Black Diaspora Artists in Britain, Past and Present’, Articles by Hall, S

History Workshop Journal 2006 61(1):1-24; doi:10.1093/hwj/dbi074 This Article © The Author 2006. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of History Workshop Journal, all rights reserved. Abstract Full Text (PDF) Alert me when this article is cited Black Diaspora Artists in Alert me if a correction is posted Britain: Three ‘Moments' in Post-war History Services Stuart Hall Email this article to a friend Similar articles in this journal Alert me to new issues of the journal Correspondence: [email protected] Add to My Personal Archive Editorial Introduction Download to citation manager In ovember 2004 Stuart Hall delivered the Request Permissions Raphael Samuel Memorial Lecture to a packed audience at London's Conway Hall. The lecture Google Scholar was the culmination of a day devoted to ‘Black Diaspora Artists in Britain, Past and Present’, Articles by Hall, S. organized by the Raphael Samuel History Search for Related Content Centre at the University of East London, which had also featured multimedia presentations by Social Bookmarking three artists based at the University of East London – Roshini Kempadoo, Keith Piper and Faisal Abdu’allah – and a showing of Horace Ove's film, A Dream to Change the World. We What's this? here publish an edited transcript of Stuart Hall's lecture, accompanied by reproductions of some of the major artworks to which he refers . The ‘Black Diaspora Artists’ event was co-sponsored by the Institute of International Visual Arts, which has recently published an important collection of essays, Shades of Black: Assembling Black Arts in 1980s Britain, reviewed below by Sandy airne, director of the ational Portrait Gallery and a participant in the 2001 conference on which the volume is based . The article offers a conjunctural analysis of three ‘moments’ in the post-war black visual arts in the UK. The main contrast identified is between the ‘problem space’ of the artists– the last ‘colonials’–who came to London after World War Two to join the modern avant- garde and who were anti-colonial, cosmopolitan and modernist in outlook, and that of the second generation–the first ‘post-colonials’–who were born in Britain, pioneered the Black Art Movement and the creative explosion of the 1980s, and who were anti-racist, culturally relativist and identity-driven. In the work of the former, abstraction predominated; the work of the latter was politically polemical and collage-based, subsequently embracing the figural and the more subjective strategy of ‘putting the self in the frame’. This generational shift is mapped here in relation to wider socio-political and cultural developments, including the growth of indigenous racism, the new social movements, especially anti-racist, feminist and identity politics, and the theoretical ‘revolutions’ associated with them. The contemporary moment–less politicized, and artistically neo-conceptual, multi-media and installation-based–is discussed more briefly. I am delighted to take up the invitation from the University of East London's Raphael Samuel History Centre to give the 2004 Memorial Lecture for my friend Raphael Samuel. I first met Raphael at Oxford in 1952 and our paths – personal, intellectual, political – closely intersected thereafter until his untimely death in 1996. In the deep-freeze days of the Cold War, we were beleaguered members of different fractions of the Oxford student left: he, already a gifted historian and leading light of the small but influential Communist Party group; me a member of a more dispersed, independent and diasporic left. With others, we founded Universities and Left Review in 1956, in the aftermath of the invasions of Suez and Hungary, and then ew Left Review – projects which would never have happened without Raphael's unquenchable political energy, which brooked no empirical obstacle. Not being a historian, I was not directly involved in the founding of History Workshop Journal , but remained engaged with its wider project – including the recovery of neglected, hidden and subaltern histories. I have thought of this lecture as a contribution, perhaps from an unexpected direction, to that initial inspiration. The lecture also aspires to add another kind of chapter to those collected and edited posthumously by Alison Light, Sally Alexander and Gareth Stedman Jones in Island Stories (Verso, 1998), the second volume of Raphael's richly-textured and ever-evolving work, Theatres Of Memory , which focused on what he called ‘the wildly different versions of the national past on offer at any point in time’, depending on the optic adopted. In part, that project disturbed the master-narrative of ‘the nation’ by seeing it from the perspective of its four constituent parts. Mine tries to de-centre this re-writing still further by adopting a diasporic perspective. In doing so, I borrow the spirit of Raphael's method. As Alison Light observed in her Biographical Note to Island Stories , ‘the incompleteness of some of the essays ... is as much a measure of Raphael Samuel's constant, even obsessive, revising and recreating of every project he was involved in ...’: his work – I know, sometimes to my cost – was always in a state of fissiparously disseminating before completion into multiple further projects. Further, apart from a short chapter, left in provisional draft form, entitled ‘Empire Stories: the Imperial and The Domestic’, and the plan of a final but unwritten chapter on ‘post-colonial history’, Raphael did not really address the impact of the post- war, post-colonial, diaspora cultures on the national culture or the subversive effect of racial difference on the ‘un-writing’ of ‘our island story’. And since our friendship was marked by intense argument and discussion, I should add that Raphael and I did not really agree about this matter and, alas, it remained unresolved at his death. So this is also a continuation of the debate by other means. I want to identify and roughly characterize three contrasting ‘moments’ in the history of the black diaspora visual arts in post-war Britain. 1 The aim is not only to continue the project of inserting this ‘constitutive outside’ into the centre of ‘our island story’, but – in choosing the visual arts as my point of departure – to do so from an unexpected angle. But first, some words of warning. ‘Black’ is used here with a deliberate imprecision deriving from the ’70s, when the term encompassed all the minority migrant communities without the careful discrimination of ethnic, racial, regional, national and religious distinctions which has since emerged. It is used here not as the sign of an ineradicable genetic imprint but as a signifier of difference: a difference which, being historical, is therefore always changing, always located, always articulated with other signifying elements: but which, nevertheless, continues – persistently – to register its disturbing effects. As to ‘the arts’: being neither an artist, art critic nor art historian, I cannot discuss individual works of art or artists in the aesthetic and critical depth they deserve. My focus here is on historical moments and their periodization. I discuss ‘the work’ as part of a cultural/political formation, a constitutive element in a field of ideas, practices, social movements and political events – though I do also want to insist that it offers a privileged vantage point on to that world. The approach, then, is ‘historical’. Or, since I have already confessed to not being a historian, I had better settle for ‘genealogical’. I want to begin to construct an outline ‘genealogy’ of the post-war Black British diaspora arts. This means marking their distinct ‘moments’; noting certain striking convergences between very different kinds of work; but, more significantly, identifying the breaks and ruptures between moments as they unravel and disseminate, their elements evolving in radically different directions. I am concerned with shifts in thematic concerns, in ‘ways of seeing’, in what we might call the construction of different ‘fields of vision’ and what they tell us, symptomatically, about changes in what Raymond Williams (in The Long Revolution , 1961) called ‘structures of feeling’. I try to think of such moments as conjunctures. Thinking conjuncturally involves ‘clustering’ or assembling elements into a formation. However, there is no simple unity, no single ‘movement’ here, evolving teleologically, to which, say, all the artists of any moment can be said to belong. I try to assemble these three ‘moments’ in their fused but contradictory dispersion. As I will try to show, the late 1980s, a moment of explosive creativity in the black arts, is characterized by deep fissures which in turn set in train new trajectories that diverge rather than ‘adding up’. That is why the 1980s remain so contested, a focus of unfulfilled desire. They can be ‘mapped’ only as the ‘condensation’ of a series of overlapping, interlocking but non-corresponding ‘histories’. Does this undermine the genealogical enterprise? Not necessarily. It depends on how a ‘moment’ is defined. Neither decade, accident of shared date of birth or location will do. Artists of the same generation do different kinds of work. They go on working, across different moments, often in radically different ways from how they began. Or they continue to follow a trajectory long after its ‘moment’ has passed. They appear here, not in their radically-creative individuality, but as the ‘bearers’ – ‘subjects’, in a displaced Foucauldean sense – of their artistic practices. By ‘moment’ then, I mean the coming together or convergence of certain elements to constitute, for a time, a distinct discursive formation, a ‘conjuncture’, in a Gramscian sense. This is always ‘a fusion of contradictory forces’; or as Althusser once put it, a ‘condensation of dissimilar currents, the ruptural fusion of an accumulation of contradictions’ whose ‘unity’ is necessarily over-determined. 2 * * * David Scott, in his challenging new book, Conscripts of Modernity , calls such a moment a problem space .

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