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Adventuring a continuity of interest in the feats and contributions of ancestors across centuries
Rolando Rodriguez

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"Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park." Diego Rivera. 1947-1948 CE. Fresco

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"Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park." Diego Rivera. 1947-1948 CE. Fresco

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Diego Rivera’s Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park combines Surrealist and Mexican muralist elements to effectuate a chaotic work that juxtaposes order with conflict and confusion. Muralists like Rivera targeted a Mexican audience to demonstrate pride in the nation’s culture as a product of Spanish and indigenous blending, using historical subject matter to depict its complexity. Being that Rivera was married to Frida Kahlo, he was well-disposed to Surrealist influence; the ambience of a “dream” draws from the tone of works like The Two Fridas.  Present at Alameda Park is an amalgamation of Mexican history, personified by its most defining figures: Hernán Cortés, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, Porfirio Díaz, Benito Juárez, Kahlo, and Rivera himself are all shown in the work. Between them are dozens of other individuals, some with names to their faces but others representing stereotypes of pertinent themes of Mexican history. Rivera’s motivation to describe the history of his people in the fresco manifested into three distinct groupings of individuals: the conquest, the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, and the Mexican Revolution of 1910. At the center of the work stands La Caterina, a Mexican caricature of the “urban bourgeoisie” upper-class, as she holds a ten-year-old Rivera by the hand. Rivera intended for the viewer to join him on his walk through Mexican history, appreciating the good and bad of a nation defined by multicultural presence and interaction.

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“The Burghers of Calais.” Auguste Rodin. 1884-1895 CE. Bronze.

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“The Burghers of Calais.” Auguste Rodin. 1884-1895 CE. Bronze.

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To commemorate the sacrifice of six individuals during the Hundred Years’ War between France and England, the City of Calais commissioned Auguste Rodin to sculpt their likenesses in honor. Such people were Calaisian bourgeois (burghers) that cemented their legacies as heroes after gallantly volunteering to sacrifice their lives to English invaders in place of saving their city and its people. Although their lives were eventually spared, their resolve to save Calais at the expense of their lives remained greatly respected in the city: their example emanated what it meant to be a Calaisian citizen. When the city’s government commissioned the work, they expected idyllic figures cut from marble shown in the moment of triumph, yet received quite the opposite from Rodin. The sculptor produced a bronze depiction of the burghers in defeat and anguish, frightened of an inevitable death, with the intention of his work to encapsulate their humanity and emotions. The experience of the viewers of the work was intended to be raw and intimate: whereas works like Augustus of Prima Porta had spectators look up to its image, The Burghers of Calais does not use a pedestal to raise its figures, putting them at equal heights to onlookers. Rodin purposefully chose bronze as the material of the work for its reflective qualities and capacity to be smoothly cut to further the flowing movement and emotions of the figures and further contrast from rigidity of triumphant sculptures. Despite the very intentional symbolism behind it, the City of Calais shunned The Burghers of Calais and demanded that it at least be placed atop the pedestal to honor the burghers’ image. Nevertheless, Rodin’s efforts to demonstrate his pride in Calais’ past put the audience shoulder-to-shoulder with heroes, pondering that the burghers were one of them rather than entities above them.

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Sika dwa kofi (Golden Stool). Ashanti peoples (south-central Ghana). c. 1700 CE. Gold over wood and cast-gold attachments

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Sika dwa kofi (Golden Stool). Ashanti peoples (south-central Ghana). c. 1700 CE. Gold over wood and cast-gold attachments

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The only thing that sits above the asantehene king in Ashanti culture is the Golden Stool, a gold-coated object that manifests everything that permeates their society. Indeed, this stool is so important that it is given its own chair to rise above surrounding audiences that may appreciate its eminence. Said to have descended from the skies to Osei Tutu, the first asantehene, the stool reflects long-held traditions and beliefs of the Ashanti Empire, notably in its use of gold material. As trade of the highly-coveted metal expanded its reach, West African nations like the Ashanti grew especially conducive to use gold in their art and veneration as a symbol of power and wealth. Attached to the stool are several gold appendices that represent the “enemies” of the Ashanti people that are actualized in anthropomorphic forms. The stool is said to contain the sunsum of the Ashanti, the collective spiritual force that protects individuals and their nation. Not only did the closeness of any particular asantehene to the Golden Stool demonstrate his commitment to its meaning but also functioned to legitimize his status. Indeed, in order to squash the said status in their conquest of the Gold Coast, the British Empire actively sought the stool, by which the general, Sir Frederick Hodgson, promised to sit atop it himself to declare his superiority over it. The morale of the West African empire, however, grew only more fervent in their efforts to protect the stool, among which included an entire war being fought over it. Yaa Asantewa, a woman, cemented her legacy in Ghanaian modern lore for her gallantry in leading forces against the British to preserve the Golden Stool in her culture. Today, the Golden Stool remains with the Ashanti people, with replica stools still given as a rite of passage to young adults.

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Ndop (portrait figure) of King Mishe miShyaang maMbul. Kuba peoples (Democratic Republic of the Congo). c. 1760-1780 CE. Wood.

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Ndop (portrait figure) of King Mishe miShyaang maMbul. Kuba peoples (Democratic Republic of the Congo). c. 1760-1780 CE. Wood.

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In an effort to preserve the legacy of nyim (Kuba leaders) past and present, the Kuba peoples of the modern-day Democratic Republic of the Congo commissioned ndop wooden statues that captured their spirit in stylized cultural conventions. This ndop in particular depicts King Mishe miShyaang maMbul, a leader recognized for his leadership and generosity across the Kuba culture. Not only did this ndop affirm the nyim’s power but also kept his legend alive for the posterity of Kuba peoples; indeed, as much as the work emphasizes maMbul’s power it also functions as a historical reference for his life and rule. As mentioned before, what is captured is the spirit, not the idiomatics of the king; particular rulers can be identified by the geometric motif between or in front of their legs called ibols. The ibol of maMbul depicts a hand on a drum, a symbol very much individual to him that he chose to identify with during his life. Although the nyim is not overtly idealized with a sculpted abdomen and biceps, the significance of the figure is communicated in its disproportionately large head, a direct reference to the intelligence and prudence of the wise king. Atop his protruding head is a nyim’s royal headdress: the shody, a reference to stories passed through oral tradition. According to such tradition, a mythical heir to the throne wore the shody to attract attention to himself and away from his brother who competed for the authority of the throne. Although the wooden material of the ndop effects a less grandiose image than other works made with exquisite materials, it speaks to a tradition of Kuba craftsmanship in wood-carving (though they were also proficient metal-workers) and their capacity to produce sculptures that require high levels of skill. Lastly, among the most common interpretations of the ndop is that it housed the nyim’s spirit beyond his death so that the protection of the Kubas’ respected leader would carry forever with them as they recall his life and reign.

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Portrait of Sin Sukju. Imperial Bureau of Painting. c. 15th century CE. Hanging scroll (ink and color on silk).

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Portrait of Sin Sukju. Imperial Bureau of Painting. c. 15th century CE. Hanging scroll (ink and color on silk).

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The ambition of the Joseon Dynasty to reflect meritorious subjects in their art is reflected quintessentially in this artwork. The patronage for the work came directly from the Imperial Bureau of Painting of the Korean dynasty; indeed, the work was entirely state-sponsored. The man depicted in the scroll is Sin Sukju, a powerful figure in the Joseon bureaucracy purposefully chosen to be represented in the painting. Not only did Joseon Koreans use portraits to legitimize their leaders but also to propagandize them: the artist minutely detailed Sukju to promulgate him to all audiences. Additionally, the insignia on Sukju’s clothing of two birds pitched under vegetation is a reference to symbols unique to the patron that are comparable to a European coat of arms, another sign of his high ranking in Korean society. Although Sukju was a contemporary (at the time) leader, the work’s consistency with oriental figural representation reflects a larger continuity with the Confucian tenant of ancestral veneration. Thus, the work takes on a double-meaning of sorts in which it firmly establishes the status of Sukju while also paying homage to the rich artistic tradition of east Asia. Its reference to the past stems from a direct influence from other oriental silk paintings like Travellers Among Mountains and Streams, which also used the lucrative commodity as a way of demonstrating its value. Portraiture and landscape painting of such significance were intentionally crafted on scrolls that would be preserved from generation to generation to continue the legacy and the veneration of the past.

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"Night Attack on the Sanjo Palace." Kamakura Period, Japan. C. 1250-1300 CE. Handscroll (ink and color on paper).

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"Night Attack on the Sanjo Palace." Kamakura Period, Japan. C. 1250-1300 CE. Handscroll (ink and color on paper).

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The emotional, action-packed contents of the Night Attack on the Sanjo Palace reflect the environment of quite the hectic evening in Kyoto, Japan in the 12th century. Depicted on the handscroll is the pinnacle of the Heiji Insurrection of Japan, a conflict that pitted allies and enemies of the emperor against each other.  Read from right to left, the scroll takes its audience through the events of the night, starting ominously calm and building up to complete chaos and disarray where a palace is seen ablaze and numerous warriors blasting their way through its doors. During the actual event, the disgruntled warriors invaded the home of Emperor Go-Shirakawa to depose him and his influence and allow Fujiwara no Nobuyori to take charge. The warriors were easily victorious but were certainly not magnanimous in defeat: when looked at closely, many can be seen brutally murdering their helpless enemies while noblewomen escape oncomers out of fear of being raped. To better express the visceral emotion and intensity of the event, the artist used staccato brushwork with flowing, curvilinear lines that promulgate a feeling of movement in the narrative. The work is consistent with the Japanese otoko-e style, one that concentrates on historic or legendary events like the night attack, in telling a story meant to be preserved for generations. Handscroll painting was the premier method in Japan for accomplishing such a task. Although it was made about a century after the event it depicts, the Night Attack of Sanjo Palace is widely considered the among the strongest sources for what transpired during the Heiji Insurrection, a microcosm of a broader movement in Japan to proliferate their history in documentation. The work was not directed to a specific audience other than the posterity of those that made it; its function taking on an educational approach that carries on to the modern day.

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Tamati Waka Nene. Gottfried Lindauer. Oil on canvas. 1890 CE.

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Tamati Waka Nene. Gottfried Lindauer. Oil on canvas. 1890 CE.

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For the Maori people, this work takes on a life of its own, literally. Their culture reveres the mana of ancestors, the ubiquitous spiritual force that is to be present in all things, which they believe is actively present and alive behind the oil and the canvas. Tamati Waka Nene was a tribal chief of the Ngāpuhi tribe of modern-day New Zealand and was very much respected and revered by his people for his leadership in negotiating with the British. The facial tattoos of the Nene are the immediate indicator to Maori of his importance: the mana he possesses is demonstrated on the ink veneer of the tattoos that line his face. In the patterns of the tattoos, the essence of the leader’s soul is described, a prominent and permanent narrative that he took with him everywhere he went. Despite the Maori fascination with depictions of ancestors in art, this work was commissioned entirely for a European audience that was itself fascinated in what it viewed as exotic and mystifying. As the world became more globalized, Europeans took interest in the “primitivism” of African, Oceanian, and indigenous American cultures; indeed, the novelty of the different stylistic. The portrait is posthumous: Lindauer had never actually met Nene, but based his work off black-and-white photographs or illustrations of the Ngāpuhi chief to capture his features precisely. Lastly, the prominence of mana in art like Tamati Waka Nene stems directly from Polynesian tradition: items like the ‘ahu ‘ula feather cape from Hawaii and the staff god from Rarotonga.

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Darkytown Rebellion. Kara Walker. 2001 CE. Cut paper and projection on wall

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Darkytown Rebellion. Kara Walker. 2001 CE. Cut paper and projection on wall

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Despite its innocuous, cartoonish impression, Kara Walker’s Darkytown Rebellion takes on a poignant meaning when inspected closely. Walker utilizes a bright color scheme to fantasize the silhouettes and their emotions: an amalgamation of ecstatic jumps and figures in physical despair adds to the convolution of the event; while one figure parades a flag in celebration, another marches forward on one leg that appears brutally removed from his body. Walker’s works are typified with an effort to “elicit an uncomfortable and emotional reaction” from their audiences, usually directed in reference to historic struggles of African Americans in the United States. Indeed, Darkytown Rebellion is a reference to a hypothetical slave revolt not lacking dramatic consequence, victory, and loss. The work draws attention to age-old difficulties while actively putting its audience inside it: when viewers approach the work, their silhouette, too, appears next to the revolting slaves as if a part of the action. Walker was directly influenced by an anonymous painting made in the 1860s labeled Darkytown, one of very ambiguous contents and scenery. Noting the time it was made, several art historians have speculated it having some vestigial correlation to the American Civil War, but Walker has left such talk to interpretation. Nevertheless, although the work depicts a hypothetical, Darkytown Rebellion commentates on the history of issues that entrenched African American culture by highlighting triumph in spite of slavery. Walker continues her activism and social commentary on systemic issues of race in her art today.