The small batik stall we were headed to was tucked in off the roadway. It was the kind of place you would have to know about from a friend in order to realize it even existed. We walked down a crowded dirt path strewn with the remnants of working artists. It was the kind of dirty that inolved ashes and burnt fire pits and discarded pieces of metal. Buckets filled with blackened water sat on a small crest just above the shoreline of a small lake.
She was standing there, in the midst of it all, on a worn metallic plate. Her skirt slightly open to reveal a long, sensual leg. One of her arms was extended behind and I could imagine a child just there, reaching out to grab her hand. The woman's skin was the color of beauty and the weathered blue-green of her clothing made her appear as if the sea itself were wrapping her up in waves of allure. She was magical, standing there in the blackened aftermath of creativity.
I was not the only one affected by her beauty. My artist friend was also captured. We made circles around her, admiring the beauty from every angle. We wondered what she was doing there, this exquisite sculpture that threatened to spring forth into life. Why had she been placed there, on the ground, in such a random way?
After several inquiries, the artist was finally located. He confirmed, as we'd suspected, that she was drying. He also told us she was already sold. She'd been made as part of an order. He pulled out a companion piece dripping in white and gold. She was admirable but lacked the magic and charm of the woman on the ground.
Her price was astounding. Far out of reach. I lifted her briefly, just to see, and she was solid, as heavy as a baby. It's been awhile since a piece of art has affected me so. After a week or more I am still reminiscing about her, the lady of Grand Bassam.
The artist was happy to share his phone number and invite us back to view the process. We were interested in the molding technique and the application of color. Though I remain intrigued by witnessing, and possibly learning, a new process, I am certain there are some things that can't be explained.
She was vivid, surely living in some other world.
Showing posts with label sculpture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sculpture. Show all posts
22.12.15
18.7.14
the color of taxis...continued
Most of our moving money has been spent on essentials - stove, refrigerator, mattresses, security and advance on the rent. We are still busy trying to complete details about water and electricity payments. While the utility companies operate with an orderliness and aim to serve that all of Kinshasa should be envious of, it does require a bit of back and forth.
The orange taxis, more expensive and often in slightly better condition, are the easiest mode of travel. They bring you directly to your destination. I ve been developing a verbal map of Abidjan as we decipher how to get from place to place. Some of the larger roads have names, which I ve taken to writing in a small notebook. Otherwise, we are bound by landmarks and references. It all lies in choosing- or knowing- the right references. Occasionally, we re left to do things the old fashioned way- we simply have to ask along the roadside. My notebook has proven invaluable for repeat trips, and if we see an interesting store or market along the way, I usually note that down as well.
Abidjan is spread out into what feels like a million small towns. We live in M Pouto which I ve begun to envision as one of the last little country and dirt road communities. It lies between the lagoon and the more prestigious Riviera sections- II and III. Abidjan is booming with construction of McMansions and McVillas, Riviera III is no exception. A few back road shortcuts to our house have revealed blocks and blocks of these kinds of neighborhoods going up, giving the whole place a South Florida feel- clean, neat and beautiful in a stencilized and highly repetitive way.
This area is also home to the yellow taxi, the cheap local travel known as worro-worro- I have no idea how to spell it and can barely even pronounce it correctly. I also can t really figure out how to get anywhere in these taxis. When I go out alone, I choose to walk about 15 min down to the main carrefoure marking the entrance to MPouto. There I can grab a worro-worro going straight up the hill and get off anywhere along the road for 100-200FCFA. A ride like this can get me to the American school, a really yummy bakery and ice cream shop, a very cozy book and stationary store or a home decorating shop, along with a number of other small groceries and fruit markets. I found a short cut over to the big supermarket I try to avoid due to its deceptively high prices, though a trip there is a necessity at times. I was feeling pretty frugal and accomplished the day I got there for a mere 100FCFA. Of course, the ride back with all my bags directly to my door requires orange service to the tune of 1500-2000FCFA, but its still nice to know where corners can be cut.
Each area has their own color worro-worro. Koumassi is home of the green taxi. Its also become, in my mind, the Home Depot section of Abidjan. We first went there to find the Congo-Brazza consular- an affair that took 2 days of internet searching and 1 full day of fruitless roaming by taxi to find. I ve since noted it in my notebook Consular, Congo-Brazza, Terminus 11 Koumassi. While we were getting a passport photo, we got a good tip on ceiling fans and that went in the book as well. Ceiling fans, Market Jakonai, Grand Carrefoure Koumassi. It goes like that. We pass bikes, a paint store, some tiles I hope to browse and buy one day for the front walk project. It all goes into the notebook- landmarks, references, street names when available and the quartier.
What I really want to do in Koumassi is just get out and walk around. Christian likes order and swiftness. He prefers to shop in closed stores and boutiques rather than outdoor markets. We ended up getting ceiling fans at the GM appliance store and never actually made it to what I imagine is the hectic and bustling Market Jakonai. But me? I like outdoor. I like bustling and hectic. I want to browse through the buckets of bolts and washers.I want to buy random pipes and bits of iron bars. I am pulled to these things by a desire to reassemble them into sculptures and collages. I want to buy the pristine and perfectly square tiles and smash them into pieces so I can make mosaics in cement. I am a perpetual do-it-your-selfer and I have written often of my longing for that junk drawer. Our house has no drawers- not a single one, not even in the kitchen- and so I am eager to create my own assemblage of bits and pieces of inspiration that could fill an empty paint bucket and hang out, maybe in the ugliest part of the house hallway, waiting to be transformed into something beautiful.
The orange taxis, more expensive and often in slightly better condition, are the easiest mode of travel. They bring you directly to your destination. I ve been developing a verbal map of Abidjan as we decipher how to get from place to place. Some of the larger roads have names, which I ve taken to writing in a small notebook. Otherwise, we are bound by landmarks and references. It all lies in choosing- or knowing- the right references. Occasionally, we re left to do things the old fashioned way- we simply have to ask along the roadside. My notebook has proven invaluable for repeat trips, and if we see an interesting store or market along the way, I usually note that down as well.
Abidjan is spread out into what feels like a million small towns. We live in M Pouto which I ve begun to envision as one of the last little country and dirt road communities. It lies between the lagoon and the more prestigious Riviera sections- II and III. Abidjan is booming with construction of McMansions and McVillas, Riviera III is no exception. A few back road shortcuts to our house have revealed blocks and blocks of these kinds of neighborhoods going up, giving the whole place a South Florida feel- clean, neat and beautiful in a stencilized and highly repetitive way.
This area is also home to the yellow taxi, the cheap local travel known as worro-worro- I have no idea how to spell it and can barely even pronounce it correctly. I also can t really figure out how to get anywhere in these taxis. When I go out alone, I choose to walk about 15 min down to the main carrefoure marking the entrance to MPouto. There I can grab a worro-worro going straight up the hill and get off anywhere along the road for 100-200FCFA. A ride like this can get me to the American school, a really yummy bakery and ice cream shop, a very cozy book and stationary store or a home decorating shop, along with a number of other small groceries and fruit markets. I found a short cut over to the big supermarket I try to avoid due to its deceptively high prices, though a trip there is a necessity at times. I was feeling pretty frugal and accomplished the day I got there for a mere 100FCFA. Of course, the ride back with all my bags directly to my door requires orange service to the tune of 1500-2000FCFA, but its still nice to know where corners can be cut.
Each area has their own color worro-worro. Koumassi is home of the green taxi. Its also become, in my mind, the Home Depot section of Abidjan. We first went there to find the Congo-Brazza consular- an affair that took 2 days of internet searching and 1 full day of fruitless roaming by taxi to find. I ve since noted it in my notebook Consular, Congo-Brazza, Terminus 11 Koumassi. While we were getting a passport photo, we got a good tip on ceiling fans and that went in the book as well. Ceiling fans, Market Jakonai, Grand Carrefoure Koumassi. It goes like that. We pass bikes, a paint store, some tiles I hope to browse and buy one day for the front walk project. It all goes into the notebook- landmarks, references, street names when available and the quartier.
What I really want to do in Koumassi is just get out and walk around. Christian likes order and swiftness. He prefers to shop in closed stores and boutiques rather than outdoor markets. We ended up getting ceiling fans at the GM appliance store and never actually made it to what I imagine is the hectic and bustling Market Jakonai. But me? I like outdoor. I like bustling and hectic. I want to browse through the buckets of bolts and washers.I want to buy random pipes and bits of iron bars. I am pulled to these things by a desire to reassemble them into sculptures and collages. I want to buy the pristine and perfectly square tiles and smash them into pieces so I can make mosaics in cement. I am a perpetual do-it-your-selfer and I have written often of my longing for that junk drawer. Our house has no drawers- not a single one, not even in the kitchen- and so I am eager to create my own assemblage of bits and pieces of inspiration that could fill an empty paint bucket and hang out, maybe in the ugliest part of the house hallway, waiting to be transformed into something beautiful.
18.6.12
From South Korea, with Love
I can't remember how long it's been there. It is gnarled and dark and appears to have been forged with the first dawn of time. I drive by it several times a day and marvel at its ugliness. Apparently it was a gift. I had to stop the other day and actually walk up to read the plaque to believe this. Who would give such a thing and even worse, how do you receive something so monstrous?
To be fair, I mentioned my thoughts to a friend and she didn't exactly agree. While she didn't go so far as to proclaim beauty, she did state that she never thought of it as ugly. "Looks like a wrestling statue....or something." I snapped a few (bad) photos with my phone, which can't really do justice to the artwork. But it's a dark sculpture and I am not even sure I could capture it with my regular camera.
There are a few leg like structures that melt into each other. Faces jut out at odd angles and all seem in agony. The sculpture is coarse and rough and forged with darkness. It stands just across from the grounds of Camp Tshatshi, a military camp that surrounds our school. It is near the entrance to the old "zoo" which, legend has it, used to boast wild animals like zebras and elephants. Apparently in tough times, the zoo was loosed and all the big game were eaten. The community registration building of Ngaliema rests just behind the statue. People come here for any number of legal documents and weddings can be viewed on most weekends. It's an odd juxtaposition.
The plaque declares this a 50-years-of-independence gift to the Congolese people, who have endured terrible hardships and wishes them solidarity in the face of a radiant future. Grand words for such a bleak statue. I have read recently about the phenomenon of "dark tourism" - sites of mass death that draw in visitors. Congo certainly has a history of its own holocaust and could join its peers in erecting some kind of memorial to honor the tragedies of history that have taken place here. The statue seems to kind of fit in with this theory. It's the only one I can come up with that really makes any sense. Of course, I guess any site in DRC would be more of a living, breathing work of art- as the tragedies haven't quite ended yet.
To be fair, I mentioned my thoughts to a friend and she didn't exactly agree. While she didn't go so far as to proclaim beauty, she did state that she never thought of it as ugly. "Looks like a wrestling statue....or something." I snapped a few (bad) photos with my phone, which can't really do justice to the artwork. But it's a dark sculpture and I am not even sure I could capture it with my regular camera.
 |
| The general outline is apparent, that's really all you can see driving by as well |
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| The round nodules are faces contorted in pain |
The plaque declares this a 50-years-of-independence gift to the Congolese people, who have endured terrible hardships and wishes them solidarity in the face of a radiant future. Grand words for such a bleak statue. I have read recently about the phenomenon of "dark tourism" - sites of mass death that draw in visitors. Congo certainly has a history of its own holocaust and could join its peers in erecting some kind of memorial to honor the tragedies of history that have taken place here. The statue seems to kind of fit in with this theory. It's the only one I can come up with that really makes any sense. Of course, I guess any site in DRC would be more of a living, breathing work of art- as the tragedies haven't quite ended yet.
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