Kara Walker Traces Slavery’s Bitter Legacy With New Ways of Drawing

A detail of “Dante (Free from the Burden of Gender or Race)” by Kara Walker. CreditJake Naughton for The New York Times

After the triumphant “Sugar Baby,” the artist
pushes her incendiary art into the present, merging
collage, political cartoons and history painting.


By ROBERTA SMITHSEPT. 7, 2017

Like most outstanding artists, Kara Walker is unrelenting. In a press statement for her latest show at Sikkema Jenkins & Co., she wrote in her familiar, mock-serious yet dead-serious tone that she was “tired of ‘having a voice’ or worse ‘being a role model’ ” and of “being a featured member of my racial group and/or gender niche.” But Ms. Walker’s desire to stand down from the demands of her particular brand of fame has not made her stand down in her art, which is as disturbing and challenging as ever, if not more so.Continue reading the main story
Photo


“The (Private) Memorial Garden of Grandison Harris,” with Sumi ink on paper collaged to linen with oil stick, is part of Ms. Walker’s new show at Sikkema Jenkins in Manhattan. CreditJake Naughton for The New York Times


Honing more insistently to her longtime theme — the bitter legacy of slavery in the United States — the works in this assured exhibition unequivocally enter new territory. Narratively, they land solidly where Ms. Walker has only lightly tread: the remorseless, racialized American present, which is suffused with the death rattle of white male domination and its multiple bigotries. Visually they find the artist returning fully to two dimensions after her triumphal public sculpture, “A Subtlety, or the Marvelous Sugar Baby,” the monumental and vexatious sugarcoated woman-sphinx of 2014. Now she is pushing with new rigor at the boundaries of her primary medium and material — drawing and paper — merging collage, political cartoon and history painting, and this gives her story line more force.

The show is a brawl of works on paper that has as much the feeling of a studio visit as an exhibition. Coming in various shapes and sizes — worked with Sumi ink, charcoal or watercolor — the paper is cut, torn and collaged, sometimes to canvas or raw linen the shade of tobacco, often with quantities of black paint and sometimes bits of color

Ms. Walker’s “Christ’s Entry into Journalism,” sumi ink and collage on paper. The images here are not exclusively contemporary — note a man resembling the abolitionist Frederick Douglass in the lower left corner — but they implicate current events. The work measures 151 by 191 inches.CreditSikkema Jenkins & Co., New York


The show’s centerpiece is the enormous “Christ’s Entry into Journalism” (2017) an 11 by 18 foot collage crowded with over 80 ink drawings of heads and figures. Its title echoes numerous historical depictions of “Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem,” the biblical event preceding his betrayal, trial, death and resurrection; but perhaps journalism’s death and resurrection is the main point. The images here are not exclusively contemporary — note a man resembling the abolitionist Frederick Douglass in the lower left corner — but they implicate current events. Across the top of the piece a rebus depicts a rope salesman, a white farmer with a noose, a lynched figure and a Ku Klux Klan member whose parted robe reveals a figure in a suit and an extra-long tie who could be construed as the current occupant of the White House.

More prominent images evoke Civil Rights protesters; a Confederate flag and an arm raised in a Nazi salute; a policeman in riot gear pursuing a protester with a turkey leg and a cellphone; and Batman, carrying a figure wrapped as a mummy whose swollen black face may or may not refer to Emmett Till. At the center, a bare-chested black man raises his chained hands prayerfully. Nearby the severed head of a young black man in a hoodie is seen, upright, on a tray carried by a white woman, like Salome with the head of John the Baptist. More than ever, Ms. Walker’s work piles personages, events and possible interpretations before us, daring us to face her reality — and ours.

The Joys and Terrors of an Outsider Artist

While Susan Te Kahurangi King has never consciously worked in or against a fine art tradition, her work is surely original.
Susan Te Kahurangi King, Untitled (1966-67), 7 5/8″ x11″. (All images courtesy of Marlborough Contemporary.)

LONDON – “A certain strangeness,” wrote Walter Pater, “is an element in all true works of art.” The hermetic worlds depicted by many so-called outsider artists can be beautiful in their strangeness, but also suffocating, as if governed by a tyrannical logic. Think of the dizzying perspectives of Martin Ramirez, or the obsessive cartography of Adolf Wölfli. They are like medieval illuminations of private religions.

By contrast, the drawings of Susan Te Kahurangi King (b. 1951) feel closer in spirit to Henry Darger or Bill Traylor, two very different artists in whose work a sense of joy has survived the transition to a realm of private symbolism. At its best, her work is buoyant, varied, and, while often sinister, saturated with pleasure. It rewards extended looking. Its vibrant color gives it a wish-fulfilling aura.
Susan Te Kahurangi King, Untitled, c. 1966-1967 graphite, colored pencil and ink on found paper 10 1/8 x 8 in.

King is severely autistic, and has not spoken since the age of 5. She started to draw very early and has continued for much of her life, stopping around the late 1980s and resuming in 2009. Family members have always encouraged her art. Already well known in her local community in Auckland, New Zealand, only recently has the wider world taken notice of her talent. The illustrator Gary Panter made important efforts to showcase her work in the U.S., and Chris Byrne has put together shows at New York’s Andrew Edlin Gallery (2015) and now London’s Marlborough Contemporary. Both shows have focused mainly on drawings from the 1960s and ’70s.

Her scattered, surging compositions often include figures based on Disney and Warner Brothers characters, while many of the drawings at Marlborough feature the Fanta Man, a character from a soft drink advertisement. (Originally a flat, static icon, she brings him to life, portraying him from many angles.) The way in which the paper surface is treated as a flat expanse to be filled in recalls the look of children’s art. Closer attention reveals a sophisticated ability to manipulate space in original ways. A field of body parts can loom up like a wave, or remind us of a Tiepolo ceiling in which angels are massed at the edges of clouds. The twists and convolutions to which her figures are subjected alter the space around them, denying flatness and creating a dynamic force that energizes the page. Her compositions can be as lush as those of Arshile Gorky, or as subtle as a Jasper Johns. She is always experimenting.
Susan Te Kahurangi King, Untitled (c. 1965-1975), 6 7/8″ x 6 3/8 in.

Alex Katz once defined originality as “a combination of being inside your own head and responding to everything outside… it’s the combination of the two that makes something original.” What’s “outside” might be subject matter, one’s medium, artistic precedents, and culture in general. While it’s probably fair to say that King has never consciously worked in or against a fine art tradition, her work is surely original, and looking at it is a refreshing experience. Is she an “outsider artist”? To acknowledge a tradition, even in order to reject it, might be what makes one an “insider.”

And yet we are all, to some extent, insiders if we speak a shared language. And we are also outsiders, not quite at home in the language we inherit. King might be less at home in verbal language than most, and yet her concerns suggest an interest in the world as much as in the possibilities of her medium. For the psychoanalytic writer Marion Milner, art becomes more than therapy when it demonstrates respect for the independent integrity of its symbols, giving us renewed insight into whatever aspect of the world it pictures. The fact that King’s interests and imagery have overlapped with those of her mainstream contemporaries (whose work she had no way of seeing) is fascinating; her works teaches us something about the peculiar appeal of anthropomorphic cartoon animals.
Susan Te Kahurangi King, Untitled, 1966-67, graphite and coloured pencil on found board, 16 1/4 x 13 in.

Her treatment of various cartoon ducks is a reminder that all communication originates in the body, in its actions and passions, affects that must be cathected onto objects or surrogates if they are to be tamed and integrated. These figures appear riven by nameless forces, twisted this way and that, gesticulating wildly, dismembered, or literally tied up in knots. There’s implicit wisdom in King’s choice of classic cartoon characters as vehicles for pre-linguistic affect, recognition of something in their structure that speaks to the early experience of omnipotence, of the childish or regressive body. When Peter Saul or Markus Lüpertz were drawn to Donald Duck (at the same time as King) they were likely responding to similar qualities. But King foregrounds those qualities exceptionally well. Her use of Donald feels less like an obsessive preoccupation than a fruitful engagement. Her confident line draws attention to the way the brim of his cap echoes the Moebius-like convolutions of his beak; in one drawing the beak is a floating object, symmetrical and self-contained – a beak without a duck.

Besides other visual artists, the most compelling connection for me is with a contemporaneous poem by John Ashbery, in which Popeye “heaves bolts of loving thunder / At his own astonished becoming” (“Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape,” 1927). What is it about cartoons that might have inspired such startling, masochistic imagery?

Gary Panter believes King’s approach is basically observational, that what she draws is a version of what she actually sees. Maybe she sees these things because her perception is unusually free from the utilitarian demands that filter and focus our ordinary experience. If this evokes Dubuffet’s glamorizing of the raw and unfiltered, I would only add that it’s her use of the limiting schema provided by cartoon imagery that has made that overwhelmingly complex inner activity communicable, or perhaps given it enough structure to be seen. Whether it is a question of autonomous visions which she transfers to the page, or of a creative use of symbols similar to an “ordinary” artistic practice, we can only speculate.
Susan Te Kahurangi King, Untitled (2 Sept 1965), 8 1/4″ x 10 3/4″.

During Tate Modern’s 2013 Global Pop symposium much of the discussion concerned the emergence, during the 20th century, of a worldwide “monoculture,” particularly in the visual field. How has the international dissemination of American iconography from the 20th century onwards threatened local particularities and differences? King’s work, coming from the time and place it does, inevitably looks like a commentary on this phenomenon (no less than, say, the early collages of Scottish Pop artist Eduardo Paolozzi). The insights her work provides could be compared to those of Sergei Eisenstein, who traveled to the United States in 1930, where he met Walt Disney. Eisenstein was immensely enthusiastic about Disney’s creations, which he saw as constituting a modern revival of animism with deep roots in mythical thought. “How much (imaginary!) divine omnipotence there is in all this!” he wrote, “What magic of reconstructing the world according to one’s fantasy and will! … And you see how the drawn magic of a reconstructed world had to arise at the very summit of a society that had completely enslaved nature – namely, America.” Whatever conflicting energies found expression within the popular visual culture of the 20th century, King has embodied them in her turn, and in the process illuminated them for us.



Susan Te Kahurangi King continues at Marlborough Contemporary (6 Albemarle Street, London, UK) through July 1.

[Die Farbe] tendiert dazu, eine Realität an sich zu werden

Jacques Rancière exemplifiziert das am Beispiel der Farbe: „In einem ethischen Regime wird die Farbe oft mit einem symbolischen Wert assoziiert. Im Regime der Repräsentation wird sie in der Hierarchie der Zeichnung untergeordnet. Das ästhetische Regime bricht mit dieser Unterordnung des kolorierten Stoffes unter die gezeichnete Form. Dabei modifiziert es die sinnliche Wahrnehmung der Farbe selbst … [Die Farbe] tendiert dazu, eine Realität an sich zu werden, ein Ereignis des Stoffs. Sie gilt für sich selbst …“[14] Analoges gilt natürlich auch für die Entwicklung der Musik, wie Rancière hervorhebt; auch hier entstand eine Musik, die keiner Funktion dient.
Rancière, Jacques (2008): Ist Kunst widerständig?, a.a.O., S. 44

Penny Siopis

Mo, 26. Jan 2015, 20 Uhr

William Blake, Nebukadnezar

Penny Siopis ist eine der bekanntesten Filmemacherinnen und Künstlerinnen Südafrikas. Sie spricht im Rahmen einer Kooperation mit den 16. dresdener schmalfilmtagen am 25. Januar im Kunsthaus Dresden mit der Kuratorin Sophie Goltz über ihr Gesamtwerk. Neben ihren filmischen Arbeiten, die während der 16. dresdner schmalfilmtage am 23. Januar vorgestellt werden, ist die vielseitige Künstlerin für ihre Werke in Malerei, Fotografie und Installation bekannt. Durch ihre künstlerische Auseinandersetzung mit afrikanischer Geschichte und Erinnerung gilt sie als wichtige Analytikerin von Rassen- und Genderfragen. Mit ihrer Kunst kritisiert sie seit den 1980er Jahren auf deutliche und dennoch subtile Weise die Folgen des Kolonialismus und des Apartheidsregimes. Häufig stehen Frauenfiguren im Zentrum ihres Interesses, wie beispielsweise in der Ende der 1980er Jahre entstandenen Fotoarbeit über Saartjie Baartman. Die Südafrikanerin Bartman wurde als Khoi-San Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts auf Völkerschauen in Europa präsentiert. Von ihrem Körper wurden Abgüsse gemacht, er selbst nach ihrem Tod ausgestopft und fand Eingang in Museumssammlungen. Andere Arbeiten von Siopis beschäftigen sich weiter mit der Suche nach Widerstand gegen das Patriarchat, zu sehen in einer Reihe von Publikationen über Dora – einer der Patientinnen, denen Sigmund Freud Hysterie diagnostizierte. Seit dem Ende der Apartheid ist Scham das zentrale Thema ihrer Arbeiten. Sie verbindet dabei persönliche Erinnerungen mit kollektiven Erfahrungen und befragt kritisch die gesellschaftliche Gegenwart in Südafrika.

Louise von Panhuys

Ansicht der Plantage Neist an Beyt und des Commevina Flusses / Louise von Panhuys

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Ansicht der Plantage Nut und Schadelik mit dem großen CanCan-Baum mit Schmarozerpflanzen und Auswüchsen, der Baum wird von den Negern in der Nacht als [...]

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Ansicht des Landungsplatzes der Plantage Alcmar mit einem Otahiti-Brodbaum, einem Mope-Baum mit Vogelnestern und alten Tafelbäumen / Louise von Panhuy [...]

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Zwei Wilde auf Surinam eine schwarze Mullatin mit footsboy / Louise von Panhuys

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Neger Tanz in Surinam / Louise von Panhuys

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Ornament Plates: Jean Berain (French, Saint-Mihiel 1640–1711 Paris)