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Images of empire and identity
Perspectives
Exhibition Images of empire and identity Bakshiram (1886) by Rudolf Swoboda/Royal Collection Trust/ © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth ll 2015
In the final room of Tate Britain’s Artist and Empire exhibition there hangs a startlingly beautiful work of art by Sonia Boyce. The painting, Lay back, keep quiet and think of what made Britain so great, is a meditation on identity. The background shows wallpaper used to commemorate the 50th year of Queen Victoria’s reign, but it is interweaved with luscious black roses complete with sharp thorns. In each of the first three panels sits a large Christian cross, inside of which are scenes from Australia, South Africa, and India. In the corners are the words, “Mission”, “Missionary”, and “Missionary Position”. In the final panel is a self-portrait of the artist, looking defiantly at us. Boyce was born in London to parents from Barbados and Guyana. In this painting, she reflects on Englishness, the role of religion in the imperial conquests, sexual violence, and the contingent nature of identity. The work is also an act of resistance; in one corner is the word “Changing”. Boyce is part of a dynamic movement in British art, which also includes the
Artist and Empire Tate Britain, London, UK, until April 10, 2016 http://www.tate.org.uk/whatson/tate-britain/exhibition/artistand-empire
Museum of London
Joanna Bourke is the author of The Story of Pain: From Prayer to Painkillers
EnTWINed (2009) by The Singh Twins
332
formidable Singh Twins (Amrit and Rabindra) who celebrate their identities as English, Liverpudlian, Indian, and Sikh. Their work EnTWINed, for example, uses ancient Indian miniature tradition to reflect on the First Indian War of Independence, the diaspora, and British–Indian crosscultural interactions. Such artists remind us of the ways that history is alive in the present: the empire continues to frame British life. The exhibition circles almost obsessively around the theme of presence and absence in imperial encounters. Unlike the subtle inflections displayed in the work of such artists as Boyce, Australian artist
“Violence was central to these representations of empire.“ Judy Watson, and Guyanese artist Donald Locke, much of Artist and Empire showcases bold representations of power. Map-making is shown to be a foundational assertion of ownership. Indigenous peoples were written-out of the landscape; massive territories
were coloured in red. By 1922, the British empire covered nearly a quarter of the world’s land mass. Was it any wonder that the rulers exuded confidence? The huge oil paintings in the room themed “Imperial Heroics” and the grand portraiture on display in the “Power Dressing” room radiate a knowing assumption of superiority and self-assurance. Violence was central to these representations of empire. Edward Armitage’s Retribution (1858), painted shortly after the massacre of women and children at Cawnpore in 1857, shows a formidable, Amazonian woman—Britannia— slaying the Bengali tiger with a sword. At the bottom of the painting are the slain women and children. Viewers of this painting can be in no doubt of the ultimate victors. This is propaganda masquerading as art. Other forms of appropriation are more subtle. Artists like New Zealander Charles Frederick Goldie, whose A Maori Chieftainess (1906) is on display, are presented as examples of “supposedly objective ethnographic case studies”. But Goldie’s representation of the Maori peoples of his time was highly selective and skewed. He mostly painted elderly survivors, ignoring the young Maori movements of his time that were challenging Pakeha hegemony. The patronising titles that he gave to many of his works—The Last of the Cannibals— suggest that he was really engaged in constructing European fantasies about the Maori, rather than presenting a realistic tribute to their lives. Any exhibition entitled Artist and Empire is guaranteed to incite passions. There is always the risk of triumphalism. Resistance to the imperial project is evident, but the exhibition risks emphasising “encounters” (a rather benign word) over cruelty and violence. But at least it begins the debate.
Joanna Bourke www.thelancet.com Vol 387 January 23, 2016
Exhibition Images of empire and identity Bakshiram (1886) by Rudolf Swoboda/Royal Collection Trust/ © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth ll 2015
In the final room of Tate Britain’s Artist and Empire exhibition there hangs a startlingly beautiful work of art by Sonia Boyce. The painting, Lay back, keep quiet and think of what made Britain so great, is a meditation on identity. The background shows wallpaper used to commemorate the 50th year of Queen Victoria’s reign, but it is interweaved with luscious black roses complete with sharp thorns. In each of the first three panels sits a large Christian cross, inside of which are scenes from Australia, South Africa, and India. In the corners are the words, “Mission”, “Missionary”, and “Missionary Position”. In the final panel is a self-portrait of the artist, looking defiantly at us. Boyce was born in London to parents from Barbados and Guyana. In this painting, she reflects on Englishness, the role of religion in the imperial conquests, sexual violence, and the contingent nature of identity. The work is also an act of resistance; in one corner is the word “Changing”. Boyce is part of a dynamic movement in British art, which also includes the
Artist and Empire Tate Britain, London, UK, until April 10, 2016 http://www.tate.org.uk/whatson/tate-britain/exhibition/artistand-empire
Museum of London
Joanna Bourke is the author of The Story of Pain: From Prayer to Painkillers
EnTWINed (2009) by The Singh Twins
332
formidable Singh Twins (Amrit and Rabindra) who celebrate their identities as English, Liverpudlian, Indian, and Sikh. Their work EnTWINed, for example, uses ancient Indian miniature tradition to reflect on the First Indian War of Independence, the diaspora, and British–Indian crosscultural interactions. Such artists remind us of the ways that history is alive in the present: the empire continues to frame British life. The exhibition circles almost obsessively around the theme of presence and absence in imperial encounters. Unlike the subtle inflections displayed in the work of such artists as Boyce, Australian artist
“Violence was central to these representations of empire.“ Judy Watson, and Guyanese artist Donald Locke, much of Artist and Empire showcases bold representations of power. Map-making is shown to be a foundational assertion of ownership. Indigenous peoples were written-out of the landscape; massive territories
were coloured in red. By 1922, the British empire covered nearly a quarter of the world’s land mass. Was it any wonder that the rulers exuded confidence? The huge oil paintings in the room themed “Imperial Heroics” and the grand portraiture on display in the “Power Dressing” room radiate a knowing assumption of superiority and self-assurance. Violence was central to these representations of empire. Edward Armitage’s Retribution (1858), painted shortly after the massacre of women and children at Cawnpore in 1857, shows a formidable, Amazonian woman—Britannia— slaying the Bengali tiger with a sword. At the bottom of the painting are the slain women and children. Viewers of this painting can be in no doubt of the ultimate victors. This is propaganda masquerading as art. Other forms of appropriation are more subtle. Artists like New Zealander Charles Frederick Goldie, whose A Maori Chieftainess (1906) is on display, are presented as examples of “supposedly objective ethnographic case studies”. But Goldie’s representation of the Maori peoples of his time was highly selective and skewed. He mostly painted elderly survivors, ignoring the young Maori movements of his time that were challenging Pakeha hegemony. The patronising titles that he gave to many of his works—The Last of the Cannibals— suggest that he was really engaged in constructing European fantasies about the Maori, rather than presenting a realistic tribute to their lives. Any exhibition entitled Artist and Empire is guaranteed to incite passions. There is always the risk of triumphalism. Resistance to the imperial project is evident, but the exhibition risks emphasising “encounters” (a rather benign word) over cruelty and violence. But at least it begins the debate.
Joanna Bourke www.thelancet.com Vol 387 January 23, 2016