Art During Crisis

In turbulent times, art won’t save us; but it can serve as a guide.

That is the message of the two art books that are bookends for my summer.

A Black History of Art by Alayo Akinkugbe is a recent publication in which the author “delves into the portrayal of Black figures in Western art, explores Blackness within museum spaces, and examines curatorial practices.”

In June, I was able to experience the power of Alayo Akinkugbe’s book by attending a 5-week, online course hosted by Black Blossoms, UK and given by the author who earned her degrees at both Cambridge and Courtauld Institute of Art.

The audience was as diverse as the art, with participants hailing from the African Continent, Europe, and the Americas.

Imagining Black Diasporas: 21st Century Art and Poetics by Dhyandra Lawson et al was published at the end of last year. This book captures the essence of the exhibit I saw in August at Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Likewise, it “illuminates aesthetic connections among established and emerging US–based artists in dialogue with artists working in Africa, the Caribbean, South America and Europe.”

Why my interest in these books?

Art continues to strengthen my interpretation of the Black diaspora and Pan Africanism. The Black diaspora crosses over international borders and various continents, and it communicates in various languages. Visual art is one of the most accessible avenues for interacting across differences because we might not be able to read the foreign language of the novel or understand the foreign language and accent in a song. Art is visual and immediate. It invites us to interact instantaneously with themes and motifs that crisscross the Black and Pan African experience.

I’m grateful for the connections art spurs me to make, whether in art galleries, via social media, or in excellent books such as these.

The LA Opera and Memories of Fascism: Federico Garcia Lorca, Neruda, Hemingway

Would you flee a fascist state?

Given the current state of US political affairs, I was left to ponder that question as I watched the LA Opera production of “Ainadamar” at the Dorothy Chandler Pavillon downtown. In the opera, the character who plays actress Margarita Xirgu tries to convince her friend Federico García Lorca – a poet, playwright, and theater director — to flee Spain as the country hurdles towards civil war. She goes into exile, but the poet refuses to leave. Xirgu then engages with the audience to tell the tragedy surrounding García Lorca’s last days during the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939.

Why Federico García Lorca?

Upon hearing about this opera, I was compelled to see it. As I state in my hybrid memoir manuscript, I first learned about Federico García Lorca at age sixteen when my AP Spanish Literature teacher introduced me to two poets who had a lasting impact on my own bilingual poetry – García Lorca and Pablo Neruda.

García Lorca is the most prominent Spanish writer of the early twentieth century. Born in 1898 in Granada, Spain and assassinated in 1936, his literary influences were futurism, symbolism, and surrealism. While doing recent research on his life, I realized authorities have given various reasons for his death. Most prominent amongst them is the fact that he was gay and a socialist in a country that was moving further and further to the right.

Was the Spanish Civil War a proxy war?

I am a fan of hybrid memoir, so literature inevitably leads me to history. Because I read the book The Red Flag by David Priestland a few years ago, I reflected on the historical context of the opera as I watched the L.A. production. From Priestland, I learned how the far right in Spain gained more popularity as Hitler consolidated power in and around Germany. Before World War II, Spain, France, and Chile had formed popular front governments to combat fascism. The Spanish left had one of the most successful popular fronts – communists, socialists, and left liberals — in the Western world, and they won the 1936 election.

Regrettably, the leftist victory of the Spanish Popular Front was short lived because General Francisco Franco staged a coup in 1936, the year García Lorca was assassinated. The country endured three torturous years of civil war fought not only by its citizens but also by volunteers from over fifty countries. The fascist governments of Germany and Italy supported Franco while Stalin sent arms to the political left.

While doing recent research, I learned new details about the quickly shifting politics of 1930’s Spain. I knew from Priestland that Picasso became a card-carrying communist during the civil war era. But I also discovered that Chilean poet and Nobel Laureate Pablo Neruda was on diplomatic duty in Spain where he met García Lorca. Like Picasso, Neruda became radicalized as a communist, but he also lost his diplomatic post due to his beliefs. The Chilean poet also met Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo and attended the 1937 Second International Writers Conference that Hemingway attended.

Despite the valiant efforts of the leftist resistance and the toil of a civil war that cut short 500,000 lives, the General gained control of the country. Franco banned García Lorca’s writing until 1953 — interestingly, the year Joseph Stalin died — and maintained his dictatorship until 1975.

A surprise for me was learning that after many years of tragic war and decades of dictatorship, García Lorca’s remains have never been found.

The LA Opera’s production of “Ainadamar” — conducted by Lina González-Granados of Colombia and choreographed by Antonio Najarro of Spain – was excellent. I appreciate how it put this history and García Lorca’s art on a Los Angeles stage for us to remember and reflect on the importance of resisting the destruction and dehumanization of far-right politics.

Descarado Brasil

Estimado Brasil:

(Policía, Ejército, Falange)

 

Entre maneras menos flagrantes para matar a Marielle Franco existía la posibilidad del suicidio de sus antepasados Africanos.  Durante su esclavizada travesía marítima, ellos podrían lanzarse a las profundidades del Átlantico en forma de cadaveres de alga marina y la semilla de Marielle nunca se hubiera establecida en tierra brasileña.

O sus progenitores podrían ser los primeros en rebelarse a la manera de Haití y el capital mundial unido con el imperio la condenarían lentamente, dejandola con hambre y acusandola por su propia escasez.

En nuestros tiempos podrían sofocar a su papá por traspasar en cualquier calle pública dejandola a ella en un remolino de agitación para protestar su asesinato sólo para morirse ella misma sofocada y asfixiada.

Podrían regalarse a su hijo una pistola plástica para divertirse solito en el parque y después apurarse Usted mismo a la escena del crimen aniquilando a ella y a su descendencia.

Finalmente, podrían detener a su carro por una violación de tráfico arrastrandola a la cárcel para acusar a la acusada de ahorcarse y matarse.

En cambio, a Marielle Franco la mataron cuando iba manejando Negra, asesinada junto con su conductor Anderson Pedro Gomes.

Su única defensa los votos que la eligieron Concejal Municipal.  Su voz que denunciaba el racismo, lo opresión, y la injusticia.  Su entendimiento que analizaba y relacionaba.

 

Desvergonzado Brasil:

(Policía, Ejército, Falange)

Nosotros perdimos.

Usted Extingue.

 

-Translated from the English by Audrey Shipp.

-Traducida del Íngles por Audrey Shipp