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Anthrovision Vaneasa Online Journal
1.2 | 2013 Varia
Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/anthrovision/568 DOI : 10.4000/anthrovision.568 ISSN : 2198-6754
Éditeur VANEASA - Visual Anthropology Network of European Association of Social Anthropologists
Référence électronique Anthrovision, 1.2 | 2013 [En ligne], mis en ligne le 01 août 2013, consulté le 24 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/anthrovision/568 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/anthrovision.568
Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 24 septembre 2020.
© Anthrovision 1
SOMMAIRE
Introduction Felicia Hughes-Freeland
Dépasser la violence par la création ? Olivier Schetrit
Is watching the feast making the feast? Visual language and practice in an ethnography Katia Ballacchino
Climate Change and its socio-cultural impact in the Himalayan region of Nepal – A Visual Documentation Fidel Devkota
Kolam patterns as materialisation and embodiment of rhythms Anna Laine
La part de l’Ange : le bouton de rose et l’escargot de la Vierge. Deuxième partie Une étude de l’Annonciation de Francesco del Cossa Dimitri Karadimas
African Lace: an industrial fabric connecting Austria and Nigeria Barbara Plankensteiner
Reviews
Orientalism Today: Alive and Well Film Review: Himself He Cooks – A film by Valérie Berteau and Philippe Witjes, Belgium 2011 Nandini Bedi
Histoires de fantômes pour grandes personnes Exposition de Georges Didi-Huberman et Arno Gisinger, Le Fresnoy, Studio national des arts contemporains 2012 Nadine Wanono
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Introduction
Felicia Hughes-Freeland
1 The articles in this second issue of Anthrovision range from well-established “modern classical” visual anthropology, such as participatory cinema in the tradition of Jean Rouch and David MacDougall, to art history and iconographic analysis, and to performance and the sensorium.
2 Katia Ballacchino presents a methodological case for using video in ethnographic research. In her longitudinal study of Gigli, the patronal feast of St Paulinus in Nola, southern Italy, the camera documents the performances of men who “dance” tall obelisks through the streets, and also participates in the feast through elicitation of recordings (by the author and others). These are viewed and discussed by the local participants in Italy and migrants in the USA. This is perhaps less a starting point than a reaffirmation of the anthropological camera as interactive and mediatory, practices both of which are central to the anthropological project and its process of knowledge construction.
3 The fundamental role of filming as a form of medition in research is also central to Fidel Devkota’s discussion of the cultural impact of climate change in Lo-pa in north- western Nepal. Anthropological collaborations with scientists in regions most severely affected by climate change have increased in the past decade, but Devkota situates his project in relation to anthropology’s long-established study of threats to social and cultural survival. His film is about the experiences of the inhabitants of Dhe village, and he plans to film in other areas also. The camera is constitutive of anthropological knowledge, not supplementary to it, and its potential to bear on policy-making should be recognised.
4 A second theme in this issue is the analysis of images. Dimitri Karadimas continues his discussion of sexual imagery in representations of the angel Gabriel’s visitation to the Virgin Mary in Italian Renaissance paintings of the Annunication. Forms such as columns, spirals (represented by the snail), birds, and rose buds that are usually taken to be expressions of religious devotion, are surprising representations of a complex relation between sexual and spiritual passion, sustained in the twentieth century by the artist Dali. Here anthropology meets art history to reveal cultural complexity and
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the need for interpretation and hermeneutics in understanding representations across time as well as space.
5 The visual analysis of images and objects is also the subject of Anna Laine’s article and film about kolam patterns in Tamilnadu, southern India. Making kolams produces auspiciousness which, driven by planets and gods, defines time. Using Lefebvre’s theory of rhythm and embodiment, she argues that kolams embody relationships between energy, time and space and that the particular intersection of rhythms or “polyrhythmia” makes each woman’s kolam unique. Her wider argument is for the importance of sensuousness in the analysis of material culture and the anthropology of everyday life.
6 A second contrasting article where visual anthropology meets material culture is Barbara Plankensteiner’s historical account of Nigerian lace-making. This industrially produced fabric is analysed in relation to its antecedents in nineteenth century embroidery in Austria. Colonialism, trade, changing tastes, as well as specific importers, saleswomen, and production companies, have shaped its development and the process of “Nigerianisation”, evident in changes in designs and innovations such as the incorporation of Swarovski crystals. The article shows how authenticity emerges from interaction, and, as one might expect in West Africa, the lace trade is nowadays mostly run by women.
7 We move back to embodied performance in Olivier Schetrit’s article about deafness and sign language. Deaf from birth, he offers a reflexive account of International Visual Theatre’s use of the choreographic practices such as mudras and facial expressions in Bharata Natyam to create a theatre of and for the deaf. IVT has developed the concept of “chansigne” choreography or a visual melody which is sung and signed - as elucidated in a discussion of its production Miracle par Hasard (Miracle by Chance). “Dancing without music” is not only a theatrical practice. It has also changed the nature of the identity of deafness.
8 The range of these articles is a salutary reminder that Visual Anthropology is not a specialist subdiscipline but a fundamental approach for all areas of anthopological research.
AUTHOR
FELICIA HUGHES-FREELAND Independent Scholar and Research Associate, Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, SOAS, London University.
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Dépasser la violence par la création ?
Olivier Schetrit
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7 En décembre 2009, Barbara Glowczewski m’a proposé de participer aux journées d’études qui ont eu lieu au Musée du Quai Branly. Je reviens sur l’intervention que j’ai donnée à cette occasion, dans le cadre de l’anthropologie visuelle, en la développant ci- dessous.
8 Avant d’aborder le vif du sujet, je rappelle une particularité : je suis sourd de naissance. D’où le sujet proposé : la contestation sociale des personnes sourdes, plus
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particulièrement du point de vue d’une forme de théâtralisation chorégraphique de l’expression des sourds : les chansignes et les chorésignes.
9 Dans une mise en perspective du sujet, un rapide tour de l’évolution de la condition sourde à travers les siècles permet de montrer que la perception du sourd – en tant que personne – n’a évolué que très lentement jusqu’à 1760, date à partir de laquelle un prêtre français, l’abbé de l’Epée a créé une méthode d’expression visuelle, dite « signes méthodologiques ». À partir de cette date, la société a pu progressivement considérer les sourds en tant qu’individus. Et le sourd a pu très rapidement se construire une identité grâce à l’explosion d’une langue, la langue des signes. En même temps, au cours du XIXe siècle, les progrès étaient très rapides sur tous les plans : matériels, techniques, humains, médicaux. Mais en 1881, un congrès qui a réuni des spécialistes de sourds, pour la plupart issus du clergé, a déclaré que la langue des signes était soi- disant mauvaise pour l’éducation des sourds, et a voté son interdiction dans l’enseignement. Le sourd s’est ainsi retrouvé isolé, repoussé en marge de la société pendant un siècle, reclus dans sa différence et ses frustrations…
10 Ce n’est qu’après les événements de 1968 que les sourds ont pu enfin sortir de leur enfermement, et affirmer leur identité. Car cette période voit l’émergence d’un besoin d’expression en langue des signes, lié à la libération du corps, de l’expression corporelle, et le droit de la minorité des langues. À la suite de cela, en France, un théâtre pour sourds s’est créé en 1976 : IVT, International Visual Theatre. Ce théâtre a aidé la communauté sourde à s’affirmer à travers des pièces qui ont eu un très fort impact dans la communauté sourde et au- delà dans les milieux intellectuels français.
11 Pour ce faire, IVT a mené beaucoup de recherches pour affirmer et construire une identité sourde autour d’une langue des signes. Par exemple des ateliers de danse indienne ont servi à étudier l’expression gestuelle (les Mudras) et faciale indienne à travers ses codifications, notamment chez les Bhartata Natyam (Inde du sud). Ce travail est visible dans la création des premières pièces d’IVT dès 1978 : Ednom (le Monde à l’envers), qui ont été jouées dans la langue des signes français et ont tenté de remettre à plat le congrès de Milan, de « le refaire » pourrait- on dire, telles des exorcismes, et ont ainsi permis aux sourds français et même européens de se réapproprier la langue des signes et leur identité sourde, à travers sa mémoire, son expression culturelle.
12 Ce renouveau de la langue des signes, cette réappropriation de l’identité sourde a d’ailleurs été un véritable choc pour ceux qui ont vécu de l’intérieur ces transformations entre 1975 et 1985 comme le racontent les comédiens d’IVT1. Si IVT a été important pour les sourds, c’est qu’il leur a permis de pouvoir découvrir une seconde identité qu’ils ont reconnu comme étant leur vraie identité, mais surtout de pouvoir la construire, la montrer, l’afficher face aux entendants. Car dans la vie de tous les jours, ils ne peuvent pas mettre en avant leur langue, la langue des signes, valoriser sa beauté et ses valeurs, et encore moins la vanter auprès des entendants parce qu’ils n’y voient pas d’intérêt. Donc IVT est le seul lieu où l’on peut s’imposer face aux entendants. C’est la même chose que les danses typiques des peuples noirs, ces danses magnifiques qui fascinent les entendants. C’est leur grande fierté, c’est un grand plaisir. De la même manière, pour les sourds, le théâtre est un vrai plaisir, un épanouissement personnel. C’est une identité positive, ressentie comme du bonheur.
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Expérimentations sur l’expression de l’identité sourde : biculture, chorégraphie
13 Dans ce processus d’émancipation d’IVT et d’évolution de l’identité sourde, une analyse peut être faite sur le thème de la chorégraphie chez les sourds. Car, sans la langue des signes, le « théâtre et la danse sourds » n’auraient jamais existé : « la langue des signes est, selon nous, l’un des aspects fondamentaux qui font la spécificité du théâtre des sourds. Car c’est une langue gestuelle, et le théâtre est un art où le geste, où le corps, avec ou sans paroles, joue un rôle prépondérant. Il est alors inévitable, à notre sens, que lorsque la parole est geste, ces gestes-là, ces ‘gestes-paroles’ interagissent avec les gestes du jeu.2 ».
14 Et cette évolution d’IVT a permis à la communauté sourde d’enraciner l’idée d’une identité singulière.
Les modes d’expression des sourds : la danse, la musique et les chansignes
15 En suivant cette évolution, IVT s’est donc exercé à d’autres modes d’expression, telle la danse dans Miracle par Hasard3, l’une des premières « chorégraphies sourdes » en France, entièrement visuelle, les sons ayant même été inventés, produits par les danseurs sourds eux- mêmes. Cette chorégraphie a été reprise à la Ménagerie de Verre de Paris, centre de danse d’avant-garde, avec succès.
16 Or, au début, à IVT, les sourds avaient souvent été considérés comme incapables de danser, que ce soit par les entendants ou par les sourds eux-mêmes, car la danse serait
17 « automatiquement liée » à une « facilité d’audition », et ils avaient trop vu de portes de nombreux conservatoires se fermer sur eux. Mais un danseur sourd a les mêmes compétences physiques qu’un danseur entendant : la possession, la maîtrise du corps est la même. Donc pour les sourds, ou bien la danse peut être « caricaturée » en imitant des chorégraphies d’entendants sans pour autant pouvoir maîtriser leur musique ou leur rythme. Ou elle peut être magnifiée visuellement et servir ainsi à « un instant de partage, d’émotion ». Simplement l’approche est différente, utilisant plus la langue des signes pour la transformer, et avec une méthode pédagogique adaptée : la chorégraphe d’origine américaine Lila Greene a précisé que « le but est de déterminer une méthode originale pour enseigner la chorégraphie. Généralement lorsque les sourds et les entendants dansent ensemble, les secondes guident les premiers en fonction de la musique. Ici nous avons essayé de construire une chorégraphiesourde sans support musical, mais au contraire en tenant compte du rythme intérieur du corps chacun4 ».
18 Ainsi petit à petit les sourds ont réalisé que danser était possible pour eux. De même, on pense souvent que chanter est liée à la voix, et que l’oreille est dans ce sens indissociable de la voix. Et donc que si « les sourds n’entendent pas, ils ne peuvent pas chanter ». En conséquence, souvent les sourds eux-mêmes s’imaginent incapables de chanter. Cette croyance dans l’incapacité de chanter n’est que le résultat d’une norme sociale majoritaire « imposée » jusqu’à maintenant par les entendants. Or les sourds ont une voix, ne sont physiologiquement pas muets : s’ils peuvent chanter, ils préfèrent souvent le faire « à leur manière », en « mettant en scène » la chanson, en utilisant la
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langue des signes comme voix. Cette mise en scène est appelée « chansigne5 », sorte de chorégraphie, de mélodie visuelle « chantée » et « signée ».
19 Les chansignes jouent un rôle important dans le développement et la transmission de la culture sourde car il est nécessaire d’enseigner aux élèves la traduction visuelle de l’harmonie et des rythmes de la musique. Dans la vie de tous les jours, les sourds utilisent l’expression gestuelle pour transmettre leurs émotions : ils n’ont pas la même manière de voir le monde. Ces chansignes développent une sensibilité intérieure, un plaisir à mettre en valeur le geste ; et contribuent donc à l’enseignement des nuances de la langue des signes via la prise de conscience de l’importance du rythme, des silences, de l’ampleur du geste, et aussi des sens figurés, implicites des métaphores de la chanson. Du fait du mode d’expression physique de la langue des signes, le chansigne pourra s’inspirer de la danse, pour mettre en place des chorégraphies improvisées ou répétées.
20 Ainsi, à IVT, les chansignes se sont exprimés une première fois à travers les poèmes gestuels d’une de ses comédiennes sourdes, Chantal Liennel6 dont les mains jouent dans l’espace un ballet aérien, traduisant la fierté d’être sourd malgré les difficultés quotidiennes et les humiliations, parfois, face au monde entendant.
21 À partir de là, de nombreuses créations ont suivi à IVT. Mais la question de la mémorisation des signes s’est régulièrement posée, à travers l’expression du mouvement, du rythme, du sens. J’ai joint un exemple d’écriture, inspirée par les partitions de musique, qui a été faite pour la pièce « les Pierres » d’après Gertrude Stein, jouée en 1989 au Festival d’Avignon.
Genèses de la « première chorégraphie » pour sourds, Miracle par Hasard
22 Donc Miracle par Hasard a commencé sous forme d’un stage d’expression corporelle organisé par IVT au Théâtre Quartz de Brest, avec une pédagogie adaptée – car aucun des comédiens sourds n’était danseur – comme l’explique son chorégraphe, J. Liennel, comédien sourd d’IVT : « En premier temps, je demande à chaque participant de montrer les danses qu’il connaît et aux autres de les deviner : folklore, tango, twist, danse africaine… Ensuite je leur pose la question : ‘et la danse des sourds ?’. Ils sont étonnés, ils réagissent : ‘ça n’existe pas !’, ‘c’est impossible, on est sourd !’. Nous choisissons alors pour thème les quatre éléments naturels […]. À partir de ces thèmes chacun fait à tour de rôle, des improvisations dans l’espace ; ajoutant à son répertoire personnel ce qu’il a noté de frappant chez un autre (une expression spécifique, un mouvement original des bras ou des jambes), ou au contraire ce qui lui a semblé manquer : c’est comme cela que s’enrichissent les découvertes du groupe7 ».
23 Ensuite, ce rythme d’abord improvisé, peut être mémorisé après un travail de répétitions. Ou sur un travail « collectif » d’échange, de maîtrise liée du rythme, par le regard, la langue des signes formant une sorte de « gestuelle musicale ». J. Liennel « les fait mimer comme s’ils parlaient. Puis il leur fait ‘visualiser’ sa demande en les emmenant voir des expositions, des spectacles, etc. Il raconte : « Les sourds sont vraiment sourds et ne connaissent pas le rythme, le bruit, les mélodies. Donc, s’il veut imiter un danseur, un sourd va se dépenser inconsidérément, il va donner toute son énergie et finalement s’épuiser. Il y a eu tout un travail sur le rythme. Pour donner un exemple, je montrais un film sur un mouvement de la mer : le
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ressac. Une première fois au rythme normal, puis au ralenti. Je disais ‘essayez de reproduire ce rythme avec votre corps, ayez un contrôle sur vous-même’. Le travail est très très long. Le mot rythme ne signifie rien pour eux8 ».
24 Petit à petit, Miracle par Hasard a été construit, créé d’un bout à l’autre par les comédiens sourds d’IVT (j’en faisais partie), dirigés par J. Liennel, qui a utilisé les chansignes, laissant les danseurs les improviser, pour ensuite les chorégraphier dans l’espace et ainsi les transformer en expression « visuelle ». Joël Liennel a noté, écrit les mouvements improvisés : il a inventé une forme d’écriture visuelle basée sur le rythme : « Une personne en regarde une autre danser et dessine la ligne des mouvements dans l’espace. Cela ressemble un peu au tracé d’un électrocardiogramme. Cette écriture est une mémoire visuelle du rythme des gestes, quelquefois nous mélangeons plusieurs courbes créant ainsi un nouveau rythme9 » :
L’écriture des mouvements, créée par Joël Liennel
25 Ces tracés étaient d’abord montrés directement sur le tableau blanc : les comédiens sourds improvisaient spontanément en fonction du « dessin visuel du rythme » dessiné sur place : soit le dessin précédait le mouvement, soit le mouvement imposait le dessin. J. Liennel a décrit ces improvisations « Pour la mer, par exemple, le corps lui-même se fait mer, si elle est calme, il danse son va-et-vient ; si, au contraire, elle est en colère, il mime le déferlement furieux des vagues. Le corps peut aussi donner l’image d’un feu qui vit, grandit, puis éclate en une gerbe d’étincelles… En ce qui concerne les expressions du visage, impossible de rester neutre : le corps entraine le visage, toujours pour la mer qui déferle, on ouvre grande la bouche lorsque les vagues montent, puis on fait’ pchchchch…’ quand elles retombent10 ».
26 Cette écriture est simplement l’expression d’un rythme, associé à un mot en langue des signes, créant les chansignes. Pour mieux comprendre ce travail sur le rythme, un extrait d’une pièce d’IVT : Antigone, créé en 1995, montre un chœur d’hommes s’exprimant en langue des signes. Ce chœur d’hommes donne à comprendre que le rythme associée à l’expression de la langue des signes offre une nouvelle forme d’expression d’émotions intérieures, telles la souffrance, la violence, etc.
27 Ainsi, cette écriture de mouvements développée à IVT était le premier pas vers l’élaboration d’une chorégraphie, terme qui vient du grec khoreia, la danse et graphie, qui est « l’art de composer des ballets, d’en régler les figures et les pas », et aussi « l’art de décrire une danse sur le papier au moyen de signes spéciaux11 ».
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28 Et tout comme pour l’écriture chorégraphique de Dominique Bagouet utilisée pour la mémorisation de ses ballets principalement au niveau des mouvements et des pas :
Notation de Dominique Bagouet pour Déserts d'amour
1984 © Carnets Bagouet
29 Une nouvelle écriture chorégraphique pour Miracle par Hasard, montrant l’enchaînement et l’imbrication des mouvements avec les expressions du visage et les configurations des mains utilisant la langue des signes, a été conçue par moi-même, et que j’ai baptisé « chorésignes », terme qui a été spontanément repris par toute l’équipe d’IVT.
30 Ces chorésignes ont aidé à la mémorisation visuelle de la chorégraphie et en parallèle la mémorisation de l’expression en langue des signes ; le fond utilisé, des traits parallèles s’inspirant des partitions de musique, était utilisé uniquement pour effectuer une liaison des différentes images, mouvements, signes, expressions :
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Écriture chorégraphique de « Miracle par Hasard », montrant l’enchaînement des mouvements ET des expressions du visage ET des mains
Olivier Schetrit - « Chorésignes ».
31 À la différence de la notation de D. Bagouet qui montre l’emplacement et la direction du mouvement, ces chorésignes permettent d’intégrer plusieurs paramètres de la langue des signes, à savoir : l’emplacement, le mouvement, le rythme, la configuration, l’expression, la direction (l’orientation), qui sont tous matérialisés soit par des visages, des directions, des flèches rythmées ou autres.
En conclusion
32 Au travers de ces nouvelles expériences, car récentes (apparues dans les années 1980-1990), les sourds d’IVT auront largement montré leur plaisir de danser sans musique : la danse est une expérience collective, partagée, et ne suivait absolument pas une « norme », pour « faire comme les autres ». Elle était la traduction de leur plaisir de s’exprimer dans une langue retrouvée : « si le danseur s’invente en dansant, s’il ne cesse de fabriquer sa propre matière, il travaille aussi le spectateur au corps : ‘L’information visuelle génère, chez l’observateur, une expérience kinesthésique (sensation interne des mouvements de son propre corps) immédiate, les modifications et les intensités de l’espace corporel du danseur trouvant ainsi leur résonance dans le corps du spectateur’, analyse le kinésiologue Hubert Godard.12 ».
33 Ainsi, sur scène, le corps de l’artiste, avec ou sans paroles, joue un rôle qui a beaucoup du poids : il montre son for intérieur, cherche à « être bien dans sa peau » pour exprimer pleinement son art. Et quand la parole est geste, comme la langue des signes : elle interagit (réciproque) avec le jeu de l’artiste : la langue des signes évolue spontanément pour construire de nouveaux sens, de nouveaux mots : chansignes, chorésignes.
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34 Au travers de ses expérimentations artistiques, IVT a contribué à la renaissance d’une identité sourde face au public entendant et sourd. Ces expériences, cette évolution du théâtre sourd, auront une influence sur la représentation du sourd : certains grands metteurs en scène entendants comme Bob Wilson, Peter Brook, Claude Régy, Philippe Adrien ou Ariane Mnouchkine finiront même par enrichir leur travail de création par la gestuelle sourde : Isabelle Guyon montre que « dans Le Petit bal perdu en 199513, enfin, la langue des signes constitue directement le support d’une création chorégraphique14 ».
35 En ce sens, les jeux de la théâtralisation ou de la chorégraphie jouent sur la projection de la souffrance intérieure, du mal-être d’une culture sourde, encore minoritaire, fragile face aux menaces extérieures, telle une opposition à une forme de volonté médicale de soigner la surdité, dans le but de la faire disparaître. Ou par rapport à une éducation forcée, une oralisation qui ignore les contraintes de la surdité. Si on peut comprendre le point de vue « normatif », une chose est ignorée dans ce processus, c’est que derrière la surdité existe une culture singulière, originale, intimement liée à une expression visuelle de la langue : la langue des signes, qui est une vraie langue structurée.
36 C’est donc cette culture originale, singulière que les sourds essaient de défendre, car elle est une forme d’expression « naturelle » de l’homme qui existe à des degrés divers en fonction des différentes civilisations (africaine, orientale), mais qui a été trop longtemps réprimée dans la culture occidentale.
NOTES
1. Christian Cuxac, Le langage des sourds (Paris : Payot, 1983), pp. 172-173. Interview (1980) traduit de la LSF de Joël Liennel, comédien sourd d’IVT, né en France en 1946 : « Avant, ma vie était limitée. À part quelques activités sportives, je n’avais rien, rien d’autre que mon travail [de peintre en bâtiment] qui ne m’intéressait pas. Un jour, ma femme m’a parlé de l’expérience de théâtre sourd de Vincennes. Là-bas, ils cherchaient à former de jeunes acteurs sourds. J’y étais tellement enfermé en moi-même que j’ai hésité. J’ai failli ne pas y aller, et puis je me suis dit : pourquoi pas ? C’est comme ça que j’ai commencé, par faire du théâtre. […] J’apprenais plein de choses, le monde s’ouvrait à moi. […] Quand je repense à ce que j’étais avant et au chemin que j’ai parcouru !... Jamais je n’aurais pensé que ma vie pouvait devenir aussi passionnante, que je pouvais avoir tant d’échanges […] Je ne regrette qu’une chose, c’est d’avoir perdu tout ce temps avant. Comment avais- je pu ignorer tout ce qui était en moi – comment avais-je pu vivre une vie aussi triste ? ». 2. Isabelle Guyon, Théâtre et langue des signes : le théâtre des sourds, DEA de Lettres Modernes, Littérature comparée (Paris - Nanterre : Université Paris X, Octobre 1997), p. 29. 3. Chorégraphie de Joël Liennel, sourd, IVT, Avril 1995. 4. Jean-Luc Germain, « Pour briser le mur du silence » Le Télégramme, 4 Août 1994 : Page Finistère. 5. Le terme « chansigne » a été spontanément créé par l’équipe de comédiens de Miracle par Hasard, en voulant contracter simultanément les signes « chant » et « langue des signes » en un seul geste.
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6. Chantal Liennel, Les Voix Invisibles, Recueil de seize poèmes (Vincennes : Centre Socio Culturel des sourds -IVT, 1978), dont le plus connu est Fleur. Voir extrait filmé attaché en annexe du DVD joint. 7. Dominique Charlon (Sourde), « La danse sourde - Interview de Joël Liennel traduit de la LSF » Journal VU (Vincennes : Centre Socio Culturel des Sourds - IVT), n° 15 (1986), pp. 6-7. 8. Marie-Odile Andrade, « Chorégraphie Sourde - Interview de Joël Liennel » Revue Art & Thérapie, Juin 1997, pp. 32-33. 9. Dominique Charlon (Sourde), « La danse sourde » (Op. cit.), pp. 6-7. 10. Dominique Charlon (Sourde), « La danse sourde » (Op. cit.), pp. 6-7. 11. Dictionnaire Le Petit Robert. 12. Alain Corbin, Jean-Jacques Courtine et Georges Vigarello, Histoires du corps, 3 vols. (Paris : Éditions du Seuil, Janvier 2006), Tome 3, p. 413. 13. Philippe Découflé avec Pascale Houbin, danseurs entendants 14. Isabelle Guyon, Théâtre et langue des signes : le théâtre des sourds, (Op. cit.), pp. 19-20.
RÉSUMÉS
L’évolution de la condition des sourds dans notre société au fil de l’histoire nous permet de comprendre comment l’identité des sourds a pu se forger et quel rôle a joué le théâtre, le langage corporel, les chansignes et la danse sans musique pour faciliter l’émergence de leur personnalité et de leur statut social.
Over the course of history, the evolution of the social life of deaf people in our society gives us a chance to understand how the identity of deaf people could forge their identity and which impact did play theatre, body language, chansignes, dance without music in order to foster the emergence of their personalities and their social status.
La evolución de la condición de los sordos en nuestra sociedad a lo largo de la historia nos permite comprender cómo la identidad de los sordos se ha ido forjando y qué rol ha jugado el teatro, el lenguaje corporal, la lengua de signos aplicada al canto (chansignes) y la danza sin música en la emergencia de su personalidad y de su estatus social.
INDEX
Palabras claves : Sordera, identidad, teatro, lengua de signos aplicada al canto (chansignes), contestación social, creatividad, danzas, lengua de signos. Mots-clés : Surdité, identité, théâtre, chansignes, contestation sociale, créativité, danses, langage des sourds Keywords : Deafness, identity, theatre, chansignes, social contestation, creativity, dance, sign language.
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AUTEUR
OLIVIER SCHETRIT CNRS, Laboratoire d'Anthropologie Sociale Après avoir passé en 2006 une licence professionnelle intervention sociale, spécialité enseignement de la langue des signes, à l'Université Paris 8 (Vincennes-Saint Denis), Olivier Schetrit a obtenu en 2008 et en 2009 un Master 1 et un Master 2 en Sciences Sociales à finalité recherche, mention Anthropologie Visuelle, spécialité Ethnologie et Anthropologie Sociale, avec mention très bien, à l' École des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales à Paris. Depuis octobre 2010, Olivier Schetrit est sous contrat de doctorant au Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique et il mène des recherches en anthropologie sur l'identité sourde, au Laboratoire d'Anthropologie Sociale.
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Is watching the feast making the feast? Visual language and practice in an ethnography
Katia Ballacchino
1 This article is an experimental meditation on an ongoing work on the visual dimension of on the Gigli. This one hundred year-old feast takes place annually in Nola, near [?] Naples, in the Campagna region of southern Italy. The analysis of this event started as a visual ethnography, a meeting point between the researcher’s modality of “watching” with that of the investigated protagonists, which include the hundreds of men who carry imposing ritual structures on the day of the feast.1 It argues that the use of videocamera is essential to achieving the objectives of long-term ethnographic research. Furthermore, the camera legitimates the researcher’s access to the community under investigation, from field work to the construction of knowledge itself. Issues concerning vision and knowledge through images are at the centre of contemporary scientific debates, making the development of analytical approaches to the modalities of watching a key challenge for anthropological disciplines2. The literature on visual anthropology3 questions issues related to the methodology of visual ethnography and precisely from the main questions on the multiplicity of looks and the positioning of the researcher this article will produce some remarks.
2 The argument that visual research can produce results central to ethnographic knowledge through collaborative and participative methods had already been suggested by Rouch in the 1970’s. Through the process of feedback, he observed that a researcher could collect a larger number of data by reviewing the filmed material with informers than what he could collect through months of direct observation and interviews. In the light of this, this article proposes a horizontal perspective of sharing of the interaction between different experiences and multiple voices; a sort of “polyphonic anthropology”, a tendency to interact with the investigated subjects in the framework of a collaborative analysis, based on the functional use of the video camera. In other words, an anthropological analysis will assume political value through a visual methodology that attends to observable details of the ritual as well as the perspectives of the protagonists, including the anthropologist.
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3 My analysis uses what Grasseni has defined as an ethnographic model “of observation”, derived from documentary or observational filmmaking and suited to exploring aspects of ability, technique and knowledge of daily practices.4 This requires the most “intimate” gaze possible. Being experienced from the inside, it allows participant observation through the video camera to become part of a process of daily discovery of the context itself. This leads to the possibility of exploring a certain “vision of the world” that is connected to a specific ability to “see” and also to hear, move, speak, understand ourselves and, finally, to the possibility of understanding a documentary (or, at any rate, a video product) as the fruitful integration of ethnographic writing, producing a polyphonic documentary and giving voice to the many characters rather than to the anthropologist only.
4 Drawing on research carried out between 2006 and 2011, this article argues for the centrality of the ethnographic work in the investigation of the most innovative field for contemporary anthropology: visual culture. The original characteristics of this feast makes it “good to think with” (ref Levi-Strauss) in visual anthropological terms, and leads to a hypothesis about the potential of the visual as a methodology and metaphor of anthropology. Beginning with concrete [?] ethnographic examples, the article presents communal ritual practice through three visual dimensions: as a methodological and knowledge-producing practice of investigation, as the object and source of the research itself and, lastly, the visual document as a potential product of ethnography alongside the written text.
5 Therefore this article will try to answer some questions in anthropological literature about visual apprenticeship and the methodological role of the participant observation. How does the video camera contribute to the internal observation of the investigated community as a methodology of apprenticeship? How can the ethnographer engage in a worthwhile dialogue by means of a visual product and give back the production of a knowledge to the investigated community, alternate or parallel to the result achievable by means of writing? Can this practice be useful not only in the investigated community but also in the didactic use of the images produced during the ethnographic research, or in the confrontation internal to the scientific debate? Is it possible to consider the products of a work of visual documentation as a modality similar to the reading of a field diary, to support the drafting of the written work? Lastly, is it possible for anthropology to attribute a political value to the modality of watching and of watching oneself? These are the questions this article will attempt to address, through the data provided by the same ethnography..
When the field determines the methods: images of the Gigli Feast of Nola
6 My research was based in Nola, the city where the Gigli feast has been celebrated every year for centuries, moving through the streets of the historical center in a procession of nine ceremonial constructions: eight twenty-five meter-tall obelisks (paranza)5 or gigli (“lily flower”), and a boat, which are built each year out of wood and paper-maché. The feast is held on the Sunday after 22 June, the patronal feast of Saint Paulinus.6 On that day, each obelisk is carried on the shoulders of a group of hundreds of men, the lifters for approximately 24 hours, to the sound of music (fig. 1)
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7 Over six years I have conducted a longitudinal ethnographic study. Extended periods of residence in the field site(S?) have involved the daily construction of a rich network of relations which have enabled me to research in depth the hundreds of individuals engaged in organizing the festival for the entire. Multiple “copies” of the gigli have also proliferated in various villages, reproducing Nolan activities and practices through the Campania region and beyond. For example, in the Williamsburg district of Brooklyn, a single giglio and a boat have been made to “dance” for over a century by Italian Americans living in New York and elsewhere.7
8 My research monitors these geographical dislocations of the feast to analyze the relationship between migration and the production of culture. The Gigli feast is understood as a practice that inserts the global dimension into the local context through its deep connection to the past and tradition but mainly thanks to its hybrid practices, changeability and drive to keep up with the times that render its character enduringly contemporary. The feast represents the most intimate and yet spectacular cultural expression of local identity, but across diverse geographic and historical- political contexts, it is also a set of changing and permeable traditional elements which produce conceptions of the world and relationships with outsiders. For local actors, it become a magnifying glass on the world, or what Durkheim would call a “total social fact” around which individuals narrate their own “cultural intimacy”.8 Each time the feast is celebrated, participants strive to find an transforming contemporary identity and role, for themselves a “presence in the world” which changes over time and gains significance and different meanings as it travels.
9 Over the last few decades the “communities of practice”9 in various locations that celebrate the Gigli feast have experienced a process of visual hyper-documentation in the major media outlets, including television and especially on the internet.10. This has occurred furthermore within a setting marked by the visual documentation that has conditioned the feast’s imaginary over time. In addition to numerous external researchers, local personnel and practitioners use cell phones and other recording devices to document every moment of the Gigli procession. This makes it possible to watch and re-watch the event, immediately on the internet and also during the rest of the year, so the festive atmosphere can be reproduced on demand in private homes and at public occasions. Therefore the feast can be understood not only an object being immortalized in images for the sake of its own aesthetic visual impact, but as a communicative need of those who want to transfer the festive atmosphere from ritual to other moments, thereby channeling emotions, relational dynamics and “world visions” (ref).
10 This explains why I chose to use a video camera during my research, not simply as a means of documentation, but as the principal means of relating to local protagonists. As is usual in anthropology, the territory and object of research imposed the necessity for a visual ethnography. “Watching the feast” and inscribing it visually has come to assume a value that to the community is similar to “making the feast” itself ; and some examples will be shown.
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Watching and watching oneself: image, methodology, knowledge production
Inclusion and apprenticeship in “communities of practice”
11 My work as a visual anthropologist originated in a critical re-interpretation of the classical concept of “festive time” as a ludic time that is separate from the everyday time of labor and work (ref.). In the case of the Gigli, my hypothesis is that the festive time represents a “totalizing time”, and I chose to analyze visually and record the daily practices connected to the feast and beginning from these I investigated the creation of economic and political relations throughout the year: the invention of relational dynamics; the reinforcement of feelings; the production of disagreement; the activation of processes through which meaning is constantly renewed in the everyday; and the production of communities of practice that construct shared meanings and attribute a common significance to daily life,11 through their passion for the feast. This process could be defined as “legitimate peripheral participation”, where learning is a consequence not only of teaching but also of the social practices acquired within a community.12
12 The meaning of Nolan practices emerges through the abilities of research participants but also the ethnographer herself have acquired in gaining knowledge of the local area and community. I revisit this classical anthropological issue of the role of the researcher in interpreting events, as a primarily visual “apprenticeship” which became a process of education, of relating, and of progressively inserting oneself into the communities of practice.13 The main investigative vector of ethnography is the “gaze”, and the audiovisual dimension reveals itself to be invaluable when we consider the image to be a vehicle for conveying both cultural representations and emotions, especially in hyper-documented and hyper-mediated contexts of ritual practice such as the Nolan Gigli.
13 Given the increasing consensus among contemporary anthropologists that the visual dimension plays a crucial role in ethnographic encounters with informants, I have tried to work simultaneously through and yet also on the visual world, maintaining a continuous dialogue between these two modes. Within the larger system of new technologies and media employed in research participants’ daily practices, video (like photography) allows the ethnographer to uncover the social dimensions that are crucial for any specific ritual context. Thanks to the study, production and analysis of the use of images, elements such as body language, proxemics, kinesics, spatial composition, relations between individuals, identity-based self-representations, emotions, power relations, transformations, migrations, etc. turn out to be invaluable research areas, especially for a “multi-sited” ethnography.14 According to Marcus (ref.), fieldwork begins from the analysis of a local site, which is then reconsidered by taking into account the macro-constructions of a wider social order so that the sites of observation and participation cross and investigate dichotomies such as for instance the decisive dichotomy of local/global.
14 It would be more appropriate to define my methodological approach as “multi- centered”, an ethnography that employs different tools depending on the case, but focuses on a single festive institution in different physical and virtual spaces or “centers” of research. .These spatial dimensions reveal connections and trajectories
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that always return to a detailed analysis of the daily practices captured by images that can be traced to the “totalizing” festive system: a system of values, interpersonal relations and visions of the world. Participant observation of daily practices creates the conditions in which the ethnographer can access the “unspoken” elements of know- how, skills and experience. Such an “expert action” comprises a set of practical and knowledge-based abilities, rhythms and memories,15 and relations with various communities of practice. In this way the ethnographic method makes it possible to reveal tacit forms of knowledge, embodied skills and implicit modes of relating. Grasseni’s “skilled vision”,16 shared by a community of practice, gives shape and meaning to events from within the community, and it can also be shared by others if their gazes are disciplined and guided.
15 Re-reading de France, video recording in filmic anthropology can be understood as a process of insertion that includes a superficial and preliminary form of observation as well as a more profound form that only takes place through the repeated examination of the resulting images. The researcher’s “insertion” mainly occurs on the moto- sensorial level through an identification of the rhythms and an awareness of the environment under investigation: insertion consists of gaining the acceptance of the people being filmed – with or without a camera – and convincing them that it is in their interests to collaborate in the production of the film and the development of the inquiry. This means that the originality and success of the insertion phase are mainly about the moral and psychological quality of the relations that the filmmaker is able to establish with the people being filmed.17
16 Through this insertion, the visual ethnographer not only produces documentation but gains acceptance and recognition of the community,for her investigative role, and comes to understand the meaning of the research participants’ gaze through a common language.
17 From the beginning of my research in Nola I noticed how much time throughout the year was invested in talking about or “collectively watching” video documents of the Gigli feast, and I inferred that participants attributed the utmost importance to visual language in relation to the feast. This is one reason why right from the beginning I felt the need to use a video camera in working on the life of the Nolan community. Indeed, there is an ever growing number of images produced about the Gigli feast every year, thanks in part to the frenetic use of web images by the younger generations who actively participate in the feast.
18 Thanks to technological shifts that have increased access to the means of production in the last decades,18 rendering them ever lighter, more affordable and therefore easier to use, the production of amateur images has increased significantly19 . Most recently, the latest generation of cellular phones has made it possible for users to easily “record” any scene they viewed or in which they participated. This has created an intense multiplication of points of view on both private and public events. Drawing on Rouch’s reflections20 and approaching the festive scene as a phenomena crossed on every level by a “participating camera”, in my work the use of a hand-held video camera turned out to be the best solution in terms of results, but also the most complicated in terms of physical effort. I was operating the video camera myself in conditions that were made very difficult by the heat and crowds, and so the participants were obliged to completely accept my presence in order for me to be able to “live” the feast from within as much as possible. They were required to protect me and the video camera
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from the difficulties and dangers represented by the tumultuous passage of hundreds of people thronging under their Giglio along the ritual path for twenty four hours (fig. 2).
From the field ...on learning to watch the Gigli
19 Despite months of preliminary investigations and attempts to become acquainted with the protagonists, my true and substantial inclusion in the community of practice began on the day of the feast, when the “Fantastic Team” or “FT” paranza (fig. 3) I had chosen to work with then began to “take care” of me and my video recording of the feast, even in the most hazardous sections of the ritual path. For instance, in 2007, in a narrow stretch that was particularly difficult for the collective transportation of the obelisk,21 a bearer who was taking a temporary break from carrying the giglio positioned himself to give me the best possible shot. He also protected me from the attacks of the crowd in the narrow street where the obelisk needed to pass, creating a space around me so that I would not be crushed or swept away. It was necessary for me to carry out a delicate operation of walking backwards with the video camera to hold focus on the Giglio as it made its imposing advance. When you walk down perilous paths, you need to be guided: I have often hit my head and broken cables or lenses simply because there was a rock I had not seen; for this reason the operator needs to be guided by someone, especially when walking backwards (Rouch 1981: 44). [22 cut note]
20 Without my research subject’s expectation of my action, I would not have been able to film such a complicated scene; I would not have obtained a firm support behind my mobile filming position; and I would have not been able to film that complicated, crucial scene. At that particular moment I gained a much greater understanding of “how” to look at the Giglio and about the Giglio itself than I had acquired through the rest of the year during dozens of hours of conversations and stories about this ritual climax. It was also at that precise moment that I achieved a full acceptance of my role in the group. Because this occurred while I was filming as part of the festive scene, it was also a real moment of being educated in the appropriate gaze for the Giglio in motion. The subsequent process of watching the video product of the feast together with practitioners also proved to be a precious moment of “education” in the community of practice’s shared gaze. After-the-fact observation allows the analyst of the image to develop his or her understanding of the process being observed, thanks in part to the potential for infinite repetition. 23
21 In Nola, copious use is made of video and photographic reproductions in the multiple festive moments that occur throughout the year and are thus not limited to the feast day itself. I myself chose to share many of the numerous hours of footage (filmed in Nola, New York and elsewhere) with the people who participated in the recorded ritual scenes. This operation turned out to be an invaluable ethnographic “practice” that enabled me to gather further data about the daily life of the Nolan community in relation to the ritual, its “embodiment”,24 and the more internal aspects of the city’s emotional system, data which would otherwise have remained obscure to an external gaze. Within the community of “Gigli-ist” practices, as locals call them, acquiring the ability to develop a “good eye” for the construction of a Giglio or the composition and performance of a paranza is unseparable from a close daily relationship with the
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practitioners. Grasseni has also highlighted de France’s insights into the apprenticeship of the gaze: When I began to film the process of evaluating genetically selected chiefs, I became particularly aware that I did not know how to look at them. On the other hand, I started to obtain good footage when I learned to acquire a certain method of looking. The video camera therefore functioned as a catalyst of attention.25
22 And even though I made my initial recording of the moving Giglio in accordance with data from interviews with the practitioners, my initial footage did not correspond ’perfectly’ with the internal, stratified Nolan logic of the feast; it was only later through processes of elicitation using my footage that I could begin to understand this logic.
23 When I shared my footage with a group of bearers who were interested in their performance, it immediately triggered an unprecedentedly explicative critique of the way I had recorded the scene (and by extension the feast itself), using the expert terms exclusive to “insiders”. My recording failed to follow the musical rhythm of the Giglio that corresponds to specific movements on the part of the paranza, which I had still not learned to decipher in terms of visual equivalents. Some scenes in my video demonstrated to them that I had not learned how to move “properly” through the crowd or how to capture subtle nuances of the ritual practice that are fundamental to the expert eye of an insider. Elicitation generated a critique of the direction of the “gaze” that I shared with the participants that turned out to be a crucial method for understanding “their” gaze on themselves and on the ritual. It was also crucial for conducting the apprenticeship that is a part of any visual fieldwork methods and experience.. Indeed, it was often the participants themselves who protected my arm from the momentary violent chaos when I was at risk of falling or when the crowd violently forced me to move so I would not be crushed, to allow me to get the best shots. For the people of Nola, getting the best footage of the feast does not mean having a perfect framing technique or obtaining the most aesthetically pleasing footage, etc; rather, it means knowing what, how and when to shoot (fig. 4).
24 A concrete example is the moment when the obelisk is about to come to a halt and the capoparanza (the head of the paranza) gives the order to set the Giglio down with the ritual command cuonce cuonce e ghie’ (“slow, slow and [put it] down”), you have to immediately understand from the precise musical note that in a few seconds the Giglio will stop moving and be set down; it is therefore necessary to immediately frame the top of the obelisk, to see if the statue stands erect or if it tends to sway, showing that the paranza is not apparata, that is, the group of bearers is not as homogeneously distributed as it should be. There is an implicit rule according to which one should film the moving Giglio until it is set down, or at least as long as it continues to dance within the frame, without turning the camera off or moving it to follow the obelisk, thus giving a sense that the Giglio is sinuously moving in relation to the fixed lens.
25 In this sense, De France’s filmic anthropology offers an ethnographic method for analyzing the practices of a local context, as with exploratory film. The difference was that in my case it was not the initial aim (or at any rate, not the only aim) to produce a film about the Gigli; rather, I intended to conduct a profound analysis of the feast and the community itself. In order to investigate the communities of practice and the dimensions of meaning construction, it was therefore necessary to learn how to look, to hone my own focus on the details and the subjects’ human experiences. As I experienced from the very beginning in Nola, the subjects themselves were able to
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recognize ethnographic authority or, at any rate, accept the insertion of the ethnographer into the group, often on the basis of a shared consensus about the modality though which they are “looked at”. By the second year of recoding the ritual, the bearers themselves admitted that my videos were becoming ever more “Nolan” and from then on the group began to agree that the presence of my video camera was indispensable in every single festive moment. Throughout 2007, I followed the Nolan festive cycle for the first time, recording every public and private event. Thanks to my constant “exploratory” use of the video camera during these meetings, my presence started to become familiar as the months passed; however, at the same time, I was not completely camouflaged in that I clearly remained an observer of the most intimate local practices. Although on one hand this aided in valorizing my work in a masculine context where the role of a female ethnographer appeared to be ever more complex, on the other hand the ritual setting under investigation obviously risked being modified by the presence of an investigating camera lens capable of “judging” each practitioner’s work. Little by little I thus became aware that I needed to take into account the fact that certain aspects of acquired knowledge might be modified by the presence of the video camera itself. Thanks to the long-term relations of reciprocity, empathy and trust I developed with the practitioners, as well as the familiarity granted to me by the passage of time and my constant presence over the years, this problem was gradually averted. Furthermore, until the actual feast days when I had to make concrete choices about “how” to look at and record the Giglio’s dancing and the bearers’ performance, everything I recorded was a simulation, merely “fictional” dancing by the obelisks; I therefore did not have the chance to understand how the “real” ritual scene would be. The above-mentioned problems began when I finally had to face not only the corporeal and linguistic narratives about the development of the feast, but also the actual Giglio dancing on the shoulders of the bearers. Eventually, however, I achieved such a full acceptance of my presence under the Giglio on the feast day that these days before the ritual performance of transportation begins, a participant uses the capoparanza’s microphone to admonish onlookers to pay attention to me and my video camera and facilitate my movements around the paranza so that I could do my best work.
26 Another interesting aspect of this case is the competition triggered by the gaze of the recorded images. In Nola and elsewhere, the practice of gazing on one’s own ritual performance in transporting the Gigli or the performances of other festive groups has come to represent a mode of socializing and reconfirming group belonging. During m years of ethnographic fieldwork in the competitive environment of Nola, I often watched video recordings of the performances of “adversary” paranze together with groups of bearers from a specific paranza. Witnessing how participants critiqued or judged the value or specific skills of the adversaries’ capoparanza or bearers allowed me to see an equally rich process of identity construction linked to the shared practice of the feast; it revealed the sub-communities’ dynamics of inclusion/exclusion and their mechanisms for granting or withholding recognition of “skills” used in the ritual performance.
27 Dozens of online groups have also emerged, born within the frames of various trendy virtual worlds, such as websites about the paranza and their respective discussion forums that function as “virtual piazzas” where the defects and merits of the feast are discussed every day. The internet additionally hosts channels for downloading music, photographic material and videos of the various Gigli feasts; there is even a Giglio in
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Second Life, built on the island dedicated to Napoli, complete with bearers and fans (fig. 5.). Furthermore, the Facebook virtual platform has been literally invaded by groups from Nola and elsewhere who are devotees of the Gigli feast. In other words, every virtual space used by the younger generations has become a site for focusing on the feast and interacting with others about the aspects that devotees hold most dear, all with the aid of images26.
Between reality and ritual fiction, the ethnographer in an epoch of iper-mediatization
28 It is useful at this point to describe some ethnographic episodes to illustrate the relationship that developed between me and the participants in relation to my work of researching and investigating through the video camera. In fact, with the passage of time my role became especially significant for those participants who wanted to publicly highlight their role and authority in the feast. These participants thought that, thanks to their visibility in my work (especially my visual work, given the immediate usability and long-lasting character of video), they would be imprinted in the memory of the feast, as was the case with some documents I will now analyze.
29 One exemplary episode occurred during the second year of my research and involved a Nolan informant in his mid-60’s, a man who played a specific role in the feast: that of organizing one of the door-to-door fundraising campaigns in the rural areas surrounding Nola’s historic center. His role as “head of the area” allowed him to enjoy a certain level of respect in the area where he lived. In fact, as described in the fieldnote extract included below, he asked me to record “his” ritual rounds to deliver committee shirts to participating families in exchange for economic offerings; since this ritual had already occurred a few days before when I was not able to attend, he re- staged the entire scene. Today I had an appointment with C.F., who for days has been asking me to follow him on his rounds of distributing the shirts in his area, which are given out as a symbol of appreciation in exchange for the offerings that the families make during the collection campaign. C. wanted me to use the video camera to record at least part of his rounds, which I wasn’t able to record a few days ago. So, as we started our pilgrimage from house to house, I realized that he had alerted all the friends and relatives in the area that he would be coming by with me to record the ritual, which had actually already happened. I was amazed by the fact that he had “organized the entire scene” before having me turn on the camera; he talked with the families before giving them the shirts they had already received days ago, exchanging all the ritual greetings and courtesies that the moment required. (Extract from field notes.)
30 This episode illustrates how, a certain point in the research, my presence (especially as a visual documenter, in this case) became fundamental for those ritual moments considered most important; participants especially wanted to take part in the stories and images of the feast that I was documenting through my study.27. In this case, as in others I experienced, the role of the anthropologist becomes so central that a re- staging of the ritual comes to be invented for him or her. Once the anthropologist is granted legitimacy and “authority” to be on site, the informant decides that the researcher must be present or else the “scene” would not have the significance it warrants and a specific character would not have the role he deserves. In Nola, it is as if participants are constrained to “survive” a game of constant dialectics that reveal the
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strong individualism that also characterizes the city in other respects, as well as the irrational “collective passion” for the feast that functions to bind these conflictual dynamics and unite residents in a common desire to grant their Gigli and to the social “recognition” gained by being protagonists of the feast.
31 In Nola, the visual dimension becomes a space of encounter with informants; paraphrasing Heraclitus, it is precisely in the attempt to better understand the language of the people under investigation that the visual dimension reveals itself to be, as in Nola, a true modality for dialogue, narrating and revitalizing the very memory of the community. As a matter of fact, there is an enormous amount of local video production about the feast. It is sufficient to note that the “master of the feast”, whose role is to support a Giglio’s feast for the entire year, commissions a photographer and cameraman for every Giglio (as you would for a wedding or other ceremony), who then produces a personalized video of the Giglio’s entire festive performance. There are also photography and video shops that routinely capture the most important moments of each Giglio, specializing in shooting from various locations in the city, to then sell the resulting images to their many interested customers, not to mention the countless amateur videos shot during the course of the procession. In fact, this practice of shooting the feast in order to watch and re-watch them selves demonstrates how attached Nolan locals are to the details of their feast. I recall one comment that a capoparanza made during the dinner of his paranza group in 2008. He was observing the paradox of the moment we were all watching, a classic explosion of collective joy. The music of the Giglio was playing at a frantic rhythm and the young bearers were gathering at the center of the hall to celebrate by dancing the “typical” steps of the feast: a common action defined by the local expression Pazziare a fa o Giglio.28. The capoparanza noted that the majority of young men were more concerned with “filming” the event with their cell phones so they could post the images on YouTube or on the paranza website that same evening, than they were with experiencing the euphoria of the moment. This is undoubtedly a characteristic of today’s younger generations, but in the case of the Gigli feast this kind of behavior is even more marked. Young people get together to watch the latest video posted on YouTube or certain specialized websites, in part to verify or to prove how many people took part in a specific Gigli-related event, thus how successful the event was. The videos often appear only a few hours after the event ends or even simultaneously as the event takes place, revealing the participants’ anxiousness to be the first one to immediately watch them and make them public. In Nola, the “gaze” on the feast thus becomes a way of understanding reality, competition between groups and the social roles of practitioners in a very generalized way. It is also a means of stopping time and recording one’s own cultural and local memory.
The visual as object and source of analysis of locality
32 In this historical moment, the feast exponentially reverberates the consequences of a visual hyper-documentation that mainly results from its contemporary media overexposure, and video documents hold an important place in the Nolan territory associated with the festive sphere. With this in mind, my research takes as one of its foci a critical study of visual sources, both local and non-local. Among the many documents I have analyzed, for this article it is useful to reference a document from the 1980s called La festa felice (The Happy Feast).29 The success that it has continued to enjoy
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over time demonstrates my conviction that the use of visual techniques and products can represent a truly productive source for critical analysis.30
33 La festa felice, a documentary made by director Gabriele Palmieri when he was working for the RAI Italian state television network, had a strong impact on the memory of Nolan residents and continues to be cited by ritual practitioners even today.31 This documentary is the product of many months of shooting conducted by the director and his crew in 1980. It consists of two parts: the first part uses voice-over commentary to recite extracts from the most well-known historical sources to describe the history of the saint, the feast and its origins, alongside images of the Gigli dancing on the feast Sunday morning. According to my analysis, many of the faces and names of the individuals starring in this video document have enjoyed increased “giglio-istic” fame around town thanks to this media exposure. In a way, it is the Nolan residents themselves who “direct” many researchers or feast enthusiasts toward the particular groups who are considered “winners” in the festive scene32. However, I believe that some of the most emblematic scenes from this film have in turn significantly contributed to granting certain actors an aura of prestige in the city’s collective imaginary, thus making them “myths” of the feast’s history. This is a result of the visual document’s value, which succeeded in leaving such a tangible impression on the memory of the feast associated with that period in large part because it was the first product to give national visibility to the feast.
34 The video goes on to describe the Gigli’s afternoon procession through the narrow streets of the city, one of the most competitive and exciting elements of the ritual. This is interspersed with extremely interesting interviews that broke new ground by interpolating actors such as the Bishop of Nola, and thereby addressing the Church’s positioning in relation to the Gigli tradition. For example, the interviewer asks the sitting Bishop of the time about the delicate position of the Church in relation to “pagan” aspects of the feast. The Bishop responds by defining these aspects as pagan and folkloristic “dregs” that must be subdued by the hand of the Church; as was customary at the time, he also speaks about finding a “remedy” for this problem. However, the Bishop also acknowledges that the application of this “remedy” had been more potent than the evil itself, in that it succeeded only in provoking more intense expressions of “liberty” in the celebrations connected to the Gigli rather than achieving the desired effects. Indeed, the entire history of the feast revolves around an ongoing conflict between the expressions of the city and those of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.33
35 It is the second part of the documentary that according to my analysis has left such an indelible mark on the memory of Nolan residents. Specifically, the part residents remember the most is a scene where some local women are asked if their husbands found them more sexually exciting, and vice versa, during the feast period and if the Giglio was in some way reminiscent of a phallic symbol, etc. After all, until the 1970s it was not easy to ask such questions in Southern Italian contexts, especially in the kind of explicit manner the way the interviewer did in this documentary with the women who were dancing around the Gigli. Many Nolan locals perceived this attitude to be risqué because it seemed to characterize the feast in a way people did not agree with or, at any rate, alluded to characteristics that people did not wish to make public. Although it is currently included within the Catholic faith, some scholars believe that the Gigli feast (like many others in Italy and throughout the Mediterranean) is actually an altered reinterpretation of the ancient tree cult celebrated by Mediterranean
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agricultural societies, and thus should be understood within the context of springtime appeasement rites.34 Some Nolan locals were already opposed to this image of their feast, and when the video was released they sent letters to the RAI network criticizing the documentary and asking that it not be broadcasted on the national network. In the end, the video was not made public until two years later in the summer of 1982, when it was projected in Nola’s central piazza; in this season, however, so many locals were on vacation that the city was nearly deserted and so only a few residents were able to attend the screening. The video only began to circulate many years later, when the first reproduction devices appeared in private homes and the use of video brought about a democratization process in the access to many documents.
36 Today, the documentary is easily accessible in that it can be found on several websites dedicated to the feast,35 and it is also widely present in many feast practitioners’ private video libraries. Nonetheless, it is still rare for people to watch the final section because, although times have changed, many devotees still refuse to recognize the presence of those “allusions” to the sexual sphere (or phallic rites in general) in their feast.
37 To analyze this tendency to hide certain aspects of one’s own culture from outsiders or to highlight certain aspects over others, I find it useful to draw on Herzfeld’s notion of “cultural intimacy”. In his work on nationalism and the Greek national character in particular (in relation to Italy, he speaks mainly of parochial characteristics), Herzfeld argues that every nation has its own stereotypes that the official culture tries to hide in order to manage its public image. When coming from the outside, these stereotypes are rejected in that they violate what Herzfeld defines as cultural intimacy, that is, the foundation of one’s reassuring feeling of belonging to a community or, in his words, the recognition of those aspects of cultural identity that are considered embarrassing in the face of strangers, but which grant members the certainty of a shared sociality. We might therefore interpret the above-mentioned Nolan episodes as manifestations of cultural intimacy related to the local dimension, behaviors that the Nolan locals used to remove or hide certain aspects of their own culture that they did not wish to reveal to the outside in order to maintain their own “intimacy” while at the same time highlighting other more “comfortable” or less problematic aspects. This process was also visible in relation to the historical origins of the feast.36
38 Finally, several years ago, the video La Festa Felice was once again publicly screened during a conference in Nola. The film director was also invited, and he was impressed by how few criticisms he received from the Nolan audience. Of course this was due in part to the fact that only a few dozen people were in attendance, rather than all the families involved in the feast. In fact, it might have been interesting to show it to all of them and to observe their contemporary reactions. Even though almost thirty years had passed since the documentary was first released and today’s cultural climate is much different than it was in the 1980s, and despite the overall emotional reaction of the public on recognizing some characters in the film who were since deceased, even on this occasion some audience members spoke up to criticize, once again, the scenes with the interviews that were considered most “uncomfortable”.
39 Drawing on Carpitella, the well-known ethnomusicologist and founding father of Italian visual anthropology, we can even conceive of a comprehensive visual anthropology, a cinematographic study of cultural facts “beginning from film”. In this sense film can be understood not simply as the appendix of work conducted in another
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setting, but rather as a product that can be used to concretely carry out scientific analyses.
Conclusion
40 It is important here to underline that my visual work was also useful during the final phase of writing up my ethnographic monograph (currently still in progress) in that re- viewing the numerous images I produced during my research, comprising approximately 200 hours of footage, aided me in revisiting specific festive moments so that I could better describe them in my writing. In this respect my videos were as, or even more, useful than my field notes.
41 On returning from my first ethnographic stay in New York in 2006, I produced an initial piece in 2007 based on my video recordings, in this case footage of the Gigli feast in the United States, for the Third edition of a National Video Competition called Memorie Migranti (Migrant Memories). This piece, called La Festa Migrante: I Gigli di Nola a New York (The Migrant Feast: Nolan Gigli in New York),37 was made using material shot in the field in 2006 edited together with a historical video document belonging to one of the families who had migrated to America, a family who had worked with me during my ethnographic research period.
42 This short video documents the family’s trip back to Nola to watch the Gigli feast almost 60 years ago. Although this video recounts only a part of the work and does not display the best technical expertise, it has nonetheless become an important element of exchange and recognition, thus contributing to further reinforce my relations with my American informants and especially the family featured in the video. Their trust in me led them to hand over this never-before-published historical family video so that I could edit it together with footage of the contemporary feast, and this too is undoubtedly a result of the quality of the rapport I have been able to establish in the field.
43 In addition, this video also proved to be an opportunity to make Nolan locals aware of the festive events connected to the Gigli that have existed for over a century on the other side of the ocean and to further connect the various communities of practice associated with the Gigli feast.
44 As with “observational” cinema38, my first visual ethnographic product can be seen as an anti-metalinguistic product in the Wittgensteinian sense in that it seeks to “show” rather than “tell”.39 In this way it privileges the direct presence of ethnographic reality over commentary and voice-overs, which are entirely absent from the video document. Furthermore, there are no interviews with practitioners and the editing, which has been entrusted to a technical professional, is designed to visually narrate the migration and juxtapose the two feasts in a way that highlights their similarities and differences. This was done in the effort to maintain a cinematographic gaze that was as faithful as possible to the reality under investigation, taking into account all the limitations imposed by archival documents and the resulting temporal gap characterizing the images that I decided to use in my case.
45 Besides a didactic application in university courses with my students over the years, my intent for the visual material I produced about the Gigli was to accompany the publication of my ethnographic monograph with a visual product that resembles a real
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ethnography documentary. In this case, the visual text is not meant to substitute for the written work of analysis on the subject but rather to accompany and strengthen the written text. The primary motivation for producing a documentary of this type originates in the ethical mandate to give some “result” back to the community that has collaborated in my ethnographic investigations over the years, be it written, textual or visual, often sharing thoughts and results40. In fact, the methodology I used is intended to fully respect the reciprocity between filming and filmed subjects, theoretically opening a space of video experimentation but also potentially sharing the video process with the community under investigation as I have done with other written texts produced so far about the feast. A further hypothetical development in this project could involve choosing a young Nolan Gigli practitioner to edit the document, someone who both has an insider’s faze on the feast and is a professional video operator active in the local context. This figure, already introduced above, has worked a great deal on the feast and has often discussed with me the best way to shoot the Gigli during my research. I believe this collaboration would enable me to design a project that better corresponds to the internal logics of the community, but which might also facilitate dialogue and understanding about the scientific objectives that I have developed over years of analysis and observation of the festive institution. With this in mind, I conclude with a quote by Rouch: …you can work for 15 days editing a film that lasts one hour. At this point, the film becomes a means of after-the-fact critical analysis of a ritual or technique; this way you can work with the people who are directly involved. This is truly irreplaceable 41
46 This article has demonstrated through concrete data acquired on an investigative field, how the choices of the visual ethnographer can assume a political value towards a democratization and a sharing of view on the local reality under investigation. As a matter of fact, my thesis - still in process - aims to show collaboration between researcher and research subjects produces a work that is the result of a polyphony of voices in the anthropological science. In other words, a modality of orienting the observation and the local memory through the audiovisual devices used by the researcher in a participatory manner as for of the views and the practices of the investigated subjects themselves, accustomed to an iper-mediatized society and therefore particularly sensitive to the value of their visual dimension and their culture.
47 Being within a field of investigation can mean firstly “to learn to watch like” the protagonists of that field watch and the practice of the watching again with them can become an effective methodology to raise specific questions, otherwise invisible to the classic practice of the participant observation.
48 The videocamera can represent the common ground on which to experiment thoughts and viewpoints, external and internal to the community, and it can even result into a transversal language to the writing and to the verbal communication since visual products have, in contemporary mediatic society, a prominent role. They represent the starting point for thinking critically of an anthropology that aims to analysis societies and their practices as being both polyphonic and dynamic.
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Figure 1 : Gigli with the musical division, during the Nolan Gigli Feast, June [?] 2011
Photo by Sabrina Iorio
Figure 2 : The Fantastic Team paranza carries the Giglio through the crowd, Nolan Gigli Feast 2011
Photo by Sabrina Iorio
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Figure 3 : The “FT” paranza carries a Giglio, Nolan Gigli Feast 2011
Photo by Sabrina Iorio
The ethnographer shoots the Giglio as it “dances”, Nolan Gigli Feast 2011
Photo by Sabrina Iorio
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An “avatar lifter” admires a Giglio built on the web,
image extracted from Second Life, 2008
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NOTES
1. This process is influenced by the criteria that J. Rouch used to define his “participating camera” or by some modalities similar to what de France called “ethno-dialogue” referring to the relationship between the anthropologist and the objects of the research, in an “exploratory” filmic anthropology. 2. Cfr. Grimshaw and Ravetz 2005 3. For a general treatment of visual anthropology in Italy, some the main references can be: Faeta, 1995; Id, 2003; Marazzi, 1999; Mazzacane, 1977; Chiozzi, 2000. On the international debate the following contributions: Mirzoeff, 2002; the works of Pink; Guindi 2004; MacDougall, 2006; Banks and Ruby 2011. 4. For a general treatment of the issues relating to video as an instrument of analysis of communities of practice, see among may, some of the contributions of Grasseni, 2003 and 2008. 5. La paranza is a hierarchic structure of about 128 men, called “collatori”, hired every year to simultaneously lift the Giglio on their shoulders through wooden beams called “varre” or “varritielli”, connected at the base of the wooden machine. Specific melodies composed for the occasion accompany the collective transportation of the Giglio, to assist the orders of the “capoparanza” and make the obelisk dance. The musical division places itself on the base of the festive machine, causinf each obelisk to weight about 40 quintals. 6. According to legend, the Nolans greeted their bishop Ponzio Anicio Meropio Paolino of Bordeaux (355-431) with the “Gigli” (lilies), on his return by ship. Over the centuries these flowers have grown in size, in proportion to the growth of devotion for the Saint, until reaching their present structure and height. For a general approach to the Gigli Feast in Nola see: Manganelli 1973; Avella 1993. 7. See futher Sciorra, 1989; Id., 2003; Posen, Ward, 1985; Posen 1986; Posen, Sciorra, Cooper, 1983 and Ballacchino 2008. 8. See Herzfeld, 2003 (1996). 9. Regarding “communities of practice” see: Goffman 1967; Brown and Duguid 1991; Lave and Wenger 1991; Chaiklin and Lave 1993; Lave and Wenger 1988; Wenger 1998; Grasseni and Ronzon 2004; Wenger, McDermott and Snyder 2002. 10. Regarding folklore and the virtual world, see the following contributions: Bindi 2008, 2008, 2008; and Blank, Trevor 2009. 11. Wenger, 1998. 12. See Lave and Wenger 1991. 13. Chaiklin and Lave 1993 14. Multi-sited ethnographic research originated in the 1980s and was employed in interdisciplinary studies such as media studies, social and cultural of science and technology, and cultural studies. For a deeper analysis of the central issues of a multi-sited ethnographic approach, see Riccio 2006. 15. Leroi-Gourhan 1965, Busoni 1996. 16. See Grasseni 2007. 17. See de France 1981, p. 53. 18. See the interesting contributions of Pink: 2006, 2007, 2007.
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19. During the 1990s, the rising popularity of lightweight video cameras stimulated the production of ethnographic representations and self-representations of local identity. The old and expensive Super 8 film was replaced by the magnetic tape, which lasted longer and cost less. With the advent of videotapes, family and touristic videos proliferated and groups’ “auto- ethnographies” increased in number. See Marano 2007. 20. For a complete analysis of Rouch’s filmography see Hanley 2010. 21. The festive pathway includes various extremely difficult spots where the different paranzas compete in terms of strength and ability in carrying the obelisk. One of these spots is called “vico Piciocchi”. This alley is located at the end of the Gigli path and is so narrow that the Giglio cannot pass though it with the mobile lateral wooden beams, usually supported by the tallest bearers in order to evenly distribute the lateral weight of the festive machine. The passage of the Giglio though this spot is thus particularly laborious because the paranza carrying the machine is required to halve itself and the obelisk must be carried quickly and steadily to avoid becoming unbalanced and getting stuck on the buildings on either side, as often occurs. 22. Rouch 1981, p. 44. 23. de France 1981, p. 56. 24. About the role of the body in the feast and its “embodiment” I would like to reference one of my recent contributions: Ballacchino 2011. 25. Grasseni 2003, p. 7. 26. There is also a channel of the “paranza” on which I worked, called “FT channel”, where the web tv of the Gigli of Nola feast is broadcasted 24 hours. On this channel, for two years in a row, it has been shared with the researcher to broadcast my filmed material of the feast has been shared, as they were considered by many the best ones. 27. For a more in-depth understanding of the role of images in emotional and non-emotional terms, a fundamental text is Freedberg 1993. 28. This expression means to pretend that the Giglio is there, therefore waving arms as to imitate the act of “collare” under an imaginary “varra” or carrying a person as if it was a Giglio. 29. This title was most likely used to counterbalance a previously published volume, see Manganelli 1973. The documentary was produced in consultation with Vincenzo Bo, Domenico de Masi and Lello Mazzacane and with the collaboration of Manganelli himself, the author of the abovementioned text. 30. There are many examples, but one interesting documentary is Gigliotti L., I Gigli di Nola, 1990, produced by Video/Italia for the Cultural Heritage Ministry as part of the series “Il Folklore-un bene culturale vivo” (Folklore: a live cultural heritage). The famous Italian ethnomusicologist Diego Carpitella was on the scientific advisory board for this project. For an overall review of the feast filmography, see Ceparano 2009. 31. About the history of the feast, there is also an interesting visual project carried out by the anthropologist Lello Mazzacane in 1975. Called Multivision, this multimedia piece was very innovative for the time, employing 12 slide projectors arranged as overhead projectors to display images of the feast onto a big screen. This document is less well-known in the Nolan collective memory, probably because Multivision was not, for obvious reasons, an easily accessible product and therefore was not reproducible on a daily basis, in contrast to the numerous VHS and DVDs produced subsequently. 32. The same thing also happened to me although in a different way, when at the beginning of my research all the Nolan locals took it for granted that I should be directed to concentrate my investigation on certain groups of Gigli bearers who were considered the most “famous” or “strongest” groups on the Gigli scene. 33. The city of Nola is a diocese and thus has hosted a Bishop’s office since the middle of the Third Century a.d., which demonstrates a secular and very strong presence of Catholic power. Following criticisms made by various sitting Bishops over the years, there have been efforts to
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eliminate many pre-Christian aspects of the feast (those considered more problematic), but without much success. 34. According to some interpretations, the origins of the feast lie in a Christian reinterpretation of a celebration that was based on pre-Christian fertility rituals. 35. The document may be viewed online (although in a very low resolution form) in the video section of the website by the Nolan paranza I worked with, the Fantastic Team. See http:// www.fantasticteam.it/PRIMAPAGINA.htm 36. During the last six years of my ethnographic research, I happened to witness allusions made to the sexual sphere in reference to the Gigli and their movements many times, especially by some of the youngest practitioners. 37. Also in this case the documentary is online in the video section of the Fantastic Team website, see http://www.fantasticteam.it/PRIMAPAGINA.htm 38. MacDougall 1975 and 1997. 39. Grasseni 2003. 40. For further discussion of the issue of ethnographic documentary production, see some studies primarily referencing the Italian context: Marano 2007 and 2007; Faeta 2003 41. Rouch 1981, p. 41.
ABSTRACTS
Drawing on research carried out between 2006 and 2011, this article argues for the centrality of the ethnographic work in the investigation of the most innovative field for contemporary anthropology: visual culture. The original characteristics of the Gigli., a one hundred year-old feast encourages the author to think in visual anthropological terms, and to propose an hypothesis about the potential of the visual as a methodology and metaphor of anthropology. Based on concrete ethnographic examples, the article presents communal ritual practice through three visual dimensions: as a methodological and knowledge-producing practice of investigation, as the object and source of the research itself and, lastly, the visual document as a potential product of ethnography alongside the written text. Therefore this article will try to answer some questions in anthropological literature about visual apprenticeship and the methodological role of the participant observation.
À partir des enquêtes de terrain menées entre 2006 et 2011, cet article défend l’importance du travail ethnographique au sein d’un des champs disciplinaires les plus innovants en anthropologie du contemporain : la culture visuelle. Les caractéristiques premières du rituel Gligli, fête existant depuis une centaine d’années, permettent à l’auteur de concevoir une pensée visuelle et anthropologique et de proposer une hypothèse construite sur le potentiel du visuel comme méthode et métaphore du champ anthropologique. Fondé sur des exemples ethnographiques concrets, ce travail présente une pratique rituelle collective à partir de trois fonctions du visuel : une méthode et une pratique productrice de connaissance, un objet à l’origine de la recherche elle-même et enfin des documents visuels, productions ethnographiques potentielles qui accompagnent le texte écrit. Cette recherche tente de répondre à certaines des questions posées par les contributions anthropologiques de références concernant l’apprentissage de l’utilisation du visuel (de l’image) et l’observation participante comme méthode potentielle.
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Basado en investigaciones realizadas entre 2006 y 2011, este artículo defiende la centralidad del trabajo etnográfico en la investigación del campo más innovador de la antropología contemporánea: la cultura visual. Las características originales del Gigli, una festividad de 100 años de antigüedad, lleva el autor a hacer una reflexión antropológica en términos visuales, y proponer una hipótesis sobre el potencial de lo visual como metodología y metáfora de la antropología. A partir de casos etnográficos concretos, el presente artículo analiza una práctica ritual colectiva mediante tres dimensiones de lo visual : lo visual como práctica metodológica generadora de conocimiento, lo visual como objeto y fuente de la investigación, y, finalmente, el documento visual como resultado potencial de la etnografía, conjuntamente con el texto escrito. Así pues, este artículo intentará responder a algunas problemáticas de la literatura antropológica sobre el aprendizaje visual y el rol metodológico de la observación participante.
INDEX
Palabras claves: etnografía visual, cultura visual, ritual colectivo, metodología visual Mots-clés: ethnographie visuelle, culture visuelle, rituel collectif, visuel et méthodologie Keywords: visual ethnography, visual culture, communal ritual practice, visual methodology Introduction
AUTHOR
KATIA BALLACCHINO University of Rome “Sapienza” and University of Molise
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Climate Change and its socio- cultural impact in the Himalayan region of Nepal – A Visual Documentation
Fidel Devkota
“Immense satisfaction, both personal and professional, can be attained through assisting a group of people in their struggles for a justice, fair play, health and welfare, and so on” (Waldram and Dyck 1993:308).
Introduction
1 There has been limited research on the cultural context in the Himalayan region of Nepal with true anthropological significance and very few based on environment and people, as “ a relatively small group of anthropologists have contributed to understanding of how societies deal with environmental change and climate variability. Those contributions aside, the discipline is not strongly positioned in public debate about - or research and action on - anthropogenic global warming” (Butterbury 2008:62).
2 Himalayan region of Nepal was a forbidden land and was left untouched for political and geographical reason before 1950’s. The history of scientific study and research prior to 1950 was limited. Only handful of researcher before 1950 were allowed in Nepal and most of them were based in Kathmandu. However the works of Krikpatrick (1811), Hamilton (1819) and Hodgson (1874) provide some information on trans-Himalayan trade and commerce and political significance. There are other significant travelogues from Chinese and Japanese monks and scholars visiting the region such as Ekai Kawaguchi (1909), whose work also sheds some light to the region, mainly in Lo-pa (Upper Mustang). According to Dhungel (2002), it was only after the annexation of Tibet
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and opening of Nepal in 1950’s anthropologist and Tibetologist’s from Europe and America began their research in Himalayan region of Nepal. Dhungel mentions that “ the romantic fascination of ‘western’ scholars with Tibet and the Himalayan subject matter entered Nepal studies, and the northern frontier region of Nepal began to be viewed as an alternative location of Tibetan studies” (Dhungel 2002:24). Giuseppe Tucci (1953), a Sanskrit and Buddhism scholar from Italy is credited as a pioneer of cultural and historical study of Himalayan region of Nepal in the 1950’s. Christopher Von Furer Haimendorf (1964) is considered to be the first anthropologist working on rituals, religion, and social values in the region (Dhungel 2002).
Background
3 Nepal is a landlocked country, which lies along the southern slopes of the Himalayas. It is about 900 km from east to west and between 150 and 250 km from north to south and is bounded by the India to the east, south and west and the Tibet region of China to the north (Spence 1987:223). Nepal is not just about nature, but also a melting pot of people with distinct culture, language and religion. It is generally “thought that the entire Himalaya region served historically as a place of refuge for diverse cultures fleeing imperial conquest. This is a complex issue, but it partially accounts for the current ethnic and territorial diversity in the area” (Zurick 1989:233). Topographically, Nepal is divided into three distinct regions running laterally across the country – Himalayan (above 4,877 meter), hills (610-4,876 meters), and terai (flat land) belt runs up to an altitude of 609 meters above the sea level (Upadhyaya 2010:2). Himalayan region occupy 35.2 per cent of the total land area of Nepal but provide a home for only 7.8 per cent of the total population (Census 1991) and according to the census in 2001, the total population of Nepal was 23.1 million and the shows the slight decline in Himalayan population to 7.3 per cent (Census 2001) but the importance of the region is immense as the economy of the country depends on agriculture and tourism for which the Himalayan region is extremely important.
4 Climate Change according to World Bank Report is any change in climate over time, weather due to natural variability or as a result of human activity (Ahmed et al. 2009) which is slightly different to that of UNFCCC which describes it as “a change of climate which is attributed directly or indirectly to human activity that alters the composition of the global atmosphere and which is in addition to natural climate variability observed over comparable time period” (UNFCCC 1992:3). According both the above mentioned definition humans will be directly affected and this could be the defining ‘human -development’ challenge of our time (Ahmed et al. 2009). This puts the Himalayan region of Nepal in vulnerability zone. Sudden change in climatic pattern has threatened the livelihood of the rural poor. Clear indications of these impacts can be seen on Himalayan glaciers, which are melting rapidly. Food scarcity and malnutrition, diseases such as malaria and dengue fever are moving to higher altitudes. Water-borne diseases have visibly amplified, accompanied by the lack of safe drinking water and basic sanitation in the region. Deaths and morbidity associated with extreme and erratic weather has increased. Climate change is and will impact, more severely to the children, women, marginalized and poor people and community (Shrestha 2009, Rai and Gurung 2005) even though it can be too early to blame it all on climate change factor for such changes.
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5 The Himalaya is renowned for high altitude settlements with distinct physical setting and pattern. However, most anthropologist working in this region “define Himalaya not only with the respect to the geographical but also to the historical, linguistic, political, cultural, structural, ecological and even psychological dimension of the region and of its people” (Dahal 2008:50). Therefore it is important as an anthropologist witnessing the social transformation to know “what kind of cultural techniques do local people utilize for the sustainable use of natural resources and the prevention of and adaptation to Natural Hazards” (Froemming and Reichel 2011:228) as understanding its impact on culture and people of our time and responding successfully to them will be a major test for mankind and civilization. Crate and Nuttall suspect that environmental and cultural change is happening far beyond the reach of restoration (Crate and Nuttall 2009). I believe that anthropology can play a vital part in such times of change and transition. Even though no society/ individuals can stop climate change, as Hassan puts “efforts can be made to minimize vulnerability to the deleterious impact and enhance the resilience of the social system” (Hassan 2009:61). And this research is an effort with the role of activist, witness, advocate, and a medium to contribute to the societies of Himalayan region and elsewhere.
Research Site
6 Lo-pa (Upper Mustang) is located in the trans-Himalayan region of north-western Nepal. It has an area of 780 sq. mile (Dhungel 2002) and is divided into seven Village Development Committee (VDC) namely, Chuksang, Ghami, Tasarang, Lo-Manthang, Chosser, Chonup and Surkhang. Upper Mustang has the population of 5395 (Census 2001). Most of Upper Mustang doesn’t have a monsoon climate of rest of Nepal as it falls in ‘Rain-Shadow’ zone (Baidya et al. 2007). Upper Mustang is also is known for its severe winter and is one of the coldest region of Nepal as temperature drops up to -20 degree to -30 degree Celsius and in summer it stays between 0 degree to 10 degree Celsius (Dhungel 2002).
7 The inhabitants of Mustang are “culturally, linguistically, and ethnically similar to the people of western and central Tibet” (Dhungel 2002:14) and the aristocratic house of the region has a matrimonial relationship with several of the highest aristocratic houses of Lhasa including last monarch of Mustang. Inhabitants of Upper Mustang are mostly Lo-pa people of Tibetan ethnicity (Dhungel 2002). The population “compromise of three caste or social groups-the Bistas, who comprise the Mustang royalty and the aristocracy, the Gurungs- who form the bulk of the population and the Biswakarmas, the lowest in the social rung are the occupational caste group (SYC 2011:6). Even though monarchy has been abolished from Upper Mustang, king of Mustang has a considerable privileges and traditional authority and power. Village chiefs (mukhiyas and kutwals) and the monastery also have considerable influence with respect to socio-economic and cultural affairs.
8 Dhe (Dhye or Dewa) Village:
9 Surkhang is the largest VDC in Upper Mustang covering the area of 784.16 sq. km and the population is 515 with 114 households (SYC: 2011). Surkhang VDC has six settlements namely, Di, Surkhang, Yara, Ghara, Dhe and Tangye. Dhe village of Surkhang (Ward no. 9) is one of the smallest and isolated villages of Upper Mustang, which lies about 20km east of Tsarang (see figure 1). The village is 3860m above sea
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level and it has a moderate weather in summer and severe winter. There are now 24 houses; with approximately 150 people and around 1000 livestock live in the village (see table 1). According to the people of Dhe, they migrated to current location from Nakkali- Damadorkunda, which is 2-3 days walk up to the northeast near Tibetan Border. Dhe villagers still use that area for pasture. Dhe people believe that from Nakkali- Damadorkunda they moved to ‘Zhong’ or the Caves that lies 200-300 meter direct below the current settlement. There are around 30-40 caves of different sizes and some still in use by monks and villagers for religious purpose (Devkota 2011).
Figure 1. Location of Upper Mustang and Dhe Village in the Map of Nepal
Figure 2. Settlement of Dhe Village
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List of 24 households of Dhe Village (Table 1)
Number of family Number of household Head of the family Current location member(s)
1 Decchen Gurung 3 Dhe
2 Dorje Chopten Gurung 8 Kathmandu
Jamyang Wangchuk 3 10 Dhe Gurung
4 Karma Gurung * 7 Dhe
5 Kungsan Rinzin Gurung 8 Dhe
6 Norbu Wangchuk Gurung 2 Tsarang
7 Pasang Gurung 9 Dhe
8 Pasang Wangdu Gurung 5 Dhe
9 Pema Doma Gurung 2 Dhe
10 Pema Tsewang Gurung 6 Dhe
11 Sangbo Gurung 7 Dhe
12 Sonam Gyaltsen Gurung 4 Dhe
13 Tachung Gurung 5 Chuksang
14 Tashi Choden Gurung 9 Dhe
15 Tashi Chopel Gurung 13 Dhe
16 Tashi Phuntosk Gurung 12 Tsarang
17 Tashi Rinzin Gurung 4 Muktinath
18 Topri Gurung 3 Dhe
19 Tsering Butti Gurung 4 Jomsom
20 Tsering Choedup Gurung 12 Tsarang
21 Tsering Dhake Gurung 8 Dhe
22 Tsering Largyal Gurung 7 Pokhara
23 Tsonam Tsering Gurung 7 Dhe
24 Yangchen Gurung 1 India
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Total population: 147 (it is based on the data provided by the villagers) (Note: exact number was not possible because the villagers are not sure of the new number of persons in the family of migrated villagers) * (Karma’s family doesn’t have a land in Dhe but lives a nomadic life in region)
Methodology
Anthropological Discourse
10 What Anthropologist has to offer is primarily a systematic way of understanding humanity – our as well as everyone else’s (Ruby 1980:161) and the ‘big’ questions that engaged anthropologist since the beginning of the discipline: “what is so unique about human beings? how are groups of people-family, class, tribe, nation – formed and what holds them together? what is the nature of belief, economic exchange, the self? how are we to go about researching and understanding such things” (Monagham and Just 2000:11-12)? Anthropology apart from answering the above mention questions has deeply evolved and involved in vivid richness that comes out of specific meetings and encounters anthropologist/ethnographers have with particular peoples and places. In Anthropology and particularly ethnography both a process and the product are equally important as Agar explains “ethnography is not simply ‘data collection’; it is rich in implicit theories of culture, society and the individuals (Agar 1980:23)” and I have tried to find some knowledge and understanding that can be shared within the mountain people of the region and beyond. As anthropology has long been engaged in “relating the description of local beliefs and practices to categories of universal, pan-human significance” (Monagham and Just 2000:20).
11 I begin my film with a high-ranking ‘amchi’ (doctor) talking about the Buddhism and its relation to environment and relating it to the current problem of Dhe village. I am trying to relate it to pre-climatology and scientific records, because at that time “change of climate within narrow span of human memory were thought to be the works of god and the only human recourse was propitiation through prayer, sacrifice, and temple building” (Fagan 2005:247-248). My approach here has nothing to do with the ‘classic’ anthropologist/ethnographers of 1930’s and 1940’s - a period where the communities were presented as frozen in time, outside any historical context, and without reference to neighboring societies or encapsulating states (Monogham and Just 2000) and I am only referring to the geo-political distance of the region with the center.
12 My research is based on four important questions referred by Roncoli et al. – “how people perceive climate change through cultural lenses (“perception”); how people comprehend what they see based on their mental models and social locations (“knowledge”); how they give value to what they know in terms of shared meanings (“valuation”); and how they respond, individually and collectively, on the basis of these meaning and values (“response”)”(Roncoli et al. 2009:88) and my assumption that this elements of human experience are best represented visually or with the words of Sarah Pink “the visual brings the fieldwork experience directly on to the context of representation” (Pink 2006:16) in the discipline of words (Mead 1995). My main motivation of choosing visual medium is as Asch puts it,
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“Cultures are now under ferocious pressure to change and change quickly, many will disappear. That is why anthropology and ethnographic film-making are so important” (Asch 1992:204).
13 Also As mentioned by Gardner “the most significant advantage of cinematic documentation are that the evidence provided is available to the view of many individuals both immediately and for a period” (Gardner 1957: 345-346). It was important for me as an anthropologist to recollect and represent memories of people who move between time and culture with the help of cinema because Dhe villagers have already lost a substantive part their history and memories of their previous settlement.
Observation (Observational and Participatory Observation)
14 I have used observational cinema as the foundation of my research as “Filmmakers working broadly within an observational film paradigm, it to encourage the film subjects to speak for themselves, to convey- or be prompted to convey – a board spread of background information necessary as context for the film’s main narrative”(Banks 2001:150). I do not have an established protagonist in my film, as I wanted the whole village to be the central character, but I choose a villager named Topri Gurung (55/ male) as a representative for the village. The reason behind Topri Gurung’s selection was, he is active, well respected in the village, he is an elected ‘kutwal’ (second head) of the village, and he has a good command of Nepali language and he was willing to support for the ‘mutual’ cause. But at certain point during the research, I was not happy to be content with mere observation, so ‘on the ground for experimentation’ established by observational cinema (Grimshaw 2005). I tried to ‘facilitate’ beyond it, as I found out operating only on observational mode was not sufficient to express myself. As a researcher and a filmmaker on given situation as Nichols said Participatory “ gives us a sense of what it is like to for the filmmaker to be in a given situation and how that situation alters as a result” (Nichols 2001:116). Therefore I took a participatory and reflexive role of an anthropologist in few scenes of the films. It allowed me to interact with people, deepening our relationships and trust and to extract the depth of local knowledge, understanding and dialogue. This was vital for taking field-notes in depth and for anthropological understanding in whole. Sometime I found myself just filming in the spirit of Vertov’s ‘Man with a movie camera’ (1929). I was also aware that “Fieldwork does not place human interaction outside the research paradigm: instead, the paradigm is based upon human interaction, in all its richness, variety, and the contradiction”(Cassell 1980:31), and in my research such interactions were flowing freely in both directions but in doing so I was also aware that “Participant observation means that you try to experience the life of your informants to the extent possible; it doesn’t mean that you try to melt into the background and become a fully accepted member of the culture other then your own” (Bernard 2011:293). It was easier for me to be accepted because I am also a mountain people just like them.
Use of Audio / Visual medium
15 The ethnographic data generated from the audiovisual technology have various uses, as mentioned by Schensul et al. “ ethnographers are interested in capturing behavior, thoughts, feelings, and products that provide insights into cultural phenomena in order
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to better understand human behavior within the context of culture and to design interventions to effect individuals and/or cultural change” (Schensul et al. 1999:40). Audio/Visual medium gave me the possibility of reviewing, analyzing and interpreting data for unlimited time. Although ethnographers basically depended on written records to capture the answers from their subject, or note their observation in natural context and the techniques of Audio-Visual, which provide an alternative or supplement to the extensive written record which is the hallmark of traditional ethnography (Nastasi 1999:1) and anthropology in general. My use of Audio/Visual is not just to supplement but look for alternative approach to anthropology through visual mediums. As said by Asch the emergence of film has given “humankind unprecedented opportunities to experience vicariously the details of life in unfamiliar, often distant and isolated places (Asch 1992:196) and I wanted to explore it believing in what MacDougall said, “ images and written texts not only tell us things differently, they tell us different thing” (MacDougall 1998:257).
Interview
16 Local people of Upper Mustang in general speak Tibetan language as their mother tongue. According to the local, they say that their dialect is similar to the central and western part of Tibet. The dialect they speak in Upper Mustang is called Lo-pa. Most of the younger generations of the region speak perfect Nepali, as Nepali is the official language, which is also the medium of language in schools. Older generation, mostly men speak Nepali and even some other local language because they spent about 4-5 winter months every year selling Jimbu (Allium hypsistum) herb in lowland. Most of women and children who haven’t been to school or to the lowland cannot communicate in Nepali.
17 My protagonist Topri Gurung from Dhe speaks good Nepali. Topri’s wife Kunga Angmo Gurung also speaks good Nepali with heavy Lo-pa accent like Topri, which is normal to the people of the region (see figure 3). The other collaborators (Dhycho Bista, Pasang Gurung, Tsering Larkke Gurung) also speak fluent Nepali and Tibetan. My Tibetan skill is limited to normal conservation so almost all of my interviews were conducted in Nepali except that of head monk of Tsarang Gompa and few females from Dhe. Topri Gurung helped me explain things with other villagers in Tibetan language, which made it easier to communicate.
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Figure 3. Topri Gurung and his wife Kunga Angmo Gurung from Dhe Village
18 Most of my interviews were improvised with out any formal structures and guidelines. I was using the tipped information from different nearby villages. When I was in Tsarang, I asked to the locals about Dhe people and if they know anything about the current situation of Dhe . Locals of monks of Tsarang village gave me various informations, myths and history of Dhe Village. Most of the people outside Dhe believed that the current problems of Dhe related to the selling of fossil stones and killing a yeti by the Dhe locals that is why the god is angry with them. When I was in Dhe, I used this information for our conversation and interview so we were always moving forward and there were lots of new information coming out in the process. They told me whatever they wanted to say and I asked what I wanted to ask. It was a mutual process with information was flowing both ways.
Post production
19 I shot approximately 700 minutes of visual footages, and more then 10 hours of separate sound material and about 2000 (plus) photographs from my fieldwork in Dhe, Lo- Manthang and Samjhong of Upper Mustang. To make a 40-50 minute film out of the material was a challenge for me, also because I was editing it on my own. I found it quite hard to detach myself from the footages because they are so special and will always be.
20 I choose only to use footage from Dhe for my thesis because of the time constrain and other technical reason. From my research I found out that the problem of Dhe is similar to the problem of other villages such as Samjhong, but there are also some different local problems of each village, but for this research I will be focusing on common problem of the region with special focus on Dhe. I will use the footages from other sites in my follow-up research.
21 Ethnographic film documentation must satisfy certain terms because it is scientific venture and as mentioned by Fuchs “unity of the place, time, group, and action,
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together with the strict obedience to the chronology of action in the final version of the film” (Fuchs 1988:222). It was always a challenge to edit the film, but no matter how extensively and meticulously we work during production and post-production phase, the final outcome still remains the selective amount of what actually happened. From my experience filming and editing the footage of the fieldwork, I do agree with the expression of MacDougall that the “footage is some kind of unmediated evidence that contains the ‘truth’ about external reality… editing does in fact introduce its own higher order of truth and understanding” (MacDougall 1998:215). I do have to admit that there is more depth in knowledge and representation in my rushes then in the final film. With the length I also lost some context on postproduction.
22 One of the important parts of postproduction process was subtitling the film. MacDougall said that subtitling is “open to error and abuse, for it has the potential to make people say whatever the filmmaker want to say” (MacDougall 1998:167). And when I was subtitling the film I found out that it was quite hard at times to match the essence of the voice with the words. I think there will always be some meaning lost in translation. As different language and different people require different lengths of time to express similar ideas, it may change the pace of the film and flow of information through subtitles, and as MacDougall further adds that subtitle forces a compromise between length and nuance of the film (MacDougall 1998), which is clearly visible in some parts of my film. For me it was also particularly hard to use the information from the subtext because of my limitations with the Tibetan language.
Ethics
23 Upper Mustang was closed to foreigners before 1992, and since then it has been placed under semi-protected region because of the sensitivity of the cultural pattern of the region. As I was doing a research and filming in the region, I was working with extra responsibility and I was also aware of the fact that “exposure to the outside world can be occasionally pose grave dangers to the people and societies” (Asch 1992:197). First I took written permission from the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) headquarter in Pokhara, which is under the Ministry of Environment (MOE).
24 The development of trust between local communities was vital to my research and film project. Dhe villagers trusted me and gave access to the insight of their life and culture, which was not possible without mutual trust and respect. As stated by Asch our trust constituted an unwritten contract, which brought certain obligation and ethical consideration into play (Asch 1992: 196). I have always been critical of early and even recent ethnographical works where the subjects are degraded and even abused. I didn’t design my film “to shock, but to bridge a cultural differences” (MacDougall 1992:90) and it was always a challenge for me to produce a film belonging equally to two different cultures. “I view the process of filmmaking as a collective one, that is, I cannot film at, but only with people” (Freudenthal 1988:124), the very people I have to ‘represent’ with their high held dignity and pride. “The ethics of the complex exchange relationship of fieldwork require that researchers be prepared to use considerable amount of their financial resources, skills and information for the benefit of the people who supply them with data in the long hours and days of the fieldwork enterprise” (Pelto and Pelto 1976:539-540), and as an anthropologist, I tried to be a collaborator, felicitator and mediator between the locals and the global.
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Results and Findings
Changing landscape
25 Climate change is having a noticeable impact on the environment of Nepal and its even severe in the Himalayan region (Upadhaya 2010). Even though my film project was entirely based on Dhe Village, I spent few weeks in other villages such as Tsarang, Lo- Manthang and Samjhong to have a clear picture of the region. According to the details and fact that people provided to me and from my own observation, impact of climate change is distinctly visible in the region, but it may not be entirely due to global warming.
26 In his book ‘The Kingdom of Lo (Mustang)’ Dhungel presents an interesting fact and I also noticed it myself that the region of Upper Mustang had monumental palaces, gompas, and shrines, which proves its prosperity at the time. Most of these were built around 14-15th century but after 16 th century there has not been any remarkable constructions in the region (Dhungel 2002) and the current situation may have started by then. Landscape of the region is changing due to glaciers melting and desertification of the land.
27 I took countless interviews in Dhe and other part of the region and I have included three such interviews in the film where the villagers talks about their experience which shows that the region is changing.
28 Topri Gurung (55/m): “Everything was good here, when I was a child. I used to take herd of small goats for grazing up in the fields, which used to be all green” (Devkota 2011: 4’).
29 Pasang Gurung (37/m): “ It used to snow heavily in the past which was good for us but now a days there is not that much of snowfall, and if doesn’t snow, water source also starts to dry and may be that is the reason of our problem” (Devkota 2011:7’).
30 Tsering Larkke Gurung (45/m): “in our forefathers time there used to be thousands and thousands of animals with enough grass to feed on…but now we hardly have one thousand animals and they do not have enough to graze” (Devkota 2011:28’).
31 Topri Gurung and Wangel Gurung (74/m) showed me the old water channels and deserted fields of Dhe. According the villagers and Topri Gurung 2/3rd of field is abandoned now due to lack of water for irrigation (Devkota 2011).
32 Villagers also told me that they used to have at least 1 or 2 ponds per household, and the water collected on these ponds used to be sufficient for irrigation. But now they hardly have 5-6 ponds full of water in the peak season (April/May). Most of the ponds on the top of the villages are flat dry and the villagers now collect water in communal ponds and use in rotation (Devkota 2011). It is still not enough to irrigate the all- useable land. Villagers are abandoning more and more pieces of their land every year and the landscape of Dhe looks completely arid and deserted now (see figure 4).
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Figure 4. Barren and abandoned fields of Dhe Village
Myths from the mountains
33 Buddhism is the main religion in Upper Mustang with reminiscence of shamanistic and bonpo traditions. There are many myths related to the current problems of Dhe. A fifth- generation and a well-known amchi from Lo-Manthang explained the relation between people, environment and Buddhism, “According to Buddhism, we have to conserve environment. We should not cut old trees because ‘ying’ stays there which will curse us, ‘naga’ lives in our rivers and water holes, and if we disturb it- there won’t be rainfall and will also give us health related problems. We shouldn’t disturb big mountains because ‘chen’ lives there and it will also curse us. We are not following the rules of Gautam Buddha, therefore the nature is punishing us for our actions. Dhe is really a small isolated village in the mountains, according to our Buddha-dharma and mountain beliefs there exists ‘heula’ which is the village deity. We have to worship and pray for it often and if we fail to do so it will get angry and will cause hailstorms and all sorts of other calamities. So the problems of Dhe may be related to the curse of the ‘heula’” (Devkota 2011:1’).
34 Tashi Tsering (46/m), a high ranking Lama of Tsarang Gompa gave me some more myths related to the problems of Dhe. According to one of the myth – Dhe Villagers killed a snowman or a yeti and skinned it. Killing of this mythical yeti may have cursed the village (Devkota 2011). Dhe villagers and Wangel Gurung who was a part of the incident verified the story. Tashi Tsering Lama also gave me another reason and linked it to the current problems of Dhe. Dhe river and a part Dhe village is said to be the source of fossils stones (Saligram) found in Kali-Gandaki river. Hindus and Buddhist consider such stones to be sacred. Dhe people were involved in collection and selling of such holy stones (see figure 5), which may have caused the current problem (Devkota 2011).
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Figure 5. Saligram (Fossil Stone) from Dhe River
35 People of Dhe strongly deny any foul play or wrongdoing. They believe that it is their destiny and nothing else. Pasang Gurung says, “We tried if the lama’s praying and recitations will ease the situation. We believe in it and we tried everything according to our tradition and culture. We tried everything- it’s hard to believe that it happened because ‘heula’ is angry with us” (Devkota 2011:8’).
36 When I asked about the fossil-stone business with the villagers, they told me that it’s their right to sell the stone and earn some money from it because the stone is from their land. There are other stories and myths associated with the place and region, which can also be related to the current problem of the region, but it will require a close study and analysis before coming to any conclusions.
Socio-economic factors
Food production
37 People of Dhe village mostly dependent on the crop of barely, wheat, buckwheat, oats, mustard, potatoes, and peas for staple diet which also includes meat and dairy products. Agriculture is main source of livelihood in the region, but not even fifty per cent of the people of region have enough farming land to support themselves (Dhungel 2002) and the amount of food produced is simply not sufficient to feed the people for the whole year. They buy mostly wheat-flour and maize from the nearby markets and Tibet. Rice is not produced in the region at all, and according to Topri Gurung, it’s a luxury “we eat rice only in the festivals like yartung and loshar (Devkota 2011)”. They normally barter rice with jimbu herbs in the lowland. As the collection of jimbu herb is also affected due to the adverse climate, rice is getting costlier for the Dhe villagers. The food security is at risk because several bad years with severe weather have affected crops growing cycle.
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38 Dhe Village like most of Nepal’s poor living in rural areas rely on rain-fed subsistence agriculture (Gum et al. 2009) and due to less precipitation and snowfall, the fields are deteriorating. Due to the lack of assistance, resource and information they are just abandoning their land. People of Dhe say that they are not even getting the amount of grains they planted on the field (Devkota 2011). Villagers are finding it hard to cope with erratic weather pattern because the severity is such that their indigenous knowledge no longer has the answer or understanding. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC)’s report shows that the crop yield in many countries of Asia has declined, partly due to the rising temperature and extreme weather events and rainfall variability (Cruz et al. 2007:471), same report also predict risk of hunger and scarcity of water resource which is already taking to place in Upper Mustang.
Figure 6. Dhe Villagers working on the field
39 Even productive agricultural fields with access to irrigation are being affected by the landslides and flood due to the melting glaciers located in the north (Dhungel 2002). Natural calamities have forced villager to sell their cattle in numbers every year for buying food and vegetables and without the purchasing power they are in the risk of starvation. Every year there are considerable numbers of cattle sold in every household. The villagers are now in a dilemma of sustaining life once all the cattle are gone. During my fieldwork I also found out that the dependence on bought food has brought changes in the eating habit. Topri Gurung and other villagers complained that traditional staple diet of Dhe villagers such as ‘tsampa’ or ‘sattu’ is not popular to the younger generation who prefer cheap biscuits and ready-made instant noodles more. Rice and potato (mostly bought from outside) is slowly replacing wheat and barley as a staple food.
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Animal husbandry
40 People in Himalayan region have a close relationship with animals. Animal husbandry plays a vital role for the survival of the people especially in “drier parts where production systems usually are based on some form of pastoralism, which involves seasonal mobility of herds and people between grazing areas” (Anderson et al. 2010:204). This is the case with the people of Dhe where animals are not just use for transportation and meat and dairy purpose but also for clothing’s and in recent times to generate cash from the sale of animal and wool. Animal husbandry is a vital economic resource of Lo-pa region and Dhe village. People’s “livelihood is still based equally on herding of domestic animals such as yak, Dzo, ba-lang (cow), horse, mule, donkey, goat and lamb. Since Lo-pas have already had very limited arable land, individual of family property was calculated mainly on the basis of livestock holdings” (Dhungel 2002:17).
41 During my research I found that the family of Wangdel Gurung is rich and prosperous because they have the only yak herd in the village and two sons of the family Tashi Larke Gurung look after cattle, Pasang take cares of the small scale trade with Tibetans and their wife Dolkar Gurung (polyandry marriage) is in-charge of the household with her father in law. This is also a typical case of a polyandry family. In recent time the sharp decline in numbers of animals due to lack of pasture and raising temperature is causing a social and economical problems. There is no practice of growing fodder-crop in the region (Donner 1968:33), which is still the case; therefore it is hard for the people of the region to feed animals once the wild pastures starts to dry. The decline in number of animals is directly related to the availability of the pasture in the region.
42 Most of the villagers who have flocks of goat (around 150-200 maximum) can earn around forty-fifty thousand Nepalese Rupees (NRs.) a year by selling wool to Chinese businessmen (Devkota 2011). Cash is vital to the economy of the village, and if the land and climate deteriorates in current rate, there will be a decline in numbers of cattle. This means a massive decline in income from the sell of dairy products like butter and ghee and dry cheese. Due to decline in purchasing power villagers are forced to sell their remaining cattle to buy food and cloths.
Cultural Implications
43 Livelihood and survival of the people of the region is closely related to the piece of their land and number of their cattle and if it is affected by the sudden change in climate pattern then it will for sure has its consequences on the cultural aspect of life.
44 For centuries people of the region has been celebrating their main festivals such as loshar and yartung together in the community. Each house contributing grains to make food and chang (local beer) and preparing a feast for the whole village. Eating, drinking, singing and dancing used to be the part such festivals. As the food-production is decreasing in alarming rate and the numbers of cattle dwindling, villagers are finding hard to continue their traditions. One of the most important festivals of Tiji which is celebrated in Lo-Manthang with all village of Lo-pa region coming together is loosing its charm, simply because villages such and Samjhong and Dhe are simply not able to spare much grains to the festival. According to Pasang Gurung: “ ..and now our tradition, in our main festivals yartung and loshar, we collect some wheat and grains to make chang and alcohol. Now we do not have enough food to
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feed us how can we contribute to the village fest? Yes our festivals and celebration are all affected and its slowly vanishing” (Devkota: 2011:9’).
45 It is not just the food-production and cattle that is affecting the culture and traditions the declining population is also a major concern affecting the cultural pattern. There were 24 households in Dhe Village before and now 10 families have migrated to other areas and according to the mountain traditions they celebrate all the main festivals in community. Pasang Gurung points out that “the village looks quiet and deserted… we feel sad in our festivals because we do not have enough people to celebrate it together. As our festivals are not meant to be celebrated with just 1-2 person, it would be nice if we can celebrate with all friends and families” (Devkota 2011:45’).
46 Dhe Villagers celebrate a festival called dhimpuche also known as yartung for the children below 13 years. All the children of the village gather in the pine tree (see figure 7 in Annex) that is at the top of the village with the village lama and offer some pujas and celebrate it with a feast of thin bread that looks like pancake. This festival is only celebrated in Dhe Village in the whole of Lo-pa region so it is a unique tradition of Dhe villagers. The children of migrated family are not able to celebrate this festival elsewhere because the part of the festival also involves the exact pine tree of the village. If the villagers resettle in Thangchung as planned it may not be possible for the villagers to continue with this tradition. Skepticism shows is seen on the villagers as Topri Gurung states “it will be a long distance walk for the children, I can’t it say now….but no matter what, we have to follow the tradition” (Devkota 2011:37’). Cultural identity will always be at risk in displaced and migrated communities and they may even find it hard to keep up with their practices. Oliver-Smith explains “the loss and destruction of cultural sites, shrines, and religious objects, and the interruption of important scared and secular events and rituals, undermines the community’s sense of self” (Oliver-Smith 2009:123). It is really important to understand Oliver-Smith’s statement because Dhe villagers may have the same problem in coming years and some are already happening. After the experience of loss the transition and process of recovery is never an easy thing socially, economically and psychologically.
47 Polyandry marriage practice may also be affected by climate change. Polyandry marriage within brothers of the same family keeps the limited land intact to the family, and the work division of looking after cattle, land and household was keeping the harmony in the family. The decline in cattle number and cultivating land and migration has forced people to abandon the polyandry marriage. There may be other factors such as modernization related to it, but it can also be linked to climate change when closely observed.
48 Karma’s Case:
49 During my research I met Karma Gurung (60/male) who is from Dhe Village. His story represents the changing pattern of life and culture among semi-nomadic people of the region. Following story is based on the recorded interview with Karma Gurung in his tent dwelling on the banks of Dhe river (see figure 7).
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Figure 7. Karma’s home and animals (in the banks of Dhe River near to Thangchung)
50 Karma Gurung’s mother was a jhuma (a middle daughter of the family who is sent to the monastery to serve the god). Jhuma’s life is in a way similar to those of ‘ani’ or the female monks. Karma’s mother had a forbidden-relationship with a man from another village and got pregnant. Karma is a nylbho or the illegitimate one. She was forced to leave the convent and came to live in her village (Dhe) with the baby. Every jhuma gets a piece of land from the family which she can use it for her lifetime, according to the tradition the land is return to the brothers of jhuma after her death. Karma lived with his mother and worked on the field and few cattle before his mother died. After her death he returned the land to his maternal uncles and he was left only with small number of cattle. From that time till today he and his wife Heshe Wangmo Gurung (49) with five children live a semi-nomadic life with their cattle. The rapid decline in grazing grass is forcing them to sell their cattle and they have no other way to support their livelihood. Without any piece of land to work on and declining numbers of their animals – how will Karma’s family sustain? There are many cases like of Karma in the region whose not just culture and tradition but also sole existence is in danger due to change - A fact verified by the study of nomads and pastoralism in Upper Mustang by Pandey and Chetri (2005).
Migration
51 The tax document of 1751 shows the record of 16 tax-paying households at the time (Dhungel 2002:19), and after two hundred sixty years, there are only 24 household in the village out of which ten family have already migrated elsewhere. According to the census of 2001, Nepal had a population of 23.15 million with annual growth rate of 2.25 per cent (Census 2001). According to the data provided by Dahal and Central bureau of Statistics (CBS) the population of Mustang in 1961- 33,600, 1971-29,944, 1981-12,930, 1991-14,319 and in 2001-14,981 (Dahal 2008 and CBS 2009). The statics and census
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proves that the region of Upper Mustang the population is on constant move and decline.
Figure 8. A migrated family living in Tsarang
52 Tecoli defines the phenomenon of migration as an “adaptive response to socio- economic, cultural, political and environmental transformation, in most instance closely linked to the need to diversify income source and reduce dependence on natural resource” (Tacoli 2011:3), which is the reason for the migration of Lo-pa people from the region. It is also common for the people living in fragile and changing environment because their livelihood gets affected with the variation in climate conditions and there is always the struggle of survival. In the case of Dhe villagers except for three families, seven families have moved to nearby locations on the same region where they have existing networks of friends and relatives.
53 It is believed that most of the Lo-pa people migrated from Tibet (Dhungel 2002), and after the annexation of Tibet by China, the number has almost come to a halt. The strong presences of Chinese force in the border have deprived Lo-pa people of using the alpine pasture in the frontier region of Tibet, which they have been using for centuries (Dhungel 2002). Decrease in food production and decline in cattle herd is pushing Lo-pa people to migrate even though the mountain communities have a deep understanding of natural hazards and have knowledge of reducing the likelihood of tragic events (Blyth et al. 2002) things are happening to soon to fast for them to cope up with and the local knowledge in not working anymore.
54 Remaining 14-house hold of Dhe village wants to move to Thangchung and the preparation is already underway on community level. They have planted fruit and timber trees. Villagers told me that they are planning to make 24 houses for all the villagers, even for those who left for almost all of them can’t wait to reunite with the friends and the families. As an anthropologist/activist I am, with my research reflecting/assisting on the “multidimensional nature of the impacts of climate change
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and to the adaptive response of humans to these impacts” (Roncoli et al. 2009:103), and migration is one of the last resort.
Other findings
55 The most significant finding of my field research is the impact of annexation of Tibet by China in 1951 and its impact in the Himalayan region of Nepal. After the Cultural Revolution and Chinese rule of Tibet, there was influx of Tibetan refugees who migrated to the region with thousands of cattle. This caused an acute shortage in the pastureland. The armed Tibetan Khampa Guerillas (1957-1960) made the situation worst as they exploited the villagers and their land in Upper Mustang and Manang region. Most of the villagers have bad memories of the Tibetan Khampa warriors. Pasang Gurung like other villagers believes that the current climatic problem may be related to Tibetan Khampas. Pasang Gurung explains “in our ancestor’s time, they say that there used to be lots of trees in our area which was all cut down and destroyed by the Khampas” (Devkota 2011:7’) for their use sometimes using means of violence. Villagers believe that the deforestation may also be related to the current situation.
Figure 9. Water Mill and Solar Mill (Past and Present)
56
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57 There is a small deserted water mill just below the lakes used for collection of water. People do not use it anymore because there is not enough water to run the mill. ACAP has installed a few solar panels to run an electric mill for the villagers (see figure 9). Village mukhiya (chief) Tsonam Tsering operates it and he keeps the key to the facility. If villagers need to use it, they ask Tsonan Tsering. Use of the facility is free. Other important contribution of ACAP is the distribution and installation of solar panels for electricity in every household. Solar electricity with energy saving bulbs has replaced oil and kerosene lamps, and burning of smoky woods and animal dropping. This has a positive impact on the health of the villagers. Solar instillation is the only thing representing modern time in the village. There are no radios, televisions, or telephones in the village. In other places like Lo-Manthang, Tsarang there are satellite dish for televisions from Nepal and Tibet in few households and these places also have telephone connections. Dhe villagers walk 2-3 hours to nearby village of Tsarang or Tangya to use telephone service. Tangya is the village where most of the Dhe villagers have matrimonial relationship. Dhe villagers and villagers have good relationship and help each other in agriculture and farming and now if Dhe villagers move to Thangchung as planned, that may change because of the distance.
Dead - Aid
58 As the villagers are struggling to sustain their livelihood, there are no substantial relief programs/planning from the government or non-government agencies. There is one non- functioning water-tap (see figure 10) in the village built by Care Nepal in 1996 and Solar panels installed by Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP). ACAP has also
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helped villagers with 400 apple plants for the orchard at new resettlement area of Thangchung. Other presence of NGO’s and INGO’s is almost non-existent in the region.
Figure 10. A non-functional water-tap in the village
59 When I was in Kathmandu, I found out there are many INGO’s and NGO’s working on climate change issues. According to the Oxfam report the significant donors such as The United Kingdom Department for International Development (DFID), the Danish Department of International Development (DANIDA) and the United Nation Development Programme/Global Environment Fund (UNDP/GEF) are involved in assisting the Government of Nepal in Governments action on Climate change (Oxfam 2009). United Nation is also assisting government on National Adaptation Programme of Action (NAPA). There are non-governmental organization such as World Wildlife Fund (WWF Nepal), International Center for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD), Oxfam Nepal, Deutsche Gesellschaft fuer Internationale Zusammenarbeit (GIZ), Care Nepal, Practical Action Nepal, Lutheran World Foundation, Action Aid, World Vision and Save the Children Alliance taking some initiatives to understand the impact of climate change from community perspective (Gum et al. 2009), but they are limited to certain part of the country and people in dire need of assistance are not getting anything.
60 Shrestha’s interesting analysis of development and foreign aid scenario of Nepal in his book ‘In the name of development’ is important to understand to analyze the situation of Upper Mustang. “In a country like Nepal, development is rarely a cumulative process, evolving indigenously through its symbiotic interaction with the expanding base of local knowledge and resources. It is predefined and predetermined in accordance with the Westerners’ assumption of superiority of their economic rationality, imbued with techno-fetishism. It is this overt emphasis on the presumed superiority of Western economic rationality that has led to the total devaluation of the local modes of life and economics, consequently breeding and nurturing the culture of dependency and dependent development in Nepal” (Shrestha 1997:22).
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61 It is good that People of Dhe and other villages of the region don’t have high hope because they haven’t seen substantive help up until now and they are using their own unique local knowledge in mitigation and adaptation.
62 The money generated by the Government of Nepal by offering special permit and visa to visit Upper Mustang sums up to millions of Nepalese Rupees. For Decades people of Mustangs are trying to get some amount of that money generated through such permits, but all in vain. Even if the Government sends the promised amount of the collection to Upper Mustang, it will be enough to assist locals with their development, health, education and livelihood. Lo-pa people aren’t even receiving what actually is theirs. It is quite abstract as Banks says “how and under what conditions” (Banks 2001:129) do we the activist and social researchers negotiate with the concerned authority even if we have the trust of the people we are representing? It is a complex issue because we also need to think about what Spivak says, “Can subaltern speak” (Spivak 1988)? Vain
63 According to the fact presented by Dhungel in his book ‘The Kingdom of (Lo) Mustang’, Kathmandu has never been fair to the Lo-pa people of Upper Mustang (Dhungel 2002) and whatever is happening today is the continuation of it. I think time has come for the government and aid intuitions to understand the true meaning of development which “is after all more then just a matter of constructing roads and factories, fancy hotels and hospitals, huge dams and palaces, telephone lines and television networks… development involves building (or destroying) mutually supportive human relations to uplift humanity, all humanity, not just a select few” (Shrestha 1997: xxi).
Epilogue
64 The environment will continue to change sometime slow sometime fast, partly due to human activities with their effects both intentional and unintentional, and partly due to natural causes (Lamb 1982). But human societies have long records of “adapting to the climate risks and climate changes, management of climate fluctuation continues to be costly, inadequate, and ineffective in mitigating humanitarian disasters” (Heltberg et al. 2010: 259) and “anthropologists are strategically well-placed to interpret it, communicate information about it, and act in response to it both in the field and at home” (Crate 2008:569), so it becomes my duty as a filmmaker/ anthropologists to look closely at the socio-cultural implications of the changes that global warming has and is bringing (Crate and Nuttall 2009:13).
65 There is a distinct void of the information of the Himalayan region in the outside world and a research like this may bridge the gap. I firmly believe that a further study on the area is a must to assist the policymakers, because Nepal doesn’t have potential to adapt to climate change and it lacks plans and policies at national level. The reason for me undertaking the research is as Rouch said “For whom, and why, do I take the camera among mankind? My first response will always, strangely, be the same: ‘For me’” (Rouch 2003: 43). And the focus here is not just the exploration of the region with the camera but rather on the presentation through film of an anthropological view or statement of, and about the region (Ruby 1975:104) in the time of social transformation. All researchers are to some degree connected to, a part of, or the object of their research (Davies 1999:3), and as a member of mountain community myself it was
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natural for me to get involved in the understanding and well-being of my own community. As Ruby said “what anthropologist has to offer is primarily a systematic way of understanding humanity- our as well as everyone else’s” (Ruby 1980:161).
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ABSTRACTS
There has been limited research on the cultural context in the Himalayan region of Nepal with true anthropological significance and very few based on environment and people. Himalayan region of Nepal was a forbidden land and was left untouched for political and geographical reason before 1950’s. Sudden change in climatic pattern has threatened the livelihood of the rural poor. Clear indications of these impacts can be seen on Himalayan glaciers, which are melting rapidly. Understanding its impact on culture and people of our time and responding successfully to them will be a major test for mankind and civilization. This research is an effort with the role of activist, witness, advocate, and a medium to contribute to the societies of Himalayan region and elsewhere.
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Il y a peu d’études anthropologiques significatives consacrées tant au contexte culturel qu’à l’environnement et à la population résidant dans la région himalayenne du Népal. Jusqu’en 1950, cette région était interdite et laissée pour compte pour raisons politiques et géographiques. Les changements climatiques soudains ont considérablement compromis les moyens d’existence des populations rurales pauvres. Les fontes rapides des glaciers de l’Himalaya sont les preuves évidentes de ces transformations climatiques. Comprendre les effets de ces altérations climatiques sur la culture et la population et pouvoir apporter des réponses satisfaisantes sont un des enjeux majeurs de l’humanité et de notre civilisation. Cette recherche vise à soutenir les groupes de la région de l’Himalaya et d’ailleurs en intervenant comme activiste, témoin, avocat et tout en relayant ce message. (cri d’alarme) ?
Se han realizado escasas investigaciones antropológicamente significativas sobre el contexto cultural de la región del Himalaya, en Nepal, y muy pocas basadas en el medio ambiente y en la gente. La región del Himalaya en el Nepal fue una tierra prohibida y dejada de lado por razones políticas y geográficas hasta 1950. Las bruscos cambios climáticos han amenazado la forma de vida de las poblaciones rurales pobres. Los glaciares del Himalaya, que se están derritiendo con rapidez, son una prueba evidente de este impacto. Entender el impacto de estos cambios en la cultura y en la gente de hoy en día y aportar respuestas satisfactorias es una tarea crucial para la humanidad y la civilización. Esta investigación representa un esfuerzo donde se entrecruza el rol de activista, testigo, abogado y mediador para contribuir en la mejora de las sociedades de la región del Himalaya y de otras partes del mundo.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Nepal, Himalaya, environnement et population, fonte des glaciers, réchauffement anthropique de la planète, savoir local Palabras claves: Nepal, Himalaya, medio ambiente y población, derretimiento de los glaciares, calentamiento antrópico del planeta, saber local Keywords: Nepal, Himalaya, environment and people, melting glaciers, anthropogenic global warming, local knowledge
AUTHOR
FIDEL DEVKOTA Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Freie Universität Berlin
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Kolam patterns as materialisation and embodiment of rhythms
Anna Laine
Friday morning kolam in Thiruvannamalai district, Tamil Nadu
Image 1.jpg Photo by the author
1 Henri Lefebvre suggests the analysis of rhythms as a particular field of knowledge. In his conceptualisation, rhythm is the interaction between time, space and energy in processes of everyday life (Lefebvre 2004: 15). We lead our lives in polyrhythmic fields where different rhythms simultaneously are flowing into and out of each other. Some flows can be defined as physical, others social, where the latter often conditions the former, such as how we walk or when we eat. Rhythm is inseparable from understanding time, and in particular reiteration. But a rhythm is not a series of identical facts or a mechanical repetition. There is always something new that introduces itself when a movement is re-enacted, every act holds difference and contingency. In a rhythm analysis, we need to investigate and define the multitude of rhythms we are surrounded by, how they are related, what unifies them, what causes alterity in the repetitions, and what disrupts a certain rhythm.
2 Lefebvre’s theory of rhythm is situated within experiential knowledge. He criticises the neglect of the body in philosophy and argues that we need to begin in our own experiences to understand how rhythm can be useful as a form of analysis (Lefebvre 2004: 21). We should put ourselves in a rhythmical mode, and use our own bodily rhythms as referents in order to subsequently comprehend external rhythms and their relations in an open-ended whole. Lefebvre contends that ‘to grasp a rhythm it is necessary to have been grasped by it; one must let oneself go’ (Lefebvre 2004: 27). This emphasis on reciprocity and close engagement in the encounter resonates with how my understanding of the kolam practice evolved during fieldwork. I did not pay attention to the rhythmical aspects of the practice until I had begun to learn how to make the patterns and hereby incorporated a rhythm of drawing. Similar to Lefebvre’s
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suggestions, I explored my internal rhythms and their reconfiguration during fieldwork, and used them as points of references in the analysis of external socio- religious rhythms in the context of the kolam practice.
3 Being an image-maker as much as an anthropologist, tactile interaction with materials in self-reflexive processes of “thinking through making” (Ravetz 2011), constitutes an important element of my research as well as of how it is conveyed. Images and films can evoke tactile experiences and sensory details in a way that is difficult to accomplish through ethnographic texts (MacDougall 1997). This article argues that the rhythmical aspects of the kolam practice, which concern its multifaceted relations to extra- ordinary events, daily life and embodied skills, need to be presented through sound and moving images in order to be grasped by non-practitioners. The argument is concerned with epistemological inquiries into how anthropological knowledge can be formed and conveyed through practice-based methods in relation to textual, and it will therefore be mediated in the following text as well as through a video installation accessible at http://www.vimeo.com/4290542.1 The synesthetic capacity of film is used in the video in order to make the beholder experience the materiality of kolam making as well as the practice’s visceral connection to spatiotemporal rhythms. The text represents a wider context concerning enactments of kolam, and situates the practice in Hindu understandings of the energy that moves time and space.
Qualities of Temporal Rhythms
4 Every morning and afternoon, kolam patterns are put on the street at the entrances of the majority of houses in Tamilnadu. The images materialise and embody the rhythm of the day. The performance is further organised into a regularity of flows defined by weekly, monthly and annual circumstances related to the rhythm of planets and the following seasons. According to a weekly rhythm, kolam is also made in front of deities, in temples as well as at altars in homes and at offices. An intersecting rhythm is defined by life-cycles of individual household members. During auspicious events, such as a marriage or a temple festival, women draw large and intricate kolams. During inauspicious occasions, such as a death in the family, or the monthly commemoration of ancestors, no kolams are made. The presence of big kolams enhances auspiciousness, while their absence causes sadness. They way women draw, or refrain from drawing, kolams has an impact on the mood experienced in the community.
5 Kolam is founded within Hinduism where time itself is defined according to the qualities auspicious and inauspicious. The increased presence of auspiciousness during a certain period is related to particular valuations of the rhythmical movements of the planets. In Hindu life, there are times when certain things should or should not be done. Auspicious events ought to be performed during auspicious periods of time in order to have appositive outcome (cf. Good 1991, Hancock 1999, Fuller 1992, Madan 1985, 1991). Based on the movements of planets and how they influence each other, astrology defines time and its different qualities. Most of the people I engaged with during fieldwork hold that the interaction between the planets influences their everyday lives in many ways, for instance, the risk of being attacked by evil spirits is considered to be larger during inauspicious periods. When people face problems, some take the advice of an astrologer and worship a certain planet as a remedy, while those who are affected by evil spirits may consult a sorcerer. People rarely speak about the
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latter, but it is openly considered important to confer with an astrologer, particularly when the right marriage partner is to be chosen.
6 The influencing planets are the Navagrahas, whom are regarded as nine gods. With the sun god in the middle, they stand together in a symmetrical form of nine anthropomorphic figures, next to large temples that have other main deities, or in smaller temples of their own. While some women worship the planet gods by drawing particular kolams at their home altars, others walk around them nine times in their sculptural forms in the temples. Sanni, the god of Saturn who governs Saturday, is considered to have an ability to cause bad influences in a person’s life during a longer period. It is important to maintain a good relationship with all deities, no less with those of ambivalent character. To keep Sanni pleased, many women feed him cooling rice with sesame seeds in their back yards on Saturdays, which he consumes through his vehicle the crow.
7 Chandran, the moon god who presides over Mondays, plays an important part in defining auspicious and inauspicious time according to a monthly rhythm. Auspiciousness is at its greatest on pournami, the day on which the moon is full. In correspondence with the waning of the moon, the quality of time becomes more inauspicious until it reaches amavasi, no moon’s day. This is the time when rituals are performed for ancestors and kolams are absent from the streets. With the waxing of the moon, time again becomes auspicious, and the drawing is resumed.
8 The evaluation of time further interacts with how divine energy influences each weekday’s division into good and bad periods. People who belong to the Brahmin caste define the early morning hours when the kolam should be made as Brahma muhurtam, the time when Brahma and all other deities descend to the earth. Other groups refer to benevolence of this period as the time when Surya, the sun god, returns from Yema, god of death, and his realm in the underworld. The unease of darkness is brought to an end through the light generated by the sun god. In the afternoon, a new kolam should be in place before the sunsets. Certain hours are defined as nalla kalam, good time. During these hours auspicious functions are held, and jewellery and wedding saris are bought. There are two periods of inauspicious time in a day. One is Ragu kalam, unfavourable time influenced by Ragu, and Yema gandham, highly risky time influenced by Kelu. Ragu and Kelu are nodes of the moon, and they belong to the Navagrahas although they are not connected to particular week days. Yema gandham and Ragu kalam occur when the shadows of Ragu or Kelu fall upon the earth, in its worst form as a solar or lunar eclipse. Several practices prescribe how to avoid bad effects during such occasions, and particularly pregnant women need to take precaution. Additionally, people refer to kuligey kalam, a time of the day when it is bad to die or have funeral functions. People in general do not keep the exact timings in mind on average days, but when for example the time for a wedding is to be set, or a new business to get started, the right day and hours are essential. Calendars, which are commonly kept on the walls in several numbers, contain the precise hours of good and bad times, as well as days for particular festivals and pujas. The calendars, and sometimes an astrologer, are consulted before the time for an important event is set.
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Spatial Aspects of the Patterns
9 During a dance performance, the artist translates the temporal dimension of music into spatial terms (Barba and Savarese 2006: 246). The kolam maker has a similar capacity, but the spatial terms include the evolvement of an image. The materialisation of the temporal rhythms is generated in the movements of the woman when she draws the image, and becomes manifest in the image when she has completed the pattern. The performance and the symmetrical image it produces (the duration of which varies according to the chosen material) are rhythmical interactions in space. The daily kolam patterns occupy a relatively small space, but the images are usually enlarged on Fridays. The Goddess, to whom most kolams are directed, is considered to be closer and easier to reach on this particular weekday. Before any kolam is made, the surface on which it will be drawn is carefully cleaned. When the patterns are extended, the cleaning is more thorough. The Friday cleaning includes the stove, and a kolam is thus also put there.
10 The grandest and most intricate kolams are laid out in space according to an annual rhythm. This occurs during the harvest festival, Pongal, which is the most popular celebration in Tamilnadu (cf. Gough 1981). The yielded crops bring abundance, and hope of prosperity is at a peak. The darkest inauspicious period of the year is left behind as the winter solstice has just passed, and all kolams are turned towards Surya. The festival has developed within agricultural practices and is consequently given more importance in rural areas. Pongal is compressed into one day among most city dwellers, but the value of elaborate big kolams transgresses other rural/urban differentiations. Hours instead of minutes are spent on drawing, and on smaller streets there is often only a narrow path in the middle which is not covered by colourful designs. The extended time and space allows for experiments with new materials and compositions. Kolam makers often work together on the same image, which generates a collective creativity, and the large images increase the joyous atmosphere in the community. At the same time, there is an aspect of individuality in kolam making. During Pongal, some women engage in informal competitions where they compare their patterns and make remarks on accomplishments and mishaps. It is also popular to participate in publicly organised competitions, where the winner earns a price as well as social prestige.
11 The rhythms of annual, monthly, weekly and daily changes are intersected by a rhythm defined by life-cycles of individual household members. Most of these events, such as the celebration of a girl’s first menstruation, marriage, and moving in to a new house, are also auspicious occasions. The kolams that are drawn in celebration of these family functions resemble those made at festivals. But if a death has occurred during Pongal or a temple festival, the household will not participate in the joint event and the entrance is left without a kolam. Thus, the separation between auspiciousness and inauspiciousness might clash in the complexities of everyday life. The kolam firstly communicates the state of being within the home, and secondly on the community level.
12 The kolam patterns form part of the larger rhythm of a street. In accordance with the temporal rhythms, their size or absence causes changes in the street pattern, which communicate the occurrence of events beyond the ordinary. Perceptions of the variations induce or reinforce the aesthetic experience and emotional state of the people passing by, and sometimes bring on memories of previous events. Through the
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different ways women enact, or refrain from enacting, the kolam practice, their performances materialise various rhythms of life. The absence of the kolam is the weaker part in the rhythm of life, while the enlarged sizes on auspicious occasions intensify its flow.
Learning Feminine Rhythms
13 From a Hindu perspective, the energy that rhythmically moves time and space is divine. The energy is understood as shakti (or prakriti). Shakti is a name of The Goddess, as well as a term that is translated as power. In this context, it is particularly linked to divine female power or energy, and characterised by a capacity to both create and destroy. Male gods depend on shakti in order to act, as the male principle purusha is passive in opposition to the female active principle prakriti (Fuller 1992). All women are considered to embody shakti, and thus share the capacities of The Goddess (Wadley 1991). Through kolam making, women channel the divine energy into social life, and many of them hold that shakti is the source of their skills in kolam making.
14 Learning to make kolams is a rhythmical mode of becoming a feminine being. Girls develop into womanhood as they participate in kolam drawing, cooking and other female responsibilities. As they accompany elders to the temple and learn how to make puja, they gradually become aware of the religious implications of kolam. The refinement of their skills is closely connected to their capacity to become good wives and mothers. According to Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger, ‘learning is not one practice among others, but an inseparable part of all social practice’ (Lave and Wenger 2003: 34). They argue that learning takes place where participants are actively engaged in communities of practice. Reflection and involvement, or cerebral and embodied learning, interact in the process, which gradually proceeds as a cyclic movement from periphery to centre. Apprentices become involved through the enactment of simpler tasks, and when the master decides, it is possible to be given more central responsibilities. In the same sense, girls do not start immediately with the morning kolam, but move slowly from practicing in notebooks and on the smaller afternoon kolams. During the enactment, rhythms inherent in the body of the individual performer, such as breathing, interact with the socially learned rhythms of drawing.
15 One of the women I worked with described how she had become aware of her rhythm of drawing as an adult. She learned to make simple kolams as a child, but soon left the practice behind as she opted for studies and her parents were able to send her to higher education which resulted in an academic career outside Tamilnadu. Her decision to recommence the practice was motivated by an aim to re-establish the connection with a deceased aunt, rather than a search for Tamilness or religiousness. Instead of buying magazines with designs to learn from, she searched her relatives’ houses to find the ones she remembered that her aunt used to draw on the back of calendars. Some were found, and while using them as models, the woman contends that her body recalls the rhythm of drawing from her childhood. At the time of my study, her practice was mainly something private, in a state of rehearsal inside the home. The only time she had made a kolam outside was when her brother came to visit with his family from the USA, and she felt this was the best way to welcome them. Others have related kolam rhythms to music and dancing, and used the practice as a pedagogical tool for children with reading disabilities. Kolam workshops have also been used by companies to reduce
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the stress level at their offices, and some argue that its rhythmical performance is a type of yoga that reconnects mind and body as well as constitute physical exercise.
16 Lefebvre argues that rhythms can be used as a disciplining tool. Political regimes can for example rhythm people through military training in order to strengthen or re- establish eurhythmia, balance and order, and avoid arrhythmia, conflict (Lefebvre 2004: 68). The learning of the kolam practice can, in a similar way, be understood as a means to strengthen a balanced state between a multiplicity of rhythms, to uphold a gendered continuity and circumvent its disruption. Through the repetitive movements women learn, and come to embody, the flow that is their morally correct way to interact with the rhythms of seasons and lives. But repetition entails difference, and each woman develops her own rhythm of drawing. Similar to hand writing, nobody’s kolam looks like someone else’s. Neither does it look the same from one day to the next. Some women deliberately stretch boundaries, while others mainly conform. As put by Lave and Wenger: ‘The knowers (full participants) come in a range of types, from clones to heretics’ (Lave and Wenger 2003: 116). The authors stress that mutuality between master and apprentice in the constitution of a practice is a central aspect of the learning process. It is not only an apprentice that changes in the process. Although the relationship entails aspects of power, both agents are active learners. The enactments of known routines, improvisations, and shifting meanings, give space for unpredictability as well as changing strategies. The practitioners and the activity are thus mutually constitutive (Lave and Wenger 2003: 33). The kolam practice continuously incorporates new materials and values and they are negotiated within and between the performers as well as in relation to the larger community. Whether a particular kolam maker’s view is given prominence depends on that person’s skill and social position and may not necessarily intersect with the master/apprentice relation.
Reconfiguring Repeated Movements
17 While difference and contingency is part of all repetition, the pace through which the kolam rhythms change has increased during the last three decades. One aspect is the interval of making kolam, and the interval of the resulting images. Recent alterations in chosen materials and tools embody shifting meanings developing through the passing of time. According to most kolam makers, the ideal material to make the patterns of is rice flour. It is an offering to the deities with hope of abundant return, and it is also given as food for insects and birds. Patterns of this material vanish quickly. On auspicious occasions when much effort is put into kolam making, the rice flour has been mixed with water and the images have lasted longer. While the ideal material is what most people have at hand, the last decades have brought forth new materials and tools that only can be bought. The changes are related to new construction materials of houses and roads, and further connected to an aim towards increased economic standard. Families that can afford to build a new house in concrete can also afford to have outdoor kolams in colour powder or acrylic paint, and indoor kolams in plastic adhesive. It articulates status to make kolams in new materials and forms.
18 The duration of a kolam in acrylic paint extents to a year, and this type of images constitutes a new rhythm of kolam making. Many have an ambivalent attitude towards the changes, and make daily kolams in addition to the acrylic ones. Those who do not
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get more time for other chores during the day, and can thus transform their daily rhythms. At the same time, higher education among girls is increasingly important. Their daily practice of kolam making when they come home from school has for many altered into homework and tuition classes. Among the middle and upper classes, women have begun to employ servants to do the daily kolam. The woman of the house might continue to make them on auspicious occasions when more time is given for creativity, or she might stop completely. The disruption of daily rhythms accords with women’s increased movements outside the neighbourhood through education and work. The transformations of daily rhythms thus also have spatial implications. Changes in how kolam are made and look materialises the passing of time as well as the changing circumstances and values it entails. The alterations reconfigure the polyrhythmic fields of everyday life.
19 The changes pose questions of which energy reconfigures the rhythmical movements embodied in kolam. The answer might be found in the working of modernity, with an increased pressure of consumerism and individual accomplishments. Daily watched TV serials for example are imbued with commercials on how to improve one’s life through consumption. However, it can also be related to creativity, the energy that lies in the desire to improvise. Elizabeth Hallam and Tim Ingold suggest that creativity should be understood as part of how we engage with traditions in our movements of everyday life, not as individual innovation (Hallam and Ingold 2007). There is always a sense of creative improvisation when we adjust and respond to cultural forms, and this continuous process does not have to be perceived as imitation standing in opposition to the creation of something completely new. Continuity and change are intertwined, also in the kolam rhythm. Every morning it remakes the house into a home, and simultaneously, it provides a space to explore changes. It is an example of how various rhythms are actively reproduced, but also how they can be negotiated and reconfigured into different forms of flow.
20 The difference generated through repetition can be regarded as both conscious and unconscious in the kolam performance. Every time a woman repeats the act of drawing, she tries to make the design different. But the overall daily practice appears similar from last time. New rhythms are incorporated through the different qualities of the new materials, without causing complete disruption. However, some kolam makers seek to alter the established rhythms of status and belonging, and they have to be cautious of not becoming defined as too disruptive. That can bring forth gossip, and may jeopardize the future of oneself and one’s children.
21 The learning process is also subject to change. The apprentice/master relationship situated in communities of practice has an informal character, but the increasing lack of participation in such communities brings forth formal training. Children who focus on studies are sometimes sent to summer courses on Tamil traditions, including the kolam practice. These courses are mainly organised through teaching information and giving instructions. Knowledge on kolam is also proliferated through written texts, TV shows and social media. These media can be understood as limiting due to the lack of dialogue between master and apprentice in their present forms. They do not discuss different ideas as much as present what the authors consider as common knowledge. The knowledge production in these contexts often concerns being taught about kolam, rather than learning the actual practice. In a similar manner, this text provides limited knowledge of the meaning and effect of kolam.
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Inclusion of Moving Images and Sound
22 My understanding of the kolam practice and its particular rhythms developed through multi-sensuous experiences of learning how to draw the images during fieldwork. It was not a conscious plan to learn the practice and subsequently build an analytical argument around the knowledge it produced. The attraction of closer engagement was based in my experiences of being an image-maker. Through previous training and professional work within artistic as well as commercial practices, drawing and camera work remain as familiar means of investigation and social interaction. These practices were as unavoidable during fieldwork as in other circumstances. As such, they became part of my research methods, and they have come to situate my interests in the phenomenologically based approach to anthropology which suggests that our senses should be understood as interrelated, and that sensuous experience of everyday practice is central to the constitution of knowledge (cf. Howes 2003, Ingold 2000, Stoller 1997, Taussig 1993). This approach is further positioned in line with Cristina Grasseni’s argument that vision should be understood as a socially situated skill, a capacity learnt in interaction with the other senses and a reflecting mind (Grasseni 2007). The way a person looks is formed through an education of perception in relation to the material environment and communities of practice. The expanding interest in sensory aspects of human experience and knowledge has provided means for anthropology to leave the visualist paradigm behind and approach artistic practices and images from a broader perspective. It shapes the framework for my aim to straddle the role of being both an artist and an anthropologist, and explore how these two fields can interact in order to disseminate anthropological knowledge. It also resonates with Hindu understandings of synaesthesia, where vision is closely connected to tactility (Babb 1981, Eck 1981, Gonda 1969).
23 Acquiring some skill of kolam making from people I engaged with during fieldwork turned out to be a valuable means of understanding the meaning and effect of the tradition, particularly its relation to rhythms. The emergence of this understanding occurred unexpectedly. As I saw a design in the street that I had been practicing on several times, I perceived an intensified awareness and sensed my rhythm of drawing it. Viewing the patterns generated an impulse to move along the rhythm required to accomplish that particular design. After this occasion, I began to pay attention to rhythms of other people’s drawing, and to kolam’s connection to rhythms of life from a wider perspective. Through bodily and material engagement where I allowed myself to become drawn into the practice, I became grasped by its rhythms and was able to think in new ways. Amanda Ravetz discusses related moments of heightened awareness experienced while drawing and filming, and how they brought her into productive situations of sharing and understanding during fieldwork. Playing around with materials is considered to be a valid research method among artists, as a “thinking through making” and Ravetz suggests that this method and way of knowing also can be useful in anthropology (Ravetz 2011). During a self-reflexive process where I reached an enhanced understanding of the kolam practice, including how my personal experiences were related to the social context being studied, making and thinking was intertwined (cf. Solheim Pedersen 2004). The process of integrating practical and analytical orientations has also been part of a research project focused on exploring
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new methods in the museum context conducted at The Museum of Ethnography, Stockholm (Laine forthcoming).
24 The methodological perspective has brought forth a necessity to incorporate imagery and sound in the research presentation. While anthropology emphasizes acquirements of experience-based knowledge during fieldwork, the multisensory mode of the learning process often fades away in representations focused on intellectual knowledge. In an extension of David MacDougall’s contention that photography and film provide pathways to the other senses (MacDougall 1997), I argue that the experiential aspects of kolam rhythms can be conveyed more strongly through the video than in this text. The incorporation of the video is based on an epistemologically driven aim to integrate practical and theoretical knowledge. It is further motivated by recent suggestions in anthropology of dialogue and collaboration with artists. According to Arnd Schneider and Chris Wright, such collaboration can increase our understanding of the agency of images and our social interaction with them, as well as instigate new strategies for representation. Through an intensified sensual engagement, the mind of the addressees might be kept more open than through a textual analysis (Schneider and Wright 2006, 2010).
25 The video investigates rhythms and their repetitions, and the fact that every repetition entails a difference. It explores how visual rhythms can be integrated with and broken up by aural rhythms, and how these movements can evoke spatio-temporal experience. It aims to convey the rhythmical aspects of daily kolam making, through the material and visceral aspects of how I learned about rhythm during fieldwork, as well as by bringing forth sensuous and experiential knowledge within the audience. The rhythmical content tries to engender a sense of being involved in a situated process of learning where preconceived understandings can be de- and reconstructed. In addition to tactile incorporation and enactment of rhythms, the video concerns the concepts rhythm and repetition. Conceptualisations and abstract conclusions of fieldwork experience are forms of knowledge commonly required to be represented as text. Sarah Pink contends that a picture cannot be used to discuss a theoretical argument, but pictures can be informed by such arguments (Pink 2006). Relying on practices within conceptual art that explore how ideas can be mediated through art works, this audiovisual piece also poses questions concerning the relevance of incorporating abstract imagery in anthropological representations. If we take the capacity of images and films to convey immediate experience as well as to represent analytical reflection into account, we can investigate how the shifting meanings of this media come about and consequently make it more beneficial for sharing anthropological knowledge.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Babb, Lawrence, 1981. “Glancing: Visual Interaction in Hinduism”, in Journal of Anthropological Research, vol.37, no.4, p.387-401.
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Barba, Eugenio and Savarese, Nicola, 2006 [1991]. A Dictionary of Theatre Anthropology: The Secret Art of the Performer, London and New York: Routledge.
Eck, Diana, 1981. Darshan: Seeing the Divine Image in India, Pennsylvania: Anima Books.
Fuller, Christopher J., 1992. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Gonda, Jan, 1969. Eye and Gaze in the Veda, Amsterdam and London: North-Holland Publishing Company.
Good, Anthony, 1991. The Female Bridegroom: A Comparative Study of Life-Crisis Rituals in South India and Sri Lanka, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Gough, Kathleen, 1981. Rural Society in Southeast India, Cambridge and London: Cambridge University Press.
Grasseni, Cristina, ed. 2007. Skilled Visions: Between Apprenticeship and Standards, New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books.
Hallam, Elizabeth and Ingold, Tim, 2007. Creativity and Cultural Improvisation, Oxford and New York: Berg.
Hancock, Mary, 1999. Womanhood in the Making: Domestic Ritual and Public Culture in Urban South India, Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press.
Howes, David, 2003. Sensual Relations: Engaging the Senses in Culture and Social Theory, Michigan: University of Michigan press.
Ingold, Tim, 2000. The Perception of the Environment: Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill, New York: Routledge.
Laine, Anna, 2009. In Conversation with the Kolam Practice: Auspiciousness and Artistic Experiences among Women of Tamilnadu, South India. PhD thesis, University of Gothenburg, http:// hdl.handle.net/2077/19290.
Forthcoming: Looking and Drawing: Explorations into an Ethnographically Collected South Indian Object, The Museum of Ethnography, Open Access.
Lave, Jean and Wenger, Etienne, 2003 [1991]. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Lefebvre, Henri, 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life, London and New York: Continuum.
MacDougall, David, 1997. “The Visual in Anthropology”, in Rethinking Visual Anthropology, ed. M. Banks and H. Morphy, New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Madan, T.N., 1985. “Concerning the Categories Subha and Suddha in Hindu Culture: An Exploratory Essay”, in Purity and Auspiciousness in Indian Society, ed. Carman and Marglin, Leiden: E.J. Brill.
1991. “Auspiciousness and purity: Some reconsiderations”, in Contributions to Indian Sociology, vol. 25, no.2, p.287-294. New Delhi and London: Sage.
Pink, Sarah, 2006. The Future of Visual Anthropology: Engaging the Senses, London and New York: Routledge.
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Ravetz, Amanda, 2011. “’Both Created and Discovered’: A Case for Reverie and Play in a Redrawn Anthropology”, in Redrawing Anthropology: Materials, Movements and Lines, ed. T. Ingold, Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate.
Schneider, Arnd, and Wright, Chris, ed., 2006. Contemporary Art and Anthropology, Oxford and New York: Berg.
2010. Between Art and Anthropology: Contemporary Ethnographic Practice, Oxford and New York: Berg Publ.
Solheim Pedersen, Eirin Marie, 2004. Om teckning, tecken, text och teori: aktteckning i ett kontextuellt, diskursivt och paradigmatiskt perspektiv, Oslo: Arkitekthögskolan, PhD dissertation in artistic research.
Stoller, Paul, 1997. Sensuous Scholarship, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Taussig, Michael, 1993. Mimesis and Alterity: A Particular History of the Senses, New York and London: Routledge.
Wadley, Susan, ed., 1991 [1980]. The Powers of Tamil Women, New York: Maxwell School of Citizenship and Public Affairs.
NOTES
1. The video is seven minutes long, and has been constructed as a loop rather than a linear narrative. I initially created it as part an exhibition made in collaboration with a Tamil and a Swedish artist, presented in an art gallery situated in an upper middle class area in New Delh (2009). After this event, it has become part of my individual exhibition on the kolam practice, Kolam – Ephemeral Patterns of Eternal Prosperity, shown at Brunei Gallery, SOAS, London, The Ethnographic Museum, Stockholm, and The Blue Place Cultural Centre, Gothenburg. In addition, the piece has been part of conference presentations at EASA, Maynooth University, SANT, Gothenburg University, and Transcultural Cinema, Aarhus University.
ABSTRACTS
This presentation aims to convey a notion of time that is concerned with the making and using of material objects in everyday life. This will be done through the concept rhythm, as defined by Henri Lefebvre, and as experienced during my fieldwork. The ethnographic example is the kolam, a practice and image that forms part of daily life in Tamilnadu, a state in South India. Kolam is an example of how various rhythms are actively reproduced, but also how they can be negotiated and reconfigured into different forms of flow. The presentation consists of this paper and an accompanying video.
Cet article vise à transmettre la notion de temps, impliqué dans la fabrication et l’utilisation d’objets matériels de la vie quotidienne. Nous développerons cette démonstration en nous
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appuyant sur le concept de rythme comme a pu le définir Henri Lefebvre, et comme nous en avons fait l’expérience durant notre travail de terrain. Nous partons de l’exemple ethnographique le kolam, une pratique et une image qui constituent une partie de la vie quotidienne du Talminadu, un état de l’Inde du sud. Kolam est un exemple de la manière dont plusieurs rythmes peuvent être reproduits mais aussi négociés et reconstruits sous différentes modalités. Cette présentation est composée de cet article et d’une vidéo.
El objetivo de esta presentación es transmitir una noción de tiempo vinculada a la fabricación y el uso de objetos materiales en la vida cotidiana. Para llevar a cabo dicho objetivo me basaré en el concepto de ritmo, según la definición de Henri Lefebvre, y en mi experiencia de trabajo de campo. El ejemplo etnográfico que se tomará en cuenta es el kolam, una práctica y una imagen que forman parte del día a día de Tamilnadu, un estado del sur de India. Kolam es un ejemplo de cómo diferentes ritmos son reproducidos activamente, pero también de cómo éstos ritmos pueden ser negociados y reconfigurados en diferentes modalidades. La presentación consiste en este artículo y en un vídeo que lo acompaña.
INDEX
Keywords: rhythm, movements, time-space, hinduism, South India, sensuous anthropology, experience-based knowledge, audiovisual representation Palabras claves: ritmo, movimientos, tiempo-espacio, hinduismo, India del Sur, antropología de los sentidos, conocimiento basado en la práctica, representación Mots-clés: rythme, mouvements, espace-temps, hindouisme, Inde du Sud, anthropologie des sens, savoir fondé sur la pratique, représentation audiovisuelle
AUTHOR
ANNA LAINE Dalarna University, Sweden, Senior lecturer in anthropology at Dalarna University, Sweden. She works within the overlap between art and anthropology, and is trained as a photographer as well as an academic scholar. Laine has done research on the kolam practice in South India, and currently focuses on visual aspects of identity among the Tamil diaspora in London. She is also involved in a research project on methodology and sacred matters at the Ethnography Museum in Stockholm.
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La part de l’Ange : le bouton de rose et l’escargot de la Vierge. Deuxième partie1 Une étude de l’Annonciation de Francesco del Cossa
Dimitri Karadimas
1 (…)
De la colonne en colimaçon à l'image de l'escargot
2 La spirale, ou ce qui est construit en forme de spirale, est dénommé en italien a chiocciola « en escargot », comme nous dirions « en colimaçon » en français : les deux langues font une même référence à la coquille de gastéropode pour désigner ce qui en a la forme. La présence de l’escargot dans ce tableau devrait être une évocation de la spirale et une référence directe au nombre d’or et à la divine proportion. Cependant, cette partie du tableau de Francesco del Cossa semble être directement inspirée d’une autre Annonciation, réalisée en 1390-1400 par Spinello Aretino, une fresque de San Francesco à Arezzo (cf. figure 6).
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Figure 6 : Spinello Aretino, Annonciation, 1390-1400
Fresque de San Francesco à Arezzo
3 Sur cette composition, la Vierge Marie est placée par le peintre en face de Gabriel sous une coupole ouvragée et richement ornée soutenue par deux colonnes torsadées ou a chiocciola (en colimaçon). Placée au tout premier plan du tableau et semblant presque ne pas en faire partie, la première colonne sépare visuellement Marie de Gabriel. Elle arrive au bord inférieur droit du tableau et donne l’impression de reposer sur le cadre : la colonne dans son ensemble ne participe pas à la construction perspective du tableau, détail qu’Arasse avait déjà souligné pour une autre Annonciation, antérieure à celle-là, qu’Ambrogio Lorenzetti avait peinte en 1344. Selon Panofsky, il aurait été le premier peintre à avoir mis en application dans son œuvre les lois de la perspective avec point de fuite central (cf. Arasse 2010 [1999] : 59).
4 Arasse avait souligné l’importance de la colonne de cette Annonciation de Lorenzetti qui semblait également « sortir » du tableau et faire transition entre les deux plans, l’un divin, l’autre terrestre, et constituer le « point d’entrée » du tableau. Il faut rappeler que dans la période antérieure, certains tableaux étaient placés derrière de véritables colonnes en colimaçon, faisant office de cadre, comme par exemple dans cette Annonciation de Simone Martini de 1330 (cf. figure 7).
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Figure 7 : Simone Martini. Annonciation, 1333
Détrempe sur bois, 265 X 305, Florence, Musée des Offices
5 Dans le tableau de Francesco del Cossa, l’escargot vient occuper la place prise par la colonne en colimaçon dans le tableau de Spinello Aretino : il est au premier plan, sur le bord du cadre, au troisième quart de la largeur du tableau. Il faudrait ainsi considérer que la place que lui donne Cossa est une référence à cette colonne en colimaçon qui se trouve aussi dans le tableau de Lorenzetti. À une période postérieure à ces tableaux, cette place est aussi celle que donne Girolamo di Giovanni à une colonne spiralée disposée au tout premier plan de son Annonciation surmontée d’une Pietà (cf. figure 8).
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Figure 8 : Giovanni Angelo Antonio, Annonciation de Spermento (anciennement attribuée à Girolamo di Giovanni)
Vers 1455, détrempe sur bois, 198 x 152 cm, Carmerino, Pinacoteca civica
6 Dans une probable évocation de l’Incarnation à venir du Christ, Giovanni a peint la partie basse de la colonne en lui donnant une forme antique, alors qu’il a donné une forme spiralée à sa partie haute, celle qui rejoint la scène de descente de la croix — évoquant un futur déjà présent. Pourquoi avoir peint cette partition de la colonne en deux formes distinctes ? De façon plus générale, il reste à comprendre pourquoi certains peintres du XIVe siècle ont préféré utiliser la colonne en spirale ou en colimaçon dans leurs Annonciations à la place de la colonne droite ; et dans le tableau de Cossa, en quoi l’escargot pourrait être un bon candidat au remplacement de cette colonne en colimaçon, au-delà du simple rapport linguistique, certes important, mais insuffisant.
7 Il faut encore garder notre attention sur l’escargot et la rosace car, dans la composition de Cossa, les éléments chrétiens ne sont pas les seuls a être rappelés grâce à la géométrie de l’agencement des formes. Il y a les formes elles-mêmes, et comme avec le bouton de rose, ces formes suggèrent parfois une autre dimension de la Création, en particulier son expression et son inscription corporelle. Pour cela, il faut s’intéresser à la colombe — ou personnification du Saint-Esprit — et à sa trajectoire probable dans la composition pour voir où elle arrive sur le corps de Marie. Comme dans les autres compositions de la Renaissance dans lesquelles elle commence à être figurée, sa trajectoire est une ligne diagonale dans le tableau qui part de la tête (au centre du triangle) de Dieu, passe par la colombe, croise le bout des doigts de Gabriel, effleure la sphère dépassant du livre, un marque-page, pour passer par la troisième rosace, cachée en partie par les replis du manteau de Marie, et vient toucher la Vierge à l’endroit où les deux battants se rejoignent en s’ouvrant sur la robe rouge lui couvrant les pieds. Or
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il s’agit là d’un lieu étrange pour la trajectoire divine de l’Incarnation : au pied du manteau de la Vierge !
8 Habituellement, les points visés sur le corps de Marie par les artistes de cette époque sont soit le ventre, soit la tête, soit rien de bien particulier puisque c’est l’ensemble du personnage de la Vierge qui peut faire office d’image de vulve. Cette association entre Marie et l’image d’une vulve a trouvé une réalisation littérale dans le nord de l’Europe durant le Moyen Âge dans l’iconographie de badges portés par les pèlerins (cf. figure 10). Selon Jones3 (in Ostkamp 2009), un de ceux-ci représente une scène où la vulve portée par trois phallus personnifiés renvoie aux processions lors desquelles des statues ou des images de la Vierge couronnée parcourent les rues des villes. Ici, le rapport d’analogie repose sur une compréhension imagée des deux figures.
9 Dans les Annonciations, lorsqu’un point précis est visé, ce dernier devient sur le corps de Marie l’image d’un organe de génération.
Figure 9 : Détail de l’Annonciation avec St. Emidius par Carlo Crivelli, 1486
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Figure 10 : Vulve couronnée portée en procession par trois phallus à l’image des processions mariales
1375-1450, trouvé à Brugge (collection Van Beuningen, numéro 652) Collection de la famille Van Beuningen (in Ostkamp 2009: fig. 20).
10 De cette façon, lorsque la trajectoire de la colombe arrive à hauteur de la tête, Marie se découvre et laisse apparaître sa chevelure, le plus souvent sous la forme d’une raie qui la partage en deux moitiés égales. Celle-ci offre l’image d’un lieu de pénétration par où la conception se réalise habituellement comme par exemple sur l’Annonciation peinte par Crivelli en 1486 (cf. figure 9 et figure 12) et qui semble directement inspirée du tableau de Giovanni peint vingt-cinq années auparavant.
11 En d’autres termes, il s’agit d’une euphémisation iconique de la vulve (ou, si l’on préfère, la vulve en esprit), c’est-à-dire que l’artiste utilise l’image d’un autre lieu du corps pour évoquer ce qui n’est pas directement figurable (et qui serait, de plus, interprété comme un blasphème). Ce lieu de pénétration par la raie des cheveux sera d’ailleurs plus systématiquement utilisé par les artistes de la Renaissance du Nord de l’Europe comme par exemple l’Annonciation de Bartholomäus Zeitblom (cf. figure 11). Le procédé repose sur une analogie formelle entre l’image source et l’image cible, raison pour laquelle la multiplicité des lieux par lesquels la fécondation de la Vierge se produit — l’Incarnation —, est changeante puisque la motivation est de l’ordre du rapport de ressemblance.
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Figure 11 : Annonciation par Bartholomäus Zeitblom (détail)
Figure 12 : Annonciation avec St. Emidius par Carlo Crivelli, 1486
12 Cette association entre chevelure et image vulvaire est aussi reconnue négativement depuis le Moyen Âge : par exemple, le fait de se mirer dans un miroir, comme cette
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femme qui se peigne en partageant sa coiffure symétriquement suivant une raie médiane, est associé à l’arrière-train féminin du diable dont l’image apparait dans le miroir à la place de ses cheveux. L’un est en quelque sorte l’image de l’autre (cf. figure 13, in Malleus Maleficarum, Heinrich Kramer, alias Henri Institoris et Jacques Sprenger, publié à Strasbourg en 1486).
Figure 13 : jeune femme se coiffant devant un miroir dans lequel se reflète l’arrière-train du diable au féminin (Malleus Maleficarum, 1486)
13 Ou encore comme dans la gravure de la Luxure des Sept péchés capitaux de Bruegel dans laquelle apparaît une créature aux jambes écartées exhibant un sexe féminin dépourvu de toute pilosité (cf. figure 14). L’ergot en forme de griffe allongée de l’un des animaux fantastiques du couple copulant face à cette créature se superpose à la raie de la chevelure d’un homme accroupi. Placée à l’horizontale du sexe apparent de la créature, la disposition équivoque de sa chevelure ne respecte pas sa configuration « naturelle » sur une tête puisqu’elle est « verticalisée ». Disposés à la même hauteur l’un en face de l’autre, ces deux éléments graphiques se complètent et montrent de la sorte que la chevelure et sa raie au milieu constituent une euphémisation iconique de la vulve.
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Figure 14 : Détail de la Luxure des Sept péchés capitaux de Pieter Bruegel l’Ancien
14 La composition du tableau de Francesco del Cossa étant très largement géométrisée, le point de ce pli dans le manteau de la Vierge devrait correspondre à quelque chose de particulier, à l’identique de ce que Hubert Damisch (1997) avait souligné dans Un souvenir d’enfance par Piero Della Francesca. Dans un autre tableau de Francesco del Cossa, un détail d'une fresque des mois, le triomphe de Vénus, utilise le même procédé mais en le rendant de façon littérale, puisqu’un courtisan plonge la main dans les pans délacés de la robe d’une jeune femme, tout en l’embrassant. Dans sa description de l'Annonciation de Fra Filippo Lippi peinte en 1460, Daniel Arasse (2010 [1999] : 152) avait montré que le vol de la colombe arrivait à la hauteur du nombril de Marie (c’est-à-dire de son omphalos) et qu’un rayon partant du bec pénètre sa robe par une boutonnière ouverte, alors qu’une autre « pyramide » de rayons émanant du nombril lui répondait (on se demande d’ailleurs s’il ne s’agit pas d’une figuration des deux semences nécessaires à la fécondation : l’une masculine émanant de l’oiseau, l’autre féminine provenant du « nombril »). Arasse en avait conclu que cette modalité de figuration n’avait pas connu de descendance dans la peinture italienne. Elle nous permet toutefois de montrer que les lieux du corps de Marie vers où se dirige l’Esprit Saint sous sa forme de colombe sont à comprendre comme des euphémisations iconiques et/ou linguistiques de sexe féminin entendus sous sa modalité d’omphalos-nombril.
15 Dans le tableau de l’Annonciation de Cossa, alors que sa main droite se porte vers son sein, Marie tient de sa main gauche le pli du manteau et forme une sorte de cône dont les bords s’enroulent en un début de spirale. L’arête supérieure de ce cône pointe en bas vers le centre radial de la spirale de la coquille de l’escargot, puis vers un nœud d’arbre dans la scène de la nativité ; il croise, vers le haut, la main de Marie à l’endroit de la fourche formée par son index et son majeur4, se poursuit en passant à hauteur du sein, certes invisible mais bien présent, et, enfin, se termine dans le coin supérieur droit du tableau. La diagonale de l’arrête du cône met en quelque sorte en contact deux omphaloï ; celui de la coquille et celui du sein de Marie. Ne doutons pas que celui-ci est présent à son esprit puisque sa main touche son sein : voilà donc Marie touchée par la Grâce divine ? Ou alors la touche-t-elle ? Le propos est tout à fait blasphématoire, et pourtant…
16 De même que le Saint Esprit pénètre Marie par le sillon de ses cheveux formant l’image d’une vulve sur d’autres tableaux de la Renaissance, ici les replis du manteau de la Vierge constituent son équivalent graphique. Comment être certain que c’est bien cette
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analogie formelle que Francesco del Cossa a voulu atteindre dans sa composition ? Peut-être en poursuivant la diagonale qui va de Dieu à l’escargot, mais en la faisant arriver dans le tableau de la Nativité situé en dessous de la scène de l’Annonciation. Cette diagonale imaginaire arrive dans les replis d’une blessure d’arbre qui sert de poteau de soutènement à la toiture de la bergerie où la Mère de Dieu vient d’enfanter.
17 Or la cicatrice des troncs d’arbre est connue comme un lieu par lequel s’effectue une naissance dans la mythologie antique, puisque Adonis est sorti du ventre de Myrrha alors qu’elle se transformait en myrrhe.
Figure 15 : Naissance d’Adonis (décor de bol d’un artiste inconnu) et enluminure (origine ?)
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18 Lorsqu’ils traitent de cet épisode mythique relaté par Ovide dans les enluminures ou les tableaux de la Renaissance, les peintres peignent un arbre-femme sur lequel la vulve prend les traits que laisse sur un tronc une branche tombée. En d’autres termes, les artistes comprennent le mythe relaté par Ovide en imaginant ce qui, sur un tronc arbre, peut servir visuellement d’analogue à un lieu de naissance. Pour eux, une blessure de tronc possède une ressemblance avec l’image d’une vulve (voir par exemple ce thème traité par Titien que nous ne reproduisons pas ici, ou sur un bol dont l’auteur est inconnu, cf. figure 15). La paire Adonis-Jésus est accompagnée d’une autre figure duelle, Myrrha-tronc d’arbre, elle-même rejointe par Aphrodite-Marie, deux « déesses » interchangeables. Ce simple constat de l’analogie visuelle permet d’en dresser un autre : ce que les artistes de la Renaissance voient est similaire à ce que les Anciens voyaient, et les formulations mythologiques doivent se comprendre par l’intermédiaire des images qu’elles génèrent mentalement. Ce qu’il leur faut figurer sur un tableau n’est donc pas, dans ce cas-ci, une vulve laissant passer le jeune dieu, mais un arbre aux formes encore perceptibles de femme sur lequel une blessure de tronc évoque, par sa place et sa forme, une vulve.
19 L’analogie est parfois reprise plus discrètement, comme dans les livres d’heures, à l’image de l’enluminure que nous reproduisons ici (cf. figure 16) évoquant l’épisode biblique de Bethsabée au bain : thème connu, qui permet aux artistes de figurer les charmes de la baigneuse dans une scène où le roi David les aperçoit et en est séduit. Les jupes relevées, Bethsabée est placée dans une scène encadrée par des arbres morts faisant office de poteaux et sur lesquels le peintre a réparti une multitude de ces blessures.
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Figure 16 : Bethsabée au bain, Heures de Simon Liboron.
Collection particulière, fol.78. Maître du Pierre Michault de Guyot de Peley. Troyes, vers 1485.
20 Ou encore dans l’Annonciation de Giovanni (cf. figure 8) dans laquelle le peintre à donné au bois de la porte ouverte du lutrin, placé à côté et derrière la colonne, les traits d’une blessure d’arbre qui correspond parfaitement avec l’image de ce que la « porte » doit évoquer dans le corps marial (cf. figure 17 : pour une discussion de l’association vulva/vagin/porte du ventre dans l’anatomie renaissante voir Laqueur 1992 : 292, note 4).
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Figure 17 : Porte de lutrin avec nœud de bois en forme de vulve, Détail de l’Annonciation de Giovanni Angelo Antonio
Vers 1461, Carmerino, Pinacoteca civica
21 Pour revenir au tableau de Cossa, chacun des piliers de la crèche suit une verticale présente dans l’Annonciation située au dessus. Le pilier sur lequel s’adosse Joseph est dans la même verticale que la colonne de façade du bâtiment en arrière-plan, alors que celui situé près de Marie est placé sur la même verticale de la colonne du lutrin. Dans la scène de la Nativité, le poteau de soutènement sur lequel se trouve la blessure d’arbre sert de point de départ d’une verticale imaginaire qui passe par l’extrémité inférieure du cône formé par le repli du manteau de la Vierge pour croiser la première arche en son centre, comme elle le fait avec la seconde, en haut du tableau. Or ce point du manteau de Marie qui forme le bord extérieur du cône pourrait sembler anodin et n’être, somme toute, qu’un simple repli en forme de spirale. Il se situe pourtant sur une autre ligne, horizontale, qui passe par le bouton de rose tenu par l’ange Gabriel. À considérer, pour ce dernier, qu’il s’agit d’une évocation de l’organe de plaisir, il donne une indication de la forme que renvoie l’image des replis du cône constitué par les tissus relevés du manteau. Les pans du manteau que la Vierge tient entre son index et son majeur forment un cône semblable à celui d’un capuchon clitoridien. Le point de pénétration de la colombe sur le corps de Marie se fait dans les replis de son manteau que l’artiste a peint de façon à lui donner l’aspect d’un sexe de femme. Ces cônes formés par des pièces de tissus sont légion dans les tableaux d’Annonciation de la Renaissance, comme par exemple celui peint par Lorenzo Lotto en 1527 où un linge suspendu au mur forme un cône, ou encore celui peint en 1450 par Benedetto Bonfigli (cf. figure 18), etc.
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Figure 18 : Benedetto Bonfigli, Annonciation (détail)
1450, 51 x 36.5 cm Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid, INV. Nr. 53 (1977.23)
22 Mais surtout, sur l’Annonciation de Spinello Aretino (cf. figure 6), le cône formé par le pan du manteau de Marie en présente le revers, c’est-à-dire l’intérieur de son revêtement. Le cône « doré » qu’il forme tranche distinctement sur le reste du manteau bleu. Avec les traits obliques qui le parcourent à intervalles réguliers, l’ensemble fait penser à une coquille allongée de gastéropode (des turritelles), comme on en trouve sous forme fossile dans les roches calcaires5, dans certains coquillages marins ou, plus simplement, dans certaines familles de petits escargots. Dans ce dernier tableau, le cône du manteau, parallèle au poteau en colimaçon, est une seconde évocation de la figure de l’escargot. Si Francesco del Cossa a vu cette peinture, il en a fait une lecture analogique et linguistique sur laquelle il faut nous attarder. En effet, le cône du manteau de Marie est tellement marqué dans le tableau d’Aretino que la couleur dorée employée semble presque plus vive que celle des deux auréoles de la Vierge et de Gabriel. Entre les deux Annonciations, celles de Cossa et celle d’Aretino, le dessin du manteau de Marie est identique, jusqu’aux deux pans qui laissent apparaître une partie de la robe.
23 Le détail du manteau de Marie et de son bord enroulé en cône formant l’image d’un sexe est également une figure qui se décline selon une modalité « négative », c’est-à- dire associée au diable, comme dans une des scènes figurant l’orgueil des sept péchés capitaux peint par Bosch autour de 1450. Sur cette vignette, le pan de la robe d’une femme présentée de dos est relevé artificiellement de façon à figurer ce même rapport analogique, mais « à l’envers », c’est-à-dire de façon à le faire apparaître en tout premier plan à hauteur de son arrière-train (cf. figure 19). Comme avec la jeune femme se regardant dans un miroir dans lequel on aperçoit le derrière du diable au féminin (cf. figure 13), nous aurions, avec cette Superbia de Bosch, une variante structurale du
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thème. Sur la scène de L’orgueil de Bosch, une figure diabolique lupique coiffée comme la femme à qui elle tient un miroir dans lequel se reflète le visage est la variante du diable de la gravure du Malleus Maleficarum où le postérieur et le sexe féminin se reflètent dans le miroir ; autrement absent du tableau, le sexe féminin (que présentait le diable dans le reflet du miroir), est évoqué par la posture incongrue de la robe relevée (à laquelle Bosch a donné l’aspect d’un sexe de femme). Ici, le tableau de Bosch fait office de miroir et c’est au spectateur qu’est renvoyée l’image, raison pour laquelle le miroir est dirigé vers celui-ci afin de rendre visible le visage de la femme à la coiffe. On notera que les deux images sont construites de façon analogue : coffre ouvert, miroir et figure du diable, personnage féminin se regardant dans celui-ci. En revanche, les éléments qui varient sont traités dans un rapport de complémentarité structurale. La femme ne se coiffe pas mais porte une coiffe identique à celle du diable et se reflète dans le miroir, alors que le derrière du diable occupe cette place dans la gravure ; la robe relevée étant alors l’image d’un sexe présenté au spectateur, de même que le graveur présente cette figure au spectateur dans l’arrière-train du diable.
Figure 19 : Superbia, « L’orgueil »
Figuré selon une variation combinatoire du thème traité dans l’iconographie du Malleus Maleficarum : la robe relevée présente une figure analogique d’un sexe féminin. (Jérôme Bosch, Les Sept Péchés capitaux, vers 1450, musée du Prado, Madrid).
24 Placé en retrait, à gauche de la Vierge dans ces deux Annonciations, se trouve un lutrin ou une table sur lequel est placé un livre ou une bible, ouverte dans un cas, fermée dans l’autre. Pour Arasse, ce pupitre-lutrin pose problème dans l’architecture globale de l’Annonciation de Cossa, car tel qu’il apparait dans la peinture — et à respecter la construction perspective —, il est en partie encastré dans le mur de la chambre (cf. Arasse 2010 [1999] : 206, fig. 19). Tant que le tableau d’Aretino n’est pas pris en compte, la place particulière de la table-lutrin dans la composition de Cossa reste une énigme.
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Sa présence à cet endroit précis du tableau s’expliquerait par le fait que Francesco del Cossa se soit inspiré de l’Annonciation d’Aretino ou, en tout cas, d’une Annonciation dans laquelle se trouve un lutrin. Chez Aretino toujours, la colonne en colimaçon vient passer devant le lutrin alors que Cossa ne fait apparaître à sa place qu’un escargot, tout en rajoutant une sphère comme pied de la table (de fait, le lutrin est devenu table- pupitre chez Cossa).
25 La posture que Francesco del Cossa fait adopter à la Vierge est fort probablement une construction analogique qui, si on veut bien l’entendre, dit exactement ceci : Dieu le Père, l’Enfant, etc., sont des omphaloï, des centres-nombrils, mais aussi des tétons et un clitoris, organes de plaisir qui, selon la tradition classique, devaient être stimulés lors de la conception. Selon Thomas Laqueur, on pensait à l’époque de l’Antiquité mais aussi à celle de la Renaissance que sans jouissance féminine il n’y avait pas d’engendrement possible (1992 : 114). C’est-à-dire que, dans un cas comme celui de l’Annonciation, il n’y a pas d’Incarnation.
L’escargot et Marie
26 Pour Arasse, l’escargot dans l’Annonciation de Cossa n’est pas entièrement explicable par l’iconographie : « (…) nous devons le voir comme l’équivalent, dans notre monde, de la Vierge dans le tableau. Or il est manifeste que, dans notre monde, la Vierge ne “ressemble” pas à un escargot, que celui-ci ne lui est assimilable que “figurativement”, métaphoriquement. » (Arasse 2010 [1999] : 207). Contrairement à ce qu’écrit Arasse, il est possible de voir cette association sur un rapport de ressemblance non pas entre l’escargot et Marie, mais en tant que personnification d’une partie de Marie. Ainsi, sur une enluminure du début du XIVe siècle tirée d’un livre d’heures d’origine espagnole conservé à Tour, on voit apparaître un visage divin dans une « nuée » du ciel. Or la couleur et les bords sinueux de cette ouverture sont répétés sur le corps de l’escargot peint au dessus de la scène, rendant ainsi compte de sa présence (cf. figure 20) puisque la nuée est traitée graphiquement sur le mode d’une vulve entrouverte. Dans un premier temps, cette association devrait être retenue comme une mise en image de la motivation analogique qui fait qu’encore aujourd’hui un terme argotique tiré de l’alsacien, la « schnek » (l’escargot), est utilisé pour désigner l’organe sexuel féminin. Si Arasse insiste pour dire que, dans les tableaux de la Renaissance, l’escargot est lié à Marie, il l’est au moins selon la modalité d’évocation de sa vulve. Cette association entre escargot et sexe féminin a déjà été soulignée par Michel Feuillet (2008 : 237) lors d’une analyse de la présence du gastéropode dans l’œuvre de Cossa. Toutefois, il interprète classiquement sa présence sur le bord du tableau comme une référence à la virginité de Marie de part l’hermaphroditisme des escargots, alors que nous ne saisissons pas le lien entre virginité et le fait de posséder les deux sexes à la fois (cf. ibid.).
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Figure 20 : Dieu parlant à Josué (à préciser)
Initiale E du livre de Josué, IRHT 149516-p Tours - BM - ms. 0008, f.089 vers 1320 ?, origine espagnole Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS, cliché IRHT, droits collectivité, CNRS et MCC
27 Dans un second temps, l’escargot devrait également être choisi pour ses sécrétions dans la mesure où cela en fait un bon candidat pour l’évocation d’une semence féminine.
28 Depuis le Moyen Âge en effet, la question de savoir si le sperme féminin participait de l’acte de procréation parcourait les débats des auteurs médicaux. Suivant Hippocrate, Galien estime que « le sperme de la femme, outre qu’il contribue à la génération de l’animal [le fœtus], est aussi utile à ces fins : car en excitant la femme à l’acte vénérien, et en ouvrant le col de la matrice durant le coït, le sperme est d’une utilité non médiocre », et Avicenne soutient qu’« il n’est pas honteux pour le médecin de parler de l’augmentation de la taille du pénis ou du resserrement de la partie réceptrice, ainsi que du plaisir féminin, car se sont des causes qui participent à la génération » (in Ribémont 2007 : 131, nos italiques).
29 Il n’est donc pas étonnant de trouver un escargot associé à un nouveau né sur une autre enluminure : la Mort personnifiée a été placée d’un côté alors que la Vie est évoquée grâce à l’enfant relié au gastéropode par sa bave ou son mucus (cf. figure 21). Ici, l’association peut également jouer dans un autre sens et prendre la figure de l’escargot comme une représentation de l’organe masculin et ses sécrétions comme une évocation générale de la semence.
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Figure 21 : La Mort s’opposant à la Vie personnifiée par un jeune enfant relié à un escargot par sa bave
IRHT 071732-p, Aix-en-Provence, BM, ms. 1552, f. 076.
30 Terminons la trajectoire de la colombe envoyée par Dieu le Père dans les replis de la robe de Marie, juste en dessous de l’ouverture produite par les deux pans écartés de son manteau. Lorsque l’Enfant naîtra, ce point d’arrivée de la colombe, une entrée, sera aussi un lieu de sortie. En cela, il est permis de relier ce lieu à la scène de Nativité peinte dans la partie basse de l’ensemble de la composition, qui semblerait détachée de la scène de l’Annonciation si elle n’était pas, on le sait, son résultat. Comparativement à la scène de l’Annonciation, Cossa a donné à l’Enfant de la Nativité une taille qui rend sa « sortie » de la robe de Marie, mais aussi de ce tableau vers l’autre, tout à fait parlante. Or le trajet qui part de cette robe-vulve vers l’Enfant dans la crèche passe par la coquille du gastéropode posé par le peintre sur le rebord du tableau. Pour Daniel Arasse, Cossa avait peint l’escargot de la Vierge « en taille réelle », comme pour dire qu’il ne faisait pas réellement partie du tableau. Il soulignait qu’il y avait là un artifice jouant sur la figuration grandeur nature du gastéropode pour servir au spectateur de point d’entrée. C’est le cas. Mais il y a plus : c’est également un artifice visuel qui invite non seulement à entrer dans le tableau de l’Annonciation, mais aussi à passer d’un tableau à l’autre, de l’Annonciation à la Nativité…
31 À nouveau, la droite imaginaire passe par le centre radial de la spirale de la coquille et rejoint l’Enfant à son nombril : la spirale joue probablement le dernier rôle que l’on attendait d’elle, celui d’une métaphore visuelle du cordon ombilical, lui aussi en spirale puisqu’il s’agit d’un enroulement de deux artères et d’une veine autour d’un axe.
32 Nous l’avons vu, l’escargot prend dans ce tableau la place de la colonne en colimaçon du tableau de Spinello Aretino ou de Giovanni, voire plus systématiquement ceux d’autres tableaux du XIVe siècle. Or ces colonnes partagent le même schéma d’image que celui du cordon ombilical humain (cf. figure 22). On pourrait considérer l’analogie comme fortuite si la thématique générale n’était celle de l’Annonciation, pour laquelle, justement, l’échelle ou l’escalier en colimaçon permet de passer d’un plan à l’autre à la
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verticale du même point. Ces escaliers en colimaçon sont utilisés pour monter ou descendre verticalement, c’est-à-dire en empruntant un chemin direct entre deux points situés l’un au dessus ou en dessous de l’autre, sans que la pente soit impossible à gravir, comme cela serait le cas avec une simple échelle. En d’autres termes, la colonne en spirale ou en colimaçon est une évocation non seulement de la descente de Dieu sur le plan terrestre, elle est également une évocation visuelle d’un cordon ombilical qui relie la Mère à son Enfant. Enfin et surtout, le cordon ombilical est bien l’organe qui procède matériellement à l’incarnation de l’enfant dans la matrice. Sans lui, donc, il n’y a pas d’Incarnation possible — même biblique — et les colonnes en colimaçon sont placées en tout premier plan dans les Annonciations pour rappeler en esprit cette réalité obstétrique (et ne doutons pas que les cordons ombilicaux et leur forme aient été connu et associés au Christ, puisque le « Saint Ombilic » était une relique considérée comme le cordon ombilical de l’Enfant).
Figure 22 : Cordon ombilical humain : enroulement en colimaçon autour d’un axe en forme de colonne.
33 De fait, la composition de Cossa peint une Incarnation avant même qu’elle ne soit annoncée, puisque cet enroulement est probablement déjà évoqué en image dans les motifs des frises du haut du tableau (composées par un entrelacement spiralé). Pour le dire autrement, la composition présente une Annonciation dans laquelle chacun des protagonistes issus de la mythologie chrétienne personnifie un lieu du corps. L’alignement de trois de ces « lieux » entre eux devient un indicateur de relations qu’il faudrait pouvoir reconnaître et nommer. Placer une rose non éclose à la même hauteur qu’un repli conique du vêtement de Marie demande à être entendu dans un sens imagé. Que ce soit l’Ange qui tient ce bouton de rose par la tige n’empêche pas d’entendre le sens sous sa forme littérale : Gabriel ne fait pas qu’annoncer la bonne nouvelle, mais l’accompagne d’un geste emplissant de joie la Vierge alors que le Père, lui, la fait
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fructifier. L’ensemble de la composition joue enfin entre la scène « haute », sa partie divine, et la partie « basse », terrestre, dans laquelle l’Enfant, fruit de cette Annonciation, est placé dans une série de relations aussi bien graphiques que sémantiques avec les éléments du « haut ».
34 Ainsi placé à la verticale de la rosace de la colonne, le nombril de l’Enfant entretient avec la partie haute du tableau une autre relation significative. S’il fallait le relier directement au Père — et à son auréole en triangle —, la droite passerait obligatoirement par le bouton de rose, à nouveau situé à la croisée des chemins, non plus cette fois avec l’Enfant près de sa mère sur le balcon, mais avec l’Enfant qui vient de naître. Enfin, ces droites qui passent par, ou vont vers, le bouton de rose, croisent toutes le chien noir. Sous sa valeur « lupique », celui-ci est ici une évocation de la Terre (cf. Arasse Le sujet dans le tableau, 2008 [1997] : 236) ou ce canidé renvoie à la terre chez les Anciens)6. Il s’agit là d’une référence à la Terre dans sa nature dévorante des corps des défunts, raison, semble-t-il, du trajet inverse de celui qui va, dans ce tableau, de Dieu vers la terre, ou de Dieu vers Marie, un trajet donneur de vie.
35 Reste que la lucarne placée sur la corniche, au dessus de la colonne à l’angle du bâtiment dans lequel se trouvent une mère et son enfant, est habituellement le lieu par où passe la colombe ou toute manifestation du Saint Esprit, comme sur le tableau de Crivelli (cf. figure 12, ou celui de Giovanni, cf. figure 8). En prenant le premier trajet qui passe par la colombe et les doigts de Gabriel, trajet direct en quelque sorte, reliant Dieu le Père à la Vierge, cette ligne passe par l’Ange et devient « audible » pour la tradition chrétienne. L’autre ligne significative entre Dieu le Père et la Vierge passe par cette ouverture dans le bâtiment par où, habituellement, passe le Saint Esprit. Ici, elle ne laisse passer que le regard de Dieu.
36 Que faut-il entendre par « regarder par la lucarne » lorsque l’on parle de Dieu ? Peut- être n’est-ce là qu’une autre formulation pour « épier » ou regarder par un trou de serrure par lequel Dieu, qui voit tout, aperçoit, en voyeur, la scène de l’Annonciation. C’est d’ailleurs une constante dans les tableaux de la Renaissance montrant l’acte et la bonne nouvelle de Gabriel. Dieu y est dépeint éloigné, placé quelque part dans les airs et en même temps présent soit par le regard qu’il porte sur la scène se déroulant entre celle qu’il a choisie pour porter son fils et le porteur de bonne nouvelle, variante chrétienne d’un Hermès antique, soit par sa présence, proche dans le tableau, du moment de la fécondation. Souvent même, il est présenté s’invitant directement dans la chambre de Marie, soit par une fenêtre soit, le plus souvent, par le plafond au dessus du mur marquant la limite de l’intimité de l’espace marial ; d’autres fois seules ses mains apparaissent. Si l’œil de Dieu voit tout, il est amené à y regarder de plus près lors de l’Annonciation, car ce qu’il doit apercevoir n’est peut-être pas visible de si loin. Cette ligne, donc, qui va de l’œil de Dieu vers Marie et passe par l’ouverture, porte son regard sur le cône formé par l’enroulement du tissu du manteau de la Vierge ou, comme dans l’Annonciation d’Aretino, en étant placé exactement à sa verticale, c’est-à-dire suivant une connexion directe. Dans ce tableau de Cossa, ce point croise la verticale qui passe par l’autre sein de Marie, le centre caché de son auréole (un omphalos), passe par le côté du décor de la ligature du centre de la première arche et finit sa trajectoire au centre de la seconde crénelure, en haut du tableau. En d’autre termes, Francesco del Cossa a placé l’enroulement en spirale du manteau de Marie à la verticale de deux omphaloï, celui formé par le téton et celui de l’auréole, c’est-à-dire un alignement de trois « centres ». L’enroulement en spirale du manteau devient de la sorte ce que l’œil de Dieu regarde
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par la lucarne. Et pour cause, si, comme nous l’avons déjà évoqué, l’Annonciation doit porter ses fruits, il faut également accorder une certaine importance aux notions de l’époque liée à la fructification humaine. Selon Laqueur (op. cit.), il fallait dans les représentations de l’époque que les deux « semences », la masculine et la féminine, se donnent dans l’acte procréateur pour qu’un fœtus se forme. Toujours en accord avec cet auteur, il fallait même que l’orgasme soit atteint (ou du moins le plaisir, cf. Ribémont 2007 : 131)7, sans quoi, pensait-on à la Renaissance, il n’y aurait pas de fructification possible. Comment accorder les deux éléments en apparence contradictoires d’une semence masculine, que l’euphémisme de la colombe en tant que personnification des organes masculins ne rend pas moins présent, et d’une mère qui devrait rester vierge, donc d’un plaisir éprouvé sans rapports sexuels dans le sens de pénétration ? Sans miracle, ici, point de fructification possible… à moins d’admettre que cette fructification s’est produite par l’Esprit (saint) et qu’il faut donc la rendre visible en esprit, c’est-à-dire par une évocation des formes, et non pas dans un sens visuel premier, afin de le faire surgir dans l’esprit du spectateur (ou du commanditaire). C’est à ce type d’interrogation que les peintres devaient apporter des réponses visuelles. La présence du plaisir féminin devait ainsi être rendue par la figuration de l’organe qui lui permet d’advenir, à savoir, le clitoris et son prépuce qui prend une forme conique : Marie est ainsi présentée dans des atours qui dessinent un sexe féminin. En même temps, ce plaisir ne se lit pas sur son visage, impavide, ni ne se voit dans la posture générale qu’elle adopterait. Ce plaisir ne peut donc se voir ou se donner à voir : il ne peut être que compris lorsque le tableau est lu, et doit être raconté de façon analogique par le peintre.
Le serviteur de la Vierge
37 Reste ainsi une troisième figure, l’Archange Gabriel, qui semblerait ne pas participer de cet acte procréateur. Ici comme dans les autres Annonciations, il intervient sous l’aspect d’un être efféminé aux traits à la fois masculins et féminins, hermaphrodite en quelque sorte, identiques en biens des points à ceux des castrats de l’époque. Sa figure préchrétienne8, également dotée d’ailes dans les différentes formes que lui ont données les iconographies dans l’Antiquité tardive, est celle d’Attis, parèdre de la Mère des dieux. Dans la narration qui accompagne son culte, Attis s’auto-émascule et devient le modèle des Galles, prêtres dédiés au plaisir de la Mère des dieux lors des cultes à mystères dans lesquels ils officiaient (cf. Borgeaud 1996). L’historien des religions spécialiste de ce culte, Philippe Borgeaud, note toutefois que, castrés, les Galles avaient le cunnilinctus comme forme active de sexualité.
38 Dans l’analyse de l’Annonciation de Cossa, Arasse faisait remarquer que l’escargot se dirige de l’Ange vers Marie et en déduisait que ce déplacement évoquait la lenteur mise par Dieu à envoyer son fils sur terre depuis le moment de la chute d’Adam et Ève. Or certaines images d’escargot présentes dans les enluminures des livres d’heures laissent présager une autre raison de sa présence, liée cette fois à l’Ange Gabriel compris comme une forme de Galle chrétien dédié au plaisir de la Mère. Ainsi, sur une enluminure d’un épistolier daté de 1548 et gardé en Avignon, apparaît dans les éléments de décor un énorme escargot à tête de chien doté d’une langue démesurée (cf. figure 23). Cette dernière, rappelons-le, est l’organe avec lequel il attaque et dévore les feuilles, raison pour laquelle, semble-t-il, il a été placé face à une tourelle défendant
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une feuille dans la Visitation peinte par les frères de Limbourg (cf. figure 4). Sur l’enluminure de la figure 23, sa présence se justifie suivant un rapport métonymique relevant de l’évocation de la trace laissée par son repas. Au même titre que l’escargot creuse une trace avec sa langue dans un végétal, l’Ascension de Jésus est connue pour avoir laissé sur la montagne deux empreintes en creux, ou vestiges des pieds du Sauveur, comme les a peintes l’artiste dans cette enluminure.
Figure 23 : Escargot à la langue râpeuse démesurée au dessus d'une scène de l'Ascension
Épistolier daté de 1548,IRHT 054750-p, Avignon - BM - ms. 0029, f. 054v
39 Or cette langue d’escargot apparaît sur une autre enluminure, bien antérieure à l’ensemble de ces tableaux. Sur une scène inscrite dans la lettre U d’une enluminure du XIVe siècle issue du même manuscrit que la figure 20, un martyr se fait découper à la scie dans le sens de la hauteur par deux hommes qui l’ont entamé par le haut du crâne en suivant la raie de sa chevelure. Au dessus de cette composition apparaissent un singe et un escargot, ce dernier étant peint ici sous la forme d’une « bête à corne », c’est-à- dire partiellement diabolique. La langue râpeuse du gastéropode lèche l’arrière-train du singe sur un mode analogue au supplice de la scie que subit le malheureux (confirmant par ailleurs, s’il en était besoin, l’analogie entre un arrière-train et une chevelure séparée en deux par une raie). On le voit, la figure de l’escargot est ici une évocation directe de la luxure, alors qu’elle n’est que suggérée dans le tableau de Cossa, où le gastéropode est plutôt le délégué de Gabriel (ou sa métaphore animale, en opposition complémentaire à la colombe phallique, déléguée de Dieu le Père).
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Figure 24 : Scène d’un escargot léchant le derrière d’un singe placée à la verticale d’un martyr se faisant scier en deux à partir du haut du crâne
Tours - BM - ms. 0008 f. 327v, Initiale U du livre d'Isaïe vers 1320 ?) Institut de recherche et d'histoire des textes - CNRS, cliché IRHT ; droits collectivité, CNRS et MCC.
40 Certes, le contexte biblique de cette scène diffère de celui d’une d’Annonciation et l’on pourrait considérer abusive la transposition d’un contexte à l’autre. Ce même couple d’animaux, partiellement effacé, se retrouve pourtant dans les éléments de décoration d’une autre enluminure gardée à Chambéry montrant une Annonciation (cf. figure 25). En plus d’un gastéropode déambulant sur le bord extérieur du cadre, le couple singe/ escargot, surmonté d’un crapaud évoquant la matrice, est cette fois placé en face-à-face à droite de l’encart central. Les deux animaux semblent engagés dans une conversation analogue à celle ayant lieu entre la Vierge et Gabriel. Il est possible qu’une partie de Marie soit personnifiée par le singe9 — Dürer a repris directement le thème de La Vierge au singe — et l’Ange par la figure du gastéropode. L’identité relative entre Marie et l’Ange selon les deux animaux ne peut être levée qu’avec le recours à une autre enluminure.
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Figure 25 : Singe et escargot en face d’une scène d’Annonciation
IRHT_035275-p Chambéry - BM - ms. 0003 f.033
41 Dans cette image du XVe siècle, le lion de saint Marc regarde (surveille ?) un ange sortant directement d’une coquille d’escargot (cf. figure 26). En d’autres termes, il faudrait dire « en esprit », l’ange et l’escargot ne font qu’un dans cette enluminure. Associé aux occurrences précédentes, l’ange-escargot des Annonciations est un « prédateur » qui « s’attaque » aux « feuilles » de Marie.
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Figure 26 : Le lion de marc regarde un ange sortant d’une coquille d'escargot
IRHT_106279-p Abbeville - BM - ms. 0016 f.002 (détail), 15ème siècle, Picardie
42 Plus exactement, il s’agit d’un « serviteur de la Vierge », raison pour laquelle un évêque peut prendre la place de l’ange sortant de la coquille dans une autre enluminure où il est d’ailleurs accompagné d’un singe assis sur le fût d’un canon (cf. figure 27).
Figure 27 : Évêque sortant de la coquille d’un escargot
IRHT - Chaumont, B.m., ms. 0033, f. 33
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43 Enfin, pour terminer cet ensemble lié à l’escargot et à sa valeur analogique dans le registre sexuel, on peut ajouter une variation iconographique tirée du même manuscrit que la figure 26, sur laquelle un escargot démesuré apparaît près de deux fourches d’arbres renversées. Entre l’ange et l’escargot est peint un couple enlacé : alors que chacun touche de sa main le ventre de l’autre, la jambe de l’homme est placée sur la robe de la femme dans une allusion galante relativement explicite (il s’agit de son « membre »), à laquelle répond analogiquement la scène de l’escargot s’approchant de la fourche. La tête du gastéropode est sur la section du tronc qui, coupée à la scie, prend une forme ovale (cf. figure 28). Pour qu’une famille puisse voir le jour et, par conséquent, qu’une descendance puisse advenir, il faut que le couple humain se place spirituellement entre l’ange et l’escargot, entre plaisir et matérialité corporelle. On le voit, à remplacer dans cette scène le membre du mari par la colombe arrivant dans les robes de la dame, on obtient une Annonciation comme celle qu’a peinte Francesco del Cossa.
Figure 28 : Ange, couple et escargot près de fourches d’arbre coupées
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Abbeville - BM – ms. 0016, f. 019v Heures à l'usage d'Amiens, 15e s. (fin).
44 La proposition apparaît au premier abord dérangeante, car elle présente une période renaissante sensiblement plus portée sur Marie Mère de Dieu que sur Dieu le Père dans un couple d’oppositions où Dieu occupe la place d’un créateur d’ordre et de forme mathématiques, alors que la Mère de Dieu occupe celle de la vie, associée à la souffrance, mais aussi au plaisir, à la matérialité du corps en quelque sorte. Elle est également dérangeante dans la mesure où l’Enfant est ici traité comme un omphalos supplémentaire ; certes placé dans la crèche en bas de la composition, ou presque absent sur le balcon, il se trouve chaque fois associé soit à un bouton de rose, soit à un centre de fleur, les rosaces, la coquille de gastéropode ou encore, plus dérangeant, à la colonne. L’ensemble de ces éléments picturaux lui est substituable en partie ou en totalité.
45 Gabriel n’est donc pas figuré dans les tableaux d’art sacré de la Renaissance à seule fin d’annoncer à Marie qu’elle est l’élue, mais aussi, dans une continuation des enluminures du bas Moyen Âge, pour permettre à Marie de recevoir l’Enfant dans son ventre et, pour cela, de lui procurer du plaisir. Dans le cas de la Renaissance, la biologie de la parenté n’est donc pas envisageable sans la part de l’Ange et, lorsqu’il s’agit de la Sainte Famille, Gabriel y prend place en tant que préposé à la Vierge et à l’Enfant.
46 Nous terminerons cette étude par une série d’images qui, bien que hors cadre chronologique, puisqu’elles émanent de Salvador Dali et de Magritte, montre non seulement comment la thématique de l’ange et de l’escargot a été retenue par des artistes contemporains, mais aussi comment leur regard sur les œuvres passées a discerné dans les peintures renaissantes ces « lignes » que nous évoquions en première partie de cette étude. La première montre une femme nue arquée, faisant un pont de son corps sur lequel trône un escargot démesuré (cf. figure 29). Dans l’embrasure qu’elle forme, rappelant une arcade ecclésiale, apparaît un personnage ailé, intermédiaire de l’ange et d’Hermès10 (pieds ailés) avec un chapeau melon (ou un
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casque) et une canne. Surréaliste, le dessin de Dali ne semble pas, au premier abord, inspiré directement des Annonciations, puisque tant « l’ange » que la femme sont des éléments indépendants qu’il faut certes associer à l’escargot venant de passer sur son sexe, mais que rien ne rattache à l’imagerie chrétienne, sauf peut-être l’Ange de l’APOcalypse (les trois lettres APO sur son costume) et la terre qui se fissure.
Figure 29 : Dali, La femme et l’escargot
(Gravure de 1967), escargot déambulant sur une femme faisant un arc de son corps et un ange placé dans l’embrasure.
47 Il manquerait à cette composition Dieu le Père et la Colombe pour que l’ensemble fasse explicitement une Annonciation plutôt qu’une référence à l’Apocalypse. Bien qu’ils n’apparaissent pas directement sur sa gravure, Dali semble avoir fait ici une référence ou une « citation » à Magritte et à son Homme au chapeau melon (lui aussi vêtu d’un costume actuel), dans lequel le visage du personnage au couvre-chef est caché par une colombe. Pour le surréaliste qu’était Dali, Magritte fut incontestablement un « Père » du mouvement. Réalisé la même année que le décès du peintre au chapeau melon, ce dessin de Dali semble être un « clin d’œil » à l’un des pères du surréalisme par la référence à l’une de ses toiles, Olympia, sur laquelle une jeune femme nue (la femme du peinture) est présentée de profil, allongée sur une plage avec une coquille d’escargot placée sur son ventre11.
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Figure 30 A : René Magritte, L'homme au chapeau melon (1964)
Figure 30 B : René Magritte, Olympia (1948)
48 Sur cette dernière peinture, la signature du peintre est placée dans le coin supérieur droit, à la manière d’un oiseau dans les airs (le g de Magritte formant le corps au milieu des deux ailes constituées des autres lettres de la signature). Dali, dans son tableau,
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recombine les éléments en présence en redonnant les composantes manquantes de l’Annonciation et dessine un Ange/Hermès jouant le rôle de Père (Dieu) en faisant directement référence à L’homme au chapeau melon, sur lequel la colombe occupe le visage d’un possible autoportrait de Magritte que Dali interprète de façon biblique : à savoir que la Colombe est celle qui produit l’Enfant et que, de la sorte, elle joue le rôle d’une langue (ce qui, pour Dali, semble être une évocation d’un Magritte « saphique »).
49 La seconde référence reprend dans une sculpture en bronze intitulée L’Ange et l’escargot, dans laquelle Dali recombine ces éléments en les plaçant cette fois de façon à évacuer les références sexuelles explicites. Un Ange au bâton d’Hermès (en forme de béquille) a trouvé place sur un escargot ailé démesuré navigant sur des flots, laissant penser à un télescopage entre un gastéropode et un oiseau qu’un ange mènerait vers une Vierge Marie absente.
Figure 31 : Dali, L’Ange et l’escargot,
Bronze (1977-1984)
50 Enfin, on connaît l’attention que Dali portait à la Renaissance italienne qui fut pour lui une forte source d’inspiration ; c’est dans ce contexte qu’il faut regarder les deux dernières images que nous proposons de l’artiste, pour voir comment nous arrivons à des conclusions similaires à celles qu’il a lui-même proposées artistiquement.
51 En tout premier lieu, dans le dessin intitulé L’Ange Gabriel (1971), on voit un couple formé par Gabriel et par une femme nue placé dans un rayonnement dont le centre est le nombril de l’ange, c’est-à-dire littéralement ce que les conceptions du Moyen-Âge et de la Renaissance comprenaient sous l’antique concept d’omphalos associé à sa connotation érotique. En effet, allongée et nue, Marie se caresse de sa main gauche dirigée vers son entrejambe plutôt qu’elle ne cache son intimité à la manière des Vénus (comme celles de Giorgione puis du Titien, ou de sa version plus récente, l’Olympia de
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Manet). Gabriel, tout aussi nu, arrive dans l’embrasure d’une fenêtre et est « relié » à Marie par plusieurs rayons partant de son nombril, dont un passe par son sexe et va croiser le nombril de la jeune femme allongée. Ce dessin est une variante d’une autre composition du même peintre, intitulée Biblia sacra, sur laquelle l’Ange Gabriel, rayonnant à partir de sa main levée, est placé à gauche de la composition pour faire face à une jeune femme nue dessinée en Vénus. Un corps sans vie (celui, à venir, du Christ) est jeté au bas de la composition.
52 On peut donc au moins se reposer sur la lecture qu’un peintre contemporain faisait des peintures de la Renaissance pour admettre que les lignes qui relient des points ou des lieux du corps, bien que non marquées aussi clairement que dans L’Ange Gabriel de Dali, pouvaient être perçues par ceux dont le métier est de regarder et d’interpréter les productions actuelles et passées de leurs collègues.
Figure 32 A : Dali, L’Ange Gabriel (1971)
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Figure 32 B : Dali, Biblia sacra (1967)
BIBLIOGRAPHIE
Arasse, Daniel, 2005 On n’y voit rien – Descriptions, Paris, Collection « Médiations », Denoël (Éditions), 167 p.
Arasse, Daniel, 2008 [1997] Le sujet dans le tableau- Essais d'iconographie analytique, Paris, « Champs arts », Flammarion, 297 p.
Arasse, Daniel, 2010 [1999] L'annonciation italienne, une histoire de perspective, Paris, Éditions Hazan, 375 p.
Gottfried Boehm; Horst Bredekamp (Hrsg.), 2009 Ikonologie der Gegenwart, München, Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 179 Seiten
Borgeaud, Philippe, 1996 La Mère des dieux. De Cybèle à la Vierge Marie, Paris, Collection « Librairie du XXe siècle », Seuil, 261 p.
Damisch, Hubert, 1997 Un souvenir d'enfance, par Piero della Francesca, Paris, Collection « Librairie du XXIe siècle », Seuil, 183 p.
Descola, Philippe, 2010 Catalogue de l’exposition « La Fabrique des images. Visions du monde et formes de la représentation », commissaire Musée du quai Branly, Ed. musée du quai Branly & Somogy éditions d’art.
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Didi-Huberman, Georges, 1995 Fra Angelico: dissemblance and figuration, University of Chicago Press, 274 p.
Feuillet, Michel, 2008 « Le bestiaire de l’Annonciation : l’hirondelle, l’escargot, l’écureuil et le chat », in Italies, n°12 « Métaphores animales et animaux symboliques », p. 231-242
Jones, Malcom, 2000 “The Late-Medieval Dutch pelgrim badges”, In: T. Hyman & R. Malbert, ‘Carnivalesque’, London, 98-101.
Jourdan, Fabienne, 2010 Orphée et les Chrétiens. La réception du mythe d'Orphée dans la littérature chrétienne grecque des cinq premiers siècles (Tome I. Orphée, du repoussoir au préfigurateur du Christ), Paris, Les Belles Lettres, Collection « Anagoge”, 488p.
Karadimas, Dimitri, 2010 « Animaux imaginaires et êtres composites », in Catalogue de l’exposition « La Fabrique des images. Visions du monde et formes de la représentation », commissaire Philippe Descola, Musée du quai Branly, Ed. musée du quai Branly & Somogy éditions d’art : 184-191.
Kraatz, Anne, 2010 Luxe et luxure à la cour des papes de la Renaissance, Paris, coll. « Realia », Les Belles Lettres, 256 p.
Laqueur, Thomas, 1992 La fabrique du sexe. Essais sur le corps et le genre en Occident, Paris, coll. « nrf essais », Gallimard, 355p.
Ostkamp, Sebastiaan, 2009 “The world upside down. Secular badges and the iconography of the Late Medieval Period: ordinary pins with multiple meanings”, Journal of Archaeology in the Low Countries 1-2 (November 2009).
Panofsky, Erwin, 2010 [1953] Les Primitif flamands, Paris, Hazan, 880 p.
Ribémont, Bernard, 2007 Sexe et amour au Moyen Âge, Paris, coll. « 50 questions », Klincksieck, 238 p.
Sachs-Hombach, Klaus (Hrsg.) 2009 Bildtheorien. Anthropologische und kulturelle Grundlagen des Visualistic Turn. Reihe: Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Wissenschaft (stw), Band 1888, Frankfurt a.M., Suhrkamp Verlag, 437 Seiten
Carlo Severi, 2007 Le Principe de la chimère : une anthropologie de la mémoire, Paris, éditions Rue d’Ulm-musée du quai Branly, coll. « Aesthetica », 370 p.
Stafford, Barbara M., 1999 Visual Analogy. Consciousness as the Art of Connecting, Cambridge/Mass.
Steinberg, Léo, 1987 La sexualité du Christ dans l’art de la Renaissance et son refoulement moderne, Paris, coll. « L’infini », Gallimard, 265 p.
Wind, Edgar, 1992 Mystères païens de la Renaissance, Paris, Gallimard.
NOTES
1. Les premières idées de cet article ont été présentées en juillet 2009 dans le Colloque « Croyances sexuelles et pratiques religieuses » que nous avons co-organisé avec Karine Tinat à Mexico et en juin 2010 au sein du séminaire d’Yves Hersant de l’EHESS sous le titre « Une lecture analogique des images d’art sacré de la Renaissance ». 3. “Malcolm Jones has pointed out that the crowned vulva on this badge should be interpreted as a persiflage on Mary (Jones 2000, 100-101)” in Ostkamp 2009 http://dpc.uba.uva.nl/jalc/01/nr02/ a05 4. C’est par cette fourche formée par les deux doigts de Marie que passe la ligne d’horizon ayant servi à la construction perspective du tableau : c’est à cette hauteur que le peintre a placé le
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regard du spectateur, en face du centre perceptif de la composition placé lui sur la colonne à hauteur de cette même ligne horizontale. Les deux lieux se répondent en tant que « centres » (cf. Arasse 2010 [1999] : fig. 18). 5. Gastéropodes fossilisés dans la roche que l’on retrouve comme pavement de l’espace marial dans l’Annonciation de Benedetto Caporali (vers 1465), Avignon, Musée du Petit-Palais (in Arasse 2010 [1999] : 162, fig. 86). 6. « Francesco Colonna adapte ici un passage du De Re Aedificatoria d’Alberti : « Les poètes appellent la Terre Cerbère et les philosophes l’appellent le Loup des Dieux parce qu’elle dévore et consume tout ». Chien Cerbère, Loup des Dieux, Terre dévorante : associations déjà rencontrées » (Arasse [1997] 2008. Le sujet dans le tableau, Paris, Flammarion). 7. « De fait, les savants médiévaux s’en tiendront jusqu’au XIIIe siècle à la théorie du sperme féminin, certains, comme Thomas de Cantimpré, traitant même leurs adversaires de menteurs. Un argument maintes fois avancé en faveur de cette conception est celui, formulé au XIIe siècle par Guillaumes de Conches, de la femme violée ou de la prostituée : ces femmes qui n’ont aucun plaisir durant l’acte sexuel n’engendrent pas. Il fut objecté au maître chartrain qu’il y a des cas où la prostituée comme la victime d’un viol peuvent donner naissance à un enfant. La réponse est claire : il arrive qu’une prostituée tombe amoureuse d’un client, elle a donc du plaisir. » (Ribémont 2007 : 131). 8. L’espace nous manque pour traiter de la « découverte » des religions préchrétiennes par le christianisme de la Renaissance (un christianisme d’avant la Réforme) cf. E. Wind, 1992, Mystères païens de la Renaissance, Paris, Gallimard. 9. Comme le souligne Panofsky : « Le singe, incarnation de tous les défauts qui conduisirent Ève à provoquer la Chute de l’Homme, servait d’attribut paradoxal à Marie, la ‟nouvelle Ève”, dont les perfections effacèrent la faute de ‟l’ancienne”. Dürer lui-même se plaira à associer la Vierge et le singe. Cet animal avait un lien tout particulier, et justifier, avec l’Annonciation, (…) » (Panofsky 2010 [1953]: 254) 10. Modèle et ancêtre préchrétien de l’ange annonciateur, le messager des dieux était également connu pour être le père d’Éros, en plus d’être celui d’Hermaphrodite. 11. Cette peinture de Magritte est déjà une référence, de part son titre, à L’Olympia de Manet que le peintre interprète comme une figuration d’un nu avec un chat regardant, comme Olympia, le spectateur. Le gastéropode de Magritte joue ici le rôle du chat, mais placé sur le ventre de sa femme et non au bout du lit. 2. À propos des images analogiques, on se reportera à notre contribution au catalogue de l’exposition La Fabrique des images de Philippe Descola (Karadimas 2010).
RÉSUMÉS
À partir de l’ouvrage de Léo Steinberg, La sexualité du Christ dans l’art de la Renaissance et son refoulement moderne, paru en 1987, qui soutient que l’humanité du Christ était évoquée dans l’art de cette époque grâce à une figuration des organes sexuels de l’Enfant, voire du Christ en érection, nous esquissons d’autres modes de lecture et d’analyse de l’image et du tableau. Notre approche se veut plus tournée vers une anthropologie des images pour laquelle la construction même d’une œuvre peut se lire de différentes façons. Nous nous réferons aux travaux de Hans Belting et d’autres, notamment de ceux qui travaillent le rapport analogique comme un moyen,
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certains diraient un « milieu » (Stafford 1999, Bild und Analogie als Mitte…) entre différents éléments qui n’entretiennent aucun rapport entre eux, si ce n’est celui de la similitude formelle2.
Leo Steinberg’s The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion assume that the humanity of Christ was referred in the arts of the Renaissance’s period by showing the sexual organs of the Child, or by figuring the Christ in erection. The contribution proposes to have an alternative lecture and analysis of those images and paintings. Our approach is linked to the anthropology of the image where the construction of artwork can by read in different ways. We refer to the works of Hans Belting and others as those who study the analogical link as media, some would say as an “in between” (Stafford 1999, Bild un Analogie als Mitte…) of different elements that don’t share any other correspondence but that of formal likeliness.
La obra de Léo Steinberg La sexualité du Christ dans l’art de la Renaissance et son refoulement moderne, publicada en 1987, defendía que la humanidad de Cristo era evocada en el arte del Renacimiento mediante la figuración de los órganos sexuales del Niño Jesús e incluso de los órganos de Cristo en erección. En este artículo, apuntamos a otros modos de lectura y análisis de la imagen y del cuadro. Nuestra perspectiva se conecta más bien con una antropología de las imágenes a, según la cual la misma construcción de una obra puede leerse de varias formas. Hacemos referencia a las obras de Hans Belting y otros, particularmente de aquellos que trabajan la relación analógica como mediador, algunos encluso dirían como “medio” (Stafford 1999, Bild und Analogie als Mitte…), entre diferentes elementos que no mantienen relación alguna entre ellos, a parte de la similitud formal.
INDEX
Palabras claves : Imágenes, Arte Sacro, Sexualidad, Arte del Renacimiento, Similitud Formal Keywords : images, sacred art, sexuality, art of the Renaissance, formal likeliness Mots-clés : images, art sacré, sexualité, art de la Renaissance
AUTEUR
DIMITRI KARADIMAS Laboratoire d’Anthropologie Sociale, Collège de France
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African Lace: an industrial fabric connecting Austria and Nigeria
Barbara Plankensteiner
1 In Nigeria and the Nigerian Diaspora, attending a festive or official occasion without wearing “lace” is almost unthinkable, yet few people know how long this material has been an indispensable attribute of social life and how the tradition actually started. In fact it is approximately over fifty years that these colourful lace textiles define the appearance of Nigerians worldwide, and have become an intrinsic element of their festive clothing and fashion. The particular designs and qualities of these industrially produced fabrics for the West African market go back to the early 1960s and are a Nigerian-Austrian creation. Like the well-known wax prints produced for the African market first in Europe since the nineteenth century and later as well in Africa, that are today regarded as the African fabrics par excellence, the embroidery fabrics originating from the Austrian province of Vorarlberg are an expression of global intertwining and question conventional perceptions of tradition and authenticity. Yet, as well in Austria or Switzerland, it is largely unknown that an entire branch of the textile industry in these two countries survives primarily because of exports to West Africa.
2 With the term “lace” Nigerians actually refer to industrial embroideries. Non-experts easily confound certain qualities of industrial embroideries, specifically guipure (chemical lace) or eyelet embroidery, with real laces because they have a very similar appearance. The use of the term lace results from this confusion and its now a firmly established market denomination for all kinds of industrial embroideries, also of qualities that have no resemblance with real laces.
3 The denomination for these textiles in Nigeria indicates their origin while at the same time denoting a hallmark of excellence: most frequently they are referred to as “Swiss lace”, which also implies a quality criterion, although the term is often used for materials that in fact originate from Austria. The term “Austrian lace” is also common and likewise stands for top quality. In international usage, the standard designation “African lace” implies that this product is something unmistakably African.
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4 This article tries to reconstruct how these textiles first emerged and developed over the decades.1 The history of industrial embroideries in Nigeria has so far remained unwritten, and the historical overview here is based on numerous interviews with time witnesses in Nigeria, Austria, and Switzerland.2 The overview makes no claim to completeness as far more actors were involved in this history of relations across continents than those whose accounts are summarized here. The research was part of a collaborative exhibition project that aimed to embrace the socio-cultural significance of Lace in Nigeria for the first time.3
View of exhibition installation at the Museum für Völkerkunde Wien
October 2010. Photo : Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
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View of exhibition at Lagos National Museum
June 2011. Photo: Barbara Plankensteiner
Guipuire embroidery fabric from the mid-1970is (detail of a lady’s suit)
Museum für Völkerkunde Wien, Inv.No. 187.358. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
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An Export-Oriented Textile Industry
5 The historical beginning of the embroidery industry can be traced to the Swiss town of St Gallen where, during the mid-18th century, merchants inspired by Ottoman silver and gold embroidery initiated the production of hand-made embroideries on silk. A local shortage of embroiderers soon led to the training of peasant women from the Bregenzerwald area in neighbouring Austria, who worked part-time from home. The Lake Constance Region already had a long history of flax spinning and linen weaving going back to medieval times.
6 Though the first manually operated embroidery machines were in use around 1860, the real groundbreaking development for the embroidery industry came with the Swiss invention of the steam-powered shuttle embroidery machine (Schiffli machine) by Isaac Gröbli. The first embroidery factory in Lustenau on the Austrian border with Switzerland was founded in 1875 and by the turn of the century the embroidery industry had become the region's major employer and foreign exchange earner. Along with Switzerland and Saxony, Vorarlberg became one of Europe's three foremost centres of the embroidery industry. Increasing industrialisation did little to alter the basic structure of the embroidery industry. Even today, a significant part of production is out-sourced to small family enterprises (known as "wage embroiderers") operating one or two embroidery machines and under contract to larger embroidery companies.
Close-up of a fabric with allover embroidery emerging from on old-fashioned embroidery machine still in use
A red spot marks faults, which are then corrected on the hand embroidery machine. Ernst Bösch company, Lustenau. Photo: Barbara Plankensteiner 2010.
7 The embroidery industry in Lustenau in Austria flourished in the period from 1880 until about 1928, when almost all the town’s residents earned their living in this trade (Fitz 1947).4 For the most part, embroiderers produced inlays and lace for ladies’ underwear and for under- and over-garments. In the early 20th century, it was
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fashionable to wear white dresses made entirely of embroidered fabric; in the period from 1907 to 1910 blouses were often decorated with embroidery. Another standard product until 1928 were embroidered handkerchiefs.
8 At that time, the industry was already focused almost exclusively on exports. The target countries were mainly in Europe, with Great Britain and Germany the biggest buyers. Outside Europe, textiles were supplied to Egypt and Turkey. By about 1928, Austria was supplying as many as sixty-six countries, including many distant lands such as British India, Morocco, the Dutch East Indies, the USA, Argentina, British Africa, China, Japan, Mexico, Brazil, Cuba, and the British West Indies. Until the outbreak of the Second World War, the British West Indies, Great Britain, the Netherlands, French Morocco, and the Dutch East Indies were the largest markets; major clients in both Great Britain and the Netherlands were actually themselves export companies (Fitz 1947: 156). India purchased primarily dress fabrics embroidered with artificial silk, while demand in the North African market was for colourful fringed shawls and richly embroidered dress fabrics; embroidered curtains were sold to the Netherlands, and handkerchiefs, decorative cloths, tulle, and guipure lace to Great Britain (Fitz 1947: 157).
9 With the onset of the Great Depression, in about 1929 a major crisis also beset the embroidery industry, triggered by several factors. In around 1913, women’s fashions in the USA and Europe switched to close-fitting garments, as a result of which demand for trimming lace – one of the industry’s main products – declined. Furthermore, starting in 1917 cotton underwear was no longer decorated with embroidery. However, one of the chief reasons for the decline was the fact that from the First World War on, unembroidered artificial silk became fashionable for underwear, and the use of knitted fabrics in general became widespread. Accordingly Fitz stresses: “In summary it can be said that artificial silk (fabrics and knitted articles), colour weaving, and finally printed fabric are the three factors that caused fashion to turn its back on embroidery” (1947: 100). Another factor in the crisis was that many countries increased the import taxes levied on embroideries that were considered luxury goods, and therefore prices became problematically high. In the USA, for example, in 1922 customs duty rose from between 45 and 60 per cent to between 75 and 90 per cent, and in Japan in 1924 from 40 per cent to 100 per cent. In addition, in the interim an embroidery industry had established itself in the countries that had originally been major distribution areas. This was the case in the USA, France, and Italy. The biggest competition for Lustenau embroiderers at that time came from Switzerland, where embroidery had long been the most important export, ahead of watches, machinery, and silk. Saxony in Germany also had a significant embroidery industry; later on, competition came from the USA, Japan, Italy, and France (Fitz 1947: 177).
10 With the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany, foreign markets for Vorarlberg embroidery declined, and after the war the industry was hit hard again, this time by the shortage of raw materials. In the 1950s, the embroiderers went to great lengths to regain their markets and above all to identify new ones.
The Beginnings of Austrian Lace Exports to Nigeria
11 The history of embroidered textiles in Nigeria dates back to the early 1960s. Prior to that, probably from the 1930s on, embroideries were used by women in Nigeria for
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white blouses that they wore with wraparound skirts of locally woven fabrics. These textiles were imported by British, German, Dutch, Lebanese, or Indian trading houses in coastal cities and sold through retailers across the country. Textiles from Vorarlberg probably already figured among their assortment, as large quantities were sold to export companies in Great Britain and the Netherlands. According to Heinz Hundertpfund,5 certain Austrian textile companies were already supplying Nigeria directly before the 1960s. The largest were the Getzner textile factory in Bludenz (manufacturer of cotton damask textiles), the F.M. Hämmerle textile factory in Dornbirn, and Jenny & Schindler in Tyrol, both of whom produced structured cotton fabrics. To this day, Getzner is the biggest producer of fine damask textiles for West Africa; their main markets are Mauritania, Mali, and Senegal, but they also supply large quantities of fabrics to the Islamic North of Nigeria.
12 A number of factors contributed to the development of the market for embroideries in Nigeria. Nigerian independence in 1960 not only favoured the establishment of a wealthy middle class, but also spawned other developments that facilitated international business contacts. Nigerian merchants increasingly took the initiative to circumvent the commercial agencies established during the colonial era from which they had until then bought their goods, preferring to establish direct contact with producers in Europe with a view to earning greater profits themselves. The opening of the Austrian embassy in 1962/63 with a trade delegation played a decisive role in this development, as for the first 10 years the position was occupied by an enthusiastic man from Vorarlberg. Trade delegate Heinz Hundertpfund had observed the popularity of white lace for blouses in Nigeria and had alerted embroiderers in his home region to this trend. Furthermore, the introduction by Lufthansa and Swiss Air of direct flights to Lagos in the early 1960s simplified travel.
13 There are two different oral traditions about the first Vorarlberg embroiderers to travel to Nigeria and lay the foundation of this trade relationship, which has now endured for more than 50 years. Hundertpfund remembers Josef Fenkart from Hohenems, whom he met in person in Lagos in 1962, as the first embroiderer from Vorarlberg. Others believe that it was Kurt Nachbauer from the Lustima company who blazed the trail in Nigeria (Murorunkwere 2002: 41). Lustima did not themselves produce but rather sold goods from various Vorarlberg factories, who made lace on commission for them. As some Nigerian merchant dynasties remember it, the name Lustima became known as one of the first Austrian companies to establish direct trade contacts in Lagos. For example, Debo Adekoya, who is considered the first large-scale Nigerian importer of Austrian embroideries, purchased goods from Lustima in the early 1960s and had travelled to Lustenau. He took over the company Crumpsall Enterprises on Lagos Island from his father, who had imported shoes from Manchester for the elite of Lagos. Adekoya himself traded in textiles and brought back samples of industrial embroideries from a trade fair in Great Britain after noticing the product there.6
14 At all events, there is no doubt that Vorarlberg embroiderers looked to Africa in the 1960s to find new markets. In the 1950s, large volumes of embroidered flounces were sold to Venezuela; however, as these exports declined, companies tried to gain a stronger foothold in Sudan, where “embroidered saris” – light cotton voile fabrics with minimal embroidery – were a much requested merchandise.7 At the same time, companies were looking for other markets and reached Nigeria, where the Austrian trade representation now provided support services.
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15 The fact that the first Austrian lace pioneers sought personal contact with textile traders along Kosoko Street on Lagos Island, which was at the time the centre of the textile market, was decisive for their success. With this important step, they succeeded in eliminating intermediaries and rapidly boosting direct trade. However, this direct contact also involved a larger risk for the Vorarlberg exporters, because until then European producers had delivered exclusively to local trading houses who guaranteed payment. Direct contact offered the advantage of gaining decisive insight into the interests, quality expectations, and colour preferences of the Nigerian customers; furthermore it generated awareness of the importance of adhering to delivery deadlines, as the textiles were normally ordered for specific festive occasions and were no longer needed if the agreed delivery date was not met. These personal business contacts also resulted in mutual trust and counter-visits of the Nigerian business associates to Austria.8 The same principles characterize business relations to this day; some contacts date back more than 40 years, and in the family-owned businesses in Lustenau as well as in Nigeria, the next generation has since taken over the business and is continuing the collaboration.
16 Once initial contacts had been made, between 1966 and 1972 the trade developed very promisingly. Both in Lagos and in Lustenau, news had spread about supply and demand, and both sides actively sought direct contacts. An increasing number of Lustenau companies sent their sales representatives to Lagos, and buyers in Nigeria tried to locate production facilities themselves. The dynamics of this process were comparable on both sides. At first it was wholesalers in Nigeria and large-scale producers in Austria who dominated the transnational business, but in the heyday of the trade, these groups gradually expanded on both sides. In Lustenau it resulted in increasing specialization in the so-called “Africa business” and the founding of a large number of specialized production companies; in Nigeria, more and more businesswomen started making contact with Lustenau themselves and visiting the town.
17 In addition to Lustima, the first Austrian companies to enter the business were Hagen KG, owned by Edwin Hagen, also known as “Cash Papa”; Ernst Grabherr and Hofer KG represented by Oswald Brunner; Josef Blaser for Erich Bösch; Ernst Hofer for Oskar Hämmerle, all situated in Lustenau, and Franz Mäser in Dornbirn.9
18 One of the first importers was Chief Modupe Asabi Obebe from Abeokuta, the Iyaloja of Egbaland, also called Mama Tutu. The cousin of later president Olusegun Obasanjo, she was a wealthy trader on Kosoko Street on Lagos Island and owner of Ebun Oluwa Stores, 10 and was quickly identified by the Lustenau embroiderers as the perfect, financially strong business associate. She vigorously defended her position as market leader against the competition.
19 Later, in the 1970s and 1980s, Prince Shafi Mobolaji Shitu,11 the Baba Adinni and ruling Olowu of Aiyepe, was one of the biggest importers of Austrian lace and later founded a factory together with an Austrian partner. In the mid-1960s he had noticed that an importer in Lagos who stocked goods from Lustima was very successful. Shitu and his brother Suleiman were already well established in the textile business, with their main store in the so-called Gutter on Lagos Island. They imported stiff brocades, called damask in Nigeria, primarily from Germany, but also Guinea brocade (i.e., plain cotton damask), and carried an assortment of whitework embroideries that they had been purchasing from Italy since 1954. The Italian fabrics were of lower quality than the
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Austrian, for which a better base material was used.12 Prince Shitu did some investigating; he travelled to Zurich for the first time in 1966 and from there via St Gallen to Dornbirn, where two Sudanese businessmen whom he met at the hotel put him in touch with the Ernst Grabherr factory. In St Gallen at the company Filtex, which was not yet involved in the trade with Africa, he could not find suitable merchandise; but thereafter he was successful in Lustenau. He started importing unicolour Austrian embroideries and the following year purchased multicoloured versions that were produced following his suggestion. Prince Shitu gradually expanded his business contacts in Lustenau and its environs and purchased goods from various companies, visiting them regularly and developing collections together with them.
20 Another major importer in Lagos, Chief Temitenjo Mercy Owolana,13 the Iyaloja of Remo, started importing embroideries in about 1970. She did this through London, where she also unknowingly purchased Austrian goods and took them to Nigeria. The textiles sold extremely well, and when she detected the country of origin on a label, she was told about the town of Lustenau. She travelled there in 1971, obtaining a visa in London and flying from there to Vienna. Once there, she realized that Lustenau was located at the other end of the country. She still collaborates with Oskar Hämmerle in Lustenau, the first company from which she purchased goods, and is a major customer for several other companies. However, her entry into the Lustenau production network was not entirely without friction, as established importers were keen to maintain their leading position in the market and above all protect the exclusivity of their products. After establishing contact with Lustenau, Owolana ran into problems with her competitor Obebe, who even intervened with the Austrian authorities in Lagos, alleging she had copied colours. Competition between Lustenau embroiderers was high, and both sides were and are careful to keep trade secrets even from their colleagues in order to keep their position in the market.
21 In the above-mentioned Lustenau companies who entered the “Africa business” on a large scale in the mid-1960s, employees or managers were assigned to this particular trade, and it developed into a specialization. Experienced employees normally remained in the field throughout their career and could apply their knowledge working for different companies. Some of the trailblazers who had travelled to Nigeria early on are still in the business; others have turned to new fields of activity.
22 Oswald Brunner, now the owner of a bookstore chain, was one of the most successful salesmen of Austrian embroideries in the 1960s and 1970s. Working for Hofer KG, where he was General Manager for many years, he travelled for nearly two decades to Nigeria and played a decisive role in the development and expansion of the market. His earliest contact with the local textile trade was through the Belgian trading company Comptoir Commercial, which brought him his first big orders. He visited Nigeria for the first time in 1967 and introduced his company’s products there. His journey took him all the way across Africa: he flew via Cairo to Khartoum, then to Luanda in Angola, from where he planned to fly on to Lagos. To do that, he first had to go to Johannesburg, reaching Accra in Ghana and from there Lagos; from there he was finally taken to Ibadan by the Belgian import firm that secured him his first local customers. However, he soon established direct contacts himself. His biggest customer, with whom he maintained close contact, was Mrs Obebe. Her key business associates from Lustenau were present when she was invested with the title Iyaloja in Abeokuta at the beginning of 1979. Oswald Brunner visited Nigeria for the last time in 1983 and soon after that he went
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into a different business. In the era of the greatest demand in the late 1970s, he sometimes flew to Lagos twice a week. He once took fifty-six suitcases of Austrian lace with him on the plane to Kano so that he could deliver the goods made for a big order from his major customer Olanrewajo on time.
23 Josef Blaser, generally known as Chief Blaser after having been honoured with a chief title in Lagos, was responsible for the Nigeria business for several companies in Lustenau. In 1967 he travelled to West Africa for the first time on behalf of the company Erich Bösch, for whom he had been working since 1958. He was bound for Accra in Ghana, where he wanted to show embroidered borders that were imported from Lustenau by Indian trading houses. On the way to Accra, the plane stopped over in Lagos, where he took the opportunity to meet the trade delegate Hundertpfund. He initially offered borders in Lagos too, but he noticed embroideries on sale at the Kingsway – a British trading house – that probably originated from Switzerland. He made contacts in the textile market on Lagos Island, which initially proved difficult because coordinating payment and order placement was problematic with the small retailers, who often could not read or write. It was only over time that he was able to build up connections with wholesalers. From 1973 on, the time of the trade boom, he was employed by another company – Platter. He has now worked for more than 20 years for Riedesser, but has not travelled to Nigeria himself since 2004. Initially he usually stayed in Nigeria for an average of a week, during which time he spent two days in Ibadan visiting major customers on Lebanon Street.
24 Karl Hagspiel, known as Charlie in the Austrian lace business, worked for 25 years for his uncle, Ernst Grabherr, starting in 1959, and travelled to Nigeria for the first time in 1969. Initially Grabherr’s biggest customers were the Shitu brothers and Mrs Obebe. Hagspiel lived for 4 years in Nigeria and worked at the Nigerwest Austrian embroideries factory established in 1974 by Grabherr and his Nigerian associate Dr Akinbyi in Agege, Lagos. When he returned to Austria, he managed his own company in Lustenau, which in-between he ran as a wage embroiderer carrying out commission orders.
25 In the 1970s, when business was flourishing, other lace companies in Vorarlberg also established production facilities in Nigeria. They did this together with Nigerian partners, who were typically also wholesale importers. One of the best-known companies was ANEF – Austro-Nigerian Embroidery Factories Ltd – in Aiyepe in the Ijebu region, established in 1972 by the Shitu brothers and Franz Mäser. Prince Shitu managed the successful company after which a certain type of lace, “Aiyepe Lace”, was named, until the late 1990s, when he had to close the factory due to infrastructural problems that affected the entire textile industry in Nigeria.14 The factors responsible for this crisis in the textile industry and the closure of numerous factories in Nigeria were cheap, smuggled goods, high production costs caused by difficulties obtaining raw materials, and high energy costs. A lack of political will to support the industry was a further factor.15
26 Another well-known production company was Shokas (Shote & Kasim) Industries, also located in the Ijebu region. The factory Novelty Embroideries was set up for the Lustenau embroidery firm of Platter by their Nigeria expert Blaser together with Alhaja Agberu Agba. In all there existed twenty embroidery factories in Nigeria with a total of 494 machines, located in Lagos and the Ijebu region.
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27 The only embroidery plant that has survived to this day is Supreme Lace (formerly Anlam Ltd) in the Ikeja area of Lagos. The factory is managed by Dele Fateayi-Williams and Rudi Bösch of Lustenau, who has lived and worked in Nigeria since 1979. The son of a family in the embroidery business, he studied economics in Switzerland and travelled to Nigeria for the first time in 1972. His father, Anton Bösch, and his partner, Robert König, had founded a factory in Nigeria as well, but it closed before long.
28 One of the largest and well-known African lace producers in Lustenau, HOH HoferHecht Embroideries, only entered the Nigerian market in the mid-1970s; however, they had been supplying embroidered textiles to Morocco for years, and textiles from their production were available on the Nigerian market before then, as they were distributed by Lustima. The family business, which supplies the major fashion houses in Europe, had specialized in embroidered organza, which they introduced to the Nigerian market in 1975. Here again, Chief Obebe was the first importer. General Manager Werner Berlinger remembers his first major order for expensive, hand-cut organza products studded with Swarovski crystals: due to lack of knowledge of the market, the double- sided scallops so important for the Nigerian marked had been omitted, and he had tremendous difficulty selling the product.16
Nigerianization and Change in the Market Structure
29 In the early days, until about the end of the 1970s, ten to fifteen Lustenau companies dominated the Nigerian market. On the Nigerian side, there were a limited number of major importers, for whom certain patterns had to be embroidered exclusively. Petty traders purchased their goods from these companies and not directly from the Austrians. Between 1978 and 1985, however, the market structure changed: increasingly, small-scale traders travelled to Austria and started importing embroideries themselves. During this period, when lace production was also experiencing a heyday, more and more small producers in Lustenau and the surrounding area entered the business. This trend was linked to political events in Nigeria and fuelled by a series of government decrees aimed at increasing Nigerian participation in the national industry; one measure taken to this end was the imposition of import restrictions.
30 After the devastating Biafran War in 1967–70 that threatened to break the country, from 1973 on Nigeria experienced an unparalleled economic upswing thanks to petroleum exports, and it saw a period of affluence and national optimism due to the oil boom that lasted until 1979. With this focus on the oil business, from which the state reaped huge revenues, local industry and agriculture were neglected, and the increase in imports was disproportionately large (Falola and Heaton 2008). With more money available, the population’s consumer behaviour changed, and more and more imported luxury goods were bought.
31 In 1972 and 1977, two decrees were brought into effect limiting foreign ownership in local enterprises to a certain maximum percentage, depending on the size of the company, to secure Nigerian participation (Beveridge 1991). The military government under General Yakubu Gowon (1970–75) issued the first decree to reduce the preponderance of foreign interests in the Nigerian economy. This policy of “Nigerianization” was continued by Mohammed Murtala after Gowon’s overthrow and after the murder of Murtala in February 1976 by General Olusegun Obasanjo. In the
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context of these so-called “Indigenization Decrees” Obasanjo finally banned the import of industrial embroidery textiles. The ban was intended to strengthen local industry and preserve the country’s foreign exchange reserves.17 The first import restrictions took effect on 1 April 1976, and a general ban on imports was issued in April 1977.18 However, the import ban did not prevent Austrian lace from entering the country. The embroidery companies continued to deliver despite the ban; the profit margin was so high that eventual impounding of goods was not a problem as the business could easily absorb occasional losses. Only after the reinforcement of controls with the complete ban on imports did the producers ship to the neighbouring Republic of Benin, shifting the risk to importers.19
32 The 1977 complete ban on imports caused a “Nigeria shock” among Austrian companies, as at that time more than 90 per cent of Austrian embroidery exports were bound for the West African country, and exporters feared a radical slump in their industry. However, other distribution channels were soon found. The question posed in Austria’s media on how the industry could secure its continued existence was answered by the then president of the Embroiderers’ Association: “We have no intention of exposing our secrets to the competition.”20 At all events, export statistics showed clearly how the business was rescued, as Austrian embroidery exports to the neighbouring country, the Republic of Benin, suddenly rose dramatically.
33 In Austria, the disrupted relations with Nigeria suddenly became a matter of interest, and the media reported extensively on the situation. Whereas some reports commented ironically on the reactions in Austrian politics others sought to provide a critical examination of the facts; another reported at length on the events, but in flippant language, with an illustration showing a stereotypical and denigrating caricature of the Nigerian customers.21 The headlines alone, “Embroiderers have lost the thread” and “Entwined in black market business”, revealed the degree of irony that characterized all the reporting. Both the Vorarlberg producers and Nigerians as the purchasers are portrayed here as actors in a curious, exotic comedy rather than as conflicting parties in the midst of a serious economic crisis in international relations.
34 The Austrian embroidery industry put pressure on the Austrian government to push for the abolition of the import ban and restoration of a balance between exports from and imports to Nigeria, as they considered the low volume of Nigerian petroleum bought from Austria and the import ban on African lace to be directly connected. First and foremost the ban affected Austrian producers, who at the time dominated this market. The situation escalated in summer 1977 when, shortly after the imposition of the complete ban on imports, the two Austrians Karl Hagspiel and Heinz Mayer were arrested in Nigeria on suspicion of smuggling foreign currency.
35 Austria sought to solve the problems of Austrian embroidery exports at top political levels and to conclude a “cooperation agreement” with Nigeria that would have secured greater imports of Nigerian crude oil, but also promised more training for Nigerians in Austria. At the same time, efforts were made to obtain the release of the two Austrians imprisoned in Nigeria.22 While Mayer, brother-in-law of then Agriculture Minister Günther Haiden, was released after a few months and declared innocent of the foreign currency offence, Hagspiel remained in custody; after forty-four days’ confinement in a dark cell in Lagos, he spent a year in prison in Abeokuta. The fact that he knew General Obasanjo in person – whose former girlfriend Sofowora was herself a major importer and dealer in embroideries – did not benefit him in the least.
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36 After the announcement of the total ban on the import of embroideries, Nigeria instituted draconian punishments. Armed smugglers were threatened with the death penalty, smugglers caught in the act could reckon on 5 years in prison, and those found in possession of smuggled goods could be imprisoned for a year unless they proved that the goods had entered the country legally.23 In Nigeria too, reactions to the import ban on embroideries were vehement and had a high level of coverage in the press, but the reporting differed in content from that in Austria. Initially lace confiscated at the airport could be purchased at low prices and the revenue went to the state, but soon it was considered more appropriate to burn the smuggled goods publicly. This practice was documented with series of photographs in the newspapers and became a topic of heated debate being commented on vividly such as in an article titled “Wonyosi Bonfire”.24
37 At the same time, efforts were made to pacify outraged lace lovers by referring to the local textile industry, with a promise of improvements in quality. New factories pledged to satisfy the increasing demand for domestic products. For example, Alhaji Garba Inuwa founded the Magwan Textile Company in Kano in 1977, with Lothar Fenkart from Vorarlberg holding a 40 per cent share; they announced plans to produce 2,000 metres of light embroidery fabrics a day, and even though nearly reaching Austrian quality, it would be priced well below imported lace.25 However, one of the difficulties for the local embroidery industry was that raw materials had to be imported, and some of them were also affected by the import ban.
38 Another reaction in Nigeria was condemnation of the excessive waste of purchasing disproportionately expensive imported lace, as well as other luxury products. This was widely discussed in the newspapers: “It is one thing for government to make laws that forbid excesses like Wonyosi and Champagne. It is, however, another matter for every individual to feel a genuine sense of commitment to keeping these laws. For the evils that we fight are far beyond the laces, the naira spraying parties and the gold trinket contests. These excesses themselves reflect the downward trend in the lives of people who have engaged in trading in their self-respect and mental stability for cheap gaudy and perishable articles.”26
39 In addition to luxury textiles, champagne, specific types of wine and certain car brands were subject to the import ban. Spraying developed as a phenomenon of modern Nigerian society and became common, for example, at weddings or wherever Juju music was played: the bridal couple or the musicians are praised by being showered in an almost ceremonial fashion with banknotes; the prime objective is to take centre stage as “donor” of the highest amount. Spraying therefore also serves as self- dramatization (Bender 2007: 323). The debate regarding excess at that time centred on luxurious embroideries called Wonyosi, characterized by hand-cut perforations, applications, and Swarovski crystals attached to the fabric. Wonyosi became a symbol and epitome of the wastefulness of a segment of the society that had become affluent as a result of the oil boom. A class that Wole Soyinka sharply condemned in his socio- critical Opera Wonyosi.
40 Criticism of the use of imported luxury items and the indigenization campaign in the economic field were accompanied in the cultural sphere by a strong emphasis on national cultural values, culminating in Nigeria’s staging of the Second World Black and African Festival of Arts and Culture, called FESTAC, in 1977. It aimed to emancipate
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Nigeria from former colonial influences and feature the country’s own, self-determined modern culture by a return to its own roots: “In effect, colonial culture was nationalized and indigenized by FESTAC – revalued as Nigerian and projected back into a pre-colonial past. If FESTAC’s work of cultural production concealed the material relations of Nigeria’s oil prosperity, it also congealed an entire colonial heritage under the sign of its displacement and disavowal; that is through the explicit project of cultural recuperation as a way of exorcising the ghosts of colonial domination.” (Apter 2005: 16)
41 This attitude found its expression in the visual and performing arts, in literature, music and also in fashion.
42 In the realm of fashion, efforts were made to refocus on locally woven textiles as a counterpoint to the universally popular lace fabrics, and aso oke production reached new heights. Politicians and other people in the public eye increasingly appeared in hand-woven textiles. Fashion designers made a commitment to promote Nigeria’s textile traditions and developed models using hand-woven strip cloth or the resist-dye adire textiles. Furthermore, the late 1970s saw a wave of innovations in the production of aso oke textiles, which were now available in a wide variety of colours and with the introduction of imported lurex yarn offered an attractive, modern alternative to the embroideries. This so-called shain-shain variant became a huge success, and aso oke textiles with decorative openwork (eleya) were in high demand. The process was later intensified by economic adversity, as purchasing power in Nigeria declined, but was equally advanced by patriotic ideals: “Taken up as fashionable dress by an urban, educated elite, these cloths are worn at traditional ceremonies as an expression of nationalistic-Africanist sentiments” (Renne 1997: 774).
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Men’s shain shain suit
Southwestern Nigeria, late 1970s. Handwoven narrow-strip cloth in cotton and lurex yarn. Dansiki shirt: L 103 cm, kembe three-quarter length pants: L: 96 cm. Museum für Völkerkunde Wien, Inv. No. 188.522. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
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Four pieces lady’s suit of aso oke embroidered with chain stitching
Southwestern Nigeria, late 1970s. The pieces of the ensemble are composed of a differing number of cotton narrow‐strip decorated by machine in chain stitch with cotton‐lurex yarn. Iro wrapper: L. 150 cm, buba blouse: L. 59.5 cm, iborun shoulder cloth: W: 91 cm, gele head tie: W. 69 cm. Museum fur̈ Völkerkunde Wien, Inv. No. 187.553 a, b, c, d. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
43 One major promoter of this return to the country’s own textile traditions was fashion designer Shade Thomas-Fahm. She was the first Nigerian to open a boutique with her own collection in the 1960s, developing a characteristic Nigerian style in her reinterpretation of international fashion trends using locally produced fabrics. A comparable approach defines the vibrant fashion scene in Nigeria to this day. Shade- Fahm, who is now a celebrity remains a vehement critic of the use of expensive imported lace, and fuelled by her national pride, she exclusively uses locally produced textiles in her fashion lines.27 She also claims to have introduced embroidery in Nigerian women’s fashions. Inspired by the embroidery on the men’s agbada robes, in the late 1960s she developed women’s blouses and kaftans with the neckline edged with machine chain stitch embroidery (Thomas-Fahm 2004). In the late 1970s, an aso oke style evolved evoking the aesthetics of industrial embroideries, copying them with machine chain stitch motifs on hand-woven narrow strips.
44 Regardless of these developments, imported embroideries remained extremely popular in Nigeria. They asserted themselves as an essential component of neo-traditional dress in Southern Nigeria and as a decisive element of its economy of prestige.
45 Despite the import ban, embroidery exports from Austria reached a peak in 1982. Deliveries were made to the Republic of Benin, but the fabric still found its way from there to Nigeria. During the heyday, 1,400 embroidery machines in Vorarlberg worked
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throughout, with some commissions outsourced abroad in order to satisfy the enormous demand.28
46 The first major decline in embroidery exports occurred with the naira devaluation in 1984. As a consequence this weakened the wholesale trade and increased small-scale imports. However, a decisive factor for the change in the market structure was the reorganization of the flow of funds to Austria for payment for the goods. With the import ban, the flow of foreign exchange out of the country was also curtailed, and financial transactions became more difficult. Although the Austrian embroidery agents initially functioned as their own money couriers, this became increasingly dangerous, since – as described above – it could lead to arrest with a lengthy prison sentence. Money transfer was therefore ceded to the Nigerian business partners, finally leading to the break-up of the monopoly of major importers as contacts and insider information was spread. This development also resulted in diversification in Lustenau since the higher frequency of visits by businesswomen from Nigeria enabled small embroidery companies who had worked on commission and never sent agents to Nigeria to reach out directly to new customers.29
47 In the golden age of the African lace business in Nigeria, Austrians were the market leaders. Swiss firms only started with specific production targeted at Nigeria around the mid-1970s. The company Filtex, for example, which to this day serves the high- ticket and quality sector of the Nigerian market, did not start doing business in Africa until 1980.30
48 Embroidery exports reached an all-time low in 1989–90 as a result of the drop in crude oil prices. Consequently, numerous small businesses in Lustenau had to close their doors. From 1,389 embroidery machines in Vorarlberg, only 506 were still operating in 1993 (Murorunkwere 2002: 44).
Development of Designs
49 In Vorarlberg and Switzerland, the designs for the embroideries are created by specialized designers. Their training covers both technical knowledge about the production process and creative pattern development. Producer and patron are both equally involved in the design process, as the manufacturers in Vorarlberg and Switzerland identify trends through exchange with their Nigerian customers and following their advice. This information is then passed on to the designers, either as a suggestion or a requirement. What John Picton was able to determine based on his research on the origins of patterns of wax-print textiles in Great Britain applies in equal measure to lace textiles: “and it is evident from their various archives, firstly that these developments were contingent upon a local agency with a far greater determining role than has hitherto been realised, and secondly that the employees of these firms are kept in employment by African patronage” (Picton 1995: 25). Unlike research on the history of wax prints, which is limited to the information contained in archives, with the embroidery industry it was still possible to interview contemporary witnesses about how the special aesthetic of African lace evolved.
50 As previously mentioned, the use of lace in Nigeria began with white ladies’ blouses out of eyelet embroidery or guipure lace and dates back to the colonial era. At that time no specific production for Africa existed: the same goods sold in Europe were traded to Nigeria. This so-called “whitework” had been fabricated by European embroidery firms
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primarily in Switzerland, in Austria (Vorarlberg), and Italy since the 19th century. As a result of this tradition the factories could rely on a pattern collection that had been expanded and developed for decades and that was used for women’s and children’s fashions, for underwear, and also for household textiles. It was actually such samples from the traditional assortment that the first Vorarlberg embroiderers travelling to Nigeria offered for sale there. However, they very soon started developing new product lines as they interacted with local importers.
Sample book with whitework embroidery
Lustenau, Austriaearly 20th century K. Riedesser company, Lustenau. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
51 In the beginning, they simply adapted the usual patterns of European whitework, by enlarging them and by producing coarser versions. To this day, the whitework patterns represent an important source of inspiration and are used time and again for African lace in a multiplicity of variations. This also explains the different aesthetic from the wax prints, as in the embroideries floral motifs, paisley shapes, and abstract patterns abound that are quite distinct from the textile patterns otherwise common in Africa; these tend to be multicoloured, large-format, and often figurative motifs. Embroidery patterns by contrast are normally small-sized and rarely occur in large renderings. The main reason for this is the cost of production, as the machine embroidery of large motifs is more expensive than the production of small-format patterns. Colour ways are also markedly different from those usual for the printed cotton textiles otherwise so popular in West Africa and from hand-woven textiles, which are normally extremely colourful. By contrast, the costly lace textiles are preferred in subdued tones, the so- called “cool” colours that are considered in Nigeria to be more classic and long-lasting.
52 Initially, in the early 1960s, white all-over eyelet embroidery was the main product sold in Nigeria, but soon it also became available in various pastel colours.31 According to Shitu, in about 1967 in addition to these plain laces, companies started producing bicoloured textiles. At his suggestion, fabrics in various base colours were embroidered
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with yarn in a different colour. He first selected patterns used for blouse fronts and suggested replicating these. These first bicoloured textiles were not embroidered all over, however, but rather had the appearance of assembled borders. In the 1960s, Austrian companies used sturdy cotton as their base material: first cambric and then sateen. The light, finer cotton voile fabrics still used today were not introduced until the 1970s.
53 In the early 1970s, heavy, multicoloured eyelet embroidery textiles came into fashion; their main feature was different colours aligned vertically, often resulting in a wave- like pattern along the length of the fabric. This feature also resulted from the production technique, because the needles only had to be threaded once, and the ground pattern of the all-over embroidery remained the same for the entire fabric. Because of the stitch density, this type of embroidery was expensive. With its lively pastel colours it set the tone for fashion in the early 1970s in Nigeria. The fact that many of the stars of Juju music chose to have their stage outfits tailored from this material gives further evidence of the popularity of these fabrics.
54 A defining characteristic of lace clothes for women and men in the 1970s was short sleeves. It was not until the 1980s that long-sleeved blouses and shirts common to this day gained a foothold. In the 1970s, three ladies’ outfits could be tailored from ten yards of material, while men needed seven and a half yards for a complete ensemble of an agbada gown with shirt and trousers. In the stores, consequently, embroidered fabrics were offered in these lengths. However, this involved a loss for the retailers, because they always had fabric remnants, as they were supplied from the factories in lengths of ten or fifteen yards. From the mid-1980s on, the fabric was sold exclusively in lengths of five or ten yards.
55 In the early 1970s the yarn used for eyelet embroidery was mercerized cotton, while today primarily rayon is utilized. In the mid-1970s, looser embroidered cotton voile fabrics with large hand-cut perforations came into fashion. These textiles, called “hand-cut” or “air condition”, were much lighter, but allowed seductive “insights” that were criticized as being immoral in Nigeria.32 During the era of the oil boom, materials with fancy figurative motifs became popular and were produced in large quantities. In addition to the previously typical floral patterns, the motifs now embraced animals, fruit, and everyday objects, as well as prestige items such as high-heeled shoes, watches, logos of expensive car brands, plus those of airlines, all the way to dollar bills. These fancy textiles, also dubbed “letter fabrics” in Lustenau, were mainly crafted from cheap cotton weaves with loose stitching, and astonishing quantities of them were sold. At the end of the 1970s, the so-called “etching boom” occurred when heavy guipure fabrics became particularly popular. They were extremely costly because of the elaborate production process and the large amount of yarn used. A women’s ensemble made of this material with a multicoloured complex pattern could cost up to 1,800 euros.
56 In the 1970s, producers started adding another effect to the fabric by applying Swarovski crystals. Initially, these stones were affixed to the material with metal claws. Later, after the firm Swarovski had developed a new technique, the stones could be bonded to the fabric with adhesive and smaller stones could now be used.
57 Fabrics with rhinestones are an essential feature of African lace to this day. In contrast to the 1970s, when the stones were integrated into motifs, functioning, for example, as the headlights of embroidered car motifs, the eyes of animals, or the centres of flowers,
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today they are sprinkled loosely over the fabric, without regard for the embroidered pattern. Along with the density of the stitching and the quality of the base material, the number of stones dictates the price. On average today at least 150 to 400 stones are affixed to a ten-yard piece of fabric; it may even be as many as up to 1,500 for the North American market and the expatriate Nigerians who are the customers there.
58 In the 1980s, lurex embroidery came into fashion, and polyester satin was a popular base material, sometimes with application embroideries. All-over embroidered cotton voile textiles gradually gained a foothold in the market and have remained popular to this day. Only the colour combinations and embroidery patterns have changed since the 1990s. In the 1990s, vibrant colours were popular, while today more muted colours are preferred. As mentioned above, in the mid-1970s embroidered organza was introduced by the company HOH. When their General Manager travelled to Nigeria for the first time in 1975, he took some of their “Arabian” samples with him, i.e. organza with applied, hand-cut flowers and stones. After he showed his materials to importer Obebe, she was excited by the “Arabian” organza and placed a first order. Silk or the more common polyester organza are sheer fabrics that are generally used as a base for sequin embroidery. Embroidered organza gained a wider market presence around the late 1990s and is now extremely fashionable for ladies’ wear. Initially, only a single layer of fabric was embroidered, whereas now double organza, i.e. two layers, is more common. The doubling gives the end product more stiffness, which is especially desirable.
59 Although colour trends and ideas of patterns, colour combinations, and materials are conveyed or requested by the Nigerian business partners, giving them a critical role in the development of the embroideries both in the past and the present, the actual pattern designers reside in Vorarlberg and Switzerland. The factories in Nigeria also ordered their patterns from these designers. The remembrances of Helmut Ritter in Lustenau are particularly illuminating. He was one of the designers who created the first “Africa patterns” for Lustima and designed literally thousands of fabrics during the heyday of the business. He claims that when he started working for this market, his clients did not brief him with clear instructions on the kind of patterns they wanted. He had never seen African fabrics himself or received any for inspiration and had never been to Africa. When he started creating designs for the newly acquired Nigerian market in the 1960s, he simply came up with patterns himself that he thought would work. He started out using whitework patterns and adapted paisley shapes in larger formats. Another motif that he elaborated into a variety of versions was an oval, called the egg design in Nigeria, which became a bestseller and was issued by a number of companies based on patterns drawn from various designers. He drew his inspiration from a personal pattern archive and his imagination. On this basis and with the help of suggestions by his clients, he created countless patterns, but never studied African culture, textiles, or iconography.
60 In the mid-1970s, on the basis of his own intuition Ritter developed a design featuring an apple, laying the foundation for the fancy motifs mentioned above. Initially no one wanted to embroider the apple pattern, but he finally persuaded Kurt Nachbauer from Lustima, who then achieved sweeping success with the design. The other early patterns were scissors, a cat, an umbrella, and finally the Mercedes star. The unique feature of this innovation was that all these motifs were incorporated in standard abstract pattern formations used for embroideries and not randomly spread over the fabric.
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Soon other designers and embroiderers adopted this idea, and mass production that was to last several years got underway. An anecdote recounted by Ritter’s son Christof, who has since taken over his father's business, illustrates the difficulty in channelling creative energy during the boom time to continually come up with novelties for a multifaceted clientele. His father supposedly asked his children for ideas, and one design that resulted was a pen with inkpot. In the evening, the children often prayed that the customers would pay and that their father would have good ideas.
61 Whereas in the European and American fashion business, trend agencies define certain seasonal colours and fashion themes, upon which textile producers then base their collections, trend scouting does not really exist for the African market. The common practice is still to simply try out what might prove successful – a method essentially based on trial and error. Decisions are made based on instinct, not on market research.
62 Major Nigerian importers who are considered to have a good sense of fashion continue to exercise significant influence. Their advice and suggestions are willingly accepted and put into practice, as it is after all precisely these businesswomen and their customers who set the fashion when they attend major events where they are photographed and thereafter appear in society and fashion journals. Embroidered textiles have often set a trend when worn as an aso ebi to a party hosted by an influential Lagosian family. Today it is primarily society magazines such as Ovation in which these events and the wardrobes of the rich and beautiful are documented, so fashions are now launched through the media. International events also play a role. For example, the yellow lace suit that Michelle Obama wore to the inauguration of her husband prompted increased demand for guipure fabrics in pastel colours; in Lustenau and Lagos this was called the Obama effect.
63 While during the boom, when Ritter Senior was active, the principle anything goes applied, and almost anything could be sold, today the situation appears radically different. Members of the actual designer generation such as his son first of all have to take account of production costs in their designs and must develop them based on the cost factor of stitch density combined with the amount of material. In other words, they must be artist and technician at the same time. In the past the quality of the fabrics was better, the stitch density was higher, and yarn size was finer: “Before, it used to be like a copper engraving, precisely embroidered with ancient machines and fine yarn.”33 Patterns today are more sophisticated, but in the 1970s their execution was more refined.
64 The purchasing power of Nigerian customers has declined in the last two decades, and competition from the Chinese, Korean, and Indian embroidery industries has increased. Despite all this, producers in Vorarlberg and Switzerland still thrive because of the high standard of their products, the particularly fine finishing, and above all their continual innovation and their sophisticated designs. Only a few larger firms employ their own designers; most manufacturers purchase their patterns from freelance designers. These designers maintain their anonymity, and companies do not like to reveal from whom they buy their patterns. The sale agents in the lace companies normally decide which designs should be generated, then they brief the designers regarding how much the fabric can cost in production, whether they want a floral, ornamental, or graphic motif, what the base material for the embroidery should be, and what technique will be used (e.g., all-over embroidery, guipure, sequin or cord lace). Sometimes they bring materials from Nigeria for inspiration. The designers also
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suggest different colour combinations with each design and present up to twenty new creations at a time from which their patron can choose. Sometimes negotiations are also conducted with major Nigerian customers, who give feedback on the designs and offer suggestions. A designer creates around 3,000 patterns a year.
Trade Structure in and around Lustenau
65 At the beginning of this transcontinental business relationship, Nigerian importers flew from Nigeria to Zurich, where they continued their journey overland to Lustenau, stopping off in St Gallen. Producers from Vorarlberg would send employees to Zurich to meet the arriving flights from Lagos, pick up the merchants, and transfer them to the companies in Lustenau. From the outset the embroiderers played an active role in the transportation of their Nigerian customers, and functioning on the basis of a gentleman’s agreement they drove and still drive the guests from one company to another. Formerly the companies in general received no notification of the arrival of the traders; they simply ventured to Zurich airport to pick up all those who arrived. A major trader in Lagos who has been in the business for many years told the story of how on her very first business trip in 1972 she just flew to Zurich without having had any contact with embroidery companies before. She was picked up at the airport by an employee of an Austrian lace firm and taken to Lustenau. One of her sisters, who had been importing embroideries for some time, had explained the procedure to her.34 Since 1978, the taxi firm Mama Bush has been taking care of the airport transfer of Nigerian merchants to Lustenau. The owner, Traudl Bösch, originally worked in the embroidery sector herself and then specialized in the transportation needs of Nigerian customers. The visa requirements of the Schengen region also affect the travel plans of the Nigerian clientele. Today, some of the women who have both a British visa and a Schengen visa travel first to London and from there take a cheap flight with Ryanair to Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance.35 Others take advantage of another major connection, with Lufthansa, which offers daily flights from Abuja and Lagos to Frankfurt and flies direct to Friedrichshafen. After Switzerland became part of the Schengen area, some of the women traders began to fly direct to Zurich, do their business in St Gallen and St Margarethen in Switzerland and then continue to Lustenau. Mama Bush provides transportation for both routes.
66 Mama Bush now receives calls direct from Nigeria with pick-up requests for the relevant airport; the drivers take the women from one business to the other, drive them to dinner at a restaurant, and if necessary help out with customs, with the check- in, or other necessities. Traudl Bösch has maintained a friendly business relationship with Nigerian merchants for several decades, and has even been invited to weddings in Nigeria. Today, the company owns three vehicles, which are actually minivans (an old limousine that seats eight is rarely used now), and in addition to the owner there are two drivers. The business offers shared taxi travel and there is a fixed price for the trip, which is divided among the passengers. The Nigerian customers greatly appreciate the long-term experience, her understanding of their needs and the special service offered by Mama Bush. She knows all the companies and their sales representatives responsible for the African market. They are normally known by their first name only; on arrival one can simply say “I would like to see Mary, Chief Blaser, Margret, Charlie” or such like and will reach the desired destination and the companies dotted about the
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extensive area of Lustenau without having to give an address or further information. Mama Bush’s team also knows the hotels where the traders normally stay and the Chinese restaurants where they like to eat, and can take inexperienced women straight to the right place. The drivers are also familiar with the visitors’ buying habits and the relevant trends. For example, a Bush employee defines three categories of Austrian embroidery companies: those that traders always visit to see what is available, but where they do not necessarily buy anything; those that are in vogue at the moment and where purchases are made regardless of the price; and those that offer especially favourably priced merchandise.
67 During their stay, which usually lasts three to five days, the Nigerian businesswomen visit several companies, buy an assortment of goods, and place additional orders. They make intensive use of their time in Lustenau, which is very strenuous; they have to flip through hundreds of patterns, negotiate with sales representatives, and make calculations. The success of their business depends on their choices, and with these expensive products, a mistake can lead to large financial losses. The textiles are shipped direct by the lace companies.
68 Local companies specialized in shipping to Africa play an important role in the trade network. Here again there are firms and above all employees who have been organizing the shipping of Austrian embroideries to Nigeria for decades; they have special insider knowledge and are well aware of the relevant trade, customs, and import requirements. Over the decades, a system has been established both in Nigeria and in Lustenau that deals creatively with difficulties such as import bans and increased customs duties. At each end of the transportation system are key individuals with critical networks and skills that are vital to the business. Here too, personal business contacts have existed for decades.
69 When the export to Nigeria was no longer possible following the import ban in 1977, as mentioned above the goods were shipped to the neighbouring Republic of Benin and were forwarded from there overland to their actual destination. Regardless of these difficulties, the years between 1977 and 1982 were the best both for the Austrian embroidery companies and for the shippers.36 During that time, major importers who in fact profited exclusively from trade with Nigeria set up shop in Cotonou. Very little African lace was in fact sold in the Republic of Benin itself. Today, without exception, the merchandise is shipped by airfreight to Nigeria. Customers in Lagos can reckon on receiving the finished goods at the latest 10 to 14 days after placing a phone order, even if the fabrics still have to be manufactured in Lustenau.
70 In all aspects, business with Nigeria is based on mutual trust and a handshake; written agreements or orders remain rare. Adhering to the rules of the game is a matter of honour. With many orders, prepayment is expected, but large quantities are also shipped immediately on receipt of a telephone order, if long-term business relations exist with the customer. Producers regularly travel to Lagos to present new collections, maintain good relations with their customers, and for administrative and accounting purposes.
71 Just as with the clothing industry, the Vorarlberg embroidery industry’s relationship with Nigeria is threatened by competition from lower-priced goods from the Asian textile industry. In addition, restrictive entry requirements due to Schengen visa regulations represent a further obstacle to trade contacts. Some embroidery producers are complaining about the excessive bureaucracy of helping their customers obtain a
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visa in Nigeria also on the Austrian end, which has become difficult to handle for small firms. In addition, it happens time and again that long-standing customers are refused a visa, even though the embroidery company provides the necessary assurances. The problem escalated a few years ago when as a result of a previous visa scandal in 2006, the Republic of Austria pronounced a ban on travellers entering the country from Nigeria. There were desperate reactions from Vorarlberg embroidery industrialists, who feared that their biggest market would disappear if their business associates were no longer permitted to enter the country (Jurkowitsch and Sarlay 2009).37 It is therefore not surprising that to an increasing extent Nigerian businesswomen now travel to China or India, or make their purchases in the rising trading centre of Dubai, where they can travel to freely without restrictions.38
The Trade in Nigeria
72 Lagos is currently the centre of the African lace trade, and it is here that merchants from other parts of the country buy their stock. In the 1970s and early 1980s Ibadan was also an important market for imported embroideries; today, however, it has lost its significance and became irrelevant as far as Austrian goods are concerned, as lace from China dominates the market there. In the 1970s, Austrian sales representatives visited Ibadan regularly and offered their products on Lebanon Street. Kano was another major trading centre, but it is now primarily a market for damask. In recent years, however, Austrian embroidery manufacturers have been trying to gain a foothold in the north of the country again and aim to diversify the market through direct contacts in Abuja or by winning new customers in Ghana.
73 The embroidery trade in Nigeria is now almost exclusively in the hands of women; they are predominantly Yoruba, with a noticeably high proportion of Ijebu women from what is now Osun State. This was also the region where several Nigerian embroidery factories that are now closed were based, like the Austro-Nigerian Embroidery Factories Ltd in Aiyepe, Ijebu, or Shokas. This region, called Jabu by the Portuguese, was already mentioned in 16th-century European reports as a major weaving centre from which textiles were exported all over West Africa (Law 1986).
74 The largest concentration of embroideries is to be found for sale at the heart of Lagos Island at the market around Balogun Street and the Moshe Alashi, the central mosque. Behind it lies the so-called Gutter, where at the end of the 1960s the trade started on Kosoko Street when the first specialized shops opened. This market area is still reserved for the embroidery trade, but only a few of the longest-established shops remain there; many have moved to other parts of Lagos or now run the original shop only as a branch.
75 Overall the textile market area is divided into sectors defined by the different textile categories. Apart from lace, there are areas for ankara, printed cottons which in turn are subdivided into spaces and stores for wax prints or the so-called fancy or java prints; for adire textiles, which are Nigerian fabrics patterned with resist-dye techniques and for which the ground material is usually damask cotton; areas for hand- woven aso oke textiles; and for imported Indian fabrics such as george. There are also areas reserved for European-style textiles and for braids, sewing accessories, “real” lace, etc. Each area of the market has specialized dealers, its own import structure and trade networks. Some ankara textiles for example are made in the country, while others
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are imported from Ghana, the Ivory Coast, or the Netherlands. Today, Iseyin and Ilorin are the centres for aso oke production, and adire originates primarily from Abeokuta.
76 Embroideries are offered on different market levels. Street dealers sell cheap Chinese goods on the pavements around Moshe Alashi, stacking them directly on the ground and attracting the attention of passers-by by holding up lengths of fabric. Lining the street, larger shops offer goods of varying quality, usually placing the cheap merchandise in their entrance areas and the better-quality, expensive material inside the shop. In the narrow market streets, the stores are aligned closely side by side. The spaces are smaller, but the product range remains the same.
77 Other Lagos markets also have reserved areas for African lace. Very popular at present is the Alade Market near Opebi Road in Ikeja, which has established itself as a kind of fashion mile on the mainland of Lagos. The upmarket lace shops in the city, Nikky and Oyeog, are located there and serve a sophisticated clientele. Several major shops can be found in Surulere, a middle-class district. Extremely exclusive shops in affluent residential areas are known only to insiders. A well-known boutique of this kind, for instance, is not recognizable as such from the outside, is situated in a well-kept home in Yaba in Lagos, and is accessed by passing through a courtyard beautifully decorated with plants. The small sales area on the ground floor is furnished with glass-fronted wooden showcases in which the exquisite fabrics are displayed. It is unlikely that a visitor would find anything priced at less than 200 euros here. The room is dominated by two sofas where the high-end customers can sit in comfort while salesgirls show them the fabrics of their choice. The main duty of these attendants is unfolding the fabrics and putting them tidily away again. The fabrics are stored on the upper floor, where only special customers may browse through the stock. All other clients must describe the colours and quality they are looking for, and suitable fabrics are then fetched from upstairs. Unique, very fine, and high-priced embroideries are only brought down when specially requested and are not on display.
78 The style of presentation of the embroidery fabrics in the specialized shops is noteworthy. It differs markedly from the display of ankara fabrics, the various categories of printed cottons, which are stacked on shelfs or hung over rods for display. The embroideries are folded in the same way as the printed textiles, but in contrast they are packaged in a transparent plastic wrapping. The packages are set upright in glazed, room-height shelving and slightly fanned out, giving the impression of a fabric library behind glass. A wooden slat placed in the fold of the fabric stabilizes the packages to make them stand up. This display clearly signals the exquisiteness of the expensive fabrics. While new shops seem to prefer wooden showcases, the older ones, and the small stores in the central market on Lagos Island try to achieve a glamorous effect with the abundant use of mirrors on the ceiling and walls and by framing the glass showcases with mirror tiles. Both styles create an atmosphere of elegance and tranquillity to do justice to the luxurious fabrics.
79 Other elegant shops, around Opebi Street or Allen Avenue, also carry Italian shoes and bags that are selected and ordered by the owners on visits to Italy. Some merchants carry gold-plated costume jewellery or other accessories from their shopping tours, for instance from London, and offer these in their market stores along with the embroideries. The customers are mostly female, but there are also men who favour selecting the fabrics for their clothes themselves. During the sales discussions and the
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choice making other customers or chance visitors to the shop join in, to give suggestions and share their own experiences and views of current trends.
80 In Nigeria it is quite popular to shop at work, thus avoiding the hectic markets, crowds, heat, and the unbearable traffic. Normally there is at least one person in a workplace who trades informally and who frequently specializes in a specific kind of textile; these people will regularly bring in novelties and also take orders. More than a few successful businesswomen have profited from providing this convenience to their colleagues, thereby laying the foundation for a flourishing business. One of the best-known embroidery merchants at present, Mrs Adeniyi Usman, wholesale importer and owner of the elegant lace boutique Oyeog, started her career as a secretary at a bank. She started in 1986 and before long, was selling piqué cotton and polished cotton fabrics from Switzerland. She found customers at work and also used her private flat as a salesroom. Every three weeks she travelled to Switzerland to stock up on goods, and gradually expanded her assortment until she specialized in embroideries. After about 4 years, she opened her first shop and has been a successful textile retailer for more than 25 years.39 The founder of SAS (Sola Adediji Stores), one of the most popular shops in Surulere with a branch in Ikoji, also started out selling lace in offices. She finally opened her own shop, which is now run by her two daughters. Women who travel regularly to Austria or Switzerland and sell embroidered textiles to their extended circle of acquaintances as a secondary business continue to account for a significant percentage of the whole export volume to Nigeria and represent a substantial group of customers for the industry.
The Current Market and Range of Products
81 Nigeria is still the most important market for embroideries manufactured in Vorarlberg. The centre of production lies in Lustenau, while in St Gallen in Switzerland only two factories are still in the African lace business. In Vorarlberg, 205 embroidery companies employing about 400 machines currently export 98 per cent of their production, most of which goes to Nigeria. Some firms cater exclusively to this West African market, while others also serve the underwear industry and the international fashion market. Almost no textiles for home decoration are produced any longer; they are now mainly manufactured in Turkey or East Asia.
82 At present, the African lace industry in Vorarlberg is facing a crisis due to the poor state of the world economy. Compared to the previous year, exports to Nigeria fell by 50 per cent in 2009. The percentage of total exports to West Africa accounted for by African lace in 2009 was 48 per cent; in 2008 it was 56 per cent.40
83 Production is getting increasingly difficult. There is now just one company left in Vorarlberg for textile finishing, which gives the fabrics their particularly fine soft surface that is a signature feature of Austrian products. The cotton base material is generally purchased from India, and the rayon embroidery yarn comes from Turkey. In the past, cotton voile was bought primarily from Switzerland. Swiss voile is still considered the first-class material and, as one embroiderer reckoned, it could be compared with cashmere in terms of quality. For a long time, Chinese and Korean producers were unable to acquire cotton voile; their fabrics were embroidered on polyester voile with polyester thread, and were therefore unable to compete with the Swiss and Austrian products. Today, their textiles can hardly be distinguished from the
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European ones. The real cachet that the Austrians and Swiss have been able to maintain lies in the fabric processing, the fine finishing, and strict quality control. Every completed panel of fabric is carefully checked, and flaws are corrected by hand. This considerable effort increases the costs and makes the end product correspondingly more expensive.
84 The fabrics are generally packaged in ten-yard lengths (9.2m), in coupons or coups, also called bundles in Nigeria.41 The embroidery machines were traditionally geared to process a length of ten yards; modern equipment can also produce fifteen-yard lengths, and in large facilities especially in Asia and Turkey thirty-yard machines are also in use. The embroidery patterns are fed in via computer, with some older machines using punch cards.
85 The embroideries are in general made to order and the companies display only a limited range of goods in their showrooms. Some firms sell exclusively in Lustenau itself to drop-in customers or fulfil orders for regular customers. Sales representatives for other embroidery companies travel to Nigeria on average every 3 months to present their new collections, which depending on the company include between 30 and 150 patterns on each visit. Depending on its size, an Austrian manufacturer brings out 60 to over 400 new designs a year. Innovation is essential to survival, since designs are quickly copied by Asian producers; thereafter these better-quality products can no longer be sold at their original prices.
86 The trips made by Austrian embroiderers to Nigeria take the same form on each visit. The representative usually stays for one week and spends the entire time in Lagos. They always reside at the same large business hotel. Each of them42 receives customers in their hotel room, where they present the new patterns, take orders, and conduct negotiations. The week is extremely busy and exhausting. On arrival, the representatives immediately phone up to 300 businesswomen to arrange appointments, which then take place daily from the early morning into the late evening. Before departure, the embroiderers schedule visits to markets to see what is being offered, visit retailers at their shops, and exchange news.
87 Every embroidery company has its speciality or its own signature feature that insiders recognize immediately; the textiles themselves are not marked. Some producers are valued for their detailed floral motifs, and others for their colourful geometric designs in multiple colour ways; others specialize in sequin embroidery, and yet others in cord lace. Some firms are known for their “men’s fabrics”. At present, the most important products are all-over embroidery on fine cotton voile and embroidery on double polyester organza, often with sequin embroidery, fine eyelet embroidery (broderie anglaise) and to a lesser extent guipure lace. Hand-cut and application embroideries are less in demand. An essential feature of all the fabrics are the decorative scallops along both sides of the cloth needed for sleeves, seams, and décolleté; another must are Swarovski crystals applied in regular intervals over the fabric. One recent innovation is pearls sprinkled over the pattern and affixed to the fabric, further emphasizing the relief structure of the embroidery.
88 Men’s fabrics are generally in muted colours and tone in tone embroidery, such as white, ivory, sky or powder blue, “choco choco”, beige/“carton colour”, grey, pastel yellow, or mint. In Nigeria, these colours are considered as cool, soft, or muted in contrast to the loud colours favoured by the ladies. In women’s fabrics, demand is currently strong for baby pink, brown tones, orange, apricot/peach, yellow, lilac,
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turquoise, pale green, and also lurex embroidery. The textiles are embroidered less densely than in the 1980s and 1990s. It is important to maintain a good ratio between base material and embroidery, because if too much material is visible, the fabric is considered “too open”, and too much pattern is considered “too busy”.43
89 Today the minimum order per pattern and colour way is two to three coupons, whereas a decade ago the minimum accepted was six to ten coupons. Back then, an average order comprised twenty coupons per colour and design. Nowadays, the Nigerian importers avoid risk and overstocking. They prefer to place follow-up orders if needed. Normally retailers don’t make sales, some stock old fabrics for decades in the hope of being able to sell them one day. The “party business” for aso ebi44 is very important because in this case orders are placed for large quantities of a single pattern, sometimes up to several hundred pieces.
90 During the heyday of the embroidery trade at the end of the 1970s, more than 100,000 coupons were sold of certain patterns, but such numbers are no longer achieved today. At the time, the egg, clock, and penny designs were a real sales hit. A single pattern could sell successfully for several years, and individual importers had a monopoly on certain patterns. In the 1970s, some fabrics had names in Nigeria, but with the variety of patterns and constant innovations today, this has been abandoned. The fabrics were named after personalities who attracted public attention to a certain fabric, or by association, such as Wonyosi or Aircondition. For example, the Atiku popular with men for their trouser and shirt ensembles is a cotton fabric with structured weaving. The embroidery companies that offer it in their assortment commission these fabrics from specialized factories, for example in Switzerland or in East Germany. The style bears the name of former vice-president Abubakar Atiku (1999 to 2007), who made it popular.
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Men’s suit, Nigeria
early 1970s. Cotton fabric with industrial eyelet embroidery, Buba shirt: L. 78.5 cm, sokoto pants: L. 107 cm Museum für Völkerkunde Wien, Inv. No. 187.530. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
91 The designations current today refer to the quality and style of the fabric and are sometimes fancified technical terms that have become familiar terminology in the business. Many of the women traders give the fabrics names based on the motifs they see in the patterns; they like to use names such as cube, umbrella, leaf, hand, figure of eight, half-moon, ball, finger, zig zag, and such like, as they can memorize these more easily than the design numbers.
92 Interest in and demand for African lace in Nigeria remains strong, and the popularity of these kinds of fabrics is often evoked in the media. However, many Nigerians can no longer afford the expensive fabrics. As a consequence some Vorarlberg suppliers have now diversified their product range with the above-mentioned Atiku fabrics or damask, called Guinea brocade in Nigeria, which is in great demand at present. The popularity of lace has caused other textiles to appear on the market that imitate the aesthetic of lace. So, printed cottons with a lace look are fashionable and sold under the brand names Opulent Lace or Opulent Embroideries, and can be purchased for a tenth of the price of real embroideries. In a completely new version of single-face Java prints, a specialized shop in London recently started selling prints with stamped-out holes, imitating hand-cut lace.45 Another novelty, discovered in Lagos, was fine damask fabrics in pastel tones, dyed using resist-dye technique, with lace-like patterns, and the special feature of shimmering glass stones affixed to the fabric. A well-known Lagos merchant sells this fabric as “adire with stones”, which is in vogue with high society ladies; she has it exclusively manufactured in Senegal.
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93 Lace has become an imminent part of tradition in Nigeria. It is without question an authentic Nigerian material, one that at the same time is traditional and contemporary, African and European. In reflecting upon the significance of imported fabrics for Nigerian fashion, Toyin Odulate summarizes this fact: “It appears Nigeria, and many parts of fashion-savvy Africa, have taken over other people’s inventions (fabrics), improved on them and re-presented them to the world. […] My view on all this is that Nigerian fashion is not so much about being authentically Nigerian as about improving on other people’s ideas and infusing an element of something unique, colourful and sometimes seemingly outrageous, and thereby transforming it into something PROUDLY NIGERIAN”.46
Lady’s suit made of imported embroidery textile
Nigeria mid-1979s, Museum für Völkerkunde Inv.No. 188.510. Photo: Alex Rosoli. KHM mit MVK und ÖTM.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Apter, Andrew, 2005, The Pan-African Nation. Oil and the Spectacle of Culture in Nigeria. Chicago und London: The University of Chicago Press.
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Bender, Wolfgang, 2007, Der nigerianische Highlife. Musik und Kunst in der populären Kultur der 50er und 60er Jahre. Wuppertal: Peter Hammer Verlag.
Beveridge, Fiona C., 1991, Taking Control of Foreign Investment: A Case Study of Indigenisation in Nigeria. The International and Comparative Law Quarterly 40(2): 302–333.
Falola, Toyin und Matthew M. Heaton, 2008, A History of Nigeria. Cambridge: University Press.
Fitz, Ulrich, 1947, Die Vorarlberger Stickereiindustrie und ihr Export. Dissertation. Universität Wien
Jurkowitsch, Silke und Alexander Sarlay, 2009, Zukunftspapier zum Projekt „Entdecken von Vorarlberg Stickereien in Westafrika“.Grundlagendokumentation für nachhaltige Wirtschaftsstrategien und Fundament für weitere Projekte. Feldkirch: Wirtschaftskammer Vorarlberger Stickereiwirtschaft.
Längle, Elisabeth, 2004, Vorarlberg stickt für die Welt. Wien: Verlag Christian Brandstätter.
Law, Robin, 1986, Early European Sources Relating to the Kingdom of Ijebu (1500–1700): A Critical Survey. History in Africa 13: 245–260.
Murorunkwere, Jeanne d’Arc, 2002, Vorarlberger Stickereien unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Exportbeziehungen zu Afrika. Unpubl. Diss. Graz: Karl-Franzens-Universität.
Picton, John, 1995, Technology, Tradition and Lurex: The Art of Textiles in Africa. In: John Picton (Hg.), The Art of African Textiles. Technology, Tradition and Lurex (London: Lund Humphries Publishers), 9–30.
Plankensteiner, Barbara and Nath Mayo Adediran (Eds.), 2010, African Lace. A History of Trade, Creativity and Fashion in Nigeria. Co-edited with Nath Mayo Adediran. Wien, Gent : Snoeck Publishers.
Plankensteiner, Barbara, 2010, African Lace. Material of a Transcontinental History of Relations, in African Lace pp. 113-151.
Renne, Elisha P., 1997, Traditional Modernity“ and the Economics of Handwoven Cloth Production in Southwestern Nigeria. Economic Development and Cultural Change 45(4): 773–792.
Thomas-Fahm, Shade, 2004, Faces of She. Lagos: Literamed Publications.
NOTES
1. This article is a slightly altered version of a recently published chapter (Plankensteiner 2010). The original written in German was translated by Andrew Smith. 2. In her detailed and informative book on Vorarlberg embroidery, Elisabeth Längle (2004) devotes a chapter to the production specifically for the Nigerian market. She briefly outlines the history of trade, but does not refer to the Nigerian context. 3. The exhibition was co-curated by the author with Nath Mayo Adediran and was a cooperation of the National Museum of Museums and Monuments Nigeria with the Museum für Völkerkunde in Vienna, Austria (Plankensteiner & Adediran 2010). In Vienna it was shown from October 21, 2010 to March 24, 2011, at the National Museum in Lagos from June 3, 2011 to January 16, 2012. A further venue in Lustenau, Austria is planned for 2013. 4. Other towns in the Vorarlberg region where the embroidery industry was significant are Altach and Hohenems, among others. However, the number of embroidery machines there was at most a quarter of those in Lustenau. Several embroidery machines were also in use in Wolfurt (Fitz 1947). 5. Written communication, 10.2.2009.
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6. I would like to thank Olayemi Afolabi, who kindly obtained this information from Ms Makanju, the older sister of the deceased, and passed it on to me; strictly speaking she was also the one who drew my attention to the importance of Debo Adekoya (1930–96). 7. Personal communication, Oswald Brunner, 3.6.2008. 8. Hundertpfund, written communication, 10.2.2009. 9. Personal communications, Heinz Hundertpfund, Oswald Brunner, Josef Blaser, 2009. 10. In Yoruba, ebun oluwa means “God’s gift”. 11. The following information is based on two interviews, conducted on 9.4.2009 and 4.12.2009. 12. Nigerian import figures show clearly that from 1967 on Austrian lace gradually forced Italian embroidered textiles out of the market. Market analysis/Nigerian foreign trade with Austria, source: UNO; per 20.3.2009. 13. The following information is based on interviews conducted on 26.11.2009 and 10.12.2009. 14. Of the 250 textile factories in Nigeria that employed 350,000 workers in the 1980s, in 2008 only 40 remained, with 30,000 employees. (The Problem with the Textile Industry by Lucky Fiakpa, Adewoole Ajao, George Oji, Charles Onyeekamuo, This Day, 3.2.2008, p. 27.) 15. Gabriel, Omoh and Victor Ahiuma-Young, How Nigerian Textile Failed to Tap into the 31bn US Booming Garment Market. Vanguard. Lagos, 14 April 2008.. http://allafrica.com. Accessed 19.8.2008. 16. Personal communication, Werner Berlinger, 26.2.2009. 17. Daily Sketch 29.3.1977. 18. According to Chief Owolana, an exception was made for six large import companies for another year; she herself, Chief Obebe, and the Shitu brothers were included in this exception. She could not definitely remember the other three. 19. Personal communication, Arno Fitz, 23.9.2009. 20. Trotz Nigeria-Schlappe wird fleißig exportiert (Despite the Nigerian set-back, exports are flourishing). Die Presse 3/4.12.1977. 21. In schwarze Geschäfte verstrickt (Entwined in black market business). Profile no. 31, 2.8.1977; Sticker haben Faden verloren (Lace-makers have lost the thread). Kurier 6.8.1977, p. 3 22. Vorarlberger Nachrichten 31.8.77, p. 22. 23. Daily Times 14.5.77. 24. Daily Times 26.6.77. 25. Daily Times 13.6.77. 26. A Nation of Avaricious Women? Daily Times 3.6.77. 27. Personal communication, Shade Thomas-Fahm, 11.4.2009. 28. Personal communication, Kurt Isele, 23.2.2009. 29. Personal communication, Arno Fitz, 23.9.2009. 30. Personal communication, Arno Fitz, 23.9.2009. 31. The following information about the history of styles in African lace is based on interviews with Helmut Ritter, Josef Blaser, Karl Hagspiel, Mobolaji Shitu, and Oswald Brunner, as well as on analysis of pattern books from the companies Oskar Hämmerle, HKG, Riedesser, and Ernst Bösch. 32. Personal communication, Tam Fiofori, 10.4.2010. 33. Personal communication, Christof Ritter, 26.2.2009. 34. Personal communication, Mrs Modupe L. Olukoja, Modupe Stores, Lagos, 24.11.2009. 35. Since spring 2010 only direct flights from London Stanstead to Memmingen are offered. 36. Personal communication, Kurt Isele, in Lustenau, 23.2.2009. 37. Wirtschaftszeit Online Magazine 13.3.2006. 38. See also Jurkowitsch and Sarlay 2009: 154 f. 39. Personal communication, Mrs Adeniyi Usman, 16.4.2010.
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40. Andreas Staudacher and Alexandra Schoass (Austrian Federal Economic Chamber Vorarlberg), Export Figures, Association of the Vorarlberg Embroidery Industry for 2008 and 2009. 41. A packed coupon measures 67 x 25cm. The fabrics are between 128 and 132cm wide. 42. In the early days of exporting to Nigeria, it was usually men who travelled. Today, a number of women have been extremely successful on these trips. 43. Personal communication, Rudolf Bösch, 2008. 44. Aso ebi is a sort of uniform for relatives or groups of people who want to show their solidarity and group coherence by wearing clothes made of the same fabric. 45. The centre of the lace trade in the UK is in the area around Liverpool Street in London. This is where many Nigerians stock up on goods. 46. “Ankara, Damask, Lace and George – Nigerian or not?”, Next 14 February 2009. http:// 234next.com (accessed 22.2.2009).
ABSTRACTS
This article tries to reconstruct how African lace first emerged and developed over the decades. The history of industrial embroideries in Nigeria has so far remained unwritten, and the historical overview here is based on numerous interviews with time witnesses in Nigeria, Austria, and Switzerland. The overview makes no claim to completeness, as far more actors were involved in this history of relations across continents than those whose accounts are summarized here. The research was part of a collaborative exhibition project that aimed to embrace the socio- cultural significance of Lace in Nigeria for the first time.
Cet article vise à contextualiser l’apparition de la broderie africaine qui s’est développée depuis fort longue date au Nigeria. L’histoire de la production industrielle de la broderie au Nigeria n’a pas été étudiée et l’approche historique de cette étude est fondée sur de nombreux interviews de témoins de cette époque vivant au Nigéria, en Autriche et en Suisse. Cette présentation ne vise pas à l’exhaustivité tant il y a d’acteurs impliqués dans l’histoire de ces relations intercontinentales qui n’apparaissent pas dans cette présentation.Cette recherche s’inscrit dans le cadre d’un projet d’exposition collaborative qui visait à présenter pour la première fois les implications socio-culturelles de la broderie au Nigeria.
Este artículo se propone reconstruir el surgimiento y desarrollo del bordado africano a lo largo de décadas. La historia de la producción industrial del bordado en Nigeria no ha sido estudiado hasta la fecha, y la aproximación histórica que propone este artículo se basa en numerosas entrevistas con testimonios de la época en Nigeria, Austria y Suiza. Sin embargo, este repaso histórico no tiene vocación de exhaustividad, pues muchos son los actores que forman parte de esta historia de relaciones intercontinentales y que no aparecen en este texto. Esta investigación formó parte de un proyecto de exposición colaborativa que tenía como objetivo presentar por vez primera las significación socio-cultural del bordado en Nigeria.
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INDEX
Mots-clés: Nigeria, broderie, broderie industrielle, commerce transcontinental Palabras claves: Nigeria, Bordado, Bordado Industrial, Comercio Transcontinental Keywords: Nigeria, Lace, industrial embroideries, transcontinental business
AUTHOR
BARBARA PLANKENSTEINER Museum für Völkerkunde, Wien
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Reviews
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Orientalism Today: Alive and Well Film Review: Himself He Cooks – A film by Valérie Berteau and Philippe Witjes, Belgium 2011
Nandini Bedi
EDITOR'S NOTE
http://www.polymorfilms.be/#/Films/Himself%20He%20Cooks/ Website with references on the film and the authors
1 It is not the first time in the Netherlands that I have sat at the edge of my seat drinking in the beauty of images made and woven together through a documentary film by ‘Western eyes’ looking at the land of my birth. Then slowly I have watched with growing apprehension what they choose to leave out of the frame and what they choose to put into it and how they do it.
2 I ask myself, ‘Why do they continue to ‘exoticise’ India’?
3 A few days ago, I went to see a documentary made by two Belgian directors. It is called ‘Himself he cooks’. It is shot in the Golden Temple of the Sikhs, in Amritsar, India, the most sacred place of worship for the community. This temple offers free food for a hundred thousand visitors every day and for double or triples that number on feast days. Visitors may also rest there during the day or night. Images of cooking, cleaning, serving and washing by thousands of volunteers dominate the film. To quote from the synopsis: ‘the spontaneous choreography of the many hands that join in the preparation of the food reveals the essence of this fascinating place and invites the viewer to consider the joy of sharing’. The still image that accompanies this description in the brochure shows a devotee in the pool before the temple, head bowed in prayer, hands joined. Together the image and the description invite us to enter into that incomprehensible world of India, where we could once more be struck with wonder at its ever-surprising repertoire of religion, faith, worship and community. ‘Himself he cooks’ has been chosen as the opening film of the Beeld voor Beeld film festival in Amsterdam.
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4 The theatre is full. Not an empty chair.
5 We see garlic being chopped by crowds, potatoes peeled, tears rolling down the eyes of onion cutters while hands are in musical rhythm, balls of flour being flung to the ground and directed with a hoe, rotis being flipped with immaculate precision, metal plates flung from outside the frame at a man holding a plate like a bat hitting what comes at him so it falls in a pile at his feet, clang, clang clang…bowls being washed by people in neat rows. For most of the sixty-five minutes, there is no comment and no other input from the directors. None of the people speak into camera and in fact they don’t speak to each other either. As someone in the audience commented, they don’t interact at all with another human being – physically or verbally. They sometimes stare into the camera and the camera stares back (or the other way around). The filmmakers ask no questions and get no answers. What we see a lot is exactly – the choreography – the dance of the joint actions of people of cutting, cooking, serving, eating, cleaning. Most of this adds up to one message: this is how they do it there. The wonder filled eyes of the camera taking in the ‘otherness’ of what is before it: images that reinforce what every orientalist has done.
6 At the end of the film we are given a message by way of text: centuries after Sikhism first arrived, the Golden Temple is still one of the rare places in India where people of every caste, class, and kind may sit together and share a simple meal thus erasing all differences and all inequalities. The religious spirit is also reinforced through images that are not about the noise and the ‘organized chaos’ (words of the filmmaker) of the community kitchen. They are outside the geography of the cooking and eating-places and with the sound in the film dropping by quite a few decibels; they are clearly images that make a huge impact because they communicate peace and beauty. A man in turban, cut off exactly at the waist in the frame gliding gracefully on the water of the pool, solo in his boat, the shimmering gold of the temple reflecting in the water with music in the background, the devotees who stop on their way to somewhere, get off their vehicles and stand, hands folded in front of the temple, men who very calmly remove clothing and enter the water, and then stand very still in the pool. While it is true that the community kitchen and the inspiration behind it, the idea of ‘seva’ (voluntary service) take up most of the time of the film, it’s actually these images here above that make up the ‘space’ or provide for the context and setting of ‘seva’. The choice of placing one such image (man in prayer in the pool) and not one of the kitchen as an accompaniment to the text of the synopsis in the brochure is telling. So, the film in fact conveys more meaning than the title ‘Himself, he cooks’ suggests.
7 Yet one of the filmmakers says ‘Sikhisim is about the langar’ (the community kitchen) at the time of the Q and A. The brochure says he is a cook by profession. He is so calm
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and sounds so sure of himself when he makes this statement that no one asks him how he did his research. I ask him a related question. I ask him while he was in the Golden Temple, did he see the rooms devoted to death, violence and martyrdom in the precincts of the temple? These too are interpreted as images of ‘seva’, or voluntary service by some Sikhs. Only they are not about feeding, but about getting killed and killing people for the greater good of the community. The images of the dead bodies on display are of people who were considered terrorists by some in the early 1980’s because they willingly gave up their lives in exchange for taking others. Some of them were killed in the temple itself when the Indian army stormed it in 1984.Their photos with bullet wounds through their heads, eyes and every other part of their bodies are difficult to ignore since they are placed in the outer rooms, very close to the entrance, and presented ‘museum style’ to the visitors entering the temple. The filmmakers say yes they saw them and that their idea was to focus on the gestures and the choreography of the kitchen ‘seva’. To focus on the elements of water, fire and metal.
8 So, not blood.
9 Water yes. The same image of the devotee in the pool is also placed on the front cover of the brochure of the ‘Beeld voor Beeld’ festival. On the first page, the director of the festival introduces us to what is to follow: ‘This year’s theme of ‘Beeld voor Beeld addresses these issues of post conflict societies….How do these societies deal with the traumatic past? Is there room for reconciliation?’ ‘Himself, he cooks’ as the opening film with its focus on the community kitchen is how post conflict Sikh society deals with the trauma of the past, is the suggestion.
10 When I visited the temple in the late 1990’s, the obsessive washing and cleaning of the floors, and every part of the temple – came across like the group choreography of Lady Macbeth’s washing, washing, washing of the blood from her hands. Blood that seemingly could never be washed off.
11 ‘In India you see the most horrible and the most beautiful things’ say the filmmakers. So here we have two parallel stories – the Belgian filmmakers’ story – the beautiful side of seva and langar that according to them is Sikhism. And one that makes it impossible for most Indians visiting the temple to think of seva and langar in the Golden temple without making the connection to blood.
12 I was brought up by my Sikh parents to understand that Sikhism came about to challenge the gross inequalities in Hinduism. And since this is what I saw in my family and community, I believed them. Now, many years later, I see the same message in this film. I moved to the Netherlands a decade ago and began to work on projects in and about India. It was on one of my research trips that I learned that there are outcasts also in Sikhism. That not so far from the Golden Temple, there are Sikh temples with separate entrances and water sources for the outcast and untouchable Sikhs. I asked the filmmakers while they were making this film in India, did anyone Sikh or non-Sikh ever mention these outcasts or untouchables within Sikhism and did they know about it?
13 They said no.
14 The filmmakers tell us they see thousands of people making a pilgrimage to the temple to purify themselves. They don’t say of what. So we never find out what the images of devotees taking a dip in the pond are about. Could they be of ritual cleansing? The images of the film show several people involved almost round the clock in the cleaning,
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polishing and washing of the temple along with the washing of the utensils. The filmmaker describes after the screening how the plates are washed seven times each. Thousands and thousands of them all day long. The people in the film look like they are purifying the place along with themselves. But again we don’t know why this absolute obsession with washing inside the temple walls, while just outside, the city of Amritsar, like any Indian city cries out for some attention to the most basic cleanliness.
15 I understand it is important to tell inspiring stories about India. I understand also that making poetic images and ‘leaving it to the viewer to decide’ makes us sound civilized, liberal and democratic. However, we need to be aware that such images and the selective stories they tell could propagate the orientalist view of India. The magic of it, the wonder of it, incredible India and not in the least ‘the shining India’. It is plain to any eye – outsider and insider – that the beauty and the horrors of India are entwined together. To rise above definitions in terms of either/or but to engage in and/and is where the challenge as well as the inspiration lies. However, the framing of this particular film and the place it has in this festival invite us to join in the choreography of the community kitchen and marvel at the wonder that is India. It is a reminder that even in this day and age the idea of the ‘exotic orient’ in our imaginations is alive and well. May 2012
AUTHOR
NANDINI BEDI Chitra Katha Productions, Amsterdam
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Histoires de fantômes pour grandes personnes Exposition de Georges Didi-Huberman et Arno Gisinger, Le Fresnoy, Studio national des arts contemporains 2012
Nadine Wanono
1 Sur l’invitation d’Alain Flisher, directeur du Studio national des arts contemporains Le Fresnoy, Georges Didi-Huberman a conçu une planche intitulée Mnemosyne 42 en hommage au travail d’Aby Warburg, historien de l’art. Dans les dernières années de sa vie (1924-1929), Aby Warburg met en scène des planches composées d’images, de photographies, de reproduction afin de rendre visible ce qu’il appelait « la survivance ».
2 En 2002, Georges Didi-Huberman consacre à ce thème central un ouvrage intitulé l’image survivante, histoire de l’art et temps des fantômes, où il présente ce concept de Nachleben, autour duquel Warburg va construire son oeuvre Mnemosyne. Georges Didi- Huberman présente les sources d’inspirations et de réflexions du célèbre historien de l’art qui se consacre à la mise en évidence de la paradoxale vie des images, leur capacité de « revenance » de hantise, leur nature de fantôme. Nous pouvons citer Georges Didi- Huberman lorsqu’il rappelle que « Benjamin a posé qu’une histoire de la culture ne va pas sans la mise au jour d’un inconscient de la vision. Aby Warburg avait compris qu’une telle mise au jour n’est possible qu’à interroger cet “ inconscient du temps ” qu’est la survivance. »
3 Pour Alain Fisher, il s’agissait d’investir l’espace de la grande nef du Fresnoy (mille mètres carrés environ) afin que tout soit visible depuis la coursive du premier étage où, seraient installées les photos de l’exposition de Atlas, suite, séries d’images d’Arno Gisinger réalisées à partir de l’exposition Atlas (Didi-Huberman et Gisinger 2013).
4 A partir de la quarante-deuxième planche de Mnémosyne, consacrée au motif de la Pietà et aux lamentations que les vivants produisent, chantent, hurlent ou murmurent devant leurs morts, Georges Didi-Huberman a conçu un mur d’images fixes ou en mouvement posé au sol, que le spectateur découvre comme depuis le pont d’un bateau, accoudé sur le bastingage. Avec la même dynamique que Warburg, Georges Didi-
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Huberman entrelace les souvenirs construits à partir de films cultes (Pasolini, Eisenstein, Dreyer) ou de films plus contemporains (Godard, Paradjanov, Harun Farocki, Zhao Liang ou encore Jean Rouch) qui renvoient indistinctement à des souvenirs, émotions, époques de vie, moments historiques, où le spectateur est pris dans cet entrelacs de liens tissés au creux de sa mémoire et de sa personnalité en complète évolution. Le spectateur est projeté dans le vide de cet espace qui s’ouvre devant lui, le met perpendiculaire aux images qu’il découvre comme au fond d’une piscine où nous serions invités à accomplir un travail d’excavation archéologique. La faible lumière ambiante, le son qui apparaît de manière aléatoire renforce chez le spectateur cette fragilité des souvenirs qui apparaissent et se superposent. Georges Didi-Huberman parle de feuilletage de la mémoire, qui se construit du passé pour impressionner notre futur. Les fantômes nous accompagnent dans la traversée du temps, ceux que nous connaissons, ceux qui nous restent à identifier ou à inventer.
5 Cette exposition démonstration rappelait aux visiteurs le rôle essentiel de l’imagination dans le processus de connaissances et donnait aux spectateurs un plaisir infini à l’expérimenter, à le concevoir et à l’élaborer en toute liberté dans cet espace magique du studio Le Fresnoy.
Capture des écrans des extraits de films
Photo prise lors de la visite de l’exposition. G.Gauthier.
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AUTEUR
NADINE WANONO Centre d’études des mondes africains, CNRS, Paris I, EPHE
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