Art Worlds in Ghana

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.”

In the outskirts of Accra down a little lane of white houses and palm trees lies Larry’s studio. It’s just a room on the left side of his house, crowded with easels, flecked brushes, and jars of imported paint. Grand and colorful paintings line the walls and overlap each other. There are figure paintings, jazzy musician scenes, and then the works Larry is known for: layers and layers of rainbow colored akwaaba fertility dolls and other adinkra symbols. The closer you look, the more you see: the shape of a bird, a woman’s face, a new line of symbols.

Larry and I had fun taking pictures on self-timer in his studio.

Larry is known for his vibrant use of color, though recently he has been experimenting with black and white. I love his brighter pieces, but I am also taken by his all-gray canvases embellished with a single shade of gold.

The first time I visited his studio, I was sitting on his couch flipping through his old photographs, when he approached me with a little plate of cheese crackers and a green bottle of Alvaro pear soda. That evening, Larry walked me back to the tro-tro station, but it wasn’t the last time we would see each other. He would call every once in a while to see how I was, and I started to consider him a friend. Before I left Ghana, I went back to his studio one last time bearing lik-lak’s, a chocolate drink that comes in a sachet, to make up for my lateness (Ghana traffic…).

With his daughter Naa.

The Tuesday morning that I left, I was at Kotoka International airport washing my hands in the bathroom, when I heard the “doo-doo-doo” of my cheap cell phone. It was Larry, calling to say goodbye.

After I hung up, I left the bathroom and headed over to my terminal. There I saw a display of familiar-looking bright paintings. I went over to look at the plaque: Larry Otoo.