Notes on loving, part 2.
In the most beautiful cases, speechlessness results in a rethinking of the vocabularies we choose. Depending on the conversations we hope to have, it makes us think about an intentional use of it. What do we want to say? What do we mean and who do we mean by that? And, if we mean 'everyone'… who may symbolize that universality? Who can consider themselves recognizable? Who needs to have a reason? Who is allowed to be ordinary, without explanation and without having to earn it? Judging by the tears that flowed at Rotterdam Central on Friday 2 June during the placement ceremony of Moments Contained, the beautiful sculpture by British artist Thomas J Price, we have not been our own answer enough.
It didn't matter that many of us already knew what the sculpture looks like and that it had been sticking out above the fences in which it stood for a few days. We would still be surprised. After all, we did not yet know what she would do, we did not yet know how she would activate us and the Stationsplein of Rotterdam Central. Although we didn't know exactly how or what, we already felt that the beautiful, bright blue cloth was only draped over her, but that she wasn't the only one who would be revealed. There, beneath what appeared to be a satiny form of bluing, also waited the emotions associated with recognition. By counting down to her, we were counting down to our new placement in the city, a long-awaited marker on an all-too-blank map.
Sculptures and statues that not only show Black people, but are also made by Black artists, make me think in maps. They let me imagine what the maps of places, provinces, countries, regions in (Western) Europe would look like if we drew them based on Black presence. What would these maps look like if that presence did not depend on the physical presence of Black residents? Which Dutch cities would be on this list in the first instance? Which ones would be allowed to remain if the works of art and street names related to slavery and African Americans are not included? For example, what remains of ideas about home, together, everyone and being proud of the number of nationalities that live in a city, when the presence of the different residents is not reflected in the artworks in the public spaces? What if we measured Black presence by its impact on art in public spaces?
The placement of Moments Contained, donated to the city by Stichting Droom en Daad, makes Rotterdam a great stage for conversations about the future of art in the public spaces of Western Europe. The conversations around Moments Contained are not just a Rotterdam or Dutch affair. They say something about the memory and imagination culture of countries whose status quo deals with the utmost difficulty with what the Franco-Martinican poet and playwright Aimé Césaire calls “the unsustainability of Europe”.
In addition, and certainly not least, it says something about the near future and different forms of visibility as imagined by our various Afro-European communities. What we show is often a reflection of what we think, think or at least hope underlines our value. Moments Contained constitutes, where necessary, an invitation to revise it. In the conversations we had that afternoon at the Stationsplein, both with friends and unknown partners of this beautiful moment, we often reflected on the fact that Moments Contained “just” is still and not necessarily busy with someone else. "Nice man, that we can also just chill, that we don't have to show anything for a while... don't have to prove anything," remarked a twenty-something next to me.
The tears that flowed lovingly from Shanygne Wiebers' speech and during the choreography created by Sheree Lenting and her team felt partly like the discharge of fatigue. To be yourself in a society where the dominant groups only recognize some parts of themselves is a fatigue. A constant, daily fatigue. To feel seen in it by an image of a young lady who is just minding her business, is a love. My sister Aïda Sium thought that our tears symbolized a baptism. “Like how you baptize a ship when it departs. But, in this case, to celebrate her arrival and wish her protection.” I noticed how many of us were concerned about the image. Some of us wondered if she was standing firm enough and we were concerned about the ways people might want to touch her. When it comes to Black girls, young ladies and women, something wild happens to other people's feelings of ownership and access…
Aïda and I were discussing this a bit more when a lady came to stand right behind us. Although you can never be completely sure with our elderly, we estimate her to be about seventy years old. We greeted her with the courtesies we've learned from our families and asked if she might pass by. The lady indicated that this was not necessary: she preferred to watch her from where we stood. After a few seconds she asked what you would call such a work of art. “What do you suggest we call her, ma'am?” I asked her. “A statue, I think?” she doubted. I told her we could choose this ourselves, that we could call her a statue if that's how we see her. She asked if she should represent a real person and was pleasantly surprised when we told her about both the symbolism and the intentions of the image. Our new aunt took another look at the statue, shared that she had never seen anything like it before and proudly concluded: “Ay, she is a statue!”
In addition to the issues of material, size and whether or not a pedestal is involved, statues are of course also concerned with the 'who'. Who deserves to be looked up to? Who is inspiring enough for these proportions? Who, without explanation and without having to deserve it, is allowed to be so great? It was indescribably beautiful to think about it together that afternoon, while enjoying Price's work.
She is so welcome and, despite her very recent arrival, so Rotterdam. And, of course, a Rotterdam pharaoh has her hands in her pockets. Of course our contemporary version of the sculptures as we know them from the Antiquities is chilling in a relaxed-looking outfit. Honestly, who wants to be known for battle? All the Black folks I know crave softness and stillness.
It was heartwarming to see how many people wanted their picture taken with her and Thomas J Price. Everyone brought something: the little ones came with their poses, adults brought their stories. The mayor of Rotterdam predicted that this would become the most photographed work of art in the city. Let's think carefully about what this means and what it says about the need for representation, about the different levels of recognition. Let's not just look at the number of photos, but let's pay attention to the faces, to what makes the eyes shine and elicits the poses. And, let that inform us about what kind of public spaces we want for ourselves.
On the way to the restaurant where my sisters and I often settle down when we want to discuss a great event, we run into an acquaintance and her daughter. The girl, probably about nine years old, wears a very tough outfit. Her box braids are a mix of black, red and blue, so I trust her taste instantly. We ask her if she enjoyed the dance and what she thinks of the image. She smiles and tells how beautiful she thinks she is. I ask her if she thinks the statue looks like her. She nods proudly and I ask what she likes most about her. During her sweet “Eeehhmm…” she takes her gaze from us, to the sky and through her mother to Moments Contained. She looks at us again and says, "Everything!" Everything. Looking at a sculpture in which she recognizes herself, our new niece decides that she likes everything about her. Everything.
So that we may be our own answer more often.
The English version of this essay is here readily available.
Part 1 of this essay is here to read.