Where artists work

We've taken to organizing field trips, a colleague and I, to see places where artists work around Bamako. The Conservatoire  was an interesting study in architecture. The school suffers a bit from a bad reputation around town, but the place itself is quite grand. We were surprised to see students on the grounds, though many less than could be accommodated.

A visiting couple from France were on hand to offer a workshop, which likely led to the ambiance in the visual art department. Students filled one of the well lit rooms, their drawings taped to the wall and others spilled out into the hallway, lining the corridor as they surveyed their work. The project theme was something about a city on the head. Students had imagined various hats depicting their ideas of a city. Pencil drawings were taped above current images being completed in color pastels. The final stage of the project involves turning these drawings into 3D sculptures that can actually be worn.

While it was clear this was student work, some were quite intriguing. Ideas varied from futuristic cities with cubist design to traditional Malian village scenes with a twist. One of my favorites showed a veiled desert inhabitant with a hat of elongated buildings in the Djenne mosque style.

The French teacher struck up a conversation with us about exhibit space. It seemed she had done this workshop in previous years and was once again looking for the perfect spot to showcase the final works. After the rest of our tour, I reflected on this request as somewhat curious.

The Conservatoire also includes a spacious performance building with stage and lights- surely enough room to host a beautiful exhibit of student work. There is a restaurant on campus and plenty of outdoor space to create a cafe like atmosphere. I wondered why the campus itself wouldn't be the perfect showcase choice.

Part of it may be due to the secluded location. In order to access the Conservatoire, you must pass just outside of town, up a winding hill and down a long, albeit marvelously paved, road. But as a strategy for increasing the reputation of the school and garnering public interest, I would think they would be doing everything they could to have events and highlight the place.

We must have lingered a bit too long, talking and eyeing the student work because we lost our guide here. But we were happy enough to wander around the rest of the campus peeking into doorways and generally intruding on anyone we found working. There was a department for music and some students could be heard practicing jazz or classical piano. The dance building hosted room after room of empty studios. Several students were in the main rehearsal space, accompanied by a few djembe drummers. It was all very tame and subdued. The space was built to accommodate a greater number of students and so it appeared empty despite the activities going on.

Peering out of one of the upstairs studio windows gave us a view of a group of students clustered in an outdoor gazebo, possibly painting. An administrator or two were tucked away in offices and a group of men sat under a tree in deep discussion.  A teacher preparing his lessons was discovered in a drawing room filled with easels and incredible light.

The potential seemed apparent, though the reality still has a bit of catching up to do.

Our second trip to visit Abdoul, an artist and theater designer, was in stark contrast to the large buildings and open campus of the Conservatoire. Like many artists, Abdoul works out of his house, though he also mentioned a much larger space just outside the city. His neighborhood was lively and filled with children in the streets and teens huddled together outside their houses, sitting in chairs or hanging around motorcycles.

His studio was intimate, a collage of covered and open outdoor space, filled with canvases, sculptures and random theater props all in various stages of completion. There were power sanders- for making organic pigments- his current passion. And of course, the stones and bricks ready to be sanded down into painting material. There were also industrial sized buckets of acrylic paint used to bring form and light to the burlap backdrops. The technical section included computers and tablets,  and wires of all sorts. He showed us various film clips, both finished and in progress, both financed and on-his own.

He is currently working on a Christian theme, a client request. But he has become enthralled by the use of gold leaf paper and monochrome palettes and imagines taking the theme further to a juxtaposition of religious ideology.

Abdoul talked about the elements of creating his art- the late night hours when the neighborhood is quiet, the effect of light to change a work completely. He even demonstrated for us using several of the stage lights he had installed along a ceiling support. A few were also laying around the ground in easy reach.

It was a place of creativity and action. A place of conversation, with low chairs,  elaborately carved thrones and abstract figures that doubled as possible seating. We were there for hours listening to a summary of his work, his artistic philosophy and his current projects.

It is a constant fascination of mine to learn how these artists become successful. Often a chance meeting leads to one connection or another that leads to a project. Other times an embassy will be in direct contact, requesting specific work, or a gallery owner will stop by with an idea in mind, only to discover new dimensions that were unknown before. And viola, a new project is born.

Abdoul spent several years traveling and working with some of the greats in filmmaking and art. He is accomplished and successful and feels better staying home now. He creates because he must and he is dedicated to seeing through some of his own ideas for telling the history of Mali through fiction films that allow him to use his talents for costume design and setting.

It's the struggle of artists everywhere. Finding the balance between making art of your own creation and providing others with their desire. Financing is always necessary which often means compromise.

We seemed to have come full circle- visiting an artist at this stage of his career. It was interesting to compare to our earlier visit to designer Chiek Diallo, another long time, successful artist and to remember the young students at the Conservatoire, to imagine  how one might evolve in their own artistic journey to this point of confidence and conviction.

No comment- stories of Malian tradition

I am getting farther and farther away from things I know and understand. This is supposed to be a good exercise in growth and personal reflection. Instead it's become something of a circular road. Drissa and I have been working on a painting series for many months now. It began as a tribute and recording of traditional dance- the why, the how, the when. Our series of paintings is meant to be transformed into children's books that detail the history of traditional dances.

But as the first project nears an end, we have travelled far from things I find familiar. Drissa must start the skeleton outline of each of these compositions, as I can't even begin to imagine the scenery. I am tasked with writing the story to accompany our paintings. A children's story. Somehow, I must find the child words to talk about the tradition of jabbi- painting henna on the hands in a certain color before the wedding- this color to be revealed at the big dance ceremony- this color to signify if the woman was 'innocent' before marriage or.....not. Who would say they weren't? I wonder.

But Drissa assures me that the women know if they start their marriage with dishonesty, it will bring bad luck. I suspect he doesn't really have the answers to my questions, and if I am going to be able to write the book, I will need to find a woman to pose my many questions to.

We are on the last of the images. Currently we are working on the seclusion. A period of 3-5 days when the woman must stay in the house of her husband. She can receive visitors, but she can't go out.

As Drissa fills in the details, my questions mount. How am I ever going to turn this into 'kid-friendly?" He tells me normally the woman wears a cloth but not much else. I suspect this is so she will be "ready" for her husband, at any moment. He also talks about the displaying of the sheets- the blood stained cloth that is hung outside the hut to prove her innocence to everyone in the village. Except he explains it as a cause of celebration- she is passing from a young girl to a woman.

I am of two minds here, as so much of tradition inspires. It is good to celebrate passages of age and life stages, something I believe America has lost. I believe this lost rite of passage has become the cause of much confusion and disrespect in youth. But the public airing of your most intimate life? I am not sure I can get behind that one.

Isn't it really a way to control women and keep a firm male dominance in place? I think it will be better to leave this part out- of the painting and the story. Instead, we have a woman sitting on her mat, wrapped in white cloth sharing oranges with someone who has come to offer gifts.

"She is like a queen," Drissa insists. "She sits and doesn't do anything but wait patiently while others serve her." I don't see it quite that way. Prisoner is what comes to my Western mind. Or maybe it is my female mind. I wonder how Malian women view this tradition.

He agrees that it is something that happens rarely now. He laughs a bit, saying young girls don't always wait for their husband. But I know that, too, is a perspective he can't really offer with truth. Young girls these days are coerced by their school professors and strangled by the poverty that faces them. They often have little choice, and the choices they do make, don't really belong to them.

Last year his own sister was married off- at the tender age of 18. Perhaps even a bit old by Malian standards. The brothers protested, but I imagine it was a feeble attempt to get their parents to permit their sister to continue her education. There isn't much of a promising life at the end of that road.

Schools in Mali still need a lot of positive PR. The university system is even worse, spending more time closed than open. Students, like Issa, Drissa's younger brother, may find their names on two lists at the end of exams. If they pay a little something, they can get their name off the failing list and permanently inscribed on the passing list. And if they don't...? They take the course again, or drop out altogether.

Isssa has chosen to continue his studies, but he concentrates on painting for a future. They find a lot of mural work for restaurants and embassies, and Issa has secured a few small jobs painting ads on the outside of barbershops and groceries.

As for our painting series, we hope to be finished by February. The paintings really are beautiful and likely to garner much admiration- that Western kind that ogles over day to day scenes of ordinary life, finding a charm on the surface that may not exist in reality.

If we do a second set, I would like to focus more on the dance and the movements. A kind of abstract expression of the beauty of human form and capability. The dances are beautiful, and powerful. There is a transformative effect when one takes up the traditional movements- and it complicates the real life details.

I am getting better at living in two minds, accepting conflicting details of beauty and oppression. Because sometimes, life is just that way. I think it might help to look at it as history. Transcribing the past traditions. But it is a challenge to write about something that I disagree with. I admit the pages sound stilted and factual. I find it difficult to infuse passion and magic. I am not sure if the story is beautiful, or if it is even meant to be beautiful. Maybe it is just meant to be history. Without judgement or comment or personal interpretation. Maybe this is what I need to remember to transform this ritual into a child's book - I am merely recording lessons of their history, their culture and their country. Perhaps they will view it as a record of their progress. One day.

Moving- with Malian Men

We've recently moved- just down the street. Actually, through the roundabout, down the road, to the left near the Aiche building and Here Construction (heray- as in the Bamanakan for happy and peaceful, only I can't get those special e's on the computer- and they aren't on the business sign either, but I am suspecting it's meant to be 'heray' and not Here.) After that it's the third right.

I had to add all that in because I am (still, forever) annoyed by the inability of the masses to give directions. We've just moved, basically down the street, and yes, I can give you directions.

Moving down the street may not sound like much of a difficulty. It might even sound better when you consider that the school took care of mostly everything. While I was at work one day, they showed up with a truck, loaded everything and carted it off to the new place. There were some odds and ends left for me, some plants and a bike and my fixtures from the studio, but the heavy lifting was done.

Sort of. It sounds good until you really try to imagine the details. A bunch of strangers move all of your stuff to a new place while you are not there. They put everything everywhere. And honestly, walking in to see all the mishmash furniture stacked in one spot does not encourage a sense of hope and renewal. There is nothing worse than taking a bunch of paint peeling dressers, falling apart end tables and faded-just-around-the-arms sofas and putting them side by side. I was overwhelmed with the shabbiness. Could this really be my life after 44 years? A collection of worn out furniture that doesn't even belong to me?

The only thing to do was separate the criminals immediately. I set about moving heavy bookcases and pushing a 2 piece china cabinet across the floor. The china cabinet was really my crowning glory- having devised a way to remove the heavy upper piece by lowering it first onto a table and then onto a set of three chairs. The chairs straddled the frame of the sliding glass doors, which the hutch had to get up and over. I somehow managed to heave the upper component back onto its base, all without dropping it to the floor and smashing the glass panels. It was a huge, though private, moment of satisfaction.

 Moving with Malian men can seem pleasant at first. They are chivalrous and really want to help. They won't let you carry anything. The first time, it is fine. So surprising you have nothing to do but go with it. Every time after that is annoying. It's hard to get mad at people who are helping you. But when faced with the ridiculous- and completely inefficient- situation of standing there watching while everyone else hauls goods- it's infuriating. I can carry a small potted plant. I can carry a a medium box. I can carry a lamp. I can move a china cabinet. Leave me alone.

It becomes insulting, is what happens. And with the perceived insult comes anger. But when my car dies on the side of a dusty Bamako road, I am happy to call someone to come and change my tire. While I wait, watching. Doing nothing. So much for being angry about that Malian chivalry.

In the circle of artists

I think it was Jimmy Fallon and Jerry Seinfeld, in an episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, who were discussing hanging out with other comedians. I understood immediately what they meant, and I was kind of relieved to see my neurosis wasn't really neurosis after all, just human nature.

Because they weren't talking about just hanging out with comedians, they were talking about only hanging out with comedians. Fallon says something along the lines of really only enjoying things if he is with other comedians. There is a common habit of using humor to see the world, in such a way that only other comedians really get it.

I feel this way about artists. I prefer hanging out with other artists, only. If artists aren't going to be there, I'm not really interested. There is a certain perspective creative types bring to the world that is soothing and intriguing and comforting. I just don't have as much fun if there aren't other artists around. I don't feel as connected to what's happening unless I can exchange a glance and smile with a fellow artist that says, "Did you see that? You saw that, right?" And of course they did. They saw it, they heard it, they imagined the rest of it in a way that only artists do. 

In terms of African dance and music, I've had the privilege and honor of mostly being in the inner circle. Those of us who are obsessed and passionate about traditional African music spend a lot of time with other artists. We go to events in the circle of artists, which allows for an inside view of how things happen. How dances get choreographed and songs get composed. How performances get put together. How weddings and birthdays and other celebrations get infused with spirit and revelry. Any event without music and dancing isn't really complete. 

It is just in these last few months that I've come to understand there is an entirely different view of art and artists. I should have known. I did know, but not in a truly aware way of knowing. So many artists have a similar story- either they are from a long line of artists, or they're not. And if they're not, it's likely they've suffered some serious repercussions for choosing a life of creativity. From physical abuse to being thrown out and disowned, families who are not artist families do not want to "lose" their children to this path. 

Here in Mali, I hear a lot about families who do not want their children to experience drumming or dancing or anything to do with traditional arts. They don't want their children hanging around those people. Others don't mind the drums, but draw a line at the balafon or kora. These are reserved for griot families- the generations tasked with keeping stories. Music and dance are really just about storytelling and keeping history. 

There is no doubt people think these things are important- that's not really the issue. Kings and queens and chiefs of villages need these griots to sing their praises and make sure everyone else realizes their wisdom and importance.  But after that, keep your distance. It becomes something of a caste situation. 

It all translates into a complex relationship between the praiser and the one who is praised. There is power in being the composer of history. It's not so different from Chimamanda Adichie's view in The Danger of a Single Story. Those who write the stories hold the power. And in the case of musical presentation, there is the potential for another kind of power. Music is compelling and hypnotic; music makers are slightly magical. Attractive, mysterious, captivating. Potentially more captivating than the ruler himself. This is where the danger lies. Jealousy and mistrust brew. 

I'm told this is a West African thing, though I hadn't noticed it so much in neighboring countries.  I've been too busy being in awe- surrounded by artists and trying to learn as much as possible- to stop and consider someone might think there is another way to be. That this way should be separate and the music makers kept apart. Or maybe I just enjoy being kept apart. The caste system in this case doesn't really define higher or lower, but just separate.  

I can't imagine any other way to experience things except through art. Through the creative eye. With rhythms of the drums pulsing through you, matching your heartbeat, taking you back to the original birth, the first energy source that connects us all. Maybe that is the scary thing: facing our human connection, facing an intangible energy that is profound and un-knowable. The inner view.  It truly is magical, and life would hardly be bearable without it.

*UPDATE* Here's an article discussing exactly what I was talking about. It's funny how that comes about.

Happy Holidays- undercover

We made it to the ever longed for and much appreciated holiday break. Here's a standard email from the US embassy wishing us a joyous, albeit quiet, season- "keep it down over there."

Location: Bamako

During the holiday season security measures in Mali remain heightened due to ongoing threats posed by transnational terrorist organizations and individuals inspired by extremist ideology throughout Africa. Extremists continue to focus on locations such as shopping centers, airports, hotels, clubs, restaurants, places of worship, transportation hubs, street markets, and other public venues frequented by Westerners. Please exercise particular caution during the holiday season and at holiday events.

Actions to Take: Exercise additional vigilance throughout the holiday season. Review your personal security plans. Be aware of your surroundings. Use caution when driving at night and avoid walking after dark. Monitor local media for updates. Exercise caution if unexpectedly in the vicinity of large gatherings or protests. Keep a low profile.