AS WE CONTEMPLATE THE PLACE AND BURDEN OF PAINTING...
I wrote this short article for an art publication by the KZNSA after having participated in a critical writing workshop run by Sean O'Tool. There were a few topics to chose from. I chose to write about painting, exile and social transformation which slotted very easily into Olu Oguibe's text: As we contemplate the place and burden of painting…
The burden of painting in the postcolony, argues Simmi Dullay, is to negotiate the liminal space between the perceived and the real
… I am compelled to confess my inadequate disposition, as each attempt at reaching a serene state for contemplating “place” and “painting” has failed. Inevitably, when I think of art my thoughts turn to anarchic revolt; I become submerged within the combat zone of aesthetics, representation, ideology, sex, murderous plots and even … strategies of world domination. Do not be fooled by the glossy veneer and luminous colour, the world of art is a dangerous one. Let’s not forget that artists across the disciplines are often the first to be censored and persecuted in undemocratic regimes.
Within the lethal but intoxicating fumes of pigment and oil, my place belongs in the visceral embodiment of painting, unravelling worlds of exile, into one space, which becomes physically tangible and discerning. My love for painting is bound in the violent subtlety, its gentle incitement to revolt and ability to change the way we think through unspoken imaginary spaces.
I am trapped betwixt: “place” recalls colonial rupture, as I belong to a history of violent discontinuities, ‘placing’ me outside, beyond or simply in between cultures, histories and continents. My own exile was pre-empted by events in the fifteenth century, the rise of colonialism and global capitalism. During this period, European painting was governed by naturalistic representation; paintings represented exact copies of reality, recording land, wealthy people and their possessions, to be hung in magnificent chambers of churches, palaces and museums, all signifying power and status.
In the early twentieth century Picasso renounced the essentialist academic values of the elite in favour of the humanistic sentiments he saw imbued in African art – the power of spirituality, emotion and the subliminal. African, Asian and South American art revolutionised European art and came to define breaks with the long-standing traditions of the bourgeois aristocracy. Tri-continental art had not yet been marred by capitalism; art was still created for the people. Symbolic representations could equally be utilised in ritual and as objects serving the community, a far cry from the institutionalisation of art in the West.
In our current media orientated society, obsessive logocentrism – the act of centrally locating discourse around art in pure reason – has resulted in cheap repetitious representation. Visual culture now is a spectacle of consumption. While colonialism in the tri-continent is a thing of the past, its legacy remains entrenched. Economic value is determined according to the signification of identity, based in turn on race, gender and geo-cultural location. The imperial hegemony perpetuates itself.
The burden of painting remains to negotiate the liminal space between the perceived and the real, to inflame the spirit of humanity in creativity.
Within the lethal but intoxicating fumes of pigment and oil, my place belongs in the visceral embodiment of painting, unravelling worlds of exile, into one space, which becomes physically tangible and discerning. My love for painting is bound in the violent subtlety, its gentle incitement to revolt and ability to change the way we think through unspoken imaginary spaces.
I am trapped betwixt: “place” recalls colonial rupture, as I belong to a history of violent discontinuities, ‘placing’ me outside, beyond or simply in between cultures, histories and continents. My own exile was pre-empted by events in the fifteenth century, the rise of colonialism and global capitalism. During this period, European painting was governed by naturalistic representation; paintings represented exact copies of reality, recording land, wealthy people and their possessions, to be hung in magnificent chambers of churches, palaces and museums, all signifying power and status.
In the early twentieth century Picasso renounced the essentialist academic values of the elite in favour of the humanistic sentiments he saw imbued in African art – the power of spirituality, emotion and the subliminal. African, Asian and South American art revolutionised European art and came to define breaks with the long-standing traditions of the bourgeois aristocracy. Tri-continental art had not yet been marred by capitalism; art was still created for the people. Symbolic representations could equally be utilised in ritual and as objects serving the community, a far cry from the institutionalisation of art in the West.
In our current media orientated society, obsessive logocentrism – the act of centrally locating discourse around art in pure reason – has resulted in cheap repetitious representation. Visual culture now is a spectacle of consumption. While colonialism in the tri-continent is a thing of the past, its legacy remains entrenched. Economic value is determined according to the signification of identity, based in turn on race, gender and geo-cultural location. The imperial hegemony perpetuates itself.
The burden of painting remains to negotiate the liminal space between the perceived and the real, to inflame the spirit of humanity in creativity.
Simmi Dullay
Edited by Sean O'Tool
Labels: art, exile, love. colonial rupture
posted by simmi at 3:12 AM
8 Comments:
I might understand all that if you say it again. Slowly. In small simple words.
All creatives I feel start of as bright fireflys with so much hope and shine, hoping that there glow could/ would light up the world. In the end some burnout or just decide to stop glowing cause the world is jus such a big place and what difference can i make. Others get lured into jars to light the ideals of others, good/bad who knows... Then there some who choose a different path, resist the lure & does not want to stop glowing, but find meaning and purpose for there glow else where..... i wonder could they be painting our night skys for future pioneers...... i wonder.
Hello dear Quiller Couch
Good to see that u still pop in from time to time. Thanks for leaving a comment.
In my defense
I will say that
It is hard to describe that which has no fixed and easy vocab...maybe you should read it again and then if you still might find it difficult to read, pinpoint it and i will be delighted to explain myself further.
Although i have not commented for a while on your blog, I still read all your post. Its just that I have a really intense workload.
South Africa is still waiting to be explored.
To the mystery poet
Thank you for leaving such a rich and evocative comment. Might i guess that you are Rahee? Introduced by Azfar Hussain? Regardless, I am glad to have made your acquaintance. I hope that you will reveal your identity in due time
...... and the embers of past words will glimmer softly between the now and tomorrow
This is an article I'm planning to publish in the local paper on Ascension Island(British oversea territory).
Exile? Or Simply Nostalgia?
The streets seemed quiet for a Tuesday. But then again, this man of an Eastern European cultural bond hadn’t been in London before. And what was he to know of a homogeneity he was experiencing for the first time? However, he had acquired a room in a secluded part of Soho, and yet for being in the city centre, he was aroused by an eerie sensation of solitude.
He looked up and down the road, clustered on both sides by bulky presumptuous buildings. He wondered if he would still feel that loneliness that pressed inside of him if there were people about. “After all”, he thought, he knew nobody in that metropolis of an alien architecture, and industrialized zeal.
“O, but how to denounce this solitary euphoria that grips ‘them’? This individualist’s entertaining monotony is acutely appealing.”
Aleksandar Gradinski
Alexander.
how unfair to end the article there!
...it reminds me of existensitial matters and the solemn reality of how utterly alone we are...quite unforgiving and unbearable to digest...
Dear Anonymous,
It is not that we are alone; it is that we want to believe that we are. For an atheist it is often difficult to find meaning in life, hence loneliness. The most bitter of an existentialist’s pessimistic dilemmas. I, being that that I speak of, have great envy for the religious. Creed is a valuable asset to success.
(Are we so simplistically characterized as Sisyphus; abandoned by his God’s, and left with his never ending uphill struggles. But I shouldn’t go on, for Camus’s essay is far more elaborate and responding.)
But then you have the ever dwindling cultural nationalisms that have invoked a pandemic of depressives. We no longer hold that bond of heritage as European countries slowly progress, or digress, whichever you prefer, towards cultureless unity; a cliché of modernization.
I’d like to add a quote of an earlier article of mine, which is:
The common man is rising to cripple what is now modern society. This world no longer knows its boundaries as the illiterate, the base and ignorant, the totally inefficient, take to the pen and pad, the hand held camera, the mere spoken word, and spread their vile corruption through the dwindling nationalities of globalization.
However, I venture further and further from the topic at hand. To conclude, there is a happiness to be found. But it is not in nihilism, which unfortunately plaguing city life throughout the world.
Aleksandar Gradinski
*forgive my misprint... what I meant to say was, :..."which *is unfortunately"...
As I said before, "I venture further and further from the topic at hand. To conclude", I'll add an earlier unpublished writing of mine:
Reflection
Music, a peace; a solemn anxiety bereft of material value; a boundless passion of human conditioning. Cinema, literature, architecture; the arts; the uncompromising; a creed, but not for any God, or be it the God of being; the spiritual sensations of learning to live; the beauty in living.
Aleksandar Gradinski
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