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contents
xi P RE F A C E

INTRODUCTION

2 Themes of Contemporary Art: What, Why,and How

5 A Brief Orientation

CHAPTER ONE

7 The Art WorldExpands

8 Overview of History and Art History:
19802016
13 A Spectrum of Voices Emerges
14 Globalization
17 Theory Flexes Its Muscles
23 Impact of the Digital
29 Traditions Survive, New Trends Arrive
34 Social Experience as Art
35 Art Meets Contemporary Culture
39 PROFILE: Katharina Grosse
44 PROFILE: Ryan Trecartin and Lizzie Fitch

CHAPTER TWO

55 Identity
57 A Focus on Identity in Art History
60 Identity Is Collective and Relational
62 Identity Politics
65 Otherness and Representation
66 Essentialism Versus Diversity
69 Authenticity and Hybridity
74 Identity Is Constructed
74 Deconstructing Difference
77 The Fluidity of Identit
 80 Fictional Identities
82 Are We Post Identity?
87 PROFILE:Shirin Neshat
91 PROFILE: Nancy Burson

CHAPTER THREE

99 TheBody
101 Past Figurative Art
104 The Body Beautiful
107 A New Spin on the Body
109 The Body Is a Battleground
110 The Body Is a Sign
111 Performing Bodie
113 Sexual Bodies
115 The Gaze
118 Sex and Violence
119 Mortal Bodies
121 Grotesque Bodies
123 Classifying Humans in the Genomic Age
125 Posthuman Bodies
131 PROFILE: Rene Cox
134 PROFILE: Zhang Huan

CHAPTER FOUR

141 Time
144 Changing Views of Time
146 Time and Art History
151 Representing Time
154 Time as a Medium
155 Live Art
157 Film and Video
159 Process Art
161 Exploring the Structure of Time
161 Counting and Measuring Time
165 Reordering Time
169 Expressing Endlessness
170 PROFILE: Hiroshi Sugimoto
174 PROFILE: Cornelia Parker

CHAPTER FIVE

181 Memory
185 Memory and Art History
189 The Texture of Memory
189 MemoryIs Emotional
190 Memory Is Unreliable
191 MemoryIs Multisensory
193 Strategies for Representing the Past
194 Displaying Evidence
196 Reenacting the Past
198 Fracturing Narratives and Reshuffling Memories
200 Storehouses of Memory
203 Revisiting the Past
204 Recovering History
207 Rethinking History
210 Reframing the Present
210 Commemorating the Past
214 PROFILE:Christian Boltanski
218 PROFILE: Brian Tolle

CHAPTER SIX

227 Place
228 Places Have Meanings
230 Places Have Value
232 Historys Influence
235 Representations of Space
240 (Most) Works of Art Exist in a Place
246 Whats Public? Whats Private?
249 Dislocation
252 Looking Outfor Places
255 Fictionalized Places
262 PROFILE:Turbine Hall at Tate Modern
268 PROFILE:Andrea Zittel

CHAPTER SEVEN

277 Language
279 Art and Words: A History
283 Recent Theories of Language
287 Reasons for Using Language
289 Language Makes Meaning
291 Language Takes Form
293 Transparency and Translucency
295 Spatiality and Physicality
296 Books Made by Artist
298 Art Made with Books
298 Wielding the Power of Language
303 Naming
304 Confronting the Challenge of Translation
307 Using Text in the Digital Age
312 PROFILE: Nina Katchadourian
315 PROFILE:Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller
CHAPTER EIGHT

323 Science
327 WhatIs Science?
330 Artists as Amateur Scientists
333 Artists Adopt Scientific Tools and Materials
333 Creole Technologies
334 Bio Art
337 The Ideology of Science
338 Changing Paradigms of Science
339 Is Science Running Amok? Activist Art Responds
342 The Visual Culture of Science
342 Scientific Imaging and Art
344 Deconstructing the Visual Culture of Science
345 Scientific Displays and Archives
347 Science in Popular Culture
350 Is Nature Natural?
352 Marveling at the Universe
355 PROFILE:Patricia Piccinini
358 PROFILE:Eduardo Kac

CHAPTER NINE

365 Spirituality
366 Spirituality and Religion
366 Enchantment
367 A Short History
374 Religious Iconography
379 Spiritual Forms and Materials
382 Mingling the Sacred and the Profane
382 Sacred Spaces and Rituals
384 Art and Transcendence
387 Finding Faith and Harboring Doubt
390 Expressing Religious Identities
391 Facing Death, Doom, and Destruction
395 PROFILE: Bill Viola
400 PROFILE:Jos Bedia

409 TIME L IN E
419 SELEC TED BI B LI O GRA PHy
431 I NDE
 preface

C ontemporary
forms,
art is a vast arena of diverse styles, techniques,
purposes, and aesthetic traditions. Viewers of todays
in the presence of objects and images that can range from the lighthearted
materials, subjects,
art find themselves
to
the soul-searching, from the monumental to the ephemeral, from the highly recog-nizable
to the strangely alien. To provide a concise introduction for those who are
encountering this art with little advance knowledge or experience, after an initial
chapter that provides an overview to the world of contemporary art we concentrate
on eight themes that have been widespread in artistic practice during the past four
decades:identity, the body, time, memory, place, language, science, and spirituality.
Wechose to write about eight themes rather than fifteen or twenty because we
want to provide a sufficient analysis of each theme to reveal something of the depth
of thinking and intensity of practice within each one. Discussing more themes
within a compact-sized publication would necessarily have meant curtailing our
treatment of any one theme. Each of the themes weselected has received significant
attention from contemporary artists, critics, curators, and art historians. Further,
each theme has an enduring lineage in art history, as well as widely recognized
importance in daily life. Webelieve our choices for thematic topics are valid, endur-ing,
and vital, even though not exhaustive of all possible significant themes.
But why use themes as the structure for this book? An introductory text on
recent art could have been organized around media disciplines (painting, sculpture,
and so forth); in our view, however, that approach would tilt the discussion too
heavily toward materials, techniques, and formal concerns. Of course, media dis-tinctions
remain important, and nowhere more so than in the academy, where most
studio art programs still offer a media-specific focus in the range of courses and
majors in the curriculum. Webelieve a balanced view of artists diverse approaches
to materials and techniques can be presented by discussing examples from virtually
all the major media(as well as some that are idiosyncratic) within the structure of a
thematic focus. Each chapter presents works in a variety of media that explore as-pects
of the theme being analyzed. Further, by focusing on thematic content, the
structure of this volume fosters a cross-disciplinary approach that reflects an in-creasing
trend in how artists and curators of new art function today.

x
 Theoretical concerns could also provide the structure for a text on contempo-rary
art. Indeed, a number of edited collections of theoretical writings by artists and
critics already exist. (An instructor with a strong interest in theory might opt to
assign one of these collections of writings in tandem with our volume.) However, a
theoretical structure for an introductory text on contemporary art strikes us as a
less effective choice than athematic organization. Theory directly propels some, but
not all, artists. Still, we recognize the influential role of theory in the art of our
time, and a concise assessment of some of the theoretical underpinnings of each
theme is provided in every chapter. A brief overview of the influence of theory
vis--vis art after 1980 is provided in chapter 1.
Athematic approach provides ajudicious balance between discursive thinking
and careful looking. By emphasizing the analysis of artworks thematically, this
book prioritizes the process of cognitive interpretation alongside attentive percep-tion.
Our interpretations are never presented as the only possible ones. A primary
pedagogical principle of our book is that meanings of any artwork areflexible: the
same work can be presented to reveal alternative interpretive stances. Interpreta-tions,
xii mirroring the culture at large, are constructed by an interweaving of factors
brought into play by the artist, by society, and by the viewer.
Within the analysis of the eight themes, weintroduce artists working in a di-verse
Preface
range of media disciplines. Disciplines include those that are ancient (paint-ing,
sculpture), those that became central to the work of advanced artists during
modernism (photography), those that have gained widespread attention within the
last several decades (installation, performance, and video), and disciplines that
depend on recently developed digital technologies.
The book focuses on contemporary art in the West. However, current art in the
West is indebted to and embedded in heritages from many cultures around the
world, and numerous influential artists working in the United States and Europe are
immigrants. This introductory text provides alook at the vigorous involvement in
contemporary art of artists from a wide variety of cultural and geographic back-grounds,
including some artists living outside the West who are engaged in exhibi-tions,
publications, and/or events that arefinding an international audience.
Themes of Contemporary Art is not a traditional survey that provides a chron-ological
history of art since 1980. Wefeel that trying to sort the most recent art into
movements or styles is premature and most likely impossible at this point.
Many present tendencies are just commencing or are in midstream, and wecannot
see their full shapes clearly nor predict their future course and significance. It is not
even certain that the old-style linear narrative of one movement influencing and
leading into the next is adequate anymore. Instead, we provide an extended look at
themes that are prevalent right now (and, in looking at themes, we provide a context
for examining an assortment of the issues and practices that are currently vital). We
also provide focused studies of a range of recognized artists, thereby offering stu-dents
insights and a critical perspective on the rapidly evolving state of contempo-rary
art. Our book is a kind of snapshot of where artists and critics are today, and
where they have been recently, in their thinking and activities.
Some readers may wonder: why does this book start at 1980? Other studies of
contemporary art use 1989 as the starting point. Major reasons for choosing 1989 as
an alternative starting point include the fall of the Berlin Wall (thus, officially,
ending the so-called Cold War)and the presentation of the exhibit Les Magicien
dela Terre in Paris at the Centre Pompidou and Parc de la Villette, which, despite
many perceived faults (including oversimplification and stereotyping), at least at-tempted
to acknowledge worldwide contemporary art practices. The exhibition has
been characterized as a catalyst that prodded Western art institutions to adopt a
more global and inclusive perspective.
However, wefind it more compellingand applicable to a wider variety of
events and situationsto begin discussing contemporary art with the entire decade
of the 1980s (while recognizing that the choice of where to start any account of art
history is always a bit arbitrary, since no period starts with a particular year or
decade). The world was changing rapidly during the 1980s, with the enormous
ramping up of global capitalism and growth of an international art market. Critically
for all of culture, that decade saw the rapid development of digital technologies and
products that became more widely available. For art, the widespread influence of
theories (especially postmodernism, feminism, and poststructuralism) gained sub-stantial
momentum in the 1980s. The practice of visual art entered what seems to us
a new balance of forcesmore conceptual, more political, more diverse, more global.
Significant changes can be charted as inaugurating throughout the 1980s, rather xii
than pinpointing 1989 specifically asthe banner year. For example, from our vantage
point today in the second decade of the twenty-first century, the fall of the Berlin
Preface

Wallin 1989 appears less momentous for the practice of contemporary art than the
rising prevalence of computers and the digital era ushered in during the 1980s.

Structureofthe Book
The introduction orients the reader to the primary focus of the book: a thematic
engagement with contemporary art. The term theme is defined and then applied
immediately as a framework for analyzing two works of art, a photograph by Richard
Misrach and a sculpture by Roxy Paine.
Chapter 1, The Art World Expands, provides an overview of key aspects of
contemporary art using broad strokes (concepts, issues, terms of engagement) and an
introduction to a (brief) history of the United States and the world from 1980 through
2015. The chapter clarifies seven characteristics of artistic practice over the past four
decades: (1) a spectrum of diverse artistic voices has emerged within individual
societies and across international borders; (2) increasing globalization has had an
impact on art practice and economics; (3) theoretical writings have provided strong
influence; (4) digital technologies have impacted art practices along with the culture
at large; (5) traditions and older media have survived while new trends made waves;
(6) art that promotes social encounters has blossomed; and (7) art has met (and at
times melded with) contemporary culture in all its manifestations. The chapter closes
with two profiles of contemporary artists; each profile demonstrates how engaging
with theme, form, content, material, artistic style, and cultural context contributes
holistically to our understanding and engagement with works of contemporary art.
Chapters 2 through 9form the core of this intellectual project: to chart contem-porary
artistic practice through the lens of key themes. Each of these chapters fol-lows
a similar format, including an introduction to the thematic topic, a concise look
at historical precedents and influences, and a detailed analysis of key points that
characterizes how contemporary artists have responded to and embodied aspects of
the theme in specific works. Each chapter closes with a more in-depth profile of two
 artists who, we argue, have devoted significant energy to art within the parameters
of the theme under discussion.
Artists who came of age in the 1980s and 1990s tend to be conceptually ori-ented.
Readers of this volume will gain insights into how and why many contempo-rary
artists place great emphasis on creating meaningful work that connects to the
world outside of art, including intellectual debates from a wide array of discourses.
An emphasis on thematic meaning has not come at the expense of the importance of
form. Indeed, the analyses of specific artworks throughout these chapters will reveal
that form remains a primary carrier of content. By providing a clearly structured
approach, the student/reader will learn how to learn about new art, including art-works
that are not discussed.
A range of issues and influences that are pervasive in current art discourse
are examined, including the impact of social agendas and the rise of digital media.
Alook at these topics within the context of artworks exploring the themes under
review should give readers insights into the current dialogue that surrounds the
creation, exhibition, and discussion of new works of art. Theoretical conceptsincluding
xiv feminism, postmodernism, poststructuralism, semiotics, postcolonialism,
and relational aestheticsare introduced at appropriate junctures as powerful ana-lytical
tools. Issues involved with our potential aesthetic engagement with art are
Preface
raised as well. Within the discussion of the thematic categories and in the artists
profiles, the various roles artists assumeincluding the artist as visionary and the
artist as social activistwill provide students with an opportunity to consider how,
when, and why art can be created.

WhatsNewin the FourthEdition

Chapter Revisions All of the chapters from the third edition have been revised.
The mostsignificant changes have been madeto chapter 1(the overview); chapter
2, Identity; chapter 3, The Body; chapter 6, Place; and chapter 9,
Spirituality. Less substantial but still significant changes have occurred in
chapter 4, Time, and chapter 7, Language. These changes provide a look at the
most recent achievements and reflect the latest information and research; of
particular note is the addition in all the thematic chapters of new discussions of
contemporary artworks in which the impact of digital technologies is strongly
evident. In a number of instances, we madejudicious deletions based on reviewers
suggestions.

New Profiles The fourth edition includes eighteen Profiles. Of these, two are
totally new, and others have been updated from the third edition. Each of the
theme chapters ends with two Profiles, the same structure wefollowed for the
third edition. The Profiles allow a more in-depth treatment of a specific artist
and allow us to show in a more nuanced way how a particular theme is explored
in a specific artists body of work. In the fourth edition, two new Profiles are
attached to the first chapter. These new Profileson Ryan Trecartin/Lizzie Fitch
and Katharina Grossewere developed in response to the overwhelming
positive feedback the authors have received from readers regarding the effec-tiveness
of the Profiles in expanding key concepts within the framework of
extended analyses of specific works of art
 Illustrations The total number of illustrations for the fourth edition is 204 (160
total illustrations were published in the third edition). Illustrations appear in color
throughout the volume, a feature that is in vivid contrast to earlier editions. Weare
delighted that our readers will be able to see all the artworks in color, thus providing
a more complete look at nuances of the individual artworks. We have added new
illustrations to focus on the most recent art and the new Profiles. Wealso made
some substitutions for illustrations from the third edition that we didnt consider
important to retain in the light of ongoing developments in contemporary art.

Bibliography and Timeline The bibliography for the fourth edition adds the
reference materials that are appropriate for the new Profiles and any needed
additions to the existing chapters. The timeline for the fourth edition covers 1980
through 2015. As in the earlier editions, each year provides a concise listing of
key events in three categories: Art, Pop Culture, and World Events.

The Audiencefor the Book

xv
Themes of Contemporary Art: Visual Art after 1980 is designed to be a core text in
introductory-level courses in the recent history of contemporary art. It can serve as Preface

the text for introductory courses that begin with art of the 1980s, perhaps supple-mented
by an edited book of theoretical writings on contemporary art or by a packet
of readings selected by the instructor. We hope that this volume will serve as a re-source
that is intellectually engaging without being intimidating for diverse stu-dent
populations.
Themes of Contemporary Art could also be used as a resource to supplement
instruction in art appreciation courses at the university level (in order to provide a
way to extend the discussion of art appreciation concepts to the art of our own era).
Indeed, many art appreciation texts include substantial discussion of themes in art
over time but with only a cursory examination of the art of the present. The struc-ture
of our book would parallel how students are learning about art of the past while
introducing them to current practices.
Additionally, this book is designed to function as a pedagogical resource for
introductory, intermediate, and advanced undergraduate-level studio art classes, as
the discussion of thematic content can be a springboard for studio projects in virtu-ally
any media. Studio art instruction is challenged increasingly to offer systematic
approaches to conceptualizing content in order to engage students in the kind and
quality of thinking that underpins the studio practice of professional artists. This
volume can serve as a text to supplement in-class instruction in techniques, tools,
materials, and formal concerns.
Wealso wrote this volume with the aim that general readers not enrolled in a
university class would find it to be a useful, thoughtful, and thought-provoking
guide to undertaking an exploration of the curious, and often challenging, land-scape
of contemporary art.

Alternate Paths Throughthe Book

The chapters may be read in sequence, following the order in which they appear.
Alternatively, eachchapter maybe approached individually and in any order. Som
 teachers may prefer to have their students read all or some of the eight thematic
chapters prior to the first chapter. Chapter 1, offering a condensed analysis of key
developments that characterize the past thirty-six years, including the role of theory
and the influence of digital technologies, may be taken up after students have ex-plored
some (or all) of the thematic chapters. Teachers of studio art may wish to
select those chaptersin any orderthat dovetail with the content of studio pro-jects
that are being explored during a particular semester. Teachers of art apprecia-tion
may wish to assign chapters in the order in which thematic topics are being
studied in the overall course.

Acknowledgments
This book would not exist except for the support we received. Our work was aided
by the many individuals who generously shared with us their encouragement and
expertise and those numerous institutions that provided us with resources.
Professional peers from the United States and England reviewed the text of all
xvi four editions in manuscript form at several stages during the process of its prepara-tion.
Wethank the following for insightful criticism that strengthened our think-ing,
as well as our writing:
Preface

Julie Alderson, Humboldt State PamelaFletcher, Bowdoin College

University Mary Francey, University of Utah
Gwen Allen, San Francisco State Janet Hartranft, Pennsylvania State
University University
Elissa Auther, University of
Beth Hinderliter, SUNY Buffalo
Colorado at Colorado Springs
State
Miguel de Baca, Lake Forest College
Margo Hobbs, Muhlenberg College
Terry Barrett, The Ohio State
Jennifer Johung, University of
University
Wisconsin, Madison
Catherine Caesar, University of
Scott Koterbay, East Tennessee State
Dallas
University
Claude Cernuschi, Boston College
Paul E.Ivey, University of Arizona
Constance Cortez, Texas Tech
Elizabeth Lee, Dickinson College
University
Dana Leibsohn, Smith College
Lucy Curzon, University of
Alabama, Tuscaloosa Christin Mamiya, University of
Nebraska, Lincoln
Kathy Dambach, Florida
International University Marian Mazzone, College of
Charleston
Kathleen Desmond, University of
Central Missouri Preston McLane,Florida State
Cecilia Dorger, College of Mt. University
St. Joseph Jean Miller, Marshall University
Gerar Edizel, Alfred University Robert Nauman, University of
Tracy Featherstone, Miami Colorado at Boulder
University Barbara Nesin, Spelman College
Andrea V. Feeser, Clemson University Travis Nygard, Ripon Colleg
Jo Ortel, Beloit College
Kirstin Ringelberg, Elon University
Kathryn Shields, Guilford College
Louise Siddons, Oklahoma State
University
Connie Stewart, University of North
Colorado
Kristine Stiles, Duke University
Timea Tihanyi, University of
Washington
Tim van Laar, University of Illinois
Anita Welych, Cazenovia Colleg

Webenefited from the expert assistance of afine staff at Oxford University

Pressand thank the following for their contributions to the fourth edition: Richard
Carlin, Executive Editor for Musicand Art textbooks; Jacqueline R. Levine and Erin
Janosik, Editorial Assistants for Music and Art; Leslie Anglin, Copyeditor; and
Micheline Frederick, Production Editor.
Weextend our appreciation to our talented colleagues at Indiana Universitys
Herron School of Art and Design, on the campus of Indiana UniversityPurdue
xvii
University Indianapolis. Weextend particular thanks to Dean Valerie Eickmeier at
Herron for her ongoing encouragement of faculty research projects, including her
Preface

support of a sabbatical for each author during which some of the preliminary stage
of planning and researching this book wasconducted. An Indiana University Presi-dents
Arts and Humanities Initiative Award and a Clowes Fellowship from the Ver-mont
Studio Center provided valuable support for work on this project for Jean and
Craig, respectively. Both authors work on the project was partially supported by
Indiana Universitys New Frontiers in the Arts and Humanities Program. A pro-gram
of the Officeof the Vice President for Research, NewFrontiers in the Arts and
Humanities is funded by the Officeof the President. Additional support for research
about the impact of digital technologies and concepts on visual art wasprovided to
Jean by the IUPUI Arts and Humanities Institute (IAHI). Finally, weextend deep
gratitude to our students over many years for helping us hone many of the ideas
presented in this volume during class discussions.
The artists and their dealers who madeavailable the materialsand permissions for
illustrations haveadded aninvaluable component to this volume. Thanksto the Indiana
University Pressfor permission to reproduce, in altered form, sections of a previously
published essay by Jean Robertson, woveninto sections of chapter 3 in this volume.
Thanksto the School of Fine Arts Gallery,Indiana UniversityBloomington, for per-mission
to reproduce altered sections of a previously published essayby Jean Robert-son,
woveninto sections of chapter 8. Weappreciatethe contributions of Dr.James D.
Robertsonand Professor AlanJones, whoreviewed sectionsin chapter 8, Science, and
wereespecially helpful with suggestions to clarify the definition of science.
Weappreciate the insightful research assistance of Jon Love, who provided us
with excellent information and analysis of trends in digital technologies vis--vis
art. Finally, weowe our gratitude to Colleen Tulledge, who has contributed exten-sively
to the project for the second, third, and now fourth editions in key capacities:
as research assistant, illustration and permissions researcher, timeline researcher,
and general assistant in preparing the project for submission to our publisher.
A world without art is unimaginable.
J. R.and C. Mc.
I-1| Tomas Saraceno| Galaxies
Forming
along
Filaments,
LikeDroplets
along
theStrands
ofa
Spiders Web, 2008
Elastic rope; installation dimensions variable. Installation view: Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York, 2008

Photo: Fabian Birgfeld, PhotoTECTONICS; collection Miami Art Museum, purchased with funds from the MAM Collectors Counci
 introduction

In writing Themes of Contemporary

offer you, our readers, an accessible, engaging,
the world of recent art.
Art: Visual Art after 1980, weaimed high: to

Within these pages, we explore

and wide-ranging introduction to
work by hundreds of con-temporary
artists who, we believe, have succeeded in giving memorable substance
to their creative visions. The artworks illustrated and discussed in the chapters that
follow function in a plenitude of ways, arousing our curiosity, delighting our senses,
evoking our emotions, and provoking questions and debate. In the pages that follow,
you should expect to find some of your notions about artabout its definitions, its
purposes, and its manifestationsturned in new directions, perhaps, at times, even
topsy-turvy. This learning wont come without effort. We need you to engage ac-tively
in your pursuit of fresh knowledge.
This book explores a segment of historya history of some significant achieve-ments
in visual art over the past four decades. However, you will discover that this
volume avoids one of the usual routes taken in the study of history: the marchin step
with chronology. Rather than proceed through the period under discussion in strict
linear fashion, weprefer to concentrate primary attention on aselection of eight prom-inent
themes that have recurred in art during recent decades:identity, the body, time,
memory, place, language, science, and spirituality. Each chapter considers artworks
madethroughout the entire period from the point of view of that chapters theme.
For example, seeing an artwork by Toms Saraceno at the 2009 Venice Biennale
entitled Galaxies Forming along Filaments, Like Droplets along the Strands of a
Spiders Web[I-1] (2008), our exploration of its meaning encompassed a widerange
of aspects. Weconsidered physical qualities, including the black elastic rope used to
construct the work and the way weindividually seemed to be immersed within the
radiating cobwebs that filled the gallery floor to ceiling. Wethought about the
artworks title and how the metaphor implied by the comparison does not begin
with the more everyday component, but the other way round. (Think how the
meaning would changeif the title became Droplets along the Strands of a Spiders
Web,Like Galaxies Forming). The various aspects combine to meansomething ho-listic,
something grander than the sum of the parts. The theme of Saracenos work
is nothing less than the interconnectedness and fragility of the universe and our
own place within it.
 What do we mean by a theme in a work of art? Atheme is a clustering of ideas
around a particular topic. In discussing a theme, we are concerned with the over-arching
ideas that are embodied and expressed by the artworks totality. Looking at
themes, wefocus on the meaning of a work of art examined as a whole, including
the impact that materials, techniques, form, and subject matter make on content.
Athematic approach provides ajudicious balance between discursive thinking
and careful looking. By emphasizing the thematic analysis of artworks, this text
gives priority to the process of interpretation. Although we offer interpretations of
the artworks that are presented, werecognize that the meanings of any artwork are
multiple and complex and that all interpretations are negotiable.
We believe that an engagement with thematic ideas will prepare the reader to
face both familiar and unfamiliar works of art with intellectual excitement. Indeed,
our goal is to empower the reader/viewer with an enlarged mental perspective that
will provide tools for adapting to all manner of unknown future events.

2 Themesof ContemporaryArt: What,Why,and How

Imagine you are an art critic whose mission is to compare the meanings youfind in
a wide variety of individual artworks. How would you proceed with this task? One
way to begin is to examine the materials that each artist selected in producing an
Introduction object, image, video, or event. The decision to cast a sculpture in bronze, for in-stance,
inevitably affects its meaning; the work becomes something different than if
it had been cast in gold or plastic or chocolate, even if everything else about the
artwork remains the same. Next, you might examine how the materials in each art-work
have become an arrangement of shapes, colors, textures, and lines. These, in
turn, are organized into various patterns and compositional structures. In your in-terpretation,
you would comment on how salient features of the form contribute to
the overall meaning of the finished artwork.
The meaning of most artworks, however, is not exhausted by a discussion of
materials, techniques, and form. Mostinterpretations also include a discussion of
the ideas and feelings that the artwork engenders. For example, a photograph of a
stretch of landscape in the American West by Richard Misrach [I-2] is defined only
partially by the fact that it is a color photograph carefully composed to accentuate
the sense of deep space in the view. The meaning is also in the subject matter of the
photo, an orderly arrangement of tables and chairs within a barren landscape. But
what does all this mean? Why did the photographer frame this view through the
camera lens, and what effect does the photograph have on you as a viewer?
By examining other photographs by the same artist and reading some of the
literature on his work, you would discover that this particular artwork is one in a
series that Misrach calls his Desert Cantos series. Like all the worksin the series,
this one focuses on an outdoor location in the American West. Entitled Outdoor
Dining, Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah (1992), this photo records the strange beauty in
a scene of empty chairs and tables. Photographs in the series show how the western
landscape has been transformed by human actions, including bomb craters produced
by explosions at nuclear test sites. Every workin the Desert Cantos series appears to
stem from one basic idea: that humans have made nature subservient to our need
 3

Introduction

I-2| Richard Misrach| Outdoor

Dining,
Bonneville
SaltFlats,Utah,
1992
Color photograph, 40 90 inches
Richard Misrach, Courtesy Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco; Marc Selwyn Fine Art, Los Angeles; and Pace/MacGill Gallery, New York

and wishes and that continuing to do so endangers not only natures health but our
own. Variations on this theme are explored throughout Misrachs Desert Cantos.
This text looks at art after 1980 in terms of selected themes that have been
prevalent in the period. In many works of art, the artist conveys a theme by invest-ing
a subject with emotional significance or implying a moral value. In some works
of art, the theme is expressed by a set of symbols (e.g., a rose maysymbolize roman-tic
love, while thorns represent pain). In the study of art history, an interrelated,
conventional set of symbols is called iconography. Whenusing athematic approach,
we construct a mental framework for making sense of the ideas that are expressed
in the artwork and their embodiment in certain materials, forms, and iconography.
It is important to note that while the subject matter of a work of art contributes
to the overall cognitive content, the subject matter is not usually equivalent to the
theme. For example, artist Roxy Paines Crop(1998) [I-3] is a sculptural re-creation
of a six-by-eight-foot plot of garden soil. Appearing to grow out of the soil are
Paines painstakingly rendered simulations of poppy plants. In addition to its litera
 4

Introduction

I-3| Roxy Paine| Crop,

19971998
Lacquer, epoxy, oil paint, pigment, 58 96 72 inches

Photo: John Lamka; courtesy Marianne Boesky Gallery

subject mattera patch of poppiesCrop is freighted with meaning that derives

from our recognition that the poppy plant ultimately becomes salable as opium or
heroin. We mayinterpret the artwork as a metaphor for a world full of dangers, ten-sions,
temptations, and condemnations. (The artwork may take on an additional
level of meaning for viewers who recognize that much of the worlds heroin supply
originates in the poppy fields of Afghanistan.)
Exploring the chapters in this volume, you should bear in mind that our selec-tion
of eight primary themes does not exhaust the broad range of content found in
contemporary art. Furthermore, these thematic categories do not necessarily reflect
those that the artists who madethe works would name. Artists intentions regarding
content are complex, reflecting both conscious and unconscious ideas, and often
involve more than one theme. Moreover, while contemporary artists are engaged in
thinking about the content of the works they create, not all artists think about
themes in a precisely defined manner.
These eight thematic categories allow us to present a sample of artworks from
which you can grasp influential concepts that stretch across much of the art of ou
time. Each theme functions as an interpretive lens, an analytical tool for exploring
the various levels of meaning that artworks embody. Ultimately, almost all works of
art can be viewed from the perspective of more than one theme. As you may have
observed, the two artworks wejust discussedthe photograph of the Salt Flats in
Utah by Misrach and the sculpture of a poppy patch by Paineare related to each
other in that both involve aspects of our (human) relationship to the land. Both
works wouldfit easily into chapter 6, in which we focus on the theme of place. But
both could be analyzed in terms of other themes as well. It may be appropriate to
explore the works in terms of spirituality, the topic of chapter 9, discussing them as
metaphors for an apocalyptic end to human life and the loss of ability tofind spirit-ual
renewal. That an artwork can be approached from multiple interpretive contexts
does not diminish the relevance or value of any one of them. The eight themes are
broad and multileveled, and intersect in multiple ways. It would be instructive to
consider Saracenos Galaxies Forming . . . from the perspective of several themes
addressed in this book (perhaps especially place and science).

A Brief Orientation Introduction

Chapter 1 presents a broad introduction to important developments in art and to ideas

and events that influenced art in the period from 1980 through 2015. It introduces
ideas that apply to all the themes discussed in subsequent chapters, and it ends with
profiles of two artists as a meansto expand our discussion of some key ideas. Chapters 2
through 9 delve into the themes themselves, one theme to each chapter in the follow-ing
order: identity, the body, time, memory, place, language, science, and spirituality.
Chapters 2 through 9 follow a similar format. An introduction situates the
theme within a broad social and cultural matrix, a brief historical overview dis-cusses
artistic approaches to the theme and related concepts in earlier eras, recent
artists treatments of the theme are evaluated in terms of key theories and strategies
of art production, and the theme is examined in terms of subcategories that have
received critical attention in contemporary exhibitions and publications. Following
an in-depth discussion of the theme, each chapter provides two profiles of individual
artists. Each profile presents a concise examination of the ideas and approaches of
an artist who has devoted a substantial portion of his or her creative energies to
exploring aspects of the theme under discussion.
By approaching the landscape of contemporary art from the perspective of the
eight themes selected for this text, webelieve that our readers will benefit from two
familiar footholds. First, these themes of art overlap in significant ways with the con-cerns
of contemporary living. Each reader already possesses knowledge, ideas, and
terms for thinking about topics, such as place, time, and the body. To this degree,
each chapter starts on familiar ground, which is inherently meaningful to everyone.
Second, the themes demonstrate that the achievements of contemporary artists
have a historical context. Readers can see that the art of our own period connects
with and draws from the rich traditions of past art. Weexpect that all our readers
possess at least a modicum of knowledge of the traditions of art (e.g., they can rec-ognize
a landscape painting or a portrait), and so we build on this as a way of an-choring
new learning to the bedrock of previous knowledge
1-1| Cai Guo-Qiang| Inopportune:
Stage
One,
2004
Nine cars and sequenced multichannel light tubes; dimensions variable

Seattle Art Museum, gift of Robert M. Arnold, in honor of the 75th anniversary of the Seattle Art Museum, 2006. Exhibition copy installed at

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 2008. Photograph The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation. Photo: David Heal
 C H A P T ER ONE

theartworld
expands

Contemporary
technologies
showing
art is in flux.
are offering
Old hierarchies
different
visual art. Established art forms
and categories are fracturing;
ways of conceptualizing,
are under scrutiny
producing,
and revision.
new
and
An
awareness of heritages from around the world is fostering cross-fertilizations, and
everyday culture is providing both inspiration for art and competing visual stimu-lation.
The diversity and rapid transformations are intriguing but can be daunting
for those who want to understand contemporary art and actively participate in dis-cussions
about what is happening.
Although painting, photography, sculpture, drawing, and the crafts still attract
a large number of practitioners, these familiar forms of art no longer subsume the
field. Film, video, audio, installation, performance, texts, and computers are common
mediatoday, and artists are often fluent in several media. Artists freely mix media,
or they may practice a medium with along lineage in an unconventional way, such
as making paintings that look like pixilated digital images or drawing with uncon-ventional
materials such as chocolate syrup.
Consider the example of Cai Guo-Qiang. Like many of todays notable artists,
Cai does not focus his practice on a single creative medium (e.g., painting or ceram-ics
or photography). Instead, his art production includes large-scale drawings, in-stallations,
and performance events and has involved gunpowder, fireworks, Chinese
herbal medicines, computers, and vending machines, among many other materials
and means. For Inopportune: Stage One(2004), Caiincorporated nine identical
white cars, suspended dramatically in midair [1-1]. Later in this chapter, welook at
another artwork by Cai that features actual people congregating in a hot tub [1-13].
Along with the expanded range of materials being used to makeart today, a key
characteristic of contemporary art is that content matters.In the case of Cais art-work,
the cars were positioned to create the impression of successive stages of a car
flipping over in an explosion from a car bombing, while long tubes radiating colored
light burst out in all directions from the windows. For a visitor staring up at the
overhanging sequence of cascading cars, the experience, mostlikely, combines a rich
mixture of wonder, interest, and dismay. Yes, clearly contemporary art is in flux.
 However, wouldthe demonstration that content matters distinguish contempo-8
rary art from art in earlier epochs? In a word: no. Over the long span of arts history,
the vast majority of objects, images, and participatory rituals were designed in the
service of meaning(s) above and beyond the pure manipulation of form for forms
sake. An intriguing special case can be madethat content declined in importance for
art in the period just prior to our own. However, looking back closely at the history of
modern art, it is debatable whether the idea of art for arts sake truly took over the
thinking of modernist theorists and artists. Nevertheless, certainly there were periods
in the twentieth century, especially just after World WarII, when critics (famously
the American Clement Greenberg, who died in 1994) and some influential avant-garde
artists advocated formalism, an emphasis on form rather than content when
creating and interpreting art. Those invested in formalism were and are concerned
mainly with investigating the properties of specific media and techniques, as well as
the general language of traditional aesthetics (the role of color or composition, for in-stance).
But formalism is inadequate for interpreting art that expresses the inner vi-sions
of artists or art that refers to the world beyond art. When pop art appeared in the
1960s, with its references to cartoons, consumer products, and other elements of
shared culture, the limitations of formalism became evident, and a broader range of
theories surfaced, including postmodernism, poststructuralism, feminism, and post-colonialism,
as we discuss later in this chapter.
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Artists active after 1980 are motivated by a range of purposes and ideas beyond
a desire to express personal emotions and visions or to display a mastery of media
World

and techniques. Political events, social issues and relations, science, technology,
Art
mass media, popular culture, literature, the built environment, the flow of capital,
the flow of ideas, and other forces and developments are propelling artists and pro-viding
The
content for their artworks.

Overviewof Historyand Art History| 19802016

The past four decades have been eventful in virtually every area of human activity,
including politics, medicine, science, technology, culture, and art. In the 1980s, fax
machines and compact disc players entered widespread use, the first laptop comput-ers
were introduced, and early cellular telephones became available. Also in the
1980s, for the first time in the United States, a woman was appointed to the Supreme
Court, a woman traveled in space, and a woman headed a major party ticket as a
candidate for vice president. The Berlin Wall was dismantled and Germany reuni-fied
in 1989, presaging the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe (although the
hoped-for end to the Cold Warstand-off between Russia and the United States has
not been as complete as optimists predicted).
In the 1990s, numerous controversies raged over threats of global warming and
genetic engineering of plants and animals, and a sheep was successfully cloned in
1997. Also in the 1990s, a brutal civil warled to the breakup of Yugoslavia into several
independent republics, ethnic massacres devastated the African state of Rwanda, and
nationalist conflicts broke out in the new states of Georgia and Azerbaijan in the
former Soviet Union. Early in the 1990s, apartheid officially ended in South Africa. In
1995, the Federal Building in Oklahoma City was destroyed by American terrorists
 The 2000s and 2010s so far have been extremely dangerous. In September 2001,
the World Trade Center in New York was destroyed and the Pentagon in Washington,
D.C., wasattacked by Islamist terrorists. The United Statesled invasion of Afghanistan
commenced later that fall, and in 2003, the United States led an invasion of Iraq
that toppled the government of Saddam Hussein. Civil unrest and even open war-fare
have plagued many regions, including the Darfur region of Sudan, Jewish and
Palestinian settlements in the Middle East, and Chechnya, on the border of Russia.
An ongoing civil war in Syria that began in 2011 displaced half of the countrys
population and killed 220,000 people by the end of 2015. In November 2015, ter-rorists
connected to the Syrian and Iraq conflicts staged attacks in Paris that left
130 people dead and hundreds wounded. Food shortages and famines, infectious
diseases such as bird flu, rising costs of oil, and increasing evidence of climate change
offer a bleak outlook to people worldwide, especially in the poorest nations. Mean-while
new economic powerhouses, including China and India, are exerting influence
on the global economy. Technological changes continue to have a social impact, in-cluding
new medical and scientific discoveries and increasingly popular forms of
instant communication such as text messaging and tweeting.
The fortunes and misfortunes of contemporary artists take shape, to a large
degree, within the sphere of the commercial galleries that present new art. Reputa-tions The

are built by the support of prominent gallery dealers and the approval of the
Art

critics, curators, and collectors who carefully monitor and judge the quality of the
art featured in highly publicized exhibitions. During the era, there were frequent World

shifts in the zones of concentrated art activity (such as the reduction of galleries
located in New Yorks SoHo area and the dramatic influx of galleries into the his-toric Expands

meatpacking district known as Chelsea by the mid-1990s), as well as numerous

gallery openings and closings, which reflected fluctuations in national economies.
The rise of neo-expressionism in the early 1980s, for instance, was tied to a boom in
the US stock market, whereas an economic recession later in the decade wasrespon-sible
in part for retrenchment and attention to more modestly scaled artistic pro-jects.
In the first decade of the twenty-first century, the art market boomed again,
until another, even larger recession started in 2008. All of this, of course, is not
without precedent. General forces at work in society, including politics, demograph-ics,
and economics, have always influenced the history of art.
During economic boom periods, a notable trend has been the supersizing of art,
found in the production of spectacular, often highly crafted and technically complex
works that require teams of assistants, specialist consultants, and big budgets to
realize. For example, Cais Inopportune: Stage One[1-1] was made with the help of
consultants and assistants. The interest in monumentality has been pronounced in
several distinctive venues now known for commissioning grandiose temporary in-stallations,
including the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern in London, the Park
Avenue Armory in New York, and the Grand Palais in Paris (with the Monumenta
series), among others. The merits of funneling vast sums of capital into gigantic
projects are a matter of debate.
In general, the art scene expanded dramatically after 1980, with a markedincrease
in artists, dealers, collectors, publications, and exhibition spaces. The formation of new
institutions, as well as new or revamped facilities at existing institutions, increased the
number, size, and quality of locations where the latest in visual art could be seen by a
 growing public, including tourists seeking entertainment. Of these projects, several are
notable not only for offering intriguing possibilities for the exhibition of art but also
because the architectural structures assert themselves as works of art in their own right.
Topping the list in terms of publicity were the Guggenheim Museums new branch in
Bilbao, Spain (1997) [1-2], designed by architect Frank Gehry, and the spectacular trans-formation
of an enormous power station along the Thames River in London into Tate
Modern (2000).1 Notable new venues in the United States include a new building for the
Prez Art Museum in Miami (2013) and a new home for the Whitney Museum of Art
near the southern end of New York Citys High Line (2015).
In addition to exhibitions and activities presented by public institutions within
facilities devoted to contemporary art, the contemporary period witnessed a surge
of public artvisual arts activities in public settings, such as city streets, plazas,
parks, airports, and commercial facilities, as well as in more transitory locations,
such as billboards and magazine pages. For example, Charles Rays Boy with Frog
(2009), is an eight-foot-tall sculpture commissioned for a temporary installation on
the tip of an island at the southern entrance of the Grand Canal in Venice [1-3].
10 Designed for that prominent site, the sculpture displays the artists characteristic
combination of conceptualism and humor. The dazzling white finish refers to the
long tradition of marble sculpture in Italy; the white color of the sculpture also
makes the figures look ghostly, otherworldly. The larger-than-life boy, who is on
Expands

the cusp between adolescence and manhood, dangles a goliath frog. His pose sug-gests
he hasjust fished the frog out of the nearby water and now is pausing to con-sider
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its form and its fate.

Art

The

1-2| Frank Gehry| Guggenheim

Museum
Bilbao
(Spain),
1997
Photo 2015 by James Tulledg
 Public dollars funded many public art
activities (although not Rays sculpture),
a fact that turned out to be something
of a double-edged sword. The support of
contemporary art with government dol-lars
was a crucial means of enlarging the
funds available to artists and institutions;
in the United States and Britain, such sup-port
was often a percentage of the amount
budgeted for new government-funded
public construction projects. The use of
public dollars increased attention to
contemporary public art (taxpayers were
interested in knowing how their money
was being spent), but the increased atten-tion
also resulted in more controversy
whenever a vocal core trumpeted their 11
outrage over a specific project. Maya Lins
Vietnam Veterans Memorial (19811984), The

located on the National Mallin Washington,

Art

D.C.,and Richard Serras Tilted Arc(1981),

installed in a public plaza near a gov-ernment World

office building in Manhattan,

are examples of public art projects that Expands

galvanized public opinion, both pro and

con. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial
ultimately was embraced even by its 1-3| Charles Ray| BoywithFrog,
2009
original opponents. A more conservative Cast stainless steel and acrylic polyurethane; 96 291/2 411/4inches
outlook prevailed for Tilted Arc: Serras (244 75 105 cm)
Charles Ray; courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, New York
work was removed in 1989 after alengthy
legal battle.
In the United States, art by feminists,
artists perceived to be unpatriotic or sacrilegious, and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and
transgendered (LGBT) artists were particular targets of public uproar, fueling the so-called
culture wars that erupted in the late 1980s and 1990s over public funding and
freedom of expression. Highly publicized controversies accompanied a traveling exhi-bition
of photographs by Robert Mapplethorpe in the early 1990s that included some
photos showing homosexual activities. Piss Christ (1987) [9-4] by Andres Serrano, a
photographic image of a plastic crucifix submerged in urine, was deemed blasphemous
by some religious spokespersons. The offer in 1990 by feminist artist Judy Chicago to
donate her monumental collaborative creation The Dinner Party (1979) to the Univer-sity
of the District of Columbia was blocked by conservative members of Congress
who called the work pornographic because some interpreted the imagery as repre-senting
female genitalia. (In 2002, The Dinner Party wasacquired by the Brooklyn
Museum of Art, whereit now is on permanent view in the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center
for Feminist Art.) Also under pressure from Congress, the National Endowment for
the Arts (NEA) eliminated fellowships to individual artists in 1995
 Political considerations influenced some artists to engage in institutional cri-tiques.
Such critiques took aim both at art institutionswith artists attempting to
reveal how museums, commercial galleries, and other organizations control how
art is produced, displayed, and marketedand at institutions within the wider soci-ety;
for example, feminists critiqued the social structures and hierarchies that limit
female potential.
Activist art addressed social realities heard and seen in the news and experi-enced
directly by the artists involved. Art about AIDS provides a key example.
AIDS began its destructive impact in the early 1980s, when the disease wasfirst
recognized and named. In the 1980s, before treatments had been developed and re-fined,
an AIDS diagnosis waslike a death sentence. Life was lived with that bell
tolling all the time, recalls writer Stephen Koch.2 The association of AIDS with
homosexual men at that time brought forth a wave of virulent homophobia. In re-sponse
to the crisis and to massivelosses from AIDS within the arts community,
numerous artists, including David Wojnarowicz, Keith Haring, and the art collec-tive
known as Gran Fury, put their art in the service of AIDS activism. Other arenas
12 that provided serious political content for contemporary art included feminist poli-tics
and issues of race, homelessness, corporate capitalism, consumerism, and
militarism.
The history of contemporary art is not entirely a story of young artists burst-ing
Expands

onto the scene with new ideas. Although many previously unknown artists
emerged after 1980, the presence and influence of older artists wasimportant as
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well. For example, Joseph Beuys died in 1986, Andy Warholin 1987, Louise Nevelson
Art
in 1988, Roy Lichtenstein in 1997, Agnes Martin in 2004, Allan Kaprow and Nam
June Paik in 2006, Robert Rauschenberg in 2008, and Louise Bourgeois in 2010.
The
Most of these were making vital work up until their deaths, so that even an art move-ment
such as pop art, which we normally associate with the 1960s, was evolving
within the ongoing production of the oeuvres of Warhol and Lichtenstein.
A retrospective exhibition of work by Bourgeois toured internationally in 20082009,
when the influential artist was ninety-six years old and still active. Ida
Applebroog (born 1929) remains active, with a 2015 solo gallery exhibition at age
eighty-six titled The Ethics of Desire,featuring new paintings offigures executed
in her distinctive simplified style [1-4].
Themes of Contemporary Art is not a chronological survey. The history of art
after 1980 is fantastically rich and involves many diverse stories, motivations, in-fluences,
ideas, and approaches. Attempting to maprecent art into a tight chrono-logical
structure of movements or even of collections of major artists would
misrepresent the contemporary period. Whereas the art world before 1980 is dis-tant
enough that we can perceive some sequence of trends (really multiple inter-secting
and interacting trends), more recent art practices are much more pluralistic
and amorphous in character. Many of the artists we discuss are in midcareer and
still defining their practices. As artist Haim Steinbach said (remembering the
1980s, although his statement applies to the entire contemporary period), I see
[the period] as an archipelago, in which different things were going on, on dif-ferent
islands. They were going on concurrently but not always moving in the
same direction.
 13

The

Art

World

1-4| Ida Applebroog| Installation

ofexhibit
TheEthics
of Desire
at Hauser
& Wirth,
New York City, 2015 Expands

Photo courtesy C. McDaniel

A Spectrumof VoicesEmerges
In the United States in the period just before this books focus, from the late 1960s
to the start of the 1980s, the rebellions and successes of the womens liberation
movement and the civil rights movement influenced art by opening up the stage to
more voices. These newly visible participants brought fresh ideas to the field, as well
as expanding ideas about means, media, and techniques for expressing those ideas.
Since 1980, the highly visible activism of LGBT artists has added more voices to the
mix. Although they have yet to achieve full equality in terms of income, influence,
prestige, and recognition, women and minority artists in the West have become
empowered and have had a majorinfluence on who makes art, what art is about, and
how art is viewed and interpreted. The collective imagination of what is possible in
art has opened up to acknowledge diversity.
In recent decades, artists have become more conscious of diversity internation-ally
as well as in their midst. For example, beginning about 1980, the US art world
once again turned its attention to artistic developments in Europe, after a preceding
era that was more insular. Subsequently, as a result of shifts in national borders,
regimes, and political and economic structures, artists from all over the world hav
 become widely known in Western Europe and North America, often because they
have emigrated, contributing to their visibility. Moreover, in the twenty-first cen-tury,
the Internet enabled a much broader international awareness of art develop-ments
in many places for those with Internet access.
The demographics of various parts of the world have changed dramatically since
1980. Just in the United States, the U.S. experienced a profound demographic shift
in the 1980s, with an influx of over 7 million immigrants from Latin America, the
Caribbean, and Asia. By 1990, 25 per cent of Americans (population 247 million)
claimed African, Asian, Hispanic, or Native American ancestry.4 Every year, across
the globe, the uprooting of vast numbers of people occurs in response to wars,
famines, ethnic violence, and economic pressures and opportunities. In an extreme
example, more than 4 million people havefled Syria since 2011 seeking asylum
in other countries; another 7.6 million have been internally displaced inside Syria.
Alterations in national boundaries and distributions of power are commonplace.
According to a 2010 study, Since 1960, more than half of the worlds 195 countries
have been bornor reborn.5
14 Artists and audiences outside the Westlikewise are paying attention to devel-opments
both within and far beyond their borders. New collectors and art dealers
are emerging all over the world, pulling the focus from Europe and the United
States as the centers of gravity. From 1980 onward, artists in Africa, Central and
Expands

South America, Asia, Australia, and the Pacific are gaining visibility on a world
stage. At the same time, national and regional issues are complicated by global con-nections:
World

diasporas connecting local communities with kin communities elsewhere

Art
in the world; shared inheritance of language or religious identity across borders;
networks forged by mass media and new communications technologies; and the
The
broader geopolitics of national and international politics and conflicts. Welive in an
internationalized world, in which people with different cultural knowledge are
meeting, mixing, and negotiating histories, definitions, and boundaries. Artists use
visual meansto convey positions or paradoxes about where cultures draw boundary
lines and what belongs on one side or the other.

Globalization
Today welive on a planet in which people in diverse societies, separated by geogra-phy
and ideology, nevertheless find themselves linked by powerful global connec-tions,
including far-reaching networks of global capital and information exchange.
Large international corporations control sizeable swathes of the worlds production
and commerce, and media conglomerates own the lions share of the news and en-tertainment
industries. Simultaneously, the Internet offers instant global access to
information and other users virtually anywhere, 24/7.
What are the effects of globalization? Consumer capitalism has made huge
strides in extending its reach to global markets. The collapse of the communist
system in the former Soviet Union and the economic rise of countries of the Pacific
Rim, especially China with its steps toward a more capitalist-style economy, have
opened up portions of the world that had been significantly insulated from capitalist
business practices. Meanwhile, multinational corporations and supranational economi
institutions such as the World Bank and World Trade Organization (WTO) are en-gaged
in activities that sometimes support and sometimes are in conflict with na-tional
interests. Systems of power now make up a globalized network that is not
centered (or policed) in any one country.
The emergence of a linked global society (linked both technologically and eco-nomically)
has not resulted in international unity and worldwide equality; indeed,
it is highly questionable whether any institution operating on a global scale can
possibly represent the political, cultural, or aesthetic interests of the diverse indi-viduals
in all countries. According to Stuart Hall, You see massive disparities of
access, of visibility, huge yawning gaps between who can and cant be represented in
any effective way.6 For example, not every person everywhere has access to com-puters
and the Internet, and thus technologies reinforce privilege and power for
those who are well connected to the flow of information.
The art world, not surprisingly, is affected by globalization. For starters, the art
world itself underwent major changes during the period covered in this text. Major
art centers lost some of their dominance as art activities became more decentralized.
The changed artistic landscape led to a significant cross-fertilization of ideas among 1
locations across the globe. Although New York City remained a primary destination
on the art world map, other urban centersincluding London, Tokyo, Shanghai, The

Dubai, Mumbai, Istanbul, Berlin, So Paulo, Johannesburg, and Havanaratcheted

Art

up their support and presentation of new art to such a degree that anyone who ex-pected
to remain knowledgeably informed felt pressure to research (and visit) cur-rent World

activities in these locations.

Although the cross-fertilization of ideas has been stimulating, the growth of a Expands

globalized art market hasincreased the disparity between the few who are well con-nected
and everyone else. International art fairs and biennial and triennial contem-porary
art survey exhibitions have proliferated and are held in numerous cities on
every continent, to the point at which they are nearly impossible to keep up with.7
Geographic mobility has become important, and artists, gallery dealers, critics, and
collectors who have the resources to participate in international events increase
their visibility and influence.
The directors and curators who select artists and orchestrate the international
events have remarkable status and power. Why should this be the case? Acclaimed
works of contemporary art do not pass through global channels of commerce in the
same way that most products are bought and sold. Artworks are, generally speak-ing,
unique and, therefore, uniquely owned. Power as potential purchasers is con-centrated
in a very small number of people of wealth. (In contrast, for a movie to
meet with commercial success, a large number of people must elect to purchase a
theater ticket or download it.)
Besidesissues of access and visibility, another issue is the potential for homog-enization
of culture. Onecould argue that globalization is dehumanizing people and
leveling out differences because it is bringing the same consumer products, images,
and information to everyone all over the world, including art that starts to look
alike no matter what part of the world an artist hails from. Critic Julia A. Fenton
asks, Has the explosion of international art expositions around the world, and the
mobility of artists from all cultures (either through the high art market or the
Internet) served to erase the particular in favor of the generalin style, content and
 theory? Doformal considerations again become primary when we have obliterated
cultural boundaries and posited a new universality?8
Nevertheless, many artists continue to produce art whose materials, techniques,
subjects, and forms appear to relate to local histories and identities. Such expressions of
cultural difference often are genuine and can serve as a form of resistance to globaliza-tion
by disrupting standardization. However, some of this kind of art is a simulation
of cultural difference, promoted by international capitalism because it is marketable.
Fredric Jameson, an important Marxist theorist, has pointed out the many contradic-tions
in globalization, such asthe argument about whether globalizing economic forces
prefer to market cultural sameness or difference. Jameson further points out the irony
that nationalism, once seen as driving European colonialism, is today espoused as a
model by formerly colonized people who want to resist forces of globalization.9
Artists have explored various issues and topics related to globalization, includ-16
ing the economic systems that leverage the global flow of capital, resources, infor-mation,
and workers. Spanish artist Santiago Sierra considers the situation of the
hourly laborer within global capitalism. Sierra is known for projects that involve
hiring laborers at their customary wage to complete pointless, unpleasant tasks,
often staged in art settings. For example, in 2000, he paid a person $10 an hour to
remain secluded for 360 continuous hours behind a brick wall erected at P.S.1 Con-temporary
Art in New York; in 2002, he paid day laborers in Morocco a minimum
Expands

wage to dig holes in an empty lot with shovels. One of Sierras concerns is the per-petual
underemployment of the worker who is also a refugee. His Workers who
cannot be paid, remunerated to remain inside cardboard boxes was
first shown in
World

Art
Berlin in 2000 [1-5]. (It has been restaged in other locations since.) At that time,
German law did not allow political refugees to earn money. Sierra paid six such in-dividuals
The
an hourly wage to sit inside small boxes displayed in a gallery.
Sierras artworks create provocative situations, situations that involve the people who
perform the art and the people who engage with the art as visitors to the gallery
display. The viewersomeone who has the luxury of attending an art exhibitionconfronts
his or her own role in supporting the economic structure that underpins the
hiring of someone to perform the menial art task the viewer is observing. This situa-tion
underscores that someone is so impoverished that he or she is willing to be hired
for this task, while the viewer is participating in validating the activity as art. More
empathetically, a viewer might consider how a body would feel crammed inside a card-board
box, remaining in such a position for hours. It is on this somatic level, involving
the viewers recognition of bodily discomfort, that the artwork achieves its full, dis-turbing
resonance. Weare all implicated, caught up in the web of unequal economic
power relations that force all of usto, literally, sell our bodies to the highest bidder.
Sierras works raise numerous issues about the distinction between art and
ethics. Is Sierra himself exploiting marginalized workers in order to create his art?
In an interview, the artist asserted, Well, I have been called an exploiter. At the
Kunst-Werke in Berlin they criticized mebecauseI had people sitting for four hours
a day, but they didnt realize that a little further up the hallway the guard spends
eight hours a day on his feet . . . when you put your name on the work it seems that
youre held responsible for the capitalist system itself.10
Simply put, awareness of international developments in art has madethe art
world more dynamic and complex. But globalization is not an unequivocal good
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 DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI

Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
 FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)

The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
 Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.

NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA

I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
 The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.

MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

 This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]

MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY

With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
 “We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
 Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
 BRAZIER

Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT

SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB

CUTTING THE EDGE

 FINISHING THE BOTTOM

LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING

FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

 LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE

TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL

NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
 Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK

DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG

REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

 BEATING THE BARK

WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT

MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN