Art Worlds in Ghana

I’ve told you plenty about our program for Nima: Muhinmanchi Art, but not so much about our artist coordinators, Yussif Aminu Larry and Musah Swallah. As we work behind-the-scenes on organizing the second annual Nima: Muhinmanchi Art, let me tell you a bit about our coordinators and their impressive work.

They are two of the most dedicated, generous, and proactive people I have ever met…from their tireless work arranging for supplies, running workshops, and building a team; to always accompanying me on the twenty minute walk to the tro-tro car home; to insisting on buying my mango when I was in their home turf…to their current efforts at planning for our next program amidst all their school and professional work. Which is not even to mention their beautiful and innovative artwork. Read on, check out the Facebook album, and LIKE Nima: Muhinmanchi Art, facebook.com/nimaart.gh. Tell us what you think on the Facebook page!

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The community art project is coming along.

We’re holding it in Nima cause the JAC started there, and because it’s a pretty poor area that doesn’t get much art, and we’d like to bring it there. Ato and Adwoa from the Foundation for Contemporary Art (FCA) recommended some young, community-oriented artists from Nima to get in touch with, Larry Aminu and Musah Swallah. I met them last night at Larry (Otoo)’s talk at Nubuke (which was wonderful, by the way). They were on board practically before we started talking. Today they took me around the streets of Nima for us to pick a spot.

Larry Aminu

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Wiz Kudowor was perhaps the gruffest of the artists I met, but he warmed up as we kept talking. Walking into his studio was like a dream come true for an art geek like me. He has huge canvases of abstract figures, cityscapes, and adinkra symbols. His work has a textured airbrushed effect, because he uses rollers to create the shapes and layers, and a knife to sharpen the edges. He has a number of favorite subjects or “types” of paintings, one of which is a quilt made out of squares of color. Curves of blanket bend and wave, and two embracing figures emerge from under the depths.

Wiz does not say much in person. He prefers to let his art speak for itself. (“But shouldn’t I get something in return for traveling all the way to your studio?” He smiled but stayed silent.) Wiz did, however, let me look at an interview he had in a Nubuke Foundation pamphlet from his recent exhibition there. (It’s not unusual that he was at Kofi’s place — the artists are all buddies. The show Kofi was going to display cancelled last minute, and Wiz stepped in.)

In that interview, at least, Wiz had plenty of sharp words to share. “Right now,” he said, “it looks like we wait for certain westerners to come and ‘discover’ some artists in the country; then they suddenly become canonized and then the discussions start revolving around them. What are we doing ourselves? We have such a huge storehouse of talent in Ghana, but what are we doing about it? Ghanaian art is probably not making waves internationally because we’re not adventurous enough” (Bernard Akoi-Jackson, March 2010).

I couldn’t agree more.

As quiet as Wiz was, he was happy to show me his work. He let me pull out all his paintings, from the tiny ones piled against the windows to the huge ones packed in by the wall. He had me take them all the way out so I could have a full look; he lined up diptychs and triptychs properly.

As I was getting ready to leave, I took out a small square of canvas I’d admired. It was painted blue with brushed shades of purple. “I’d be interested in buying this piece from you, if you’d be willing to sell it and it weren’t too expensive,” I said.

Sitting in his chair by the window, Wiz breathed in and out. He looked at the wall, then he turned and said, “It’s yours. Let me sign it for you.”

Kofi Setordji runs the Nubuke Foundation out in East Legon. It sits on a gorgeous property outside of the hustle and bustle of Accra. He has a sleek white-walled gallery, a stage for performances and readings, and a grassy seating area scattered with sculptures. A popsicle-orange bar functions during events, and murals line the gallery building and stage.

Kofi hosts artist discussions every first Sunday. He brings local artists into the gallery. He works with students at the university who become not just his students but also his collaborators. They write the articles in his Art Focus publication; they made the mural behind the stage. His student Kobe sat down to chat with me about how the colors are complementary, but the contrasting shapes represent the stratus of roles in society.

When I visited, Kofi was overseeing renovations of the grounds. “The stone should go here,” he was instructing. “Is the sign done?” We went out to inspect it, and he put a finger to the words “record.preserve.promote.” It was freshly dry. He smiled.

I didn’t see much of Kofi’s work, just one Picasso-like painting displayed by some couches outside the gallery. Kofi does more mixed media than his contemporaries. He is known for Genocide Monument, a sculpture piece that recalls Rwanda, of thousands of terracotta faces in the dirt. It is currently in Berlin. Indeed, most of Kofi’s work is elsewhere, or in his home. The Nubuke Foundation is focused on promoting and fostering other artists of Ghana, not himself.

Kofi's student Kobe, at the mural he helped paint. Later Kobe met up with me and gave me a painting he made.

Kofi is a busy man, but he took time off to take me to a nearby spot and chat with me about the art world, Ghanaian and American society, love, marriage, and everything in between. He has traveled the world and knows a lot about American culture. He challenged me with statistics from Michael Moore movies, and when I commented on Ghana’s waste management, he shot back at me with facts on America’s (which I agree with – America’s waste management is terrible too, in different ways). Kofi is a free thinker. He disagrees with many traditional Ghanaian ways of marriage and religion. He also cares very much about being kind and a good person. He has a general feeling of warmth toward humanity, and you can tell he is a giving person.

Kofi's painting outside the gallery

“If I pay and you give me change, I won’t count the change,” he said. “If that is what you want to give me back, I will accept that.”

Still, when the waiter came to give him change for the drinks (which he generously paid for), he counted it.