Attraction

Stanley - Thursday

I've always been fascinated by attraction. What makes one person attractive to some people, but not others. As I walk through a museum or gallery, why do some paintings or other pieces of art jump out at me, and not others. Why can I listen to some pieces of music time after time, but others I won't listen to twice? What is happening inside me to elicit such responses?

Unfortunately, I have no idea. It just happens.

Certainly, I can like broad categories of art, for example the Impressionists, but dislike or am not attracted to many paintings subsumed under that name. I love African carvings, in general, but many items don't make my heart beat faster. 

As I sit in my living room writing this blog, I look around and know I like all the masks, carvings, sculptures, and various maps and woodcuts. Surprisingly, nothing has fallen out of my favour. I still like them after many years.

However, there are a handful that I love, that stand out in my mind as being something special. I keep wondering why - why them, and not others on the same shelf?

Again, I have no idea.

Over the years, I have come to realise that there are two different types of attraction for me - one of the heart and one of the mind. Needless to say, the ones that grab my heart are the ones I gravitate towards.

Let me give you a few examples.

On one wall I have three maps of Africa. The first was originally drawn in the 1570's by a cartographer named Ortelius. I'm attracted to it through my brain. It is astonishingly accurate given that the notion of determining longitude by using a clock was only proposed in 1530 by Gemma Frisius, and it was in the mid-1700s that John Harrison produced a marine chronometer that met the stringent requirements of accuracy required for accurate navigation and cartography. How did Ortelius manage something so good without accurate instruments - not to mention the problems of circumnavigating - almost - the whole continent of Africa? My mind boggles.

Drawn in the 1570s

This map was drawn in about 1700.

Drawn about 1700

And this one in 1800.

Drawnn about 1800

Opposite the maps are a few woodcuts from a collection of forty-two by the South African artist, Cecil Skotness, depicting the life and death of the famous Zulu chief, Shaka. Like the maps, they are two-dimensional. Unlike the maps, this one grabs my heart.

One of the Skotnes woodcuts

On a shelf below the Skotnes are two remarkable pieces, both from what is now Nigeria. The first is a carved ivory piece, probably used by a prominent person for holding valuables, such as jewellery. As you can see, the carving is exquisite. Also, a slight twist opens it or shuts it. It is a masterpiece of carving.  However, my heart doesn't race when I see it. It's mainly my mind that is attracted.

Ivory valuables holder from Nigeria, circa 1900

The holder opened

The piece next to it is all heart for me. I have shown it here in the blog before. It is a 500-700 year-old terracotta sculpture from Ife. I fell in love with her the moment I set eyes on her. Of course, my mind also admires her, but that's nothing compared to what happens to my heart.

Terracotta head from Ife

I have a small carving of a lion that I bought fifty years ago from one of the nastiest people I've ever met - an ex-mercenary in a number of African conflicts. The last I heard of him, he had burnt down his warehouse to claim the insurance. Since most of his art works were African wood pieces, I suspect few remained in the building when it was torched. For inexplicable reasons, my heart goes pit-a-pat when I pick it up.

My kitty cat

I have a very similar reaction when I look at a sandstone polar bear, carved by an Innuit artist, that I also bought also fifty years ago. I walked into a gallery in Toronto while hitchhiking around the States, and found it irresistible.  It is extremely heavy, and there were moments when I continued my journey that I thought my backpack was going to collapse.

Front of my bear

Rear of my bear

Finally, I have a general affinity to Mkonde spirit sculptures. They are relatively modern and come from northern Mozambique and southern Tanzania. Their tortured, grotesque figures appeal to me no end - in the heart.

I have come to realise that when I am intrigued by a piece, it is my brain that is attracted. When something takes my breath away, it is my heart. For both brain and heart, however, I've no idea what makes some pieces so attractive and some not. 

World War Zero

Stanley - Thursday

Last December I wrote a blog about a quandary I have with respect to the disposition of some of my African art when I die.  I am particularly worried about one piece - a 500-yer-old terracotta head from the Kingdom of Ife in the country now known as Nigeria.

It concerns me because there is a reasonable likelihood is that it was stolen from Ife - even though I have formal documentation that it was legally exported from Nigeria. It was not given to me by the Nigerian government, but rather I bought it from a gallery in Johannesburg.

In recent years, there has been a growing movement to repatriate such works of art to their countries of origin. The modern movement was probably started by the famous actress Melina Mercouri, who became Greece's first female Minister of Culture of Sports. 

Melina Mercouri

In that capacity, she told the world that the Elgin Marbles (or Parthenon Marbles, as the Greeks call them) had no right to be in the British Museum because they had been stolen. 

Parthenon Selene horse

A Centaur and a Lapith fighting

In a famous 1983 television debate, the Museum director, David Wilson, responded that they had been a gift to Thomas Bruce, 7th Earl of Elgin. "A gift from the occupying Turks," Mercouri responded, "who had no right to them in the first place." In a talk to the Oxford Union debating society she explained what they meant to Greeks: "They are our pride. They are our sacrifices. They are our noblest symbol of excellence. They are a tribute to the democratic philosophy. They are our aspirations and our name. They are the essence of Greekness."

To this day, the Marbles are still in the British Museum.

You may wonder how this is connected to the title of the blog: World War Zero.

When I think of the First World War, I think of a Bosnian-Serb nationalist, by the name of Pricep, assassinating the heir to the Austro-Hungarian empire, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914. (I remember the date only because June 28 is my brother's birthday.) Five weeks later, the situation had escalated into a war in which almost all European nations were involved, drawing into the fray their territorial possessions around the world, including Africa. The United States eventually joined in April, 1917. 

The toll was horrendous, far surpassing any conflict that had gone before: an estimated 9 million combatants and 13 million civilians. It also changed the world politically and financially.

Trenches

When I think of World War II, what comes to mind is the German invasion of Poland on September 1, 1938 and the subsequent declaration of war against Germany by the United Kingdom and France two days later. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour on December 7, 1941 brought the United States into the mess. WWII became the costliest war in history in terms of loss of life: a total of between 70 million and 85 million dead, once again with more civilians killed than military personnel. Of course, it also had. profound impact on the world politically.

German troops advancing

Both WWI and WWII had dramatic and memorable events that kicked them off.

What about World War Zero?

Towards the end of the Nineteenth Century, a British army officer, Major General Sir Charles Callwell, wrote a sort of how-to book titled Small Wars: Principles and Practice. 

For the flavour of the book, here are some quotes:

Small wars are 'campaigns to punish and wipe out an insult or avenge a wrong.'

Small wars are fought 'to chastise a people who have inflicted some injury.'

Small wars are undertaken 'for some ulterior political purpose or to establish order in some foreign land - wars of expediency, in fact.' (Think trade, money, territory; don't think charity or philanthropy!)

The history of small wars has been obscured by the big conflicts of WWI and WWII - to such an extent that they barely warrant mention in the history books and are often not thought of as wars at all. 

On Wednesday, September 23, 1986, Queen Victoria became the longest reigning monarch in English history. The Western Gazette reported 'The Victorian Age has been one of peace.'

Queen Victoria

 The Western Gazette then went on to detail what that peace looked like:

Afgan war 1838-1840,

first Chinese war 1841,

Sikh war 1845-46,

Kaffir war 1846,

second war with China 1849,

second Afgan war 1849, 

second Sikh war 1848-49,

Burmese war 1850,

second Kaffir war 1851-52,

second Burmese war 1852-53,

Crimea 1854,

third war with China 1856-58,

Indian Mutiny 1857,

Maori war 1860-61,

more wars with China 1860 and 1861,

second Maori war 1863-65,

Ashantee war 1864,

war in Bhootan 1864,

Abyssinian war 1867-68,

war with the Bazotees 1868,

third Maori war 1868-69,

war with the Looshais 1871,

second Ashantee war 1873-74,

third Kaffir war 1877,

Zulu war, 1878-79

third Afghan war 1878-80,

war in Basutoland 1879-80,

Transvaal war 1879-81,

Egyptian war 1882,

Soudan 1885-89,

third Burma war 1885-92,

Zanzibar 1890,

India 1890,

Matabele wars 1894 nand 1896,

Chitral campaign 1895,

third Ashantee campaign 1895,

second Soudan campaign 1896.'

In fact, there was a small war in every year of Victoria's peaceful reign.

British Press: 'Valiant British soldiers repelling vicious attack by local savages.'

Reality Press: 'Outgunned citizens attempting to repel hordes of plunderers.'

And that was only the Brits. Think also of the Germans, French, Italians, Portuguese, Spanish, etc., etc.

It is this mass of punitive expeditions, reprisal raids, campaigns, peace excursions, etc. that Dan Hicks, author of The Brutish Museums, calls World War Zero. There are two major reasons for it being much less well known than its two successors. First, in almost every case, the history of what happened was written by the victors (since most victims had no access or ability to write and publicise what happened). And second, in almost every case, the one-sided historical record indicated that the victims were to blame. Not surprisingly, as time passed, history books and newspaper reports pumped up the justification and heroism of the victors and showed the behaviour of the victims to have been increasingly barbaric.

One other fact invariably holds true: the victors were white, and the victims not.

In addition to the tens or hundreds of thousands of people killed by the white powers in these small wars, communities were destroyed, belief systems shattered, and families separated.

As horrific as these outcomes were, the worst and longest lasting, were the lies told by the perpetrators of the wars about the people they destroyed. It was these accounts that built the foundation of contemporary racism.

And now to circle back to the beginning of this blog. It was during these small wars that almost all of the artefacts in Western museums were looted. And many of these museums continue to weave a tale around the artefacts that only reflects the popular view of what happened. Dan Hicks suggests that at least the museums should 'fess up and place what they show into a realistic context, whether they come from Greece or Ife.

 

What to do?

 Stanley - Thursday

I have written about African art several times over the years, mainly because I have a passion for some of it and have built a small collection of my own. 

I have pieces from all over Africa, with different areas having distinctive styles. The piece I like the most is a terracotta head from the Kingdom of Ife, which existed in what is now southern Nigeria.  I acquired the head about ten years ago while recuperating from colon-cancer surgery. For many years, when visiting family and friends back in Johannesburg, I used to visit a gallery that specialised in African art. On several occasions I left carrying a piece I found particularly appealing.

Every time I visited the gallery I drooled over two pieces that were way out of my price range. One was a bronze leopard, probably from the Kingdom of Benin, also now in Nigeria. The other was a terracotta head of a woman. Both were spectacular; both about 400 - 500 years old.

Bronze leopard

My Ife terracotta head

The first time I visited the gallery after my surgery, I decided it made no sense to look at these two pieces for half an hour a year, particularly as I was feeling very sensitive about my mortality. So I decided to splurge and buy one - the terracotta head. I took it to Minneapolis, where it occupies pride of place in my collection.

Over the past year, I have been rewriting my will - probably spurred on by the spread of COVID-19. Obviously I have given much thought as to who should inherit my art works. I have come to the conclusion that none of my nephews or nieces would appreciate most of what I have, especially the terracotta head.

I am acutely aware of how most of the Benin and Ife art works came into Western hands. In the case of the Benin bronzes, the English fabricated a flimsy excuse in 1897 to destroy one of Africa's greatest civilisations and to plunder its treasures. You can read about that day of infamy here. The Ife terracottas enjoyed a similar fate, being stolen in the early 1900s. You can find background information about the Ife works here.

Benin bronze head (Ethnologische Museum, Berlin)

Benin broze plaque (Ethnologische Museum, Berlin)

So, I have found myself in a tug of war with myself. Part of me wants to return the head to Nigeria; another part wants Westerners to see what artistry exists in a place many regard as uncivilised.

So what to do?

I have spoken to curators of museums for advice. The overall impression I get is that no one in the West wants to touch 'stolen' works in the current climate, even if they already have such items in their permanent collections. And as far as I can determine, there are only three Ife heads in museums in the United States.

Ife terracotta head in the Minneapolis Institute of Art

My Ife head came with documentation from the government of Nigeria that it was exported legally. However, I wonder whether the document is authentic or forged. Or, if authentic, whether it was obtained by the exchange of a bribe.

The most sensible advice, so far, came from a person who works in the Department of Sports, Arts, and Culture of the South African government. He suggested I leave the head to a museum in Africa with the stipulation that once every few years it be shared with a different museum outside Africa. I have yet to explore whether any museum would take on such an obligation.

So, my will is not yet finished. The section about my African art collection is blank. I'd welcome any suggestions.

(I was motivated to write this blog because I recently came across a reference to a new book titled The Brutish Museums. The author, Dan Hicks, a curator at the Pitt Rivers Museum of the University of Oxford, apparently makes a powerful case for the return of one of world's largest collections of looted artifacts to where they came from. I can't wait to read the book.)

An unknown gem

Stan - Thursday

After Bouchercon I headed for what I regard as one of the most beautiful cities in the world – Washington D.C.  Its French heritage is obvious everywhere.

However, my affection for Washington really comes from its museums.  How can one not be blown away by the Air and Space Museum or the Natural History Museum?  Or the Museum of American History?  Or the Museum of the American Indian?

This time I discovered another Smithsonian museum.  One that I’d never heard of.  It is called The Museum of African Art.  Apparently it is the least visited museum in town.  When I googled it for this article, the official Washington site (Washington.org) doesn’t even list it.

But it is a gem.

Built next to the Smithsonian Castle, it appears from the outside to be insignificant.  This is because it looks small and only one story high.  However, I discovered that its above-ground profile is small so that it doesn’t block the view of the castle.  It is actually big, because it extends deep into the ground and spreads in many directions, far exceeding its footprint.

There are many different exhibitions at the moment, all interesting in different ways.  There are also many stunning examples of African art – masks, jewellery, sculptures, etc.  But it was one small exhibit that caught my attention, comprising three Benin bronzes.  Of course, since I collect African art, I knew about the Kingdom of Benin, situated in what is now southern Nigeria, close to what was the Kingdom of Ife.

What I didn’t know about prior to this visit was the existence of hundreds of bronze panels, some of which date back six or seven hundred years, maybe even more.  And I also didn’t know about their history.

Then Benin society dominated the area for centuries, being at the confluence of a number of trade routes.  The ruler was an oba, who was believed to be the direct descendent of the founder of the dynasty, Oranmiyan.  The oba was considered a deity and was revered throughout his lands.  He also controlled all the major resources that were valuable as exports, namely ivory and slaves. 

Distinct from tribal art, the art of the oba’s palace was all commissioned by the oba and executed by guilds of craftsmen.

Benin City, the capital of the kingdom was a highly organised city on par with any of the great European cities.

A Dutch explorer and writer, Olfert Dapper, wrote about Benin City in 1668.  He said

“The king's palace or court is a square, and is as large as the town of Haarlem and entirely surrounded by a special wall, like that which encircles the town.  It is divided into many magnificent palaces, houses, and apartments of the courtiers, and comprises beautiful and long square galleries...resting on wooden pillars, from top to bottom covered with cast copper, on which are engraved the pictures of their war exploits and battles, and are kept very clean."

The Kingdom of Benin came to an abrupt end in 1897.  

What happened was that a trading expedition comprising a number of British officials and traders and several hundred porters had requested permission to enter Benin City.  They were told not to do so because it was a time of sacred rituals, which no foreigners could witness.  They ignored that order and continued.  They were ambushed and all but a few were killed.

The British sent a punitive force and burnt Benin City to the ground, killing many of its inhabitants.  Then it plundered thousands of works of art, which are now in museums around the world – the British Museum has hundreds of them, despite repeated requests by Nigeria to return them.

Initially, the beauty and technological sophistication of the art was explained away by saying that the objects must have been made by the Portuguese, or ancient Egyptians, or even a lost tribe of Israel.  No one in Europe could imagine that the objects could have been made by black Africans.  (This is similar to the situation when the wonderful bronzes and terracottas of the Kingdom of Ife were found in the early 1900s – they were initially attributed to being made by the inhabitants of the lost Atlantis.)

Here are some of the bronzes taken from Benin to give you a sense of their beauty.  Actually, they are actually made from brass, but are generally known as the Benin Bronzes.  Many are between 400 and 700 years old.

Bronze of a Portuguese soldier from about 1600

And here is one made from ivory.

If you are in Washington D.C., I heartily recommend a visit to the Museum of African Art.  It will be an eye-opener.

African Beauty

Over the past couple of years, I have gazed in awe at the beautiful and spectacular buildings that my fellow bloggers have written about.  I’ve been blown away by pictures of monasteries on hilltops and by soaring churches and their stained glass windows.  When I travel I’m always amazed by the beauty of buildings that are thousands of years old – the Roman and Greek temples and amphitheatres, the pyramids and temples of Egypt, Angkor Wat, and so on.  And I’ve wondered why there are no equally beautiful indigenous buildings in sub-Saharan Africa.

Certainly most sub-Saharan countries have beautiful buildings, but they are almost always European in design and function, as in some of those that Leighton has shown in Brazil.  But the ruins of ancient buildings in sub-Saharan Africa, although fascinating archeologically, are not as attractive as their similarly aged counterparts elsewhere.

Why is that?

Is it because gods or spirits were worshiped through dancing and singing rather than at a church or temple?  That there were no archbishops or high priests?  Is it because the great leaders of African tribes didn’t arrange for huge memorials to be built in their memory?  Is it because power was diffused more into communities than centralized?  Is it because day-to-day structures were made from wood and grass and not more enduring stone or brick?

I’ve no idea what the answer is.

So where is beauty to be found in Africa other than in its landscapes, people, and wildlife?  It is found in its art, particularly in its three-dimensional art – its figures and its masks, usually carved from wood, but sometimes of stone, and occasionally molded from clay.  Two-dimensional art is rare, other than the rock art of the Khoi-San peoples.

Although I admire the great European and Eastern sculptures, I have always had a greater emotional affinity to the art of Africa –despite my upbringing being very Eurocentric.  The only European style I have a passion for is Cycladic art, particularly figures and faces.

Cycladic face

Cycladic face

Cycladic female figure

The inherent lack of realism in African masks (and African art in general) is generally attributed to the fact that most African cultures distinguish the essence of a subject from its looks; the former, rather than the latter, being the actual subject of artistic representation.  This means that African art depicts what the artist feels about a subject rather than what the subject looks like.  Consequently African art is about emotion rather than realism.

I have a decent collection of African masks and figures, some of which are, to Western eyes, very weird, particularly the spirit sculptures of the Makonde people of southern Tanzania or northern Mozambique.  Yet they have always talked to me.  It’s their message that I get.

Here are some examples of African art.  Remember much of it is relatively recent (about 100 years is regarded as old).  This is because most carvings are made from wood and are susceptible to rot, borer beetles, and decay. African art older than 100 years is rare.

Nok (Nigeria) - 1500 years old

Nok (Nigeria) - 2000 years old

Ife (Nigeria) terra cotta - 300 years old

Benin leopard pair (bronze) - 300 years old

Bwa (Burkino Fasso)

Baule (Ivory Coast)

Makonde (Tanzania) spirit sculpture

Makonde (Tanzania) spirit sculpture

Makonde (Tanzania) spirit sculpture

Benin (Nigeria)

Benin (Nigeria)

Songye (Democratic Republic of the Congo - Kifwebe mask

Bambara (Mali)  Chiwara

Fang (Cameroon and Guinnea) mask

Needless to say, I have collected African masks and figures for many years.  Here are a couple of photos of my Minneapolis apartment.  Very African.

Stan's Minneapolis apartment

Stan's Minneapolis apartment

Stan's Minneapolis apartment

Stan - Thursday