Enslavement in the Americas
Western trade with Africa was not limited to material goods such as copper, cloth, and beads. By the 16th century, the transatlantic slave trade had already begun, forcibly bringing Africans to the newly colonized Americas. While some forms of enslavement had existed in Africa, the sheer number of enslaved people traded across the Atlantic was unprecedented, as over 11 million Africans were brought to the Americas and the Caribbean over a period of four centuries. Driven by commercial interests, the slave trade peaked in the 18th century with the expansion of American plantation production, and continued until the mid-19th century. By the late 18th century, the slave trade began to wane as the abolitionist movement grew. Those who survived the forced migration and the notorious Middle Passage brought their beliefs and cultural practices to the Americas.
Within this far-flung diaspora, certain cultures—such as the Yoruba and Igbo of today’s Nigeria and the Kongo from present-day Democratic Republic of Congo—were especially targeted. Enslaved Africans brought few, if any, personal items with them, although recent archaeological investigations have yielded early African artifacts, like the beads and shells found at the African burial grounds in New York’s lower Manhattan, which date to the 17th and 18th centuries.
The influence of Africans in the Americas can be seen in diverse forms of cultural expression, such as open-front porches and sloped hip-roofs. The religious practices of Haitian Vodou have roots in the spiritual beliefs of Dahomean, Yoruba, and Kongo peoples. Some elements of cuisine in the American South, such as gumbo and jambalaya, derive from African food traditions. Certain musical forms, such as jazz and the blues, reflect the convergence of African musical practices and European-based traditions.
European colonization of Africa
Although the slave trade was banned entirely by the late 19th century, European involvement in Africa did not end. Instead, the desire for greater control over Africa’s resources resulted in the colonization of the majority of the continent by seven European countries. The Berlin Conference of 1884–85, attended by representatives of fourteen different European powers, resulted in the regulation of European colonization and trade in Africa. Over the next twenty years, the continent was occupied by France, Belgium, Germany, Britain, Spain, Italy, and Portugal. By 1914, the entire continent, with the exception of Ethiopia and Liberia, was colonized by European nations.
The colonial period in Africa brought radical changes, disrupting local political institutions, patterns of trade, and religious and social beliefs. The colonial era also impacted cultural practices in Africa, as artists responded to new forms of patronage and the introduction of new technologies as well as to their changing social and political situations. In some cases, European patronage of local artists resulted in stylistic change (for example this Mangbetu Figurative Harp) or new forms of expression. At the same time, many artistic traditions were characterized as “primitive” by Westerners and discouraged or even banned.
Although African artifacts were brought to Europe as early as the 16th century, it was during the colonial period that such works entered Western collections in significant quantities, forming the basis of many museum collections today. African artifacts were collected as personal souvenirs or ethnographic specimens by military officers, colonial administrators, missionaries, scientists, merchants, and others to the continent.
In an act of war initiated by Britain against one of its colonies, thousands of royal art objects were stolen from the kingdom of Benin following its defeat by a British military expedition in 1897. European nations with colonies in Africa established ethnographic museums with extensive collections, such as the Royal Museum for Central Africa in Tervuren, Belgium, the Völkerkunde museums in Germany, the British Museum in London, and the Musée de l’Homme in Paris (now housed at the Musée du Quai Branly). In the United States, which had no colonial ties to Africa, the nascent study of ethnography motivated the formation of collections at the American Museum of Natural History in New York and the Field Museum in Chicago. In 1923, the Brooklyn Museum became the first American museum to present African works as art.
African independence
Independence movements in Africa began with the liberation of Ghana in 1957 and ended with the dismantling of apartheid in South Africa during the 1990s. The postcolonial period has been challenging, as many countries struggle to regain stability in the aftermath of colonialism. Yet while the media often focuses on political instability, civil unrest, and economic and health crises, these represent only part of the story of Africa today.
Contemporary art in Africa
In spite of Africa’s political, economic, and environmental challenges, the postcolonial period has been a time of tremendous vigor in the realm of artistic production. Many tradition-based artistic practices continue to thrive or have been revitalized. In Guinea, the revival of D’mba performances in the 1990s, after decades of censorship by the Marxist government, is one example of cultural reinvention. Similarly, in recent years, Merina weavers in the highlands of Madagascar have begun to create brilliantly hued silk cloth known as akotofahana, a textile tradition abandoned a century ago.
Photography, introduced on the continent in the late 19th century, has become a popular medium, particularly in urban areas. Artists like Seydou Keïta, who operated a portrait studio in Bamako, Mali, in the colonial period, set the stage for later generations of photographers who captured the faces of newly independent African countries. It is also important to mention developments in modern and contemporary African art. During the colonial period, art schools were established that provided training, often based on Western models, to local artists. Many schools were initiated by Europeans, such as the Congolese Académie des Arts, established by Pierre Romain-Desfossé in 1944 in Elisabethville, whose program was based on those of art schools in Europe. Less frequently, the teaching of modern art was initiated by Indigenous Africans, such as Chief Aina Onabolu, who is credited with introducing modern art in Nigeria beginning in the 1920s. Since the mid-20th century, increasing numbers of African artists have engaged local traditions in new ways or embraced a national identity through their visual expression.
Artists in today’s Africa are the products of diverse forms of artistic training, work in a variety of mediums, and engage local as well as global audiences with their work. In recent decades, contemporary artists from Africa, both self-taught and academically trained, have received international recognition. Kenyan-born Magdalene Odundo, for example, was trained as an artist in schools in Kenya and in England, where she now lives. The burnished ceramic vessels she creates, which are purely artistic, embody her diverse sources, including traditional Nigerian and Kenyan vessels as well as Puebloan pottery traditions of New Mexico. The work of contemporary African artists like Odundo reveals the complex realities of artistic practice in today’s increasingly global society.
© 2006 The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (by permission)
Additional resources
Read a Reframing Art History textbook chapter, The arts of Africa, c. 18th–20th century
The Transatlantic Slave Trade on the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History
Frederick Lamp, “Art of the Baga: A Drama of Cultural Reinvention,” African Arts, volume 29, number 4 (1996), pp. 20–33.
Source: Dr. Christa Clarke, “Historical overview: from the 1600s to the present,” in Smarthistory, September 22, 2016, accessed August 23, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/historical-overview-from-the-slave-trade-to-the-modern-era/.
Tshibumba Kanda Matulu, Le 30 juin 1960, Zaïre indépendant
How does one learn about history? In my case, I have learned about the histories of the United States and other countries through history classes and lectures, history books, novels, period dramas, museums, monuments, and visiting historical landmarks. People also learn about history from family stories passed down from generation to generation, from oral histories, online discussion threads, documentaries, television shows, and videos posted on platforms like YouTube.
Envisioning history
Congolese painter Tshibumba Kanda Matulu envisioned creating the history of Zaïre (present-day Democratic Republic of the Congo) in a series of one hundred paintings in an effort to educate his people about the history of their country. While his series starts with life before European contact in the 15th century, it focuses largely on Belgian colonization and the decade following independence from Belgium in 1960. He realized his vision after befriending the expatriate anthropologist, Johannes Fabian, who provided financial support and encouragement to the artist to paint this series. In 1973–74, Tshibumba brought to Fabian paintings that portrayed his version of the country’s history. [1] After Tshibumba laid down the paintings in Fabian’s living room, he narrated each scene, and then conversed with Fabian.
The paintings from Tshibumba’s History of Zaïre were published in 1996 by Fabian in the book, Remembering the Present: Painting and Popular History in Zaire. Each painting is accompanied by Tshibumba’s narration, fragments of conversations between Tshibumba and Fabian, and clarifying information from Fabian. Sadly, Tshibumba likely did not live to see the publication of the book. In the preface, Fabian notes that the two kept in contact after he left Zaïre in 1974. However, after 1981, Tshibumba’s whereabouts were unknown and he has not been heard from since. Fabian and one of his colleagues attempted to locate him in the 1980s, but with no success.
A prime minister and a king
One of the most reproduced paintings from Tshibumba’s History of Zaïre is Le 30 juin 1960, Zaïre indépendant (June 30, 1960, Independent Zaïre). [2] The painting portrays a significant historical event: in the capital city of Kinshasa (formerly called Léopoldville), the first democratically elected prime minister, Patrice Émery Lumumba, delivered a speech in front of a crowd and in front of the Belgian king, Baudouin (who is to the right), during the celebration of Zaïre’s independence from Belgium. In his speech, Lumumba openly condemned and criticized the Belgians for the atrocities they committed under their colonial authority. The title of the painting appears in the upper right corner as a banner. The choice to include the name “Zaïre” for the title is anachronistic, as the country was still known as the Belgian Congo. In 1971, Mobutu Sese Seko changed the names of the country and its largest river to Zaïre in an effort to replace names given by the colonizers with indigenous names. [3]
In the center we see Lumumba, addressing the smiling crowd of men and women. Deep in the background, a blue flag with a large, central yellow star and six smaller stars on the left represents the flag of Zaïre from independence day in 1960 to 1963. Outfitted in a striped suit, white button-down shirt, patterned tie, and handkerchief in his chest pocket, Lumumba raises his right arm and points towards the sky with his index finger. His left hand touches a globe that depicts a stylized image of the African continent. At the bottom of the globe, and to the left, a chain is represented. Since the subject of the painting is about independence from Belgium, it is likely that the broken chain (cropped by the edge of the painting) signifies the break with Belgium.
To the right and behind Lumumba is King Baudouin of Belgium, outfitted in a khaki suit, red sash, white button-down shirt, black tie, and other accessories. Holding a hat and sword in his hands, the king smiles widely and tilts his head slightly forward. Tshibumba points out that in reality, Baudouin was angry as he listened to Lumumba. He notes, “A king has to smile when it is difficult. He must put on a little smile.” [4] Behind him is a cloth backdrop reminiscent of the national flag at the time Tshibumba painted this work in the early 1970s: a background of blue and two vertical bands of red outlined in yellow. In the bottom right corner of the painting, we see the painter’s signature, Tshibumba K.M.
Tshibumba’s history: fact or fiction?
Tshibumba noted that the point of his history series “is to help one another so that we learn the history of our country correctly.” [5] While the majority of his paintings in his history series are based on historical events, Fabian points out that Tshibumba is “an interpreter of his country,” and what he “shows and tells is impressive; it is often amusing, shocking, incredible, and plainly erroneous. Above all, his History is not just a story but an argument and a plea.” [6] Fabian notes that there are discrepancies between the histories portrayed in Tshibumba’s paintings and histories produced by Congolese and outsider journalists and scholars, but Tshibumba’s voice is valuable and should not be dismissed. Indeed, his perspective is evident in many of his paintings.
For example, in La Mort historique de Lumumba, Mpolo et Okito (The historical Death of Lumumba, Mpolo and Okito), Tshibumba depicts the assassinations of Lumumba and his associates, Maurice Mpolo, and Joseph Okito. They were murdered on January 17, 1961, but their deaths were only announced publicly three weeks later (on February 13). At the time, the details of their assassinations were disputed. For La Mort historique, Tshibumba takes creative license and imagines their deaths in his painting. We see Lumumba wearing a white tank top, striped dress pants, a gold watch, and belt, lying on the ground. His eyes are closed, his arms are outstretched in front of him (with untied rope, perhaps showing that he was bound). Behind him are Mpolo and Okito, who are obscured by Lumumba’s body.
Tshibumba clearly saw Lumumba as a martyr and national hero. In the painting, he draws a connection between the deaths of Lumumba and Jesus Christ. In the background to the right, we see Golgotha, where Jesus and two thieves were crucified. Golgotha is represented by three crucifixes encircled by a crown of thorns (which was placed on Jesus’ head), and an eye floating above them. Tshibumba depicts Lumumba with a bleeding wound on the right side of his torso, paralleling the wound on Jesus’ side, where he was pierced during his crucifixion. The presence of Mpolo and Okito echoes the presence of the two thieves that are crucified alongside Jesus. Tshibumba said, “…in my view, Lumumba was the Lord Jesus of Zaïre. Above, I painted six [small] stars, because he died for unity [of Zaïre].” [7] In the upper left of the background, we see the national flag from 1960–63: a large yellow star with six small stars arranged vertically to the left.
Tshibumba’s view that Lumumba was a national hero was not uncommon at the time he painted his series. Although Mobutu led a coup d’état against Lumumba in September 1960, ordered Lumumba’s arrest in December 1960, and was involved in his assassination, Mobutu declared in a speech that Lumumba was a national hero. This was a strategic move meant to unify the country’s people and to legitimize Mobutu as the rightful successor of Lumumba. [8]
Congolese popular painting
Tshibumba’s work is often regarded as exemplary of Congolese popular painting, which emerged during the 1960s and 1970s in urban cities (such as Lubumbashi, where Tshibumba was born) following Belgian colonial rule. Congolese popular painting is “generally understood to refer to nonacademic paintings produced for both local and international audiences … comprising mostly figurative paintings that provide some form of social and/or political commentary on past and present.” [9] The phrase “nonacademic paintings” points to the training of their creators—mainly, painters who have not had formal training in school and produce and sell their paintings on the street, as opposed to galleries or museums. These painters tend to create paintings with the same themes repeatedly (with modifications) and make their living selling these works to local clients, expatriate patrons, or tourists. The themes and subject matter (such as landscapes and flora and fauna) that painters portray vary and depend on the expectations or tastes of their clients. Generally, buyers would have a preference for certain subjects and would buy one or two works from one particular painter. These paintings would be hung in domestic spaces and act as conversation pieces.
While Tshibumba’s History of Zaïre stems from Congolese popular painting, it is exceptional because he was at liberty to paint what he believed to be the significant events in his country’s history thus far. Moreover, due to the publication of Remembering the Present, Tshibumba’s paintings were not just viewed locally; they were made available to international audiences.
Notes:
[1] While it is conventional to refer to an artist by their last name, I refer to Tshibumba Kanda Matulu by his first name in this essay. This follows the scholarship on Tshibumba produced by the main expatriate anthropologists who worked with him: Johannes Fabian and Bogumil Jewsiewicki. Other scholarship on Congolese popular painting generally refers to Tshibumba by his first name.
[2] It should be noted that the version of this painting reproduced in this essay is slightly different from the version reproduced in Johannes Fabian’s Remembering the Present: Painting and Popular History in Zaire. Instead of the 1960–63 national flag, the version reprinted in Remembering the Present is replaced with the building of Kinshasa’s post office. According to Tshibumba, people organized in the square in front of the post office for public gatherings. See Fabian, Remembering the Present, p. 92.
[3] Ironically, the name “Zaïre” came from the Portuguese misunderstanding of the KiKongo word for river, which is N’zadi. Kevin Dunn points out that the choice to use Zaïre instead of N’zadi is not clear. See Dunn, Imagining the Congo: The International Relations of Identity, pp. 110–111.
[4] Tshibumba Kanda Matulu, quoted in Johannes Fabian, Remembering the Present, p. 92.
[5] Tshibumba Kanda Matulu, quoted in Johannes Fabian, Remembering the Present, p. 15.
[6] Johannes Fabian, Remembering the Present, p. xi.
[7] Tshibumba Kanda Matulu, quoted in Johannes Fabian, Remembering the Present, p. 122.
[8] Kevin Dunn, Imagining the Congo, p. 114. For a succinct retelling of Lumumba’s arrest and assassination, see Gabriella Nugent, “From camera to canvas: The case of Patrice Lumumba and Congolese popular painting,” p. 84.
[9] Sarah Van Beurden, “Congo Art Works: Popular Painting ed. by Bambi Ceuppens and Sammy Baloji (review),” p. 94.
Source: Dr. Kristen Laciste, “Tshibumba Kanda Matulu, Le 30 juin 1960, Zaïre indépendant,” in Smarthistory, May 11, 2023, accessed August 18, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/tshibumba-kanda-matulu-le-30-juin-1960-zaire-independant/.
Paa Joe: Gates of No Return
URL: https://youtu.be/O3TfEDllN3Q. Source: High Museum, “Paa Joe: Gates of No Return,” in Smarthistory, September 10, 2021, accessed August 24, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/paa-joe-gates-of-no-return/.
Santu Mofokeng, Train Churches
Have you ever taken public transportation, such as the train or subway? If so, perhaps you have experienced the dilemma of selecting which empty seat to take before all the good ones are unavailable. Or on the flipside, you might have experienced the rush of passengers trying to find an empty seat, and you have had to stand since it was so crowded. And maybe you have encountered people at the stations who are not commuting or traveling, instead selling foodstuffs and drinks, handing out pamphlets to advertise services or businesses, or entertaining passengers by playing musical instruments or singing songs.
Perhaps when you were on the train or subway, you have had the experience of seeing a passenger preach from the Bible or pray. And you might have heard other passengers worship by singing and clapping in unison, or by using instruments or the walls of the train or subway car as a drum to make music. These latter situations were part of train travel in South Africa in 1970s–80s for Black passengers, and captured in the black-and-white photographs of Santu Mofokeng’s photo-essay, Train Churches. [1] Mofokeng was one of the passengers who traveled by train to get to work and witnessed other passengers engaged in worship. As the title suggests, his photo-essay shows people preaching, praying, healing, dancing, and making music while commuting, turning the train cars into churches.
In one photograph, Opening Song, Hands Clapping and Bells, the viewer sees six passengers seated along one side of the train. [2] Although there is light coming from the windows of the train car, the light seems to conceal, rather than reveal, the details in the photograph. Largely obscured by shadows, the foreground is difficult to discern, save for the woman at the far right. In the middle of the photograph, the viewer sees two women singing; one is in the process of clapping her hands, while the other is ringing a handheld bell. To the left of these women are four other passengers: a woman whose face is obscured by shadows, another woman wearing glasses who appears to be singing, and two other passengers whose faces the viewer cannot see. One of these passengers is blocked by the woman wearing glasses, while the other passenger is standing, but cropped out of the frame of the picture except for her long skirt and jacket. The closeness of the seated passengers and cropped figure of the standing passenger give us a sense of how crowded it was inside the train car.
Train travel during apartheid
Comprised of ten photographs, Train Churches documents the commute of Black South African passengers taking the train during apartheid in South Africa. They are commuting from their homes in the township of Soweto to work in the urban center of Johannesburg, which was set apart for white South Africans. Under apartheid, Black South Africans were forced to live in townships or Bantustans so that they would be separated and excluded from white South African spaces. However, major urban areas set aside for white South Africans relied on the labor provided by Black South Africans, allowing the latter to work in these areas in the day but requiring them to leave at night. Trains enabled Black South African passengers to commute daily to work, but they served to segregate them from other South Africans.
Traveling by train was tiring, stressful, and unsafe. Train cars were packed and overcrowded, and spaces where criminal activity and violence occurred. In spite of the difficulties and dangers associated with train travel, the train cars were places where some passengers engaged in worship activities, as we can see in the women singing and making music in Opening Song, Hands Clapping and Bells. As these passengers worship together, rather than individually, they create a sense of community in the space of the train car.
Worship as resistance
Trains contributed to the apartheid regime’s aim to segregate Black South Africans from white South Africans, and so the act of engaging in religious or spiritual activities on the train has been interpreted as a form of resistance. Although Mofokeng himself has admitted that he is ambivalent towards religion and spirituality, he recognized that maintaining and practicing one’s faith helped people to cope during apartheid. The apartheid government endeavored to relegate Black South Africans to second-class status by stripping them of their freedoms and rights. However, Black South Africans protested implicitly by asserting their humanity through worship. In Train Churches, Mofokeng records slices of township life that are neither out of the ordinary nor sensational, as worship in the space of the train had been occurring since the 1970s.
Documenting life under apartheid
In the 1950s-60s, the South African magazine, Drum, featured the work of Black South African photographers who documented township life under apartheid. These Drum photographers, such as Peter Magubane influenced Mofokeng when he was growing up in Soweto. When he got a camera at the age of 17, Mofokeng started practicing as a street-photographer. He got a job as a darkroom assistant at a pro-government newspaper, which followed governmental policies closely and did not promote Black South Africans to higher positions such as technician and photographer. He also learned about photography by reading books on the subject that were available to him. After leaving his job as a darkroom assistant, he became a photographer’s assistant at an advertising firm. He was mentored by white South African photographer, David Goldblatt, who took documentary photography. Mofokeng has mentioned that Goldblatt’s mentorship was invaluable to him and that he enjoyed his style of photography. On the surface, Goldblatt’s photographs seem objective and apolitical, but they show how apartheid impacted life for South Africans.
In 1985, Mofokeng joined the Afrapix Collective, a group of Black and white South African photographers that documented the struggle against apartheid in conjunction with anti-apartheid organizations. The distribution of their photographs helped elicit local and international responses against the apartheid regime’s oppression of Black South Africans. However, Mofokeng has pointed out that he was more interested in documenting mundane, ordinary life in the township rather than taking struggle photography, which was more common for members of the Afrapix Collective. For Mofokeng, struggle photography was limited and did not reflect the fullness of township life—portraying Black South Africans as perpetual victims.
After quitting his job as a photojournalist for an alternative newspaper, Mofokeng joined African Studies Institute (now called Institute for Advanced Social Research, or I.A.S.R.) in the Oral History Project at the University of Witwatersrand, which gave him specific photographic assignments (that were not the struggle photography that he became critical and wary of) and encouraged him to explore his own photographic projects. Among these personal projects was Train Churches.
When it was published, Mofokeng introduced it with a brief text:
Early-morning, late afternoon and evening commuters preach the gos-
pel in trains en route to and from work.
The train ride is no longer a means to an end, but an end in itself as
people from different townships congregate in coaches—two to three per
train—to sing to the accompaniment of improvised drums (banging the
sides of the train) and bells.
Foot stomping and gyrating—a packed train is turned into a church.
This is a daily ritual.[3]
Apart from this text, Mofokeng does not give the viewer many additional details about the photo-essay, the people photographed, and his relationship to them. Furthermore, it is unclear if these photographs were taken during a single commute or several. However, the content of the photo-essay reflects a departure from struggle photography, as Mofokeng aimed to show the viewer a different and fuller picture of township life apart from distress and despair.
Source: Dr. Kristen Laciste, “Santu Mofokeng, Train Churches,” in Smarthistory, February 3, 2023, accessed August 19, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/santu-mofokeng-train-churches/.
William Kentridge, drawing from Tide Table (Soho in Deck Chair)
On the beach, but in a suit
It is a humorously discordant image: a man in a pinstriped suit sits on a deck chair at the beach, ignoring the overcast vista by reading a newspaper. The figure’s balding head and newspaper are the brightest highlights against the smooth, rippling surf. South African artist William Kentridge has said the inspiration for this scene was a photograph of his grandfather similarly dressed at a beach near Capetown. The contrast of formal dress and beach setting—while whimsical—also suggests class distinctions and the disconnect between experiencing one’s environment and codification as control: rather than watch the tide, the figure (as we come to find out) reads the newspaper’s tide table (a chart that shows water heights over time for a particular location). The gulf separating understanding and experience in this drawing resonates in much of Kentridge’s imagery and process.
“Successful failures”
Kentridge was raised by two progressive lawyers in Johannesburg who actively helped disenfranchised South Africans navigate the legal system during the systemic inequalities of apartheid. The harsh racial and socioeconomic conditions in South Africa marked the earliest work Kentridge produced after studying visual art at the Johannesburg Art Foundation and theater at the L’École Internationale de Théâtre Jacques Lecoq in Paris.
Kentridge’s earliest passions were theater and opera (and he has continued working in these areas throughout his career), yet after realizing he was not cut out as an actor, he was “reduced to being an artist.” As he has described it,
Every clear decision I have made was wrong. And the only thing that saved me was what I hadn’t decided.
This deceptively self-deprecating remark adequately describes the intentional openness and mutability of meaning Kentridge has built into his approach.
Process as performance
The drawing above is the result of a film, Tide Table, the ninth film in the series “Drawings For Projection” begun in 1989. These films utilize a unique stop-motion technique: using a 16mm camera, Kentridge photographs each stage of a drawing on one sheet of paper as he continually modifies it through additions and erasures, often leaving ghostly remnants of previous marks on the page. He even periodically appears within the frame, such as by placing a new sheet in front of the camera when the previous drawing/scene is finished.
The resulting work of art is generally comprised of two elements: an animated film and a series of drawings. Unlike traditional animation, which is painstakingly planned and comprised of thousands of single images, each denoting a fraction of a second, Kentridge’s films develop organically without any preparatory planning like storyboards, relying more on a stream-of-consciousness approach that strives for something between random chance and conscious premeditation. Kentridge associates this with the concept of “fortuna,” in which his imagery and narrative are influenced by objects in his environment or ideas and motions that seem intrinsically related to—but independent of—the themes and narrative being tackled at the time. The relationship might be comparable to that of authors noting how their characters do something unexpected in the course of writing a novel. There is a performative quality to Kentridge’s process, predicated by the spontaneity he fosters, his own appearances in the frame, and the film itself as a time-based record of his drawing process.
The traces always remain
Kentridge’s drawings for his films are often regarded as palimpsests. A palimpsest is the word for a manuscript where the original text has been erased and overwritten (a practice common before paper was available and when parchment was expensive). In Kentridge’s work, the sheet of paper becomes the locus for layer upon layer of images that evolve and shift, where the earlier states of the drawing exist only through traces intentionally left on the paper. In the film, these traces help intensify the movement of his figures, but also visually remark upon the process as a physical interaction of charcoal and eraser on paper.
The palimpsest quality to Kentridge’s approach is one that many critics and historians have associated with his reaction to growing up during a turbulent and shifting period in South African history. Apartheid, legalized racial discrimination, dominated South African governance and society from 1948 until 1994. One way Kentridge has made overt reference to the atrocities of apartheid in his “Drawings for Projection” series is through the one pre-determined facet of these narratives: an established “cast” featuring the wealthy white real-estate developer and industrialist Soho Eckstein. Eckstein represents the authoritative oppressors ruling over Black South Africans.
In the 1990 film Monument, for example, Eckstein unveils a heroic monument showing a Black worker struggling to carry a load of pristine marble objects. An ostensibly commemorative sculpture to the efforts of South Africans is revealed later to be an actual living person, not a sculpture. Racial discrimination is starkly reduced to the contrast between the “sculpted” worker’s body and the white classically styled load he bears.
In the 1991 film, Mine, a similar contrast is presented between Eckstein’s white bed coverings and tray as he enjoys coffee, and the grueling, dank conditions of the mines that Eckstein owns. The two are linked visually by the downward action of the French-press coffee maker that becomes the elevator within the mines. Such contrasts seem intentionally provocative, both formally and thematically. Yet Kentridge admits that the decision to have the coffee plunger become the elevator shaft was another example of fortuna, inspired simply from the fact he had that type of coffee maker in his studio that day.
A critical event linked to the legal dissolution of apartheid in the 1990s was the establishment of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Chaired by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the Commission was a five year investigation into the crimes and human rights abuses committed under apartheid from 1960 until May 10, 1994. The results of the investigation, broadcast on South African television, were intended to bring to light crimes committed and the breadth of the structure of racism and disenfranchisement.
Although Kentridge’s process was established several years before the Commission, scholars like Jessica Dubow and Ruth Rosengarten have linked the palimpsest quality of Kentridge’s “Drawings for Projection” with the contradictory nature of the Commission: although the broadcasts intended to reveal atrocities, they also established that the harrowing acts revealed were firmly “in the past” and therefore not reflective of the dawn of a post-apartheid South Africa. Dubow and Rosengarten suggest that Kentridge’s palimpsest technique is reminiscent of the Commission’s attempts to show—but also remove—traces of apartheid and that Kentridge’s “finished” drawings similarly do not fully reveal everything that went into making them. The documentation of every stage of the drawing is only seen in the animated film, hence the reason the drawings and the films are intrinsically related and should not be separated.
Tide Table
The disconnect between documentation and direct experience seen in the hearings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is also central to the drawing of Soho Eckstein sitting at the beach in a business suit. In the films he created after 1994, Kentridge presents Soho as a man whose life has fallen apart: between inexplicable health issues, violent nightmares, and the loss of his fortune, Kentridge portrays Eckstein’s struggles in post-apartheid South Africa. Throughout Tide Table the artist provides a subtext that reflects upon youth, as a choir on the beach sings and a young boy dances and leaps in the surf. Often this occurs around Eckstein, as he sits in the deck chair, seeming to prefer the analytical table of tide flows in the newspaper and, in a later scene, pointedly placing the newspaper over his head to sleep (see above).
These images reinforce Eckstein’s character as one who is more comfortable at a remove from human connection and the natural world, a portrayal that is common to many of the films in the series.
Eckstein’s actions in Tide Table evoke a sense of loss for the comforts and advantages the character had during apartheid. Still, there is a glimmer of hope. Ultimately Eckstein observes those around him; he gets up, and playfully throws a rock into the water.
See also
URL: https://youtu.be/FZcQbOPUw9Y
The artist discussing his 2003 film, Tide Table (SFMOMA)
The artist discusses his process (SFMOMA)
Source: Josh R. Rose, “William Kentridge, drawing from Tide Table (Soho in Deck Chair),” in Smarthistory, August 9, 2015, accessed August 24, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/william-kentridge-drawing-from-tide-table-soho-in-deck-chair/.