Post/Anti/Neo/De-Colonial Theory and Visual Analysis

Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 24 Post-/Anti-/Neo-/De- Colonial Theories and Visual Analysis Alpesh Kantilal Patel This chapter is a modest attempt to clarify and disentangle terms that are often invoked as if stable and known: “postcolonial,” “anticolonial,” “neocolonial,” and “decolonial.” How, where, and when did they develop? What differentiates them? Where do they overlap? Also, the chapter explores the following question: Given that most of these concepts were formed mainly outside of the discipline of art history, in what ways can they be marshaled toward a more ethical visual analysis? To answer these questions, each section of the chapter begins with a sketch of one of the terms in broad strokes. Once provisionally defined, I weave the concepts into a discussion of a diverse array of artworks by artists such as Walid Ra’ad, Asaud Faulwell, Emily Jacir, Gļebs Panteļējevs and Andris Veidemanis, Quinsy and Jörgen Gario, Sam Durant, and Angela Two Stars. Their works are situated in and broadly address Lebanon, French Algeria, Palestine, Latvia and the Caribbean, and Native America. However, what follows is neither meant to cover the globe nor be a cataloging of the vast and growing literature connected to the various “colonials” I have invoked. Colonialism is a specific form of imperialism in which a state settles territories outside its borders, thereby creating colonies. Imperialism, often confused with colonialism, is the broader dynamic that refers to any imposition of a state on an external territory, sometimes in proximity, sometimes far away. This chapter is concerned with specifically the legacies of European colonialism. A (very) brief history of European conquest and colonization is instructive. With the decline of the Mongol Empire (1200–1300) and the rise of the Ottoman Empire, ca. 1300–WWI (1914–1918), conventional trade with Asia was blocked; this forced Europe to seek ocean routes. In the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, Portugal and Spain sought overseas trade routes to India and China and would claim authority over half of the planet. Eventually, Britain, the Netherlands, and France joined the Iberian nations for a five-way balance of power. During the eighteenth century, England would become the sole naval superpower, and at its peak, the British Empire would cover a quarter of Earth’s land area. The nineteenth century saw the expansion of European territory in Asia and the scramble for Africa (Essential Humanities; also see Lehning 2013). During the twentieth century, European colonials were drawn into two world wars that effectively ripped Europe apart and terminated Europe’s global dominance. After WWII (1939–1945), regions conquered by Europe gradually gained independence, and it was A Companion to Contemporary Art in a Global Framework, First Edition. Edited by Jane Chin Davidson and Amelia Jones. © 2024 John Wiley & Sons Ltd. Published 2024 by John Wiley & Sons Ltd. c24.indd 311 1 Page 72 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 312 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES during this period that “postcolonial” and other terminology defining theoretical and activist movements began to take shape within Western academia. These terms did not emerge in a vacuum, though. Indeed, an important precursor to the concepts and theories I will develop is the Négritude movement, a challenge to French colonialism and racism (Rabaka 2015). The term Négritude defiantly turned the word nègre against the white supremacists who used it as a slur. The term is thought to have crystallized during an encounter in Paris, in the late 1920s, among three students whose experiences of Blackness were shaped in overlapping but different geographical contexts: Aimé Césaire, who was from Martinique, Léon Gontran Damas from Guiana, and Léopold Sédar Senghor from Senegal (Rabaka 2015). Though Césaire, credited with coining the word Négritude, would eventually become conflicted with its use, it would have a profound influence, in sometimes direct and other indirect ways, on the terminology that would develop in the post-WWII period. I begin with a discussion of the postcolonial, which has had a sizable impact on the discipline of art history, and end with the decolonial, which has become of interest more recently to art historians. In between these, I explore the anticolonial and neocolonial. Overall, I hope this chapter will make these concepts less confusing and, in a best-case scenario, can serve as a guide that illustrates how writing about artworks alongside or with them can be generative. Postcolonial Most early scholarship on the “postcolonial” was brought into being by non-white US-based academics from diasporic backgrounds (all were born outside of the West) and based in English, literature, and comparative literature departments in the 1980s (for accessible and thorough introductions to postcolonial theory, see Gandhi 2020; Loomba 2005). I will focus on the work of three scholars often seen as having laid the groundwork for our understanding of the concept: Edward Said, Homi K. Bhabha, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Postcolonial studies is a field often thought to have been brought into being by Palestinian literature scholar Edward Said’s book Orientalism (1978). Invoking the work of French theorist of European modernity Michel Foucault, he explored the texts of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European artists and writers whose works pivoted around an idea of an imaginary other, the Orient, posed in opposition to the West/Occident (Said 1978/2014). Said writes, “[t]he Orient was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences” (Said 1978/2014, 1). Orientalism has been a key factor in European art in particular since the early nineteenth century, most especially works of art on Middle Eastern and North African subjects produced by French artists such as Jean-Léon Gérôme. However, the term Orient in the European imaginary covers many countries, including a significant part of Asia. Indeed, Orientalism is part of a trilogy of books by Said covering a broader geography; the other books are Questions of Palestine (1980) and Covering Islam (1982). Said’s writings demanded a fresh new look at “Orientalist art,” two examples of which are the paintings Women of Algiers in their Apartment (1834) by Eugène Delacroix and Turkish Bath (1863) by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres. Both depict women in harems in problematic ways. Based largely on fantasy and projection, the women are sexualized and racialized through elaborate tableaus that present them as objects.1 (For more on Orientalism and art, see Peltre 1998). Indian-British US-based scholar Homi K. Bhabha explores the unequal and iniquitous power relations between the West and non-West through the lens of psychoanalytic theory. His essay “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse” (1984) focused on the deep ambivalence that marked the psyches of colonizers in their relation to the colonized (Bhabha 1984). In the context of British India, he outlined the paradox of the c24.indd 312 Page 73 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 313 colonizers’ interest in producing a cadre of Brown civil servants who were “almost the same [as British functionaries], but not quite” (Bhabha 1984, 125). In so doing, the British effectively created a slippage between mimicry and mockery: “mimicry is once resemblance and menace” (Bhabha 1984, 127). The slippage from mimicry to mockery immediately discredits the colonizer’s authorized version of otherness and profoundly undermines the colonizer’s elusive self-image. The lack of a clear distinction between mimicry that reinforces subjugation and mimicry that is subversive, or between mimicry and mockery, is therefore blurry at best. In her highly influential essay “Can the Subaltern Speak?” (1988), Indian-American scholar Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak critiques the work of historians and other scholars associated with the Subaltern Studies project in India, which had emerged in the early 1980s. In so doing, she brings gender into the conversation of the postcolonial. The “subaltern” is a category used to describe a broad range of subjects who are constructed as having little or no agency (Spivak 1999, 244–311; also see Morris 2010).2 Drawing on Derridean poststructuralist and Marxist theories, Spivak argues that the project attributed a unified consciousness to non-elite groups in British India in the naïve attempt at historical recovery. She writes that it is impossible to recover their voices, especially those of female subjects. Moreover, she questions the role of Western intellectuals (invariably white and male) who speak for the Other and do not question their privilege. Worth noting is that both Spivak and Bhabha were born in India but educated in Western schools. Spivak implicates herself in this challenging situation. Said explored the historically imbalanced relationship between the world of Islam, the Middle East, and the Orient, on the one hand, and that of European and American imperialism, on the other. The scholarship of Spivak and Bhabha focused on the period after the partition of India in 1947. Given the geographical specificity of all of their works, the question becomes: Can postcolonial as a term be used metaphorically in different situations? R. Radhakrishnan, who was born in India, suggests that a variant of the concept, postcoloniality, can. He discusses how it can function as an allegory in his essay “Postcoloniality and the Boundaries of Identity” (1993). He writes that the term can be seen as a “relational space to be spoken for heterogeneously but relationally by diverse subaltern/ oppressed/ minority subject positions in their attempts to seek justice and reparation for centuries of unevenness and inequality” (Radhakrishnan 1993, 751). In so doing, Radhakrishnan suggests postcolonial theory can be applicable beyond those spaces focused on by Said, Bhabha, and Spivak. While postcolonial theory was readily taken up by the Anglophone humanities more generally, it was not until the 1990s that art history followed suit. The seminal anthology Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures (1990) is often seen as signaling a critical turn in the discipline of art history to acknowledge the growing scholarship on the postcolonial that had built up throughout the 1980s. Published by the New Museum of Contemporary Art, Out There included essays by Said, Bhabha, and Spivak. The essays meditated on “the process through which cultural margins are created, defined and enforced” (Ferguson 1990,4).3 There are no simple reasons why postcolonial theory spread like wildfire everywhere, it seemed, except within art history. Founder of the influential journal Third Text, Rasheed Araeen, notes that modernity in art—as opposed to in literature—was not able to disentangle itself ideologically as easily from Rene Descarte’s philosophy of (cisgender white European male) human exceptionalism that was further expanded by Hegel and Kant in the realm of aesthetics (Araeen 2000, 5). Aimé Césaire also invoked Descartes and the inherent racism in the seemingly innocuous “I think therefore I am.” Seemingly echoing Araeen’s point, though, the Négritude movement did find full expression in poetry and literature but less so in visual arts (Diagne 2018). Césaire did feel there was a potential for the ideas of the movement to be expressed in visual art: indeed, Césaire’s friend Léopold Sédar Senghor wrote about art in the context of the Négritude movement c24.indd 313 Page 74 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 314 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES but his focus was on historical artifacts rather than contemporary art production (Diagne 2018). Therefore, it does not seem surprising that academic departments focused exclusively on written language embraced postcolonial theory. While art history is about language, too, it is one that is tethered to the visual arts. In conjunction with some of the ideas I have provisionally explored here, I discuss New York City-based conceptual artist Walid Ra’ad’s Hostage: The Bachar Tapes (English Version), a 2001 experimental documentary that partially emerges from the published books of several American men who had been kidnapped in Lebanon in the late 1980s and early 1990s. In each book, an unnamed Arab man is mentioned as being detained alongside them. Ra’ad presents a series of interviews he conducted with Souheil Bachar, who is presented as the Arab man who shared a cell with American captives. However, Bachar is played by actor Fadi Abi, who is well-known to anyone in Lebanon but not outside of it. In other words, Ra’ad ventriloquizes what appears to be Bachar’s “testimony.” This strategy not only troubles the false binary of fiction and nonfiction but also evokes Spivak’s observation of the impossibility of ever knowing the subaltern subject.4 In the interview, Ra’ad articulates that while Western women’s captivity revolves around the discourse of sexual assault, Western men’s revolves around the threat of sexual desire for men. It is a threat that ultimately is deflected onto the non-Western other, in this case, an Arab man (Walid 2002). Bhabha’s discussion of the regulation of desire is appropriate to invoke here, although he does not explicitly discuss the homoerotics of the colonizer’s emasculating gaze, which has a long history in discourse related to European colonization. The homophobia of Martinican philosopher and revolutionary Frantz Fanon, for example, whom I will discuss in the next sections when I explore the anticolonial and neocolonial, could be argued to be about his anxiety about being emasculated in a white dominant culture (Vergès 1997). And, in the context of British colonialists, historian Mrinalini Sinha notes that they naturalized white supremacy through the production of “manly” Englishmen in contrast to the “unmanly” Bengali-educated men (see Sinha 1995).5 The construction of “manly” Englishmen can be read as implicitly further shoring up the colonizers’ heterosexuality and deflecting the specter of an effectively effeminized homosexuality onto the “unmanly” Bengali-educated men. In the context of Hostage: The Bachar Tapes, and supposedly at the behest of Souheil Bachar, the tapes were dubbed by a female voiceover in English when screened outside the host country. Ra’ad’s use of a female voiceover for a male captive keeps in play the homosocial/erotic dimensions of the captives’ ordeal while seemingly avoiding settling on what the object of desire might be. Anticolonial Global South studies scholar J. Daniel Elham suggests that “as a philosophical movement, anticolonialism is the under-acknowledged predecessor to postcolonial theory” (Elham 2017). The term anticolonial often refers to the struggle against imperial rule during the first half of the twentieth century. It conjures up movements led by those referred to by Frantz Fanon as “les damnés de la terre” (the wretched of the earth), the title of his influential 1961 book of the same name (Fanon 1961/1976). At the same time, English literature scholar Grant Ferrad unpacks the slippage between the postcolonial and the anticolonial by drawing on C. L. R. James’s classic history of the Haitian Revolution of 1791–1804, The Black Jacobins (1938). James describes the only successful slave revolt as both an anticolonial uprising and the foundation of Haiti as a postcolonial nation and argues that these two elements are coterminous and blur together. Most recently, literature scholar Carlos Garrido Castellano has invoked the “anticolonial” in relation to art in his book Art Activism for an Anticolonial Future (2021). He suggests that art activists and socially engaged artists have benefited from anticolonial thinking to challenge formations of contemporary neoliberal late capitalism and chart new anticolonial futures (Castellano 2021).6 c24.indd 314 Page 75 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 315 In this section, I will discuss the work of two artists: Iranian American Asad Faulwell and Palestinian American Emily Jacir. The former implicitly explores the anticolonial at a particular historical moment (French Algeria, 1830–1962), whereas the latter suggests how the concept of the anticolonial can be useful to consider contemporary struggles in another part of the world. Faulwell’s series Les Femmes D’Alger (2010–2021), which includes approximately 130 paintings, is both anticolonial and feminist.7 In particular, the works look back on the past and bring attention to the largely unsung female freedom fighters who struggled from 1954 to 1962 to end the French occupation of the African nation. Algerian women have served as muses for artists as diverse as Eugène Delacroix, whose work I briefly touched on in the previous section, and Pablo Picasso. Faulwell is borrowing the title of his series from that of a series of paintings (1954–1955) by Picasso. However, Faulwell’s work does not turn women into objects of desire or fragmented shapes as Delacroix and Picasso did. For instance, in Faulwell’s painting Les Femmes D’Alger 3 (2011), the starkly rendered black-and-white face of one of these activists, Djamila Bouhired, stares out at the viewer and dominates the canvas while thin bands of color and decorative motifs flow out from her eyes and connect to an intricately drawn background of florid shapes and patterns (Figure 24.1). The union of the somber portrait and these latter forms––reminiscent of the 1970s US-based Pattern and Decoration movement, itself heavily influenced by traditional Moroccan textiles and Persian motifs––evokes both the exuberance of life and the specter of death associated with her heroic acts. With Les Femmes D’Alger (2010), Faulwell depicts a three-quarter-length portrait of Zohra Drif, who was sentenced to twenty years in prison for her role in a bombing in 1957 but was eventually pardoned at the end of the war. FIGURE 24.1 Asad Faulwell, Les Femmes D’Alger #3, 2011, acrylic and paper on canvas, 64 × 48 inches. Source: Courtesy of artist. c24.indd 315 Page 76 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 316 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES Her strong, handsome face is rendered in a muted palette while colorful, decorative shapes and patterns cover her dress and eyes in a style evocative of Gustav Klimt’s, mainly his beautifully intriguing portraits of lone women. The balance between surface and psychological depth Faulwell achieves in these pieces veers toward the purely decorative in Danielle Minne (2010) and Mujahidat #11 (2011), paintings in which the portraits are entirely hidden within floral and starburst shapes. These works might serve as metaphors because these revolutionary women once seamlessly blended into the background: Fanon writes eloquently in his book A Dying Colonialism (1959) that these women were often called upon to plant bombs in the French sections of cities—a dangerous anticolonial act—because they could enter without detection if wearing European dress (Fanon 1959/1965). In her 2020 practice-based MFA thesis, Palestinian exile Hudha Salah explicitly mobilized “anticolonial” rather than postcolonial because colonialism was a lived, ongoing issue for her. She explains: [a]s someone from an actively colonized country, it is hard to talk about a postcolonial status. This term works in postcolonial countries such as Algeria or South Africa. The same cannot be said when discussing Palestine or even the land of Canada where Indigenous people continue to experience an active displacement and cultural elimination. My very own existence here today is evidence of that fact (Salha 2020, xviii). She also invokes Edward Said, not as a postcolonialist as he is most often referred to, but as an anticolonialist. Salah discusses how in the eighteen years since she left Gaza, she has only had one opportunity to see her mother and siblings. One of artist Emily Jacir’s works, Where We Come From (2001–2003), implicitly addresses the issue brought up by Salah. The work is framed by Jacir, who splits her time between New York and in the Palestinian city of Ramallah, first by asking Palestinian exiles a question: “If I could do anything for you, anywhere in Palestine, what would it be?” Taking advantage of her ability to move about relatively freely in Palestine/Israel with an American passport, Jacir promised to realize the desires of those forbidden entry into their homeland. In the final installation work, a series of texts in black lettering on white panels describe the various requests, and color photographs, presented by their side, document Jacir’s actualization of them. Another work by Jacir references the forced and permanent displacement of Palestinian Arabs from the entirety of the area of what is now Israel. The installation, Memorial to 418 Palestinian Villages that Were Destroyed, Depopulated and Occupied by Israel in 1948 (2001), features a life-size refugee tent that narrates the history of Palestinian displacement with the embroidered names of every village destroyed, depopulated, or occupied in 1948, all of which are archived in Walid Khalidi’s book All That Remains. The Palestinian Villages Occupied and Depopulated by Israel in 1948 (2006). Khalidi provides a comprehensive description of statistical data, maps, and photographs of the roughly 500 Palestinian villages that were destroyed or depopulated during the 1948 Al-Nakba, which translates into English as “The Catastrophe.” Jacir invited over a hundred people—including Palestinians, some of whom were from the destroyed villages, and Israelis who grew up in the villages’ remains—to come to her studio and embroider with her. The memorial is accompanied by a book with a daily log, which documents all the participants in the project (Wolfe 2020). Simply put, the subject matter of the works of Faulwell, Salah, and Jacir—despite dealing with vastly different contexts and time periods (mid-twentieth-century French Algeria and historical/contemporary Palestine)—discussed in this section all are specifically concerned with pushing back against colonial subjugation. In this way, an anticolonial conceptual framing makes more sense to mobilize than a postcolonial one, which implies chronologically a period after colonialism has officially ended. To further nuance this point, the following section engages with another related concept: the neocolonial. c24.indd 316 Page 77 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 317 Neocolonial Fanon was fearful that the hard-fought independence of Algeria could turn into the dependence of another kind. He wrote, “[t]he apotheosis of independence is transformed into the curse of independence, and the colonial power through its immense resources of coercion condemns the young nation to regression” (Fanon 1963, 97). He was concerned that the West would seek to maintain the iniquitous international order that had made it rich and powerful, and new ruling classes in postcolonial nations would fail to devise viable systems of their own: both of these are the essence of what the term “neocolonialism” constitutes, implying a reconfigured but continued persistence of colonial power relations in these nations (for a more detailed overview of colonialism, see Afisi n.d.). Jean-Paul Sartre first invoked the term as part of his controversial book Colonialism and Neo-Colonialism (1964), which criticized the French government’s occupation of Algeria and supported the violent resistance of the National Liberation Front (FLN), the nationalist party in Algeria (Sartre 1964). Sartre was involved in anticolonial discourse, too: in 1961, he had written the preface for Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth (Fanon 1961/1976). A few years after this was published, Kwame Nkrumah, Ghanaian politician, political theorist, and revolutionary, completed his book Neocolonialism: The Last Stage of Imperialism, which explained that one way in which the West would continue to control its ex-colonies would be through economic means (Nkrumah 1965, ix).8 Nkrumah referred to neocolonialism as imperialism’s “last hideous gasp,” but at the same time as its most pernicious phase. British Commonwealth and postcolonial literature scholar Graham Huggan has provocatively suggested that the term postcolonialism, “could be argued, has arisen to account for neocolonialism, for continuing modes of imperialist thought and action across much of the contemporary world” (Huggan 1997, 19; emphasis in original). In 2013 in Latvia, one of the former Eastern Bloc countries, the public art monument Teleport (2013) was installed in the city of Kuldīga, and I will argue that its installation can be considered a neocolonial act.9 It was commemorated to honor the seventeenth-century Latvian-German duke Jacob Kettler of the Duchy of Courland, a Polish-Lithuanian vasal state in an area that is today western Latvia. The monument was designed by sculptor Gļebs Panteļējevs and architect Andris Veidemanis. The sculpture’s front side, made of polished and varnished cast aluminum, represents the twenty-first century, whereas the back and sides were made from rusty cast iron, representing the seventeenth century. As critic Margaret Tali has written, “[t]he sculptural figure of Kettler seems to be stepping out of the rusted past on its back side, while he ostensibly heads to a bright future on the silvered-colored front side of the monument” (Tali 2020). Kettler commissioned several ships to participate in the violent European project of colonial expansion and resource extraction and was a slave trader. From 1654 to 1659, he established a colony on the island of Tobago, currently part of Trinidad and Tobago, after it had been a Dutch, French, and British colony. However, this was conveniently not addressed because the public artwork is part of a larger nation-building narrative (Tali 2020). Indeed, in the National History Museum of Latvia, Kettler’s colonial conquests are interpreted as a necessity and an economic project needed to overcome the oppression of the Russian Empire. Perversely, this colonial past elevates Latvia by positioning it as a former colonial force alongside its Western European counterparts. Also, there is no mention of these unsavory aspects of Kettler in the “Live Museum-Ancient Kuldīga,” an interactive experience where actors wait in the streets to narrate the city’s history. On the one hand, the monument is an anticolonial gesture to the Russian empire, but at the same time, it is an implicitly neocolonial one in its concomitant glorification of a slave owner (Warsza and Sowa 2022). This monument is a testament to how official state-sanctioned artworks can re-write history—this is precisely the kind of fiction masquerading as fact that Said discussed and Ra’ad explored in their works. c24.indd 317 Page 78 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 318 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES In another example of a neocolonial act, on June 3, 2017, the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, a partnership between Walker Art Center and the Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board in the United States, was set to reopen after renovations. One of the new works was Scaffold (2012) by Los Angeles-based artist Sam Durant. A giant structure made of steel and wood, the piece was originally created for documenta 11 in 2012 in Kassel, Germany. Scaffold comprises a platform of gallows with several staircases leading up to it. Durant described the work as a commentary on the death penalty. The gallows used in the sculpture represent a range of executions, beginning with John Brown in 1859 and culminating in the scaffold used in Saddam Hussein’s hanging in 2006. He wrote: “There is no intention of directly equating the victims of the various executions or of making equivalencies between the activities that led to their deaths. The only consistency implied in the project is that they are all State sanctioned executions” (Regan 2017). In the center of the installation, there is a very tall wooden pole that recalls historical images of the hanging structure used in 1862 to execute thirty-eight men of the Dakota tribe who are native to the area that is now Minnesota. Approved by Abraham Lincoln, this was the largest mass execution in US history and took place roughly eighty miles south of Minneapolis in a town called Mankato. About a month after Scaffold was erected, there were protests lodged by the Dakota tribe demanding that the work be taken down. For many of the Dakota people, the work triggered historical pain, especially given that the Walker sits on land once occupied by their ancestors (see Dickinson 2017).10 As Dakota media artist Mona Smith stated at the time, “[i]t’s never fun to learn again and again about the successful erasure of Dakota people and Minnesota history. … Any Dakota person would have suggested the pain triggered by this work” (Dickinson 2017). Politicians, leaders of several arts organizations, Native American artists, and tribal groups, including Minnesota’s Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Community, roundly condemned Durant’s Scaffold. Worth noting is that there did not seem to be much thought regarding not only the Native American context but also what was installed in proximity to Scaffold, more specifically, the whimsical and playful permanent sculptural installation Spoonbridge and Cherry (1985–1988) by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen. Next to the latter, Scaffold’s masking of colonial relations was made even more disturbing by the fact that it inevitably joined into the simultaneous evocation of a children’s playground. Decolonial The term decolonial was first invoked in reference to the disentanglement of the countries of Asia and Africa from their former oppressors in the mid-twentieth century. US-based literature scholar Walter Mignolo notes that the decolonial in the present day is conceptualized in quite a different manner. He invokes Peruvian sociologist Aníbal Quijano’s observation that modernity and coloniality are the pillars of Western civilization—one cannot exist without the other—and that “decoloniality” means to “undrape the underlying logic of all Western … modern/colonial imperialisms” (Hoffmann and Mignolo 2017). Mignolo writes that even though decolonization led to some successes during the Cold War—some nations did become independent—there were significant failures due, mainly, to the fact that theories of decolonization did not question the structures of knowledge and subject formation (desires, beliefs, expectations) that were implanted in the colonies by the former colonizers. Moreover, Mignolo notes that decolonization had been more concerned with the state and its relationship with financial institutions. Decoloniality, on the other hand, must be concerned with how individuals are engaging in “epistemic reconstitution” in sometimes small ways that are not about the abstract yet structural power of the state (Mignolo 2021, 2; Mignolo is borrowing this phrase from Aníbal Quijano). Mignolo argues that while postcolonialism often gets trapped by its prefix, which implies a teleological timeline as devised by the West, the concept of the decolonial understands c24.indd 318 Page 79 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 319 FIGURE 24.2 Quinsy and Jörgen Gario, How to See the Spots of Der Leopard, 2020, performance in front of monument to Jacob Kettler. Source: Photography by Annemarija Gulbe. Courtesy of the artists. time as something messier in which past, present, and future are difficult to parse out. In this context, it is worth noting that postcolonialism is largely a product of the theoretical concept of deconstruction: postcolonial theory thus aims at unraveling, but it never quite espouses rebuilding because this would risk creating yet another norm (Derrida 1981). Decoloniality, on the hand, is very much concerned with the kind of rebuilding that Mignolo outlines as tantamount to “reconstitutions, re-emergence, resurgence, reexistence” (Hoffmann and Mignolo 2017). I return to the monument to Jacob Kettler, which I discussed in the previous section, to argue that the 2020 site-specific performance How to See the Spots of Der Leopard by Dutch-Caribbean artists Quinsy Gario and his brother Jörgen Gario, a musician and poet, unravels at least one buried narrative and at the same time makes visible Kettler’s colonial misdeed (Figure 24.2). This brilliant artwork, performed at the monument, is a decolonial act because it makes the mutuality of modernity and coloniality visible and operates at the corporeal body level rather than as an abstract concept: Western modernism functions by abstracting, and thus an embodied “occupation” of the site/piece is decolonial. The performance’s title was inspired by the name of Kettler’s ship Der Leopard. It sailed from Amsterdam to Guinea, where abducted and chained Africans were forced onto it. It then sailed to Martinique, where the artists’ ancestors were sold and enslaved to work in sugar plantations established in the French colony by Dutch people, who had previously been expelled from Brazil by the Portuguese. In this way, the artwork challenged or called into question the way most Latvians continue to look at this history by showing—through the actual bodies of the artists, descendants of the slaves involved in Kettler’s story—the connection between the country’s economic prosperity and the dehumanization of African peoples. The performance combined spoken word with steelpan music, an instrument from the enslaved communities of Tobago, and the kokle, a well-known traditional Latvian folk instrument, to tell another story. The performance began with Quinsy Gario playing the kokle and drawing an island on the pavement as he asked his audience: Are you nostalgic? Are you nostalgic for oceans and seas? For adventure? Are you nostalgic for heroes? Are you nostalgic for violence? Are you nostalgic of those who aren’t here? c24.indd 319 Page 80 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 320 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES Of those who left everything behind, and those who vanquished? Have you heard about Tobago? Tobago was not made, Tobago was claimed (Tali 2020).11 While finishing the drawing of Tobago on the pavement, Jörgen Gario played the steelpan, the deep sounds of which caught the audience’s full attention, and continued the spoken word part of the performance with: Are you nostalgic about those things in which we feel comfortable? For those stories in which some of us were not seen as humans? Are you nostalgic for capital, nostalgic for market? We are not (Tali 2020). Critic Margaret Tali has noted there were about eighty viewers of the performance and that “many locals” remained to see the whole event, and some approached the artists for short conversations in Kuldīga even days later. She further observes that “people’s reactions were mostly puzzlement, curiosity, and sometimes unknowing for how to react to what they encountered” (Tali 2020). The conversations sometimes illustrated that the performance did not read as intended. For instance, Tali goes on to note that: much attention went into thinking about the ways in which Gario’s figure, as a man of color playing the kokle, could be interpreted. Some of the locals interpreted this in combination with the topic of nostalgia as being a supposedly Latvian legacy left behind in Tobago (Tali 2020). At the same time, questions were also raised about museums and how to deal with stolen heritage in present-day collections (Tali 2020). Mignolo and Catherine E. Walsh, a humanities scholar based in Ecuador, note that decoloniality opens up “coexisting temporalities kept hostage by the Western idea of time and the belief that there is one single temporality: Western-imagined fictional temporality”; and they continue: “This is the understanding and project of pluriversal and interversal decoloniality” (Mignolo and Walsh 2018, 3; emphasis in original). Therefore, I would argue that How to See the Spots of Der Leopard is not a supplement to a narrative or an alternative story but rather part of a pluriverse that illustrates multiple temporalities exist at one time: the temporality of white-washed Latvian historical pasts rendered through a monument in the present and that of artists from formerly enslaved communities performing new versions of the past and present in the present. I return to Sam Durant’s Scaffold (2012), which I argued functioned as a neocolonial act. In a fascinating turn of events, Durant took responsibility for his tone-deaf artwork: It has been my belief that white artists need to address issues of white supremacy and its institutional manifestations. … However, your [Dakota tribe’s] protests have shown me that I made a grave miscalculation in how my work can be received by those in a particular community. In focusing on my position as a white artist making work for that audience I failed to understand what the inclusion of the Dakota 38 in the sculpture could mean for Dakota people. … I should have reached out to the Dakota community the moment I knew that the sculpture would be exhibited at the Walker Art Center in proximity to Mankato.12 Although certainly not capable of undoing the harm already inflicted by the work, Durant’s taking of responsibility effectively began to refashion the neocolonial act into a decolonial one. In addition, Durant, working directly with Dakota elders, the Walker Art c24.indd 320 Page 81 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 321 Center, and the Minneapolis Park and Recreation Board members, decided to give over the copyright of his work to the Dakota tribe. In doing so, Durant and the Dakota tribe illustrated that, while cultural institutions are often blind to their relationship to settler colonialism, an erasure that the white cube mode of exhibiting art sadly tends to reinforce, there can be other ways of functioning that foreground these power relations. After acquiring the work, the Dakota tribe at first was going to burn it (after it was dismantled). In the end, the tribe decided to bury the remains of the work in recognition of tribal beliefs. As Dakota elder Ronald P. Leith explains: [t]he wood has a spiritual nature that is inherent to itself in Lakota Dakota tradition. … Of the four elements—fire, water, air, earth—you cannot use any of the elements in a disparaging fashion without putting yourself in a position of being disrespectful. To use fire to burn this wood that has a negative stigma attached to it—that is not allowed (Voon 2017). In 2020, the British journal Art History put together a questionnaire and asked many international scholars to consider what it might mean to decolonize the discipline of art history (Grant and Rowe 2020). This was an important first step for the discipline to acknowledge that it is a colonial product. This kind of self-reflection mirrors that of Durant’s response to criticism, and one hopes it leads to the kind of world-building and demand for accountability exemplified by the Gario brothers’ generative, embodied artwork that evoked a pluriverse and multiple temporalities. Coda Given the felicitous ending to the story of Durant’s work in relation to the Dakota tribe, it is especially disturbing to follow the subsequent discourse around this particular case—such attention casts light on the status of debates around the legacies of colonialism and these various theoretical terms I have traced here. Later comments reveal the stubbornness of a Western art world elite (many of whom think of themselves as progressive) who are ignorant of their neocolonial tendencies and unable to think about what the decolonial might constitute. For instance, Tom Eccles, former executive director of Center for Curatorial Studies at Bard, said: Disposing of artworks and burning them is a pretty strong statement. … Where do we draw the line? … I think these are mainly well-intentioned works by well-intentioned artists that caused offense both for what they contain but more significantly who said it. Are we at a point where supposedly white privileged artists should not speak of the experiences and histories of those who are not white and privileged? I think we are (as quoted in Sheets 2017). Eccles’ statement appears to be an implicit mourning of the inability of white male artists to no longer veil their authorship. Durant is a white, privileged male. This is a fact, and the artist himself has made clear he has no problems acknowledging this and relinquishing ownership of the work. Moreover, as art critic Jillian Steinhauser points out, censorship can only be wielded by those in power—in this case, the museum or the artist (Steinhauser 2017; also see Scott 2017).13 Since the first Europeans colonized their territory, the Dakota people have not had any power. The story of Scaffold does not end here, though, and this allows me to avoid ending this chapter on such a sour note. In 2021, a new work Okciyapi (Help Each Other) by Dakota artist Angela Two Stars (see Walker Art Center 2021), a member of the Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate tribe, was unveiled on the site where the artist Durant’s Scaffold once stood (see Figure 24.3).14 Her project was selected from over fifty proposals from the United States c24.indd 321 Page 82 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 322 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES FIGURE 24.3 Okciyapi, 2021, pre-cast engraved concrete, enameled metal panels, script and audio Dakota language, medicinal plants native to Minnesota, water vessel. and abroad. They were reviewed by the Walker curatorial staff and an Indigenous Public Art Selection Committee, a group of native curators, knowledge keepers, artists, and arts professionals (Espeland 2021). Constructed of pre-cast engraved concrete, enameled metal panels, script, audio of people speaking the Dakota language, and living medicinal plants native to Minnesota, the work almost looks like a maze or labyrinth from a bird’s eye perspective. A water vessel in the center reminds visitors that the name “Minnesota” comes from the Dakota phrase “Mni Sota Makoce,” or “the land where the water reflects the clouds” (Espeland 2021). You can hear stories by Dakota speakers on your phone as you walk through the work or sit down to contemplate. Regarding the piece’s location within the garden, Two Stars said: “I specifically chose this site with the awareness that there was a need for healing, for both the community and the land itself. As part of the installation process, my family led a ground cleansing ceremony at the site, to help all of us to move forward in positivity and celebration” (see Espeland 2021). It is helpful to invoke Māori scholar and professor of Indigenous education, Linda Tuhiwa Smith (Ngāti Awa and Ngāti Porou), who published her path-breaking Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous People in 1999 (Smith 1999/2021). Smith’s book, as she states therein, is for “researchers who work with, alongside, and for communities who have chosen to identify themselves as Indigenous” (Smith 1999/2021, 5). In the twenty years since it was published, it has had ripple effects on a broader group of race-critical, queer, and transnational feminists (see e.g. Lee and Evans 2022). In her book, Tuhiwai Smith describes how theorizing research—and artistic practice is a form of research—always involves thinking about imperialism and colonialism, given that research is regulated through formal rules of disciplines (like art history) and the institutions (museums) that support them, which are structurally Western. Two Stars’ project is exemplary of Smith’s call for research, especially that conducted by Indigenous populations, to be always being mindful of imperialism and colonialism. Engaging with the installation, it is, in fact, difficult to escape the force of these historical factors in relation to the Indigenous point of view. Two Stars’ work nimbly occupies and negotiates the museum, a colonial product, and her heritage. In the context of this chapter, I would add that our research as art historians should be aware of discourses connected to the postcolonial, anticolonial, neocolonial, and decolonial. As Smith notes, each case of scholarship or intellectual inquiry is different, and there is thus no way to provide a standardized toolkit of theories and methodologies (Smith 1999/2021). Indeed, this chapter is not meant to be readily adaptable to all circumstances. Still, it does provide something that is surprisingly missing for art historians just by raising the question of how these terms, despite their slipperiness, might in fact, be powerful and generative as we seek ethical modes of visual analysis and historicize visual culture. c24.indd 322 Page 83 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal P O S T- / D E - C O L O N I A L T H E O R Y ◼◼◼ 323 Notes 1 Also worth noting is that artists, such as Ingres, and writers had never been to these parts of the world. 2 The term “subaltern” comes out of the empire itself, for it is a British term for a military designation. The term was carried over from the military to refer to “natives” who were designated as mid-level bureaucrats in the service of the Empire. To be effective, the subaltern had to learn the language of the colonizer and thus were forced to be slightly removed from their “native” culture. 3 Rasheed Araeen points out that Spivak, Bhabha, and Said were often called upon as effectively “postcolonial celebrities” by the art world. But he notes, these scholars were unable to critically engage effectively with art institutions whose agendas were often in contrast with their own radical ideas because of “their ignorance not only of the structures of these institutions [museums, etc.] and their relationship to art, but also their ignorance of the specificity of art practice and its historical and theoretical underpinnings” (Araeen 2000, 12). I have written elsewhere that Bhabha, for instance, has often been called upon to write about the work of Shahzia Sikander and that “[t]he reiterative use of the ‘celebrity economy’ of Bhabha as postcolonial scholar exemplar potentially parodies, and thus undermines, his scholarship by implying that he was called forth to legitimize Sikander’s artworks, which—to complete the perverse loop of circular logic—simultaneously reduces them to an essentialist, ‘postcolonial’ reading” (Patel 2009, 56). 4 Ra’ad attributed most of his work from 1989 to 2004 to the Atlas Group, a fictional foundation dedicated to researching and documenting the modern history of Lebanon, which had gained independence from France in 1943. Ra’ad was the group’s sole member, but he often referred to himself as the Atlas Group’s archivist, thereby implying there were other members. Ra’ad received his PhD in Cultural and Visual Studies at University of Rochester in the United States, where he focused on postcolonial theory. Given this focus, he is undoubtedly aware of the work of Said. A key difference between Said’s and Ra’ad’s views on history, however, is that, while for Said the construction of history comes from the West, for Ra’ad it comes from within those in power in Lebanon. In attributing agency to the Lebanese, Ra’ad emphasizes the insufficiency of the West/non-West binary. 5 Postcolonial scholar Sara Suleri provocatively notes that the colonial gaze was explicitly directed at the “sexual ambivalence of the effeminate male groom” rather than the “inscrutability of the Eastern bride” (see Goodyear 1992, 16). 6 Castellano considers how culture plays a part in the production of neoliberal reasoning. Though he does not explicitly define the term “neoliberal,” he hews closely to scholarship on the concept that builds on the foundational work of David Harvey and Frederic Jameson. 7 Asad Faulwell, email message to author, October 10, 2022. 8 Nkruman wrote that the only way to combat neocolonialism was through unity or alliances. Two of these, the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) and the Afro-Asian solidarity movement, were discussed in 1955 in Bandung, Indonesia. At this important meeting, representatives from twenty-nine governments of Asian and African nations gathered to discuss peace and the role of the “Third World” in the Cold War, and economic development. Both NAM and the solidary movement still exist. NAM has a membership of roughly 120 countries, none formally aligned with or against any significant power bloc. The “Third World” as a category was first coined by Alfred Sauvy, a French demographer, anthropologist, and historian to describe those countries that were neither part of WWI—the capitalist, economically developed states led by the United States—nor WWII—the communist states led by the Soviet Union. See Solarz (2012). When the term was introduced, the Third World principally consisted of the developing world, the former colonies of Africa, Asia, and Latin America. It is the most extensive grouping of states worldwide after the United Nations. The term “Third World,” has become increasingly problematic given it is generally invoked by those (Europeans and Americans) outside of the countries that are part of it. c24.indd 323 Page 84 Docs in support of mid-point review Patel, Alpesh Kantilal 324 ◼◼◼ THEMES: METHODS/THEORIES 9 The Eastern Bloc generally refers to the countries of Eastern Europe under Communism. Latvia as well as the Baltic countries Lithuania and Estonia were absorbed into the United Soviet Socialists Republic (USSR) during WWII. 10 There are many reasons the work provoked such a strong negative reaction. As Sheila Dickinson notes, for instance, it was not until 2015 that the state’s sixth-grade history textbooks were updated to acknowledge the forced removal of the Dakota people. Also, thenGovernor Mark Dayton set up a special committee a year before Scaffold was installed to relocate paintings of cultural and racial superiority over the Dakota people that adorned the state capitol’s Senate chambers. Despite a majority willing to see the paintings moved to a museum, only two paintings out of ten were legislatively approved to move. Additional controversy arose over talks to commemorate the bicentennial of Fort Snelling, which was established as a military base for US forces in 1820. The base was built at a sacred spiritual birthplace of the Dakota people, and it served as the site of an internment camp for Dakota women, children, and elders after the Mankato executions. 11 The performance details as well as the quotations throughout this paragraph are from critic Tali (2020). 12 Full statement by artist can be found here: “Dakota Nation Demands Removal of Sculpture at Walker Art Century,” artforum.com (May 29, 2017), https://www.artforum.com/news/ dakota-nation-demands-removal-of-sculpture-at-walker-art-center-68759, accessed on May 23, 2023. 13 In this article, she also points that Hilarie Sheets, a New York Times critic, and Andrea K. Scott, a New Yorker critic, conflate protest with censorship in their comments. Sheets (2017) writes, “did the Walker’s decision to yield the work create a difficult precedent for museums?” and Scott (2017), “Should he now destroy every project about others’ histories? I, for one, would hate to see a bonfire piled high with copies of Durant’s book on the posters of the Black Panther Emory Douglas.” 14 All details of the project in this paragraph come from Walker Art Center (2021). References Afisi, Oseni Taiwo. n.d. “Neocolonial,” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Available at: https:// iep.utm.edu/neocolon, accessed on 23 May, 2023. Araeen, Rasheed. 2000. “A New Beginning,” Third Text 14, no. 50: 3–20. Bhabha, Homi K. 1984. “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse,” In Discipleship: A Special Issue on Psychoanalysis, edited by Rosalind Krauss and Annette Michelson. October 28, (Spring): 125–133. Castellano, Carlos Garrido. 2021. Art Activism for an Anticolonial Future. Albany: State University of New York Press. Derrida, Jacques. 1981. Dissemination, translated by Barbara Johnson. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 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Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1999. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Steinhauser, Jillian. 2017. “Sam Durant Doesn’t Need Defending,” Hyperallergic (June 7). Available at: https://hyperallergic.com/383929/sam-durant-doesnt-need-defending, accessed on May 23, 2023. Tali, Margaret. 2020. “Remembering and Re-imagining Histories to Repair,” BLOK (December 24). Available at: http://blokmagazine.com/remembering-and-re-imagining-histories-torepair, accessed on May 23, 2023. Vergès, Françoise. 1997. “Creole Skin, Black Mask: Fanon and Disavowal,” Critical Inquiry 23, no. 3 (Spring): 578–595. Voon, Claire. 2017. “Dakota Elders Decide to Bury Sam Durant’s Controversial Sculpture,” Hyperallergic (September 15). Available at: https://hyperallergic.com/398866/dako-elderssam-durant-scaffold-burial, accessed on May 23, 2023. 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