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'Fortia (7), 2017 by Keyezua. Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

These Photographers From Africa and Its Diaspora Expose the Complex Link Between Black Stereotypes and Black Reality

"Refraction: New Photography of Africa and Its Diaspora" opens at Steven Kasher Gallery April 19 in NYC.

Refraction: New Photography of Africa and Its Diaspora is a photo exhibition that will present a generation of photographic artists of African descent born in the 1970s through the 1990s. Premiering on Thursday, April 19 at Steven Kasher Gallery in NYC, these 12 artists, who reside from all over the world, portray black bodies in acts of cultural meditation, revive the traditional African rites of masking, costuming, quilting, body ornamentation and invocation of spirits, through their work.


"They refract those rituals through the lenses of contemporary art practices such as performative self-portraiture, collage, montage and digital manipulation," the Gallery's press release states. "They merge cultures past and present, looking towards a more inclusive, harmonious future."

Cultural anthropologist and independent curator Niama Safia Sandy co-curated Refraction with Steven Kasher Gallery director Cassandra Johnson. Sandy says the aspect of the exhibit's name, "new photography of Africa and its diaspora," was intentional, as they wanted to authentically include the African diaspora when one hears of it in the art market, especially.

"City of Saints VIII, 2017" by Eyerusalem Jirenga. Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

"We could say 'black' because that's what it is, but it's really about showing these many facets of blackness and the way that identity is influenced across all these different geographical boundaries," Sandy says. "Whether it's because of [black] people being stolen, even despite all of that, we're all connected and we're all facing similar issues at this moment."

The works curated for Refraction are meant to bridge the gap between black stereotypes and black reality. The photos maneuver the complex relationship between innate identities and identities that have grown from social, political and cultural influences. "On a technical level, these artists are heralds of new dimensions and photography, bending, transmuting and pushing the medium," the Gallery says.

The photographs in this exhibit range from Afro-futurism and Afro-documentary, as they reclaim and re-connect a multitude of black histories and identities.

Refraction runs from April 19 and concludes on June 2 with an artist talk. Sandy also highlights four artists in the exhibit you can't miss. Take a look below.

Adama Delphine Fawundu (2018 OkayAfrica 100 Women Honoree)

"The Sacred Star of Isis" by Adama Delphine Fawundu. Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

"Her work of late has been phenomenal. Your jaw will drop on the floor when you see it person. Her approach to her practice at the moment is really a good encapsulation of thinking about how nationalistic identities, ethnographic identities and more combine to present black people as they are now. Her parents are from Equatorial Guinea and Sierra Leone respectively, she grew up in Brooklyn; exposed to lots of different people from the diaspora. These ideas are very much present in her work."

Stan Squirewell

"King Kane" by Stan Squirewell. Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

"His family is partially from Barbados, and through his practice, he's exploring the idea of what we would be like if not all of us were taken across the Atlantic on slave ships. He asks, 'What if we've been here for quite some time?" He's done an extensive amount of research on how indigenous peoples were described in texts written in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, and they're almost all described as being very, very dark people. What if we could imagine, via an image, people who have existed in this very cosmopolitan state, but are very black, dark and have features that look like yours or mine, and people who are dressed in an opulent way but are also clearly black?"

Ivan Forde

"The Birth of Enkidu" by Ivan Forde. Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

"I'm kind of obsessed with Ivan—he's incredible. Instead of utilizing the regular photograph approach, he uses cyanotype, which is a chemical process wherein you're exposing an object with sunlight, versus the traditional approach of how the lens captures images on film or digitally. His hands are literally more involved in his practice, as well as his body. It's a much more time consuming process with cyanotype, as well as his silkscreen process. He creates these tapestries of a character called Enkidu from the epic poem of Gilgamesh. He's, in his own words, trying to breach temporal, geographical and other boundaries. It's very much a performative work. Cyanotype is a very specific blue, and for me, I think about how people would make fun of very dark people as 'blue black,' and how we fit into a creation myth and breakout whatever has been taught to us at this point about who we are, who we've been and where we've been—how do you actually create new stories around that?"

Émilie Régnier

"Mme Faye" by Émilie Régnier. Image courtesy of Image courtesy of Steven Kasher Gallery.

"Émilie is a Canadian-Haitian photographer who lives in Paris at the moment. In her series, Leopard, she's again trying to mess with those tropes that people have placed upon Africa in terms of what they expect to see and the narratives that they expect to be explored. She creates these images in her series that you wouldn't expect when one thinks, 'How would leopard appear on the continent? What would someone be wearing that's not a loincloth?' People are wearing different variations of it, but they're regular people, going about their day or in their home or dressed to go out. She's giving a face to regular people. The woman photographed is looking straight at the camera with beautiful skin—a wonderful encapsulation of who she is without us mentioning her economic or social status."

For more information on 'Refraction', visit Steven Kasher Gallery's website here.

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Collage by Ta'Ron Joyner

I Would Rather Breathe Than Think Outside the Box

South African artists were already working for little to no pay, but the pandemic has unleashed a flood of exploitative work requests right when we need money the most.

This essay is part of OkayAfrica's SA Reframed series, featuring personal writing from some of South Africa's best young writers edited by Verashni Pillay.

On the radio the other day, I heard a small business owner of a costume design company being interviewed and asked how they have managed to:

a. Reinvent themselves during this period, and

b. Think outside the box while doing so.

Their conversation made me think about how I have not managed to wrap my head around any sort of future, or reinvention outside any kind of box—beyond the one that wraps itself around my immediate reality. When the lockdown was announced, three friends and I withdrew to a remote area where internet access was dubious and, most times, simply not available. I would need to walk a bit of a distance to locate a spot under a tree or up a mountain to be connected for thirty minutes, or so.

Then I would do a basic comb through my emails and respond to work or requests that were already underway pre-lockdown. I only responded to new requests that either afforded me the opportunity to earn an income or those that allowed me to be productive on my own terms.

I was tired, lowkey grateful for the global pause, and no longer interested in the overly productive, overloaded nature of my previous normal. Something about the forced halt made me realise that I was on the edge of everything—myself included. I turned down anything that required me to join the endless online festivals, zoom panel discussions, Instagram takeovers and live readings. I refused all opportunities that needed me to grapple with any sort of forced normalcy. The ones that offered data or airtime or solidarity as compensation or assumed that I had gone pro bono. I needed a moment. I needed the space and time to re-bargain with the point of it all.

The pause was both useful and scary. It brought to the surface fears and revelations about the shortfalls of our industry and how creatives are positioned within the productivity machinery and economy of South Africa, or rather all the ways we fall outside of it.

As Minister of employment and labour Thulas Nxesi mentioned in a briefing two months ago, "On the issue of freelance workers—unfortunately with the current legislation they fall outside. Maybe what we are going to do is that after this we will have to re-look at it in terms of our legislative amendments and start a debate about that." Why are there laws that have gone unchallenged? Who should be challenging them? Why are artists hearing, out loud for the first time, of convenient loopholes that render us outside of an economy that taxes us like everyone else, and consumes us and our work. Yet, in times of crisis, this same economy engages with our art and our productivity and our products, but still deems us on the margin, outside, and non-essential. If we are not assisted financially, how can we be productive, how can we acquire the resources to produce? How can we apply our minds to anything else outside of survival and scrambling to stay afloat.

Pandemics do not mean that artists have gone pro bono

When you approach an artist with the assumption that they have gone pro bono during this time, when you draft an email to request a collaboration, a commission, a participation, a productivity of any kind, please bear in mind that artists are up against an unconcerned and corrupt government that has failed to provide aid and assistance to their sector during this time.

Theatre critic Sara Holdren says "Art is hard and most of it fails—either in small ways or catastrophic ones." In South Africa, the process of making art is hard, sure, but more than that, the conditions and the context in which we make work fails us in catastrophic ways that will require more than a debate and amended legislation. It will need, for starters, a minister who cares about the arts and understands its soul and mechanisms. This pause has brought about more questions and concerns for me than inspiration to reinvent or think outside the box. I have questions about the box itself and why I feel asphyxiated and trapped by its design.

I would rather breathe than think outside of the box

This pandemic has made me question what my career, livelihood and stability have been built on; what has been propping them up all this time, and what has been allowing me to appear valued and valuable in this economy? What does and will the spectrum of value look like in a normal that has been disrupted and now sits in a near distant future that may or may not be near?

Then I find myself vacillating between hope and concern. My hope is that when the pandemic is no longer with us, artists can have a come-to-jesus conversation about what has contributed and exacerbated this attitude and disrespect toward our practice and industry, I hope we can challenge the legislations that we have been dared to challenge, I hope we can be productive in ways that serve us and make sense for our well-being, that we will be paid our worth and that our society will realize that without the artist producing, there will be no art, or music, or films, or books and things that have kept people entertained and creatively nourished during this time.

My concern is that the "free"content artists are currently creating and the free access to art or performances, will not make this realisation possible, and that this kind of access, that was already undervalued and exploited, will be irreversible. The exploitation dialogue is tiring. Being treated as non-essential is tiring and terrifying too, and while most of the world can slowly start going back to work, most artists will probably have to hang tight until 2021, maybe even 2022.

While artists deal with a hoax of an arts and culture department that is dead to us and a minister who tweets more than he does his job, in an ideal world, I wish that artists could afford to indulge uncertainty, and fear, and pause, in ways that allow them to heed the call made by Nicholas Berger in his piece The Forgotten Art of Assembly [Or, Why Theatre Makers Should Stop Making] "We must lean into this pain. We must feel the grief. We must mourn. Mourn the loss of work, the loss of jobs, the loss of money, the loss of life. Mourn the temporary loss of an art form that demands assembly. Lean into the grief. Lean in. Lean in. Lean in. We must remind ourselves that mourning is a human act, not a digital one."

Koleka Putuma is an award-winning poet, playwright and theatre director. Her bestselling debut collection of poems Collective Amnesia is in its 10th print run and her play No Easter Sunday for Queers Sunday for Queers won several awards.

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