Culture and society

Why a Biennial Festival of Contemporary African Art?

Dak'Art 96

The first World Festival of Negro Art, held in 1966, was essentially a political exercise. In the post-independence period, it was felt necessary to show the world that the people of Africa (both the continent and the diaspora), had a rich culture which had long been suppressed. The festival - which has never been repeated-is viewed with a great deal of nostalgia by supporters of modern African art and black intellectuals. The better, brighter future, which seemed at the time to be just over the horizon, never quite lived up to expectation. Even before financing problems had surfaced, the festival's fate had already been sealed by petty political rivalries and a greedy pursuit of the limelight. Years later, attempts to relaunch the event met with a lukewarm reception. It was already the beginning of the end as far as ideologies were concerned. In complete contrast, Dak'Art 96 (Dakar, 915 May 1996) set its sights firmly on the market place, nowadays the yardstick by which all success is measured. Its goals were simple: to break into the art market and overcome the generally held prejudice that contemporary African art lacks modernity.

An international market for African art does exist, but it concerns itself solely with ancient art- and Africa itself profits little from such trade. Indeed, it would be more accurate to speak of plundering than of trade. The seminar, organised last year by the Terveuren Museum in Brussels on the looting of African works of art, revealed the true extent of the phenomenon. Despite the fact that pirated works fetch considerable sums on the black market, contemporary African artists are faced with a 'Catch-22' situation. Major galleries in Europe, America and Japan do not exhibit their work because African art is ignored by the leading art periodicals; and their work never appears in these publications because it is never exhibited. One reason for the fact that African art is not put on show is that virtually no funds are allocated by international institutions to sponsor exhibitions by the artists in question.

Many third-world governments do not dare, are unwilling or are unable to include culture on their list of priorities within international cooperation agreements. One exception is Burkina Faso which now boasts a cinema industry as a result. Senegal is trying to follow in its footsteps. But there are not many places in Africa where artists are promoted for the quality of their creative output. The majority of initiatives have, in fact, been on a voluntary basis. The magazine Revue Noire is one of the most significant examples of this approach. A group of aficionados of contemporary African art - indeed with a passion for art pure and simple, whether African or European-decided to try and break the vicious circle. They looked at two options: the establishment of an art gallery of worldwide renown or of an equally prestigious arts publication, and came down in favour of the latter. Thus Revue Noire was born. However, its success was generally given very slim odds: it was seen as too glossy, too expensive and too intellectual. The sub-text here of course, is that a publication about African art had no right to be glossy, expensive or intellectual, especially since the money could have been used for something far more 'useful' to the development of these countries.

Others, such as Marie-Claire Mwanza from l'Espace Alizes in Brussels, have attacked the problem from a different angle-by exhibiting contemporary African art. Prior to her initiative, there was not a single gallery in Brussels that specialised in this sector of the market, and there are still none that figure on the shopping lists of the world's great collectors. Whatever the price set for a contemporary African work, it is generally perceived as being too high. The contrast with the prices demanded for works by even the youngest European or American artists, even for their very first exhibitions, speaks volumes. African art is too expensive in relation to what exactly ? The answer is in relation to the status accorded to it, which is of course determined by the art world. In other words, a big fat zero if one considers the fact that African art is never exhibited.

Thanks to Revue Noire, African art has been brought to the major galleries of the Western world. Similar projects have been launched or are in the process of being launched in various countries of the West, such as the magazine NKA in Brooklyn, for example. Exhibition organisers, museums, galleries and those looking to stage art festivals now know on whose door to knock, and the last few months have proved extremely promising. The Guggenheim Museum in New York is currently hosting a major exhibition of African art, and Africa 95, held in London, was swiftly followed by Copenhagen 96. The Guggenheim Museum, moreover, is in a completely different league to the Museum of African and Oceanic Art in Paris or the Museum of Central Africa in Tervueren, Belgium (formerly the Colonial Museum)-it is one of the world's most prestigious temples of modern art. What is more, London's Africa 95, which was so disparaged by African art specialists, who considered it nothing more than a meeting place for traders, did, whether we like it or not, act as a significant catalyst. And what about pirated works of art, such as those plundered from the Niger Valley ? These have found a 'home' in public as well as private collections, pointing to a real need to 'clean out the Augean stables'.

A few African artists are beginning to get themselves known within 'the market', but there are still not enough of them. It was with great foresight that the organisers of Dak'Art placed these artists at the top of their invitation list. Another shrewd move was to invite the art market's arbiters of taste to select those African artists who should present solo exhibitions, and to ask celebrated art critics and collectors to form part of the international panel of judges.

It is probably true to say that Africa has rarely known such a dynamic period of creativity which places it at the forefront of global aesthetic trends. The aim of the Biennial Festival was to underline this fact beyond any doubt. Among those artists who are currently in a position to break into the market, the Senegalese sculptor, Ousmane Sow, probably heads the list. Paradoxically, however, Ousmane Sow's work was not presented at Dakar although he himself was there, his tall, striking figure standing out from the crowd. Despite the fact that he lent his support to Dak'Art 96 and that the opening gala was partly dedicated to him with the magnificent film of Beatrice Soule, Ousmane Sow resolutely refused to display his own work. He has no wish to take part in gatherings of 'African artists'. He is an artist and he is African, but he is not an 'African artist'. 'A Japanese artist is a contemporary artist in this universal world', he argues, 'so why should I allow myself to be pigeon-holed in a ghetto ?' No matter how satisfied and pleased champions of contemporary African art may be with the organisation behind the Biennial Festival, they cannot deny that Ousmane Sow has a point. Having said this, there is no contradiction here, but rather a complementary vision. Sow's stance and the idea behind Dak'Art are part of a two-pronged attack, to borrow a military term. The organisers of the Biennial and Sow himself doubtless saw it in this way, and decided to join forces.

Each time Beatrice Soule tackles the work of an artist, she explores it in a very unusual way, reinventing the arts documentary. Her films are reminiscent of the music of Nino Rota in Fe//ini's films, Rota subjugating himself to the service of the director's work, sublimating his own originality through this extreme humility. It is impossible to picture the images of Federico Fellini without Rota's haunting music. Beatrice Soule saw in Sow's work a love affair between an artist and his sculpture, coming up with the idea of placing Sow's sculptures in the savannah and imagining the intimate interaction between Africa's natural world, which is at the heart of the artist's inspiration, and his works, which the natural world is able to absorb back into itself. The result of this juxtaposition is that the physical work of art is eclipsed by sheer creative force and spirit. The genius behind the work becomes the work, merges with it and is reincarnated in it. The one thing that Soule did not film was Ousmane Sow himself, her images concentrating solely on the creative act. It would be illusory to attempt to explain a Beatrice Soule film, especially this film. When she unveils how the artist tames physical matter, reinventing materials in order to create a work of art, technique simply recedes into the background, becoming blurred and intangible. Whereas others would have adopted a scientific or factual approach, her camera perceives the abstract aspects of the piece-and its gestation. The film was due to be broadcast on the international FrancoGerman arts channel Arte.

If Ousmane Sow's sculptures are characterised by their gigantic proportions, then those of Georges Adeagbo, a Beninois artist whose name is also beginning to be heard in the commercial art establishment, are characterised by their 'fugacity'. Adeagbo's artistic constructions are as fleeting as puffs of smoke, like voodoo symbols scratched out in the sand. His art is symbolic and ephemeral. Once one of his works has been exhibited, all that remains of it is a hollow shell which he has to reinvent over and over again. Adeagbo constructs ideas, using a host of assorted materials which he painstakingly selects over months, even years. Yet despite the meticulous care with which they are put together, as far as the artist is concerned, the materials per se are of no importance. He could convey exactly the same idea using other elements. An Adeagbo piece is not merely a pile of objects. It is neither conceptual art, nor scrap art. It consists rather of 'installations' which rise and spread outwards. Sometimes, he uses specially constructed sculptures. At other times he employs everyday objects- shoes, saucepans, stones, spectacles or footballs. He also works with written material; manuscripts, parchment, pieces of newspaper and books, portraying the written word as both a creative force and a deceptive screen. Adeagbo himself is a man of few words. Perpetually crouched on the ground, he constructs, modifies, touches and observes his creations. Why should these constructions remind us so much of paintings? They are as much a pile of objects as a painting is an accumulation of layers of paint. It is by forgetting the paint that we are able to admire the picture and it is by looking beyond the materials used by Adeagbo that his work truly reveals itself. Indeed, it is a sign of his genius as an artist that the materials never intrude upon our contemplation of his work. In Dakar, Adeagbo's work was shown in the AIDS exhibition organised by Revue Noire.

Another artist who took part in the AIDS exhibition, and whose art could well be the impetus behind the new universal aesthetic, the avant-garde (if such a concept has a meaning), is Pascale Marthine Tayou from Cameroon. He was given the honour of presenting one of the five solo exhibitions. Tayou was sponsored by Yakuyi Kawagushi, the curator of the Setagaya Museum in Tokyo, who exhibited his work at the forum organised within the overall framework of the exhibition. While the term 'installation' may best describe the works of Georges Adeagbo's, Tayou's work falls unquestionably under the heading of sculpture. This is despite the fact that the two artists use virtually identical materials. Tayou sculpts from wood, covering his pieces with all manner of manufactured and salvaged objects such as shoes, nails, plastic bags and enormous condoms, or with natural objects such as bits of roots and stones. He then paints the arrangement. The work is dense, unyielding and mesmerising, often etching itself into the onlooker's mind. His sculpture lacks heavy ornamentation, yet its starkness has a rich quality, the theme encompassed by a jumble of material standing out clearly, like the outline of a silhouette. Take his work 'Fight against AIDS'. The piece consists of a wooden frame in the shape of figure-of-eight, with each horizontal line doubled, defining a key element in a tragic body with bulging eyes and a Pere Ubu belly. In contrast to this suffocatingly tragic figure, the brightly-coloured shoes of a Harlequin with a faded costume offer a comical note.

There were other creators who could well ruffle a few feathers in the art market that ultimately makes or breaks an artist: Tamsir Dia of Cote d'lvoire (whose screaming figures are reminiscent of Munch), Cheikh Niass of Senegal, Mathilde Moro of Cote d'lvoire and Abdoulaye Konate of Mali. The last mentioned was honoured with the highest award of the festival.

A decision was taken that Dak'Art 96 should encompass other areas of creativity, such as music, design and fashion, in addition to the visual arts. At the gala evening held to inaugurate the Festival, there was a fashion show choreographed in the manner of a ballet. The staging of this can only be described as mawkish. The audience were treated neither to a real performance, nor to a good fashion show. The second fashion spot, which was supposed to present an overview of African design, was also quite pitiful. If the event's organisers decide to keep these parallel areas of creativity in the Festival, then their decision will be solely thanks to the success of the International Design Exhibition. Apart from two or three 'exotic' pieces, this was generally of a very high standard.

The European Community's choice in awarding the prize for creativity to a designer, Vincent Amian Namien from the Cote d'lvoire, was particularly revealing. This artist strips everything down to its bare essentials, creating a line that is so purified as to leave only the quintessence of form. Thus, he creates a chair that is nothing more than a perfect metal triangle, with four boards and four metal wires-and yet offers perfect comfort.

Claire Kane, a fashion designer of Franco-Senegalese descent, had the verve to go it alone and show her collection at the prestigious Salon of Design. Her clothes are characterised by the rejection of all superfluous detail, achieving a fluid line that stylises movement. Following an aesthetic code that has been decanted from the melting pot of the collective costume heritage of the entire continent, Claire Kane is directly involved in the creation of her designs, from the weaving of the cloth to the last finishing touches. In fact, she admits that her true passion is fabric rather than fashion, her favourite material being woven pagne. She often uses silk-screen printing to introduce pattern. She then adds words to the patterns in her designs and, abracadabra, one would think that this is the way it has always been done in Africa. A subtle modernity, combining both past and future, seems to be a recurring motif in African creativity. International artists, still few in number, travel from Dakar to be dressed by her.

If, in the future, the Festival's organisers decide to concentrate solety on the visual arts, this would come as no surprise. On the other hand, it would also make sense to continue to include design and fashion. A country's cultural heritage should be considered one of its raw materials and a source of economic wealth, and unimaginative accountants may have to resign themselves to this fact. Herein lies a possible answer to the question: 'why hold a Biennial Festival of Contemporary African Art?'

Hegei Goutier

Acting against AIDS

by Robert Rowe

Many ways of raising money to fight AlDS have been tried, but one of the most unusual must surely be the approach taken by an official of the European Commission. Robert Rowe, who until last year was an assistant editor on The Courier, put on a oneman show in Brussels and then rook it to the other side of the world to raise money for a voluntary organisation working on AIDS prevention and care in Malaysia. Here is his story of fighting the virus with the power of the theatre.

'By the year 2000, South-East Asia will be host to the majority of the world's AIDS cases.' So runs a stark prediction from the World Health Organisation, quoted in a recent paper from a grouping of NGOs affiliated to the Malaysian AIDS Foundation. It goes on to predict that 'the region faces a potential HIV spread of titanic proportions.' In Thailand, a country with a large population and a sad reputation for prostitution, the HIV threat was recognised relatively early and effective public awareness campaigns have successfully reversed the rise in the incidence of infection. But in neighbouring Malaysia, where stricter religious and social attitudes have inhibited wide public discussion of the disease and its methods of transmission, over 13000 people were HIV-positive at the last count-and that is just the figure derived from the small percentage of the population who have been tested. Activists say the true number is certainly higher and it is growing every day.

The first cases of HIV in Malaysia were found among intravenous drug users and sex workers, and one of the earliest organisations to begin working with people engaged in these high-risk activities was Pink Triangle. This is a voluntary, non-profit-making body which started up in 1987 by setting up AIDS prevention and support programmes for and with the general public and the gay community. Its name, in fact, refers to the pink triangle badge which men sent to concentration camps in Nazi Germany for homosexuality were made to wear. The group has always depended heavily on volunteers to plan and carry out its programmes, which now also involve running a support group for people with HIV or AIDS and a street outreach programme and drop-in centre providing AIDS information, basic medical care, temporary shelter and food for sex workers, injecting drug users and transsexuals. The centre can also provide legal referrals for members of these groups summonsed to appear in court. For the general public, talks, workshops and poster and photo exhibitions are held in schools, hospitals, factories, youth and corporate organisations and other NGOs. Pink Triangle trains its volunteers, too, to provide counselling and information about AIDS and sexuality to anyone who calls up on a confidential telephone line.

The work is serious and vital, but the atmosphere is far from gloomy in Pink Triangle's premises in a lively part of the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur. Though funding comes from several sources at home and abroad, including the European Union, the organisation still has to generate a lot of its own money, and one successful method they have used is to put on imaginative events where fund-raising can be combined with an opportunity to raise public awareness. Last December, for example, they marked the week surrounding World AIDS Day with a string of shows, dance parties, talk-ins and street activities called Pinkfest '95. In venues all over the town, and on television and radio, well-known personalities joined a hundred of Pink Triangle's own speakers and performers to provide education without moralising. The aim was to personalise the issue of AIDS by showing how anyone could be at risk, but at the same time dealing in facts, not fear. Thousands of attractively designed and very frank leaflets and posters put across the virus-busting message in catchy graphics and pithy phrases in several languages.

I happened to be in Kuala Lumpur around New Year and saw a video of some of the Pinkfest highlights which set me thinking how admirable an impression of solidarity and self-help the anti-AIDS struggle in Malaysia conveys, and to wondering whether, back in Brussels, it might not be possible for us in Europe to do something to help. It particularly impressed and touched me that while Pink Triangle delivers its message to every single member of Malaysian society, it makes quite clear, even by its name, that it has a special care for some of that society's most downtrodden members, people for whom no one else had ever ventured to speak. Public silence, opprobrium and ridicule make it especially hard to get the safe-sex message through to gay men, especially the young, to transsexuals and sex workers, and as long as there is no cure the only way of containing the spread of infection is by education- and by changing social attitudes. The many women whose husbands or partners are careless about infection also stand to benefit from greater openness and more factual information. But organising all this takes money.

It happens that among the multinational English-speaking expatriate community in Brussels there is a thriving amateur theatre scene-in fact they say that if two British people found themselves on an otherwise deserted island, one would immediately put on a play for the other, and the same seems to hold true of the Irish and the North Americans. However, it was less certain that anyone apart from me would want to exert themselves, for the many weeks required to stage a production, on behalf of an AIDS charity in a remote Asian country, so l decided to go ahead by myself and perform a one-man comedy. The play was Brief Lives; it has nothing whatever to do with AIDS, but in its day it was a huge success in London and New York. Adapted in the 1960s by the British actor Patrick Garland from the dusty old memoirs of a real historical figure, John Aubrey, it depicts a day in the life of this 1 7th-century English scientist, historian and wit. As he potters about, an extremely old man, in a garret full of manuscripts and curios, he reminisces about his contemporaries in hilarious and touching vignettes, the potted biographies which give the play its name. Aubrey died in penury, but the picture he gives of a vanished age is now reckoned to be the equal of the record we find in the diary of the better-known Samuel Pepys.

It is also a great deal funnier, and when I showed the script to various friends I was astounded and moved to discover how many of them wanted to be involved in the project. Eventually we put together a team headed by the director, Anne Wilkinson, a music impresario married to a coal expert from the European Commission, with production, design, stage management, lighting, sound effects, costume, music and offstage voices-not to mention publicity and box office-provided by other friends from the European institutions or the private sector. The five performances were given in June in a small theatre just adapted from a pottery workshop, and altogether the Brussels showing made a profit of some 110 000 Belgian francs.

We had expected just to send this donation to Pink Triangle through the post, but to our immense pleasure they said they would like to see not just the money but, if possible, the play too. By ingenious compression the designer, Burt Baum, managed to cut the essentials of the set down to three sheets painted to give a three-dimensional effect, we put the voices and music on cassette, rolled up the costume tightly and worked out that the whole play, thus reduced, could be got into one suitcase. There is a little theatre company in the Pacific ACP state of Vanuatu called Wan Smol (One Small) Bag which actually gave me this idea. So off I went to Kuala Lumpur with this bag, and did the play another five times there.

The staging in Malaysia was done by an adventurous outfit called Instant Cafe Theatre. This young company has a reputation for pushing forward the boundaries of public discussion with topical plays and supports Pink Triangle's aims and work. Brief Lives was well outside their usual repertoire, as well as being spoken in the English of 300 years ago. My worry was that bringing such a Western and Eurocentric entertainment might be resented as cultural imperialism in a country with three great and fascinating cultures of its own, Malay, Chinese and Indian, each with its own style of drama. But it turned out there was a local tradition of amateur dramatics in English, particularly Shakespeare, and that English is the usual lingua franca for speakers of different Asian languages. What went down unexpectedly well was the depiction of an old man nearing death and reviewing the best moments of his life; as the character puts it in the play, 'When a boy, I did always love to converse with old men, as living histories,' and Maiaysians have a particular regard and affection for the elderly.

I came away from Kuala Lumpur with many charming memories: the unfailing, sweet-natured enthusiasm of the audience; the relief on the first night as I stood on stage in a floor-length costume of three layers, designed to suggest London in midwinter rather than to cope with the equatorial heat of the Malay peninsula, and realised that the stage was air conditioned. The night when this air conditioning blew out a vital candle on the stage, and a man in the front row lent me his highly un-17th-century lighter to get my clay pipe going. The Chinese friend who gave me a genuine antique opium pipe to add to John Aubrey's collection of exotic curios. The delicious succession of Asian chicken dishes which the stage manager produced for me to eat on stage, cooked in very un-English coconut milk or glazed with rice wine. The work permit which specified I could perform as an artiste but must not 'sit out' or dance with the audience! The theatre's resident singer asking if she could add the play's Elizabethan theme song, with lute accompaniment, to her repertoire.

Taking this play to another continent was a fascinating cultural experience for me as a European, and I hope for the audiences too it was something more than just a painless way of being relieved of money in a deserving cause. At any rate the theatre asked if they could have another play soon, one in which Malaysian actors could be incorporated as well. As for Pink Triangle, some of its leading lights were packing their bags to go to Vancouver for this year's International AIDS Conference, but before they left it was a pleasure to hand over the proceeds of the whole venture and to hear that the organisation will use the money to develop a drop-in centre for people approaching them in person for the first time. Some first-timers are understandably timid about coming to the unfamiliar (and clearly signposted) premises for help or information, and a private space where they can talk in confidence is something Pink Triangle has always wanted to provide but could never find the funds for, as the project or programme money they get from their regular donors is invariably tied to what outsiders might think were more urgent priorities. It is not only the headline grabbing schemes which have useful effects: a quietly welcoming space where someone can be himself or herself may do more to dispel an individual's fear and ignorance than publicly visible campaigning, especially where religious and social pressures against certain types of nonconformity are strong. In fighting HIV/AIDS, we must try whatever works. And empowerment must begin with the self. It was a great privilege to be welcomed in like any other volunteer wanting to help bring about a necessary change.

R.R.