by men and women who held the highest status in Tuareg society but ignores the objects produced by and for people in the lower strata, including the descendants of enslaved people. Commonly referred to as iklan, they constitute a diverse, socially and economically marginalized group with a distinct culture that has driven markets while creating new styles of visual representation. Iklan are referred to as buzu in Hausa and bella in the Songhai language in Niger.1 Since the colonial period, ethnographers have translated the term iklan as “slave” or “captive.” Iklan (sg. akli/ekli) can best be described as a socially stratified group constructed from the descendants of outsiders who found their way into Tuareg society either because they were captured or purchased, or because they joined a Tuareg group in search of protection. As we will see, the very name iklan presents problems of translation and identity, especially in relation to the larger Tuareg society in contemporary Niger. This article provides a nuanced look at Tuareg visual culture by concentrating on how formerly enslaved communities have been forging new identities in the twenty-first century (Fig. 1). It considers how iklan have used visual culture to engage in resistance strategies. As asserted by Michel de Certeau, marginalized groups subvert “rituals, representations, and laws imposed upon them” and transform them into something quite different, deflecting the power of the dominant social order (1984: xiii). It is through this lens that we can understand and interpret iklan aesthetics as “tactics” to gain autonomy from hierarchies of power. We examine the choices contemporary iklan communities, as a historically marginalized population, are making to represent their identity, sometimes adopting elite Tuareg aesthetics, often drawing inspiration from newly available goods in the market, or adopting the aesthetics of neighboring people. These various responses to the abolition of slavery and the breaking down of endogamous social categories reveal how the formerly enslaved use visual culture to negotiate their status and resist against the hierarchies that historically marginalized them. We take a comparative approach and concentrate on two Tamasheq-speaking regions of Niger: the Tillabéri region along the Niger-Burkina Faso border and the Tahoua-Agadez region within Niger (Fig. 2). We explore the different tactics used by iklan in aesthetic expression and consider the various institutions and market forces that have contributed to the refiguring of iklan self-identity. A comparative approach allows for a detailed understandi
|2022年非洲艺术秋季第55卷,第3期。银吊坠、骆驼鞍和皮包通常作为图阿雷格艺术的例子出现在博物馆和书籍中。这些精心制作的物品是由一个被称为inaden的阶层的工匠为上层家庭或所谓的贵族制作的。这种方法强调了图阿雷格社会中地位最高的男性和女性委托制作的引人注目的物品,但忽略了下层人民制作的物品,包括被奴役者的后代。他们通常被称为iklan,是一个多元化的、社会和经济边缘化的群体,拥有独特的文化,在创造新的视觉表现风格的同时推动了市场。伊克兰在豪萨语中被称为布祖,在尼日尔的松海语中被指为贝拉。1自殖民时期以来,民族志学家将伊克兰一词翻译为“奴隶”或“俘虏”,或者因为他们加入了图阿雷格人团体寻求保护。正如我们将看到的,伊克兰这个名字本身就存在翻译和身份问题,尤其是与当代尼日尔更大的图阿雷格社会有关。这篇文章对图阿雷格视觉文化进行了细致入微的审视,重点关注了以前被奴役的社区在21世纪是如何形成新身份的(图1)。它考虑了伊克兰如何利用视觉文化参与抵抗策略。正如Michel de Certeau所断言的那样,边缘化群体颠覆了“强加给他们的仪式、表征和法律”,并将其转变为完全不同的东西,从而转移了主导社会秩序的力量(1984:xiii)。正是通过这个镜头,我们才能理解和解释伊克兰美学是从权力等级中获得自主权的“策略”。我们研究了当代伊克兰社区作为一个历史上被边缘化的群体,为了代表他们的身份而做出的选择,有时采用精英图阿雷格美学,通常从市场上新出现的商品中汲取灵感,或者采用邻近人的美学。这些对废除奴隶制和打破一夫多妻制社会类别的各种反应揭示了以前被奴役的人是如何利用视觉文化来协商自己的地位,并抵制历史上使他们边缘化的等级制度的。我们采取比较的方法,重点关注尼日尔的两个讲塔马什克语的地区:尼日尔-布基纳法索边境的蒂拉贝里地区和尼日尔境内的塔霍亚-阿加德兹地区(图2)。我们探讨了伊克兰在美学表达中使用的不同策略,并考虑了促成伊克兰自我认同重塑的各种制度和市场力量。通过比较方法,可以详细了解后殖民经济政策、市场准入、非政府组织和社会变革如何影响尼日尔农村伊克兰的视觉文化,因为它们巩固了自己的身份,以应对既定的社会等级制度,但也塑造了远离奴役历史的新身份。本文借鉴了尼日尔-布基纳法索边境两侧的独立研究和合作工作,尽管存在多方面的障碍,伊克兰社区仍得以发展和生存。2这两个地区的各种非政府组织的积极行动,以及图阿雷格文化中地位低下的个人无保留地表达自己的情感的趋势,意味着伊克兰积极地分享了伊克兰美学在尼日尔的身份和装饰从服务到自我代理
{"title":"Iklan Aesthetics in Niger: Identity and Adornment from Servility to Self-agency","authors":"C. Becker, Brian Nowak","doi":"10.1162/afar_a_00666","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1162/afar_a_00666","url":null,"abstract":"| african arts AUTUMN 2022 VOL. 55, NO. 3 Silver pendants, camel saddles, and leather bags are typically featured in museums and books as examples of Tuareg art. These finely crafted objects were made for upper-status families or so-called nobles by artisans belonging to a class referred to as inaden. Such an approach emphasizes the striking objects commissioned by men and women who held the highest status in Tuareg society but ignores the objects produced by and for people in the lower strata, including the descendants of enslaved people. Commonly referred to as iklan, they constitute a diverse, socially and economically marginalized group with a distinct culture that has driven markets while creating new styles of visual representation. Iklan are referred to as buzu in Hausa and bella in the Songhai language in Niger.1 Since the colonial period, ethnographers have translated the term iklan as “slave” or “captive.” Iklan (sg. akli/ekli) can best be described as a socially stratified group constructed from the descendants of outsiders who found their way into Tuareg society either because they were captured or purchased, or because they joined a Tuareg group in search of protection. As we will see, the very name iklan presents problems of translation and identity, especially in relation to the larger Tuareg society in contemporary Niger. This article provides a nuanced look at Tuareg visual culture by concentrating on how formerly enslaved communities have been forging new identities in the twenty-first century (Fig. 1). It considers how iklan have used visual culture to engage in resistance strategies. As asserted by Michel de Certeau, marginalized groups subvert “rituals, representations, and laws imposed upon them” and transform them into something quite different, deflecting the power of the dominant social order (1984: xiii). It is through this lens that we can understand and interpret iklan aesthetics as “tactics” to gain autonomy from hierarchies of power. We examine the choices contemporary iklan communities, as a historically marginalized population, are making to represent their identity, sometimes adopting elite Tuareg aesthetics, often drawing inspiration from newly available goods in the market, or adopting the aesthetics of neighboring people. These various responses to the abolition of slavery and the breaking down of endogamous social categories reveal how the formerly enslaved use visual culture to negotiate their status and resist against the hierarchies that historically marginalized them. We take a comparative approach and concentrate on two Tamasheq-speaking regions of Niger: the Tillabéri region along the Niger-Burkina Faso border and the Tahoua-Agadez region within Niger (Fig. 2). We explore the different tactics used by iklan in aesthetic expression and consider the various institutions and market forces that have contributed to the refiguring of iklan self-identity. A comparative approach allows for a detailed understandi","PeriodicalId":45314,"journal":{"name":"AFRICAN ARTS","volume":"55 1","pages":"10-25"},"PeriodicalIF":0.3,"publicationDate":"2022-08-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47498465","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}