Beyoncé the Auteur Takes Center Stage in ‘Renaissance’

Beyoncé the Auteur Takes Center Stage in ‘Renaissance’
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She is essentially one on the new film, but she has also demonstrated throughout her career just who is in charge of her art.

“I’m excited for people to see the show,” Beyoncé says early in “Renaissance: A Film by Beyoncé,” based on her recent world tour and seventh studio album. “But I’m really excited for everyone to see the process.”

I’ve long wanted to understand her process better, too, especially because she has taken to rarely giving interviews. Instead she has let her art speak for itself, a risky venture when critics do the interpreting without her input. My interest in her approach is partly scholarly. I regularly teach courses on her and want my students to learn from her observations. But my enthusiasm is also speculative. I often wonder whether our ignorance of her creative practice has minimized and denied her innovation, ingenuity and individual contributions to her own body of work.

If “Renaissance” was only a film about her beaming audience, dazzling performances and the making of the tour, that would be more than enough. However, it’s clear early on that Beyoncé is not entirely interested in fetishizing her “process” to validate her artistry. Instead, the movie deconstructs its subject to expand our understanding of her. More poignantly, it critiques how race, gender and genre have limited our ability to see her talent and, by doing so, liberates her from ever again having to prove her singular impact on American culture.

It does so by quickly establishing her creative control. The concert itself reveled in Beyoncé’s simultaneous mastery of dance, music, fashion and live performance, which makes her unparalleled among artists today. On the other hand, the film shows her working backstage and sometimes even underneath it. As the tour director, executive producer and creative director, she oversaw everything from hiring and salaries to musical selections, marketing, choreography, costumes and video.

But what makes “Renaissance” unique among other great concert films is that she did not just star in it the way the Talking Heads did in Jonathan Demme’s classic “Stop Making Sense” or Madonna in Alek Keshishian’s provocative “Truth or Dare.” Beyoncé also wrote, directed and produced the film. In fact, she has created some of the past decade’s most memorable cinematic musical experiences and should be considered an auteur — in terms of both this film and her career.

In this way, “Renaissance” is the culmination of her visual projects, beginning with the visual albums “Beyoncé” (2013) and “Lemonade” (2016); her intimate documentary “Life Is but a Dream” (2013); the 2019 Coachella concert film “Homecoming”; and “Black Is King” (2020), the visual companion she and Blitz Bazawule made for the soundtrack “The Lion King: The Gift.” But by offering the most in-depth document of her vision, preparation and personal sacrifice, the new film goes further than these productions.

Beyoncé in a scene from “Life Is but a Dream,” her intimate 2013 documentary.Parkwood Entertainment

The film opens with Beyoncé commanding our attention in a citron yellow dress, her hair blowing as she belts “Dangerously in Love 2.” She later revisits that moment through a flashback showing her at work with her production team. Via voice-overs and close-ups of her in far more casual clothing, we watch as she gives her team notes about camera angles, lighting and the speed and direction of the mechanical fans. If only we could rewind to that first performance to better appreciate all the technical components that went into making that moment appear so flawless.

In another scene in which the entire sound system cuts out as she sings “Alien Superstar” in Glendale, Ariz., the tension really mounts. She and her dancers leave the stage immediately. That’s all the live audience knows. But as a film director, she has the cameras follow her backstage to capture her audio team’s update (“It will be back on in three minutes”). Within that short period, she convinces the wardrobe department she has enough time for a quick costume change, then, in a new outfit, meets with her head of music production to test a new transition to the next song. It is an exhilarating sequence that makes her seamless comeback to the stage even more admirable and shows her remarkable sense of timing and tension as a storyteller and filmmaker.

These moments pose the question of why it took her so long to exhibit such a thrilling illustration of her leadership. And then I realized: We were the problem; we just hadn’t listened to her.

Beyoncé has spent most of her career telling us she was in charge. As far back as 2004, “Beyoncé: Live at Wembley,” a concert film about her first solo tour, featured the artist at 22 as well as its creative director, Kim Burse, and choreographer, Frank Gatson, discussing how the headliner had helped conceive the show and chose its costumes, songs and choreography. Subsequent documentaries like the short “Beyoncé: Year of 4” and “Life Is but a Dream” focused even more intensely on her artistic independence after she split from her father and longtime manager, Mathew Knowles, and started her own company, Parkwood, to manage herself.

She returned to this theme of independence again in “Homecoming,” when, cinéma vérité-style, she shares the inspiration she found in the Battle of the Bands of historically Black colleges and universities; her use of three different sound stages to rehearse with the band, the dancers and her production team; and her intricate collaboration with Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing to design more than 200 outfits for the show. “In the rehearsals, I am directing and watching the show,” she says in “Homecoming” and notes, “I’m in the audience, and I’m able to be on the stage and kind of see the stage at the same time.”

And yet even in “Homecoming,” she points out how her team tried to ignore her directives in the lead-up to Coachella. At one point, she expresses her frustration to a film crew that isn’t listening to her when she describes what it will take to translate the energetic performances from the stage to the screen. “Until I see some of my notes applied,” an exasperated Beyoncé warns, “it doesn’t make sense for me to make more.”

A scene from “Homecoming,” her 2019 film in which she made clear that she was the director.Parkwood Entertainment/Netflix, via Associated Press

But in “Renaissance,” she explains her crew’s dismissiveness. “Communicating as a Black woman, everything is a fight,” she says, and adds, “I constantly have to repeat myself.” In back-to-back scenes, she shows what that looks like when she tries to buy two separate cameras to film her show. A team member informs her that one camera is unavailable, only to eventually admit that he can find it after she doubts him. In the next scene, she readies herself for the pushback. When someone else tells her the other camera does not exist, she reveals she has already found it online, so it just needs to be purchased. While this exchange is humorous, it is not minor. It is the frequency that makes the second-guessing larger-than-life and, unfortunately, far too relatable, especially for many Black women in positions of authority.

Management is one challenge; motherhood is far more demanding. The film pivots to Beyoncé’s ambivalence in allowing her older daughter, Blue Ivy, to perform with her on tour, only for Beyoncé to witness her growth as a young artist. And when we watch Beyoncé thank her mother, Tina Knowles, for protecting her from the more vicious aspects of the music industry, we realize not only that Mama Tina is her maternal template, but also that Beyoncé herself considers her three children, including the twins, Rumi and Sir, fuel for her creative process rather than fully outside of it.

After these exchanges, “Renaissance” opens up more and allows its star to reject the idea of solitary genius. Through archival footage, photographs and shots of dancers onstage, Beyoncé showcases the Black queer ballroom culture that inspired her album and concert choreography. She also pays homage to iconic Black women like Diana Ross and Tina Turner, who influenced her career, and to her hometown, Houston, where she was a founding member of the girl group Destiny’s Child. By exploring her indebtedness to a people and place, she confidently embraces her own contributions alongside those of her community and her collaborators. The payoff: She paints a more transparent portrait of the creative process.

Whether “Renaissance” will dampen criticism regarding her generous sharing of credits or drive a new appreciation of her artistry remains to be seen. By the end, Beyoncé declares she is ready for the next phase of her life and finally feels free.

May this film be the last time she has to repeat herself.

Shooting Waves – the story behind Paul Gibbins Photography

Shooting Waves – the story behind Paul Gibbins Photography

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Shooting Waves – the story behind Paul Gibbins Photography

by Paul Gibbins 2 Dec 01:04 PST

Final Fling, Plymouth, October 2023 – Canon 5d Mk 3 300mm Prime at f7.1 / 1/640 / ISO 250 © Paul Gibbins Photography

Sailing less now I needed an excuse to be on the water. I stumbled into photography in 2017, entirely self taught, but gravitated towards the sea as I thought I would combine my interest with an understanding of boats from many years cruising, racing and teaching. I’m also a former Royal Marine, so familiar with the ‘how hard can it be? I’ll give it a go’ approach.

The number of pro-sports photographers on the water is increasing, especially as events attract more sponsors that demand more timely, quality coverage to reach new audiences on many different media platforms. This places a huge responsibility on professional photographers to shoot for different formats, including short form video and stills imagery with drones. Speed of image capture to publication is paramount, everyone likes to see a selection of shots on the Club Bar TV after racing.

But this is a huge challenge for an enthusiast. Yes, those social feeds might need updating by sundown, but good editing takes time, and the pressure is on, especially when like me, it is a solo enterprise. SailGP lead by example, where stills images are captured and uploaded into the cloud in real time, to be edited by a 3rd party, and ready for media consumption in as little as 50 seconds.

On the water I like getting close to people and the subject, which comes at risk when you have a big fleet coming towards you. But with careful planning, identified escape routes and some good boat driving, getting ‘the shot’ is doable. I’m constantly looking for the emotion of being on the water: the sweat and the smiles of being on a boat and getting it to move. It’s intrusive, but the connection between the machine and the person visually captures the ‘why we go sailing’ of our sport.

Photography at sea certainly has its challenges, it’s tricky but rewarding. The environment is hard on expensive kit, sea salt is toxic. In front of the lens, everything is moving, composition is limited and framing becomes an exercise in compromise. While we are all photographers with our phones, there’s a quality that can only be achieved with a professional camera and a fast lens.

Photographers often obsess about kit, what camera, what lens and what setting is needed for a particular shot but it’s our ‘eye’ that remains the most important. On the water, knowing where to be with my cameras is crucial. I have two rules: get close, but don’t get in the way. I don’t always get it right, but this is often forgotten when the gallery is uploaded.

This year I’ve been lucky to shoot events throughout the South West, and also a few private clients just wanting some images of their boats. I’m also seeing more Foiling on the water, some Wakeboarding, and offshore rowing of course, which I always enjoy shooting. Off the water, I’ve been lucky to do a product shoot for a local Devon Cycling brand and a Triathlon – if there’s water and movement, I’m interested! But I remain a small enterprise with a side hustle that puts a smile on my face.

If you enjoy a photo, it’s easy to share it, like it, or make a comment; all photographers like some interaction and feedback. If you can, make a purchase, help support that photographer, he/she will probably have spent thousands on kit and invested many hours of learning to be there. But most of all, when you see someone with a camera on the water, smile and wave, that always makes a great shot.

paulgibbinsphotography.mypixieset.com

Sam Youkilis’ ‘Somewhere’ is an ode to the beauty of everyday life across cultures

Sam Youkilis’ ‘Somewhere’ is an ode to the beauty of everyday life across cultures

The reason most people come across Sam Youkilis’ work is none other than doom scrolling. Yet, among the hard drive of infinite visual memories that is Instagram, it’s one of the few online destinations where one can easily find stillness. A native of New York, now calling Italy home, Youkilis is a photographer and filmmaker capturing the daily nuances of existence – acts of kindness, wittiness, and love. His work has been described as ‘a generous indexing of everyday life’, often expressed through a visual language that is both deep and effortless.

Sam Youkilis’ ‘Somewhere’, an archive of human joy and kinship

sam youkilis somewhere book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

For the last six years, he’s been observing the world and portraying the beauty of the seemingly mundane through his iPhone camera. Published by Loose Joints, his first photography book, Somewhere 2017 – 2023, arrives as a substantial 500-page testament to his exploration of universal themes. Departing from the traditional photography archive, Somewhere takes readers on a journey through human behaviours, touching on diverse themes like unmade beds, the act of cutting, thresholds, dancing couples, and gestures of romance.

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

In crafting the book, Youkilis drew from his current archive of iPhone video work, spanning from the project’s inception to its development. He explains ‘[Somewhere] is a comprehensive amalgamation of everything I’ve made up until now, but since my work is continuing and these themes and subjects are innate to my work, all of the series are works in progress in a way.’ The process involved delving into the archive, leading to the identification of themes and repetitions that have proven invaluable for his evolving understanding of motifs in his photography.

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

Moving from the dynamic nature of Youkilis’ online feed, experiencing his work in print provides a different perspective. He notes, ‘It’s strange for me as I’m so familiar with the motion aspect of almost all of the stills. I see them as moving, even when looking through the book and it’s the first time I’m able to interact with them as stills. I present my work in two ways on the internet – one is through stories which are very diaristic and reflect my day. The other way is as carousels and very often I organise these carousels by theme, quite similar to the way these chapters break the book up.’

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

Somewhere unfolds as a visual exploration of the world, leveraging Youkilis’ extensive archive and typology to unveil the profound essence of diverse global locations. Each page serves as a celebration of the real, engaging with both ephemerality and sincerity. Youkilis’ attention to composition, colour, chiaroscuro, and framing speaks to his deep affinity for the photographic medium, elevating his work beyond mere snapshots.

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

somewhere sam youkilis book loose joints

(Image credit: © Sam Youkilis (2023). Courtesy of Loose Joints)

Somewhere 2017 – 2023, by Sam Youkilis, published by Loose Joints.

Skilled photographer understands the sport

Skilled photographer understands the sport
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I think The Frederick News-Post has a star on its hands in Katina Zentz.

I followed the inaugural girls flag football season and Katina did an amazing job covering this sport.

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Chandler woman co-chairs major Indigenous show

Chandler woman co-chairs major Indigenous show

Native American artists create unique items that can beautify a home. 

Chandler resident Katherine Shields appreciated their beauty from a young age as she was exposed to a collector’s world. Now, she chairs an upcoming Valley event that showcases this art.

About 110 Native American artist vendors, some of them “rock stars” of the Indigenous art world, will sell their wares during the S’edav Va’aki Museum Indian Market from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday, Dec. 9-10 at 4619 E. Washington St., Phoenix. (The venue was formerly known as the Pueblo Grande Museum.)

“There are not many places where visitors can engage with Indigenous artists in an informal setting,” Shields said. “Shoppers have a rare opportunity to chat with the artists about their art form, how they came to learn it, and its importance in their lives.”

Arizona’s second largest Indian Market provides a great opportunity to pick up paintings, woven rugs, pottery, sterling and gold jewelry, kachinas, Zuni fetishes, Native flutes and drums, sculptures, beaded items, arrowheads and other similar items. Prices start at $5 and can cost more than $3,000. 

The U.S. Department of the Interior adjudicates the event, requiring vendors to adhere to stringent rules and regulations.

Each item sold at the Indian Market is individually hand-made from materials that are authentic to the art form, said Shields, who co-chairs the event and is the director of the S’edav Va’aki Museum Foundation. 

This position is volunteer based, and her regular job is a contracted member for the Arizona Opera Orchestra, where she has played the viola since 1999. 

Shields said the market is “not like an art fair where you just walk through and look at art and then maybe buy something or maybe you don’t. We have actual things to do.”. 

In addition to the vendor booths, visitors may walk through the Ki:him, or “village,” a cultural demonstration area with 15 booths. Artists include Tony Duncan, who teaches hoop dancing, and the Kehewin Native Dance Theatre that teaches mask making.  

The entertainment is provided by four big name acts and food trucks will be selling Native American food and a coffee truck. 

Now in its 46th year, the market drew about 3,000 people last year.

 “Some visitors are collectors, there to visit specific artist vendors; some are interested in the main stage entertainment; some families come primarily to visit the Ki:him area and eat Fry Bread,” she said. 

“The Indian Market Committee has always viewed the market as a community-building event; the willingness of Ki:him demonstrators, entertainers and artist vendors to return year after year is evidence of the success in that arena.”

Shields’ grandparents and parents were interested in Native American culture and art since the early 1900s, and are collectors. 

“My father took me to my first Indian Market in Santa Fe, New Mexico, when I was 9. I have been hooked ever since,” she said. 

She is most fascinated by how the art is interwoven with the artists’ spiritual life and cultural practices.

 “I find that each piece holds so much meaning. It’s not just another painting of a landscape,” she said. 

 In college Shields started collecting Santa Clara pottery from New Mexico’s Santa Clara Pueblo, but said, “I don’t think of myself as a collector, I just think of myself as a person who buys jewelry and paintings.

 “I buy things that speak to me. Things just pop out. It just jumps up and says, ‘I need to go home with you.’” 

Shields began volunteering for the Indian Market in 2017. She also began volunteering at the museum, facilitating school tours and working the Artifact Cart, where they demonstrate unprovenanced objects that can be passed around.

She chaired the Young Artist Market in 2021. In 2022, she joined the board of the S’edav Va’aki Museum Foundation. 

“On the board, we each have a position, so I became chair of the Indian Market Committee. I have a co-chair, Jim Walker, and our committee of about 20 works hard every year to put on the Indian Market, which is the foundation’s biggest fundraiser for the museum,” she said.

Arizona has 22 federally recognized indigenous tribes and several are represented in the market. Besides Arizona, the artists come from New Mexico and California. 

The market is pan-tribal, which means it is not promoting any tribes, but Native American art as a whole. 

The S’edav Va’aki Museum Indian Market is one of about six markets in the US that are annual events that adhere to the Indian Arts & Crafts Act of 1990. It customarily draws the high-profile artists in the Indigenous art world, Shields said. 

The Phoenix-owned Pueblo Grand Museum changed its name earlier this year to S’edav Va’aki Museum to more accurately represent the heritage it preserves and to recognize the living cultures and homelands of the Native peoples who have inhabited the land for centuries. “Pueblo” means town or village in Spanish.

Va’aki means “platform mound” and S’edav Va’aki translates as “Central Platform Mound,” referring to the ceremonial house of a village, of which there were several along the Salt River. 

At one time, about 1,000 people lived on the site until it was vacated around 1200, probably due to drought.

Asked about the general interest in these cultures, Shields said: “I think interest in Indigenous art and culture is on the rise. Now that travel has opened up, cultural tourism is back in force.”

Details: phoenix.gov/sedav-vaaki  

After open heart surgery, Madison man hikes and photographs Ice Age Trail

After open heart surgery, Madison man hikes and photographs Ice Age Trail

MADISON, Wis. (WMTV) – Twelve hundred miles, one backpack and a camera- a Madison man’s road to recovery took him through the Ice Age Trail.

After undergoing emergency heart surgery, in 2014, he decided to focus on gaining his strength back while making new friends along the way. He documented his voyage through his camera lens.

Two hundred and sixty-four pages later, photographer Cameron Gillie combined all the photos he took into a book. It took him four years to complete the hike and this year he is finally able to share it with the world.

“They realized once they got in there and saw there was a lot of blockage and I needed to have quadruple bypass surgery,” Gillie said.

The emergency open heart surgery reminded him that life is precious.

“Well, having something like that happened to you when you’re young is it’s an eye opener,” Gillie said. “You realize your mortality, you know you. You’re not going to be around forever, so. Yeah, it was. It became important to do.”

In hopes to complete his goal to walk one million steps, Gillie packed his backpack and camera and hiked through the Ice Age Trail.

Cameron Gillie and his wife
Cameron Gillie and his wife(WMTV)

“It was about four years after heart surgery, I started the hike and it took a long time because it’s 1,200 miles,” Gillie said.

He learned how much his body could handle in a day and how to make quick and easy dinners.

“I would make my own backpacking meals, things that were easy to rehydrate, like couscous and ramen,” Gillie said.

After meals, he would travel through towns to snap photos of people he met along the way. One day he ended up at a barber shop in Kewaunee.

“I knocked on the door and just called, just kind of ambushed him and said, ‘hey, can I take some pictures?’” he said.

There's been a Lukes barbershop in Kewaunee for 100 years. Lynn Lukes is the third generation...
There’s been a Lukes barbershop in Kewaunee for 100 years. Lynn Lukes is the third generation carrying on the tradition of cutting hair.(Photo by Cameron Gillie)

He reminds others to never give up when things get hard.

“If you just keep making progress, you’ll get there,” he said. “At one point, you’ll get to the point where you’re a quarter of the way done.”

Gillie plans to create another book, taking another journey through Wisconsin and making connections with the people he meets. He thinks he might ride his bike this time.

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Indigenous Histories, São Paulo review — ambitious exhibition unites artists fighting for survival

Indigenous Histories, São Paulo review — ambitious exhibition unites artists fighting for survival

How do you make a museum show about Indigenous culture when the very idea of the museum, an invention of European enlightenment, has its roots in colonialism? This question rumbles behind but is never quite resolved in Indigenous Histories, the new show at Museu de Arte de São Paulo. It is also central to an indicative work in the exhibition: Peruvian artist Susana Torres’s decision in 1999 to start collecting and exhibiting commercial products and consumer packaging featuring Inca imagery.

The curators at MASP present just one such example from Torres’s Museo Neo Inka series (1999-2011): a sack of wheat flour that shows the head of an Inca man printed above the legally required nutritional table. For Torres it was ironic that the marketing people behind the flour, and brands such as Inca Kola (created by a British man in the 1930s) and Inca cigarettes (a favourite of poet Allen Ginsberg), were using the imagery to invoke a sense of tradition, while contemporary Peruvian Indigenous people were economically maligned and cut from the cultural conversation.

If this sprawling exhibition of 170 artists is an attempt to correct that, bringing Indigenous production into the canon, then it is certainly ambitious in its geographical spread. Programmed in collaboration with Norway’s Kode Bergen Art Museum, where the show travels next year, it is divided into eight sections: seven devoted to regions in South America, North America, Oceania and Scandinavia, as well as a first room for pan-global examples of Indigenous resistance to colonialism and capitalist exploitation.

It opened as Australians voted against recognising Aboriginal communities and Torres Strait Islanders in the country’s constitution and guaranteeing them a voice in decision-making but also as, more positively, Brazil’s supreme court rejected a law limiting what might be considered Indigenous peoples’ land. Indigenous issues are live today.

Jim Logan’s ‘The Visit’ (1987)

In the global room, a 2012 photograph by Alexander Luna feels symbolic of this never-ending fight for first peoples’ rights. It shows Máxima Acuña dressed in the traditional clothing of the Peruvian Andes, holding her fist aloft. Acuña is smiling, but her story is deadly serious. In the years after the portrait was taken, Acuña faced legal proceedings from American gold-mining company Newmont Corp, which said her home illegally occupied land it had purchased for a new development. She also claims to have been assaulted by Peruvian police after eviction proceedings began. Her torment only ended after a higher court found in her favour and stopped her eviction.

The activist’s tale is a particularly dramatic one, but it is a similar fight for survival that unites the disparate communities present in the rest of the show. Just above Luna’s photograph is the Tino Rangatiratanga Flag (1990), designed by Linda Munn, Hiraina Marsden and Jan Dobson as a symbol of Māori struggle in New Zealand; on facing walls are posters by Arvid Sveen illustrating Sámi political consciousness across Norway and Sweden. Documentary photography by Edgar Kanaykõ Xakriabá shows the Free Land Camp, a meeting of Brazilian Indigenous communities that occupies grounds near government ministries annually.

Drawing of women dressed in traditional costumes with bright patterned skirts and bowler-like hats
Venuca Evanán’s ‘The Memory of My Desire (2019) © Juan Pablo Murrugarra

Inviting guest curators to programme each of the different sections, while pragmatic, means the exhibition loses this initial cohesion. One gallery organised by Mexican artist Abraham Cruzvillegas is packed full of works from the early 20th century, tracing how the representation of Mexican Indigeneity was used to establish a national identity after the revolution of 1910-20. Paintings including “Our Ancient Gods” (1916) by Saturnino Herrán and “Indian Wedding” (c1931) by Alfredo Ramos Martínez are both complementary to Indigenous dignity and exoticising to modern eyes.

From there, the viewer can either enter a gallery of Western Australian “desert painting” or a gallery dedicated to the home culture of Canadian Inuit, First Nations and Métis communities. In the former, Yala Yala Gibbs Tjungurrayi’s “Wirrpi” (1997) is an intoxicating abstract painting of interconnecting ochre, brown and orange orbs, while Turkey Tolson Tjupurrula’s “Mitukatjirri” (1986) displays similarly beguiling patterning.

A painting of thin brown and yellow vertical stripes composed of many tiny dots
Turkey Tolson Tjupurrula’s ‘Mitukatjirri’ (1986)
A flag waving in the wind. It looks like a white wave is curling over a red sea under a blue sky
Luna’s photograph of the Tino Rangatiratanga Flag (1990) designed by Linda Munn, Hiraina Marsden and Jan Dobson © Erica Sinclair

In the latter, Canadian Indigenous artist Jim Logan’s deeply evocative painting “The Visit” (1987) hangs, depicting several generations of a family gather in a single room, wrapped up warm but steeped in poverty, the presence of beer bottles suggesting social problems. Kananginak Pootoogook’s nearby bird’s-eye painting of a boiling pot of berries is more idyllic in sensibility.

All three displays, from the sultry Modernist visions of Mexico to this frozen scene, are strong in their own right, but aside from a common enemy, the connection of these communities, separated by climates, continents and history, is tenuous.

In Brazil it is only in the past few years that artists from Indigenous groups have gained recognition. This year MASP dedicated a survey to the Movimento dos Artistas Huni Kuin, a collective of artists with Huni Kuin ethnicity from western Brazil. A painting by one member here, Acelino Huni Kuin, shows the “bridge alligator”, a giant creature of myth who lay across the Bering Strait to allow passage between the Americas and Asia, the story subverting notions of the “old” and “new” world. Meanwhile, the stick-figure pen drawings by Taniki Yanomami depict the circularity of birth and death in Yanomami culture. In uncompromising fashion, both present the Indigenous understanding of time as being fundamentally non-linear.

A colourful picture with people standing on an alligator
Acelino Tuin Huni Kuin’s ‘Bridge Alligator’ (2022) © Daniel Cabrel

In gaining recognition, however, Indigenous artists have made sacrifices to western art markets. Waxamani Mehinako paints the rhythmic patterns the Xingu peoples traditionally use in body painting, textiles and basketry, but while he uses local pigments, he applies them to canvas, an easier sell within a westernised art market. Maintaining hierarchies of what is art and what is not, just one basketry object is included in the exhibition, a Waláya basket of arumã fibre, by the Bainwa people, but the museum shop is full of lesser examples available to purchase.

The Peruvian artist Sandra Gamarra often hangs her own work, portraits of Spanish colonial nobility, upside down to upset the historic power dynamic between her subject and her Indigenous identity, and tasked with curating a section dedicated to her own country she chose to hang the work similarly. Facing the contemporary Indigenous work, all upside down, is a series of 18th-century oil paintings, only one of which, a Cusco school portrait of St Francisco Javier owned by MASP, is turned on its head. The lenders of the others, a Spanish museum, refused the request on conservation grounds: a signal that for all the progress evident in Indigenous Histories, an important show, if not a perfect one, there is some distance left to run in art’s decolonising mission.

To February 25, masp.org.br

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