Every once in a while I happen to visit someone’s home or office and notice their collection of African tribal art, and I can’t help but question the appropriateness of it. Sure, the masks and figurines are visually appealing. The approach to symbolism and use of negative space are so different from the European-style art we’re used to, that you can’t help but be drawn. Even Picasso was fascinated by the the art he found on his trips to Africa, so much so that he mimicked some of the elements in later work. (That’s right, ya’ll. Picasso was down with the aesthetic swirl.) Still, I am wary of bringing tribal art pieces into western decor because, well, sometimes it isn’t supposed to be art at all.
The fact is, what is referred to as tribal art is often more like “found objects” in the sense that it wasn’t created with the intention of serving as an art piece, but someone found it and decided to hang it up somewhere because of its visual appeal and, perhaps, the statement it makes out of context. This has nothing to do with its original function. At times, this countervailes its original function. There’s something a bit suspect about using a fertility goddess as a paperweight. I know that original tribal artifacts, or authentic-looking facsimilles thereof, are often sold by industrious African merchants capitalizing on Stuff White People Like. Yet, the fact that Africans are willing to hustle to make ends meet doesn’t make it any easier for me to see replica Igbo ceremonial masks in Pier1. Even more unsettling for me is when people collect the real ones. Now you have a village god nailed to the wall above the cat’s litter box.
To be fair, you have no reason to find me credible. I failed Art History and slept through African American Studies. I have only a little bit of knowledge about where different pieces come from and what they mean but no personal attachment to any of it. While I was contemplating this essay and the sources of my unease, I realized that my opinion certainly isn’t the most relevant. So I grabbed an African and asked him.
He explained to me that there are some pieces sold in mass that everyone accepts as decorative, while there are others that are supposed to be sacred. Because, over time, the export of sacred artifacts robbed so many believers of their spiritual objects, they shifted their focus to immovable things like mountains. Now many people feel as though their traditions have survived the violation of trade because the spirit still lives on in holy places, which are not so easily taken. Of course, this is one man’s take on things. Certainly their are other voices, other perspectives.
And perspective is important. No, I don’t expect white urban hipsters to start respecting the religious rites of far-away villages more than they do their own sense of fashion. I can’t see myself blaming someone for liking to have something in their house because it looks cool and goes with the loveseat. But I can’t help but wonder if appropriating someone’s culture to brighten up your foyer would be possible if you truly understood what it means to them? Does it require a certain level of disrespect, or at least disinterest to exoticize a person’s life in that way? Can I use the Bible as a coaster? A crucifix as a coat hook? May I purchase the wedding veils of dead brides from their bereaved widowers because they would make bitchin’ curtains?
Or perhaps the significance of an object ends when it leaves its owner. Living in Philadelphia, I noticed that alongside the large population of Muslims who still adhere to strict dress codes (hijab, full length dishdasha, etc.) there are non-Muslim black women in head-wraps and men in 5x white tees. Coincidence? ‘Fraid not. We see, we like, we copy. Maybe that’s inevitable, and if people find it offensive it’s only because they are sensitive, since the trivialization of their culture is only part of a larger system of oppression. Maybe everybody’s sprinkling salt, but only the wounded feel it burn.
I can’t call it. I’m just sayin’.
