Migratory Mythopoeism: A Critical Examination of Moyo Ogundipe's Paintings
2020; UCLA James S. Coleman African Studies Center; Volume: 53; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1162/afar_a_00514
ISSN1937-2108
Autores Tópico(s)Media, Gender, and Advertising
Resumoall photos courtesy of the estate of Moyo OgundipeFor Moyo Ogundipe (1948–2017), as for many contemporary African artists, the global condition has been experienced through the prism of migration. Disillusioned by political turmoil in Nigeria, he fled the country shortly after Sani Abacha assumed power in the early 1990s and settled in the United States, returning only in 2008. At that time, he joined a small but ever-growing returnee community in the southwest of the country and, as a mature artist, invented himself anew. In this article, I argue that the experience of migration, and particularly the experience of displacement (or sense of isolation from both a homeland and a new land) that so often accompanies migration, became the catalyst for his creative practice. He worked within the dynamic tradition of mythopoeia—what he conceived as poetic mythmaking—and produced an imaginative new body of work designed both to make sense of what he often described as "this inexplicable world" and help chart his course forward in the multicultural global sphere.1In his self-described exile in the United States, Ogundipe was overcome by nostalgia for his Yorubaland, even while eager to take advantage of the professional opportunities that existed abroad and to carve out a space for himself in the international art arena. He accordingly grounded his work in Yoruba culture and re-presented archetypal characters from the extensive corpus of classical Yoruba mythology—in effect, transposing concepts contained within past myths into a contemporary global context for reference. On his return, Ogundipe took stock of the problems in the country, but, still eager to put down new roots, he attempted to reconcile his imagined homeland with his present-day experiences. In a series of returnee paintings, featuring a new cast of characters based loosely on the women he met in southwest Nigeria, he envisioned a possible, even if by no means certain, future in which past social codes continue to provide the bedrock of an increasingly diverse society.The primary intention of this article is to illustrate that, as a mythopoeic painter, Ogundipe produced a multidimensional mythography related to the global condition and his varied experiences with displacement during his exile and on his return. The study also acknowledges that he often deliberately transcended the geopolitical moment in which he worked to visualize the beauty in this infinite universe and to examine more fundamental mythic questions related to the nature of the cosmos and human existence. I begin with a discussion of Ogundipe's early career, addressing the implications of the sociopolitical landscape in postcolonial Nigeria for his early career and subsequent migration. I then trace the subtle changes in his approach to mythopoeic painting over his long career as his orientation on the global stage shifted.As a student at the University of Ife between 1968 and 1972, Ogundipe built on his cosmopolitan upbringing in colonial southwest Nigeria to develop a distinct postcolonial art practice. (For accounts of Ogundipe's early upbringing in southwest Nigeria, see Okediji 2002: 100–109; Sytsma 2008: 29; Filani 2017: 3). He originally planned to follow in the footsteps of Victor Daramola, his art teacher at the prestigious Christ's School in Ado-Ekiti, and to study fine arts at Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) in northern Nigeria (see Osundare 2008: 14 for an account of Ogundipe's early training at Christ's School). The country's unstable political conditions, however, compelled him to reconsider. By the time he was to enroll, a few decades' worth of ethnic tension had erupted in a bloody civil war, commonly referred to as the Biafran War, making travel around the country increasingly dangerous. He decided to remain in the southwest and, since that region did not have a university with a fine arts program, he elected to pursue a degree in art education at the University of Ife (what is now Obafemi Awolowo University) on the new campus in Ile-Ife.2The art education program at the University of Ife provided an ideal complement to his secondary school art education at Christ's School. While it was similarly based on British models, with course offerings in drawing, sculpture, ceramics, graphic design, and art history, it was uniquely administered by research fellows in the Institute of African Studies and accordingly had a distinctly African slant. The research fellows were investigating various aspects of Yoruba history and culture and urged students to complete courses in African history, philosophy, and literature in addition to art education and to draw on African, particularly Yoruba, sources in their work. Students also found inspiration in the sacred city of Ile-Ife and were able to attend African theater, film, dance, and music productions at the Institute's Ori Olokun Cultural Center throughout the year (including during the annual Ife Festival of the Arts) and view the rich collection of ancient Yoruba art in the National Museum in Ile-Ife. (For a more complete discussion of the art education program at the University of Ife at this time, including an examination of both its advantages and disadvantages, see Sytsma 2016).As a student at the University of Ife, Ogundipe expanded on his early Western art training at Christ's School and, according to Rowland Abiodun, his mentor in the Institute of African Studies at the University of Ife, he introduced "a modern African dimension to painting."3 In 2015, Ogundipe reflected:I knew that I had grown up in an environment that was very rich in its lores, in its history, and in its visual arts. I had been part of the celebration of this rich heritage for years. It was all around me. I saw what contemporary artists were doing and I knew that I had to use Yoruba culture as a source.4He thus became part of what he has described as "a grand experiment," which developed alongside postcolonial politics, beginning in the late 1950s. At this time, members of the Zaria Art Society employed the concept of "natural synthesis" (combining local and foreign artistic sources) in the spirit of nationalism. Continuing into the next decade artists then reevaluated the objectives of this theoretical model in light of escalating interethnic conflict in the country.5The discursive environment of the early postcolonial era provided the context for Ogundipe's artistic engagement. To be sure, Ogundipe had embraced nationalism as a child in the mid 1950s when Nigeria was preparing for independence from Great Britain. As the son of one of twelve inaugural senators for the Western Region, he believed that with independence Nigeria would unite across ethnic lines, and he was optimistic about the country's future. Nonetheless, his worldview had changed by the time he entered the University of Ife, and the outbreak of the civil war brought into sharp relief the continued ethnic tension in the country.6 At that time, Ogundipe rejected the nationalist paradigm of early postcolonial modern art espoused by the Zaria Art Society, choosing instead to employ the concept of hybridity as the basis of a highly personal artistic exploration shaped by his diverse encounters in cosmopolitan southwest Nigeria.Ogundipe's art practice of this period expanded on earlier examples of postcolonial Nigerian modernism. He was influenced by the now internationally known Osogbo artists Jimoh Buraimoh, Adebisi Fabunmi, and Muraina Oyelami (who were associated with the Institute of African Studies in the late 1960s and early 1970s and who assisted Solomon Irein Wangboje in his weekly workshops at the Ori Olokun Cultural Center). He similarly grounded his work on existing forms of Yoruba cultural production while pursuing the rigorous experimentation of Western modernism, and in paintings such as Drummers and Dancers (1972) (Fig. 1), he adapted an enduring Yoruba convention which Henry Drewal and Margaret Thompson Drewal (1987) term "seriation," and methodically filled the space surrounding the group of performers section-by-section with a series of angular brown, black, and ocher planes.7 Even so, Ogundipe worked within a distinct academic tradition more in keeping with that adopted by members of the Zaria Art Society, and his paintings increasingly expressed an arguably more deliberate engagement with Yoruba art and philosophy along with a deeper understanding of their correlations with broader contemporary global art discourse.When Ogundipe graduated from the University of Ife in 1972, he believed that, with the harsh ecopolitical climate of the period, a career in the arts in Nigeria was not a viable option. After a successful joint exhibition with recent ABU graduate Kolade Oshinowo that year, he pursued alternative paths, first as a television producer and later as a filmmaker, always with the intention of returning to his painting once the situation improved. Regrettably, under the military regimes of Generals Muhammadu Buhari, Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, and Sani Abacha, conditions turned from bad to worse. The Structural Adjustment Program reforms introduced in the mid 1980s failed to revive a stagnant economy and made daily life in Nigeria a constant struggle. The military rulers used coercion to maintain power, imprisoning those who posed potential threats to their authority and severely restricting press freedoms. Businesses closed, unemployment grew widespread, and crime rates across the country, particularly in cities, drastically increased.8It was therefore only in the United States, two decades later, that Ogundipe fully committed himself to his art career. Disheartened by the state of affairs at home and eager to experience what George Lamming (1960) has described as the "pleasures of exile" and to, in his own words, "compete with the best in the world," Ogundipe joined the mass migration of Nigerians in 1994, settling in the United States for nearly fifteen years.9 His first five years were spent in Atlanta, Georgia, where he was the artist-in-residence for the City of Atlanta Bureau of Cultural Affairs. Upon completing the master of fine arts program at the LeRoy E. Hoffberger School of Painting at the Maryland Institute College of Art in 1999, he accepted a one-year residency at the Denver Art Museum, during which time he shared a studio with then-curator of African and Oceanic arts and longtime friend, Moyo Okediji. Years later, Ogundipe reminisced that this was a "beautiful time."10 The two painted together daily in the studio, exchanging ideas on art and life and listening to the music of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, King Sunny Ade, Miles Davis, B.B. King, and others.In exile, Ogundipe often grappled with the experience of isolation. He would indeed subsequently recall that the condition of displacement gave rise to broader metaphysical questions related to the nature of existence and the universe, and he looked to Yoruba myth and related oral traditions for the answers.11 According to Ogundipe, "In the course of my long journey to self-discovery as an artist and as a human being, it became necessary for me to go back to my roots and the ancient culture of my origins for artistic and spiritual nourishment."12 In works from his first five years in the United States, he consequently grounded his practice heavily on archaic Yoruba cosmogonic myth, as he continued to cultivate his intellectual curiosity and experiment with new forms of artistic expression. In one of his earliest such mythocosmic paintings, Detonation of Cosmic Seeds (1995) (Fig. 2), for example, he methodically filled the canvas, section by section, with multicolored acrylic paint, as he had in earlier works from Nigeria, to visualize the universe at the "rudimentary stages of creation," and to capture the "essence of life" in abstract form.13According to Yoruba myth, the universe comprises two distinct realms: the invisible spiritual world of run and the tangible physical world of ayé. At the intersection of these two realms are numerous autonomous forces that regularly intervene in human affairs. On one side are the òrìà (the divinities), the ará r un (ancestors), and other forces that generally protect human interests and contribute to the well-being of the community. On the other side are the ajogun (enemies of humanity) that constantly disrupt social harmony and bring about destruction in the world. As Wande Abimbola (1997: 3) explains, "There is no peaceful coexistence between the two powers. They are always in conflict." In the Yoruba worldview, participation on the mythic stage thus must be approached with considerable dexterity. To overcome hurdles in life and maintain peace in society, individuals must learn to harness the à, or generative force, given to them in the breath of the supreme being, Olodumare, and cultivate wisdom (gbn), patience (sùúrù), and caution (s).This conception of a universe is commonly represented as a spherical calabash bisected along the horizontal axis (Drewal, Pemberton, and Abiodun 1989: 14, Lawal 2008: 25–29, Campbell 2008: 29–30). In examples such as the frequently cited gourd from the Museum Fünf Kontinente (Fig. 3), the interconnected realms of rún and ayé manifest as upper and lower hemispheres held tightly together, and the forces that populate the two realms are recorded in the surface patterning. As Drewal and Drewal (1987: 244–49) argue, the "seriate" (segmented) design commonly found in the visual arts mirrors a universe made up of numerous equal but independent forces, giving visual expression to the Yoruba proverb "good and bad coexist in the world" (tíbí tire la dá ilé ayé). The design expands to fill the space available. The patterns are generally distributed relatively evenly across the surface, so that focus is more or less diffused, and each motif, whether representational or nonrepresentational, is clearly delineated from others in the composition. Furthermore, the continual juxtaposition of opposites in the visual arts simulates the constant interplay between contending forces. In the case of cosmic gourds (along with other forms of cultural production), this interplay is found in the combination of smooth and textured surfaces and organic and geometric forms. In the case of the shrine paintings scattered throughout southwest Nigeria, it is in the combination of colors from different chromatic groups. Moyo Okediji argues that color is "an intrinsic expression of potent cosmic forces which permeate the whole of Yoruba culture" (1991: 21). Bolaji Campbell (2008: 32–33) similarly observes that, in the shrine paintings, the constant balancing of different chromatic groups exemplifies the complex Yoruba cosmology.In Detonation of Cosmic Seeds and other early exile works, Ogundipe re-presents the seriate design typically found on the spherical cosmic gourd, along with various Yoruba ritual objects, in acrylic paint on canvas using the expressive language of abstract expressionism.14 He starts with a series of pencil lines that extend in different directions across the surface of the canvas and intersect at various points to create an intricate mesh armature. Using a fine-tip brush, he then methodically fills each section with brightly colored acrylic paint patterns before proceeding to the next section in seriate fashion. The resulting cosmographic paintings transcend the experiences of the physical world to open space for metaphysical inquiry. Distinct multicolored chevron and semicircular motifs appear to splay out in different directions across the canvas to produce an all-over quality that is conceptually indebted to Yoruba aesthetic principles but also recalls Jackson Pollock's famous "action paintings" from the late 1940s and early 1950s, which Ogundipe greatly admired. Reflecting his interest in working at the intersection of global cultures, there are also multiple frames of reference for this work. In a foundational sense, I believe, Detonation of Cosmic Seeds resonates with Yoruba mythocosmic principles and, as in much Yoruba ritual cultural production, visualizes a vast universe populated by numerous conflicting autonomous forces. Yet, the work also evokes the prevailing scientific cosmology, the big bang theory, which theorizes that in its infancy, the universe consisted of giant clouds of subatomic particles.It bears repeating that, despite the conceptual parallels between Ogundipe's early paintings and Yoruba ritual cultural production, the two have distinct functions. Drewal and Drewal explain that in Yoruba ritual arts, "seriate composition is a formal means of organizing diverse powers, whether verbally or visually, not only to acknowledge their autonomy but, more importantly, to bring them into actual existence, to marshal them, and to set them into action" (1987: 249). Likewise, Rowland Abiodun observes that, when the à⋅ė of these powers is activated through ritual, the work in question is alive and is able to respond, or to j and dáhùn (Abiodun 1994, 2014: 273–75). Working outside the realm of ritual in the contemporary global artistic sphere, Ogundipe has no intention of ritually activating the powers. He instead offers this contemporary cosmic paradigm for reflection. The kinetic quality, resulting from the juxtaposition of patterns of roughly the same size and intensity, can disorient viewers, making them newly aware of their environment and enabling contemplation of the composition of the universe. In the painting, the independent contending forces in the cosmos are held in equilibrium, even if only temporarily, to convey stability and peace. The segments are spread relatively evenly across the canvas, such that no single segment commands viewer's full attention, and the hot (pupa) and cool (funfun) chrome patterns are juxtaposed according to the Yoruba aesthetic criterion for balance (ìdgba).In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Ogundipe expanded on this early series with a body of large-scale mythographic paintings. In examples such as Soliloquy: Life's Fragile Fictions (1997) (Fig. 4), The Serenade (1999) (Fig. 5), Shrine of Love (2001) (Fig. 6), Celestial Migrants (2002) (Fig. 7), and Women of Peace (2003) (Fig. 8), he continued to ground his practice on Yoruba artistic principles and, as part of a nostalgia exercise, he re-presented archetypal characters from Yoruba myth (along with, on occasion, characters from ancient Roman and Greek myth that he had discovered as a child in his father's book collection) on densely patterned mythocosmic stages replete with flowers, birds, chameleons, snakes, butterflies, and fish. The resulting paintings envision what Salman Rushdie (1991) provocatively termed an "imaginary homeland" and what Ogundipe himself described as the "lost glory of Africa."15 They contain no sign of the civil unrest and economic disparity that existed in Nigeria and elsewhere during this time. Instead, they impart a peace and tranquility that belies most lived experience.Even so, it would be a mistake to dismiss Ogundipe's mythographic paintings from exile as unmediated retrievals of the past or as wholly escapist exercises. With this body of work, Ogundipe aligned with prominent contemporary mythologists who conceive of mythic revival as a fundamentally progressive act. Joseph Campbell (1991: 38–39) informs us that ancient myths were designed to evoke a sense of awe in and enable a deeper understanding of the universe. To ensure that these myths continue to captivate an ever-changing audience, stimulate contemplation, and contribute to the shaping of the collective worldview, mythmakers engage a practice of mythic revision (McNeil 1992: 39–40). They poetically reassemble the segments of past myths to produce what French anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss (1966: 32–33) terms a new bricolage and, using a dialogical method, they translate archaic myths into modern languages. Michael Bell thus explains that, while the practice of mythopoeia involves the recovery of past myth, it should not be considered regressive. The recovery process, he observes, is "more commonly, and subtly, a matter of reculer pour mieux sauter" (Bell 1998: 2). In mythic revision, the essence of the archaic myth is carried into the present, where it is offered as a new possible paradigm for society.There is precedent for such revisionist mythopoeia as this in the Yoruba tradition from which Ogundipe derived much of his influence. Indeed, in Yoruba culture as in other world cultures, past myths are adopted as frames of reference for the present. Margaret Thompson Drewal explains, for example, that in masquerade performances, like in Ifa divination, past myths are re-presented "through the fragmentation of its narrative structure" (Drewal 1992: 90). These fragments are designed to evoke entire narratives, for according to one maxim, "Half a word will suffice for the wise (ààbr ni à ń s fún ⊙m⊙lúwàbí)." The result is a multilayered ritual present in which varied myths combine serially. According to Drewal:Simply said, in Yoruba ritual, the complex ancient cosmological and sociological concepts that are recorded in myth are ritually revived in performance, where they provide critical departure points for society.In paintings from the late 1990s and early 2000s, Ogundipe worked within this ongoing and dynamic tradition of mythopoeia, creating critical models for an increasingly globalized public sphere. Each painting is essentially a bricolage that combines in seriate fashion imagery from Yoruba mythography and related folktales. Recalling mid-twentieth century Yoruba woodcarvings, the principal characters in Ogundipe's contemporary paintings are not bound by a single narrative, even when they are represented within the same frame—a fact that Ogundipe stresses by limiting the interaction between them. Instead, they function autonomously as independent actors on the mythic stage, between the invisible, spiritual realm of ⊙rún and the visible, physical realm of ayé. The works constitute mythic storehouses in which each character has the capacity to invoke multiple myths, or as Kunle Filani describes them, "open visual librar[ies] that contain multiplex narratives" (2017: 4). Still more important to this study, since the works are grounded on enduring Yoruba artistic criteria, they evoke the longstanding cultural values that are recorded in archaic myths as conceptual frameworks.Ogundipe derived the characters for his paintings from different sources. In cases in which there was precedent in Yoruba woodcarvings, he simply translated the characters in acrylic or oil paint on canvas. In Celestial Migrants, he included a reproduction of one of Olowe of Ise's beautifully carved verandah posts (Fig. 9), which reminded him of those he first encountered at the palace of the Ogoga of Ikerre while accompanying his father on the drive from Ado Ekiti to Ise-Emure Ekiti in the 1950s and which he rediscovered during his residency at the Denver Art Museum. Likewise, in Soliloquy: Life's Fragile Fictions, he represented a priestess kneeling in supplication, roaster in hand, in the tradition of the Olumeye woodcarvings, popularized by Lamidi Fakeye and other Ekiti woodcarvers in the mid to late twentieth century (Fig. 10). In cases in which there was no precedent in Yoruba cultural production, Ogundipe freely appropriated his characters from elsewhere. In Serenade, for example, he featured a stylized half-human, half-equine centaur from Greek mythology alongside a half-human sea creature that he identified both as the Pan-African water spirit Mami Wata and by the Western designation of mermaid.In either case, Ogundipe adhered to enduring Yoruba artistic criteria, making minor adjustments that reflect his early training in academic British traditions, the greater flexibility of the medium, and his distinct artistic sensibility. Notably, he depicted the characters at what Robert Farris Thompson describes as the midpoint mimesis, "between absolute abstraction and absolute likeness" (1973: 32) and in the prime of life.16 In instances such as in the equestrian warrior in Soliloquy: Life's Fragile Fictions, he also sometimes employed a symbolic proportion, placing emphasis on the head, the site of human consciousness in Yoruba thought, and whether or not he adopted this form of proportion, he portrayed men and women frontally with weight distributed relatively equally along a vertical axis to convey symmetry.17 Represented in accordance with convention, the characters embody core Yoruba values, past and present. They are, for example, characterized as physically fit and mentally strong, equipped, as it were, to marshal the àṣė in the world to compete on the stage of life. Similarly, they are depicted with a balanced disposition (ìwà pl) and thus prepared to successfully navigate the complex cosmic mesh represented in the multicolored and patterned seriated backdrop.The animal motifs that accompany the principal characters further extend and deepen mythic thought. Yoruba people have long understood what Levi-Strauss (1967: 89) famously observed in the 1960s—that "animals are good to think with"—and they have incorporated them in their rich literary corpus. Ogundipe appropriated animals from existing Yoruba cultural production, in effect calling forth age-old proverbs as reference. For example, the chameleon motif (alagemo) in Celestial Migrants conveys the importance of invoking the past to determine the best course of action to prepare for the future, with eyes that operate independently of each other, allowing it to look backward and forward simultaneously. The snake motifs (ejò) found in works such as Soliloquy: Life's Fragile Fictions provide a powerful metaphor for regeneration, since a snake regularly sheds its skin. The less common butterfly motif (labalábá) in Shrine of Love exemplifies the transience of existence and stresses the importance of searching for the beauty that exists alongside the hardship.As a whole, the works serve as departure points for philosophical inquiry into the nature of human existence and the ever-changing global condition. According to Moyo Okediji, Ogundipe "turns the spectator into an active participant in the creative process" (2008: 27). Viewers are able to explore the labyrinth of patterns, unearthing the treasures embedded within, and to look beyond that which is immediately visible to discover the subterranean layers of meaning, for according to the Yoruba axiom, "ohun tí ó wà lyìn ffà, ó ju òje l⊙" ("what follows six is certainly more than seven"). Reflecting on this issue in 2003, Ogundipe noted:His self-described "songs of exile," these paintings were born from his eagerness to both retain his Yoruba culture while abroad and continue the journey of life in the United States and on the global stage.19 In the resulting utopian spheres, the values inscribed in archaic Yoruba myth and related oral traditions are re-presented, and the possibility of transcending the ceaseless conflict in the world is made manifest.Ogundipe always conceived of his exile as temporary. Like many of those who fled Nigeria during the early to mid 1990s, he planned to return once the civil unrest had dissipated. While the possibility had seemed remote during his first decade abroad, the tides started to turn by the early 2000s, making a return more feasible and indeed more appealing. During the Fourth Republic, the sociopolitical climate in Nigeria gradually improved, and meanwhile, Ogundipe was growing increasingly disheartened by his career prospects in the United States. He was an artist of international repute, whose work had been featured in major exhibitions such as Transatlantic Dialogue: Contemporary Art in and Out of Africa (1999–2001); African Renaissance: Old Forms New Images in Yoruba Art (2002–2003); Black President: The Art and Legacy of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti (2004); and Mami Wata: Art for Water Spirits in Africa and Its Diasporas (2008–2009). Nonetheless, Okediji explains that "his work was treated with romantic condescension by the press" in Denver (2011: 148). A professorship at the University of Colorado at Denver, where he taught for several years, never materialized, and as the years passed, he became dispirited by his repeated encounters with racism.In May 2008, Ogundipe returned to Nigeria, where he became part of a small but ever-growing returnee population. He rented a small, two-bedroom house in a densely populated neighborhood in the bustling city of Ibadan and, after a successful homecoming exhibition at Lagos's prestigious Terra Kulture Gallery, he accepted an instructorship in the Department of Mass Communication at Bowen University in the rural town of Iwo. During his first year, he resided in Ibadan and made the one-hour commute to Iwo to teach his classes. In 2009, he then moved into a house a short drive from campus and procured a studio space in a nearby hotel. I argue that the work he produced during his first five years after returning are products of a returnee consciousness. He was aware that Nigeria had changed dramatically in his fifteen-year absence. In his mind, it fell short of the homeland he had envisioned as a child and continued to imagine while in the United States, and he regularly lamented the ongoing erosion of cultural values and what he described as the "absolute confusion in the country."20 Still, he was overjoyed to be back in Nigeria, which he often expressed still retained the essence of home.21Works from his early return, such as Three Lagos Socialites (2008)(Fig. 11 and Cover); Two Jolly Friends (2009) (Fig. 12); and Four Market Women (2011) (Fig. 13) emerged from his efforts to reconcile his excitement to partake in the daily performance of Yoruba culture in the southwest of the country and his frustration with the persistent economic disparity and nationwide government corruption.22 In these examples, he introduced a n
Referência(s)