Wereld in Beweging - recent exhibitions - puppet masks

African Arts, Spring, 2002 by Dana Rush

Gelede-marionetten van de Anago-Yoruba

April 1-December 31, 2001 Afrika Museum Berg en Dal, The Netherlands

I ardently agree with Allen Roberts's assertion that the Afrika Museum in Berg en Dal (an hour's train ride from Amsterdam) "deserves a joyful day trip!" (Roberts 2000:78). I followed his advice and was, indeed, delighted. There I saw the exhibition "Wereld in Beweging: Gelede-marionetten van de Anago-Yoruba" (World in Motion: Gelede Puppets of the Anago Yoruba), a thought-provoking visual cornucopia of more than one hundred magnificently motley Gelede masks surmounted by articulated figures, or "puppets," most of which had once been manipulated by a wearer pulling strings hidden inside the helmet of the mask. The dizzying collection of fabulous one-of-a-kind masks was on loan from Mrs. Ursula Heijs-Voorhuis, a longtime friend of the museum. This particular collection is distinctive in that although Gelede masks have been widely collected and studied (Beier 1966; Drewal 1974a, b; Drewal & Drewal 1975, 1983; Lawal 1996), there has been no comprehensive study of Gelede "puppet masks" from this critical crossroads area of the Benin Republic and Nigeria.

As a visual presage of what lay ahead, a turquoise blue didactic wall panel set off with mandarin orange text (in Dutch and German) welcomed the viewer to the gallery space, explaining that the exhibition was divided into two sections: Ere/Gelede masks and puppet masks. A large, striking, full-body mask with arms outstretched, called Alapafuja, and a Gelede example surmounted by a monkey conceptually bridge these two sections of the exhibition space, as such masks often perform in the morning, between the nocturnal Efe ceremony and the afternoon Gelede celebration. To the left of these intermediary examples was a rotating platform of five masks, designated as Efe, including a janus-faced bird/human, a hyena, a Great Mother with a long, board-like beard, and two composite Oro Efe masks. Types such as these open the night performance before the day of a Gelede festival.

The next space, the main gallery of the exhibition hall, was filled to the brim with ninety-five puppet masks, one breastplate with animated nursing twins (which, at one time, fed the twins through tubes), and another fully rounded female body mask with eight small male puppets that kick and nod. It was explained that these masks can be divided thematically into daily life, religious life, and scenes of justice. It was not readily apparent, however, how this thematic division played out in the exhibition space; there were no special subdivisions or individual labels, so thematic interpretation was left up to the visitor. Sixty-one masks mounted on a turquoise blue platform at varied heights and distances from the viewer lined three walls of the gallery, while three blue islands of masks, one of them rotating, further energized the space. Adding to the already charged atmosphere, five of these superstructure puppet masks moved in sequence: two hyena masks (one of which is janus-faced) clapped open and closed their menacing, tooth-filled mouths, flapped their ears, and stuck out their tongues; an acrobat stood on his head while extending his feet in the air; another man leaned forward and clapped his hands; and a woman and her twins leaned forward, gestured, and blinked their eyes.

At first the synergy of this jam-packed exhibition space was overwhelming, and the kinetically visual bombardment disorienting. I found myself running from one moving mask to another, trying to absorb the show while at the same time attempting to guess which mask would move next. The feeling was a bit reminiscent of my first visit to a west African market, where I did not know where to focus my gaze, fearing that I would miss something if I blinked. When my initial excitement subsided, and I realized that I had all afternoon to take everything in, I slowed down and allowed myself to enjoy the exhibition undistracted.

Clearly, in order to preserve the more fragile and complexly articulated examples, only five masks were wired to move, and their gestures were simple. Nonetheless, seeing them prompted me to spend time examining the necks, elbows, knees, and other points of articulation on the other ninety-odd examples. Attempting to figure out how a mask once moved, and anticipating which of the masks on exhibit might move, not only heightened the viewing experience but also provided a fantastic exercise in looking. The staggering array of super superstructures on view included, among other representations, an Ogun priest wearing a red, blue, and black ensemble covered in palm fronds; a diviner who sits up and flings his divination chain with his right arm; a Catholic priest, bedecked in sunglasses, offering communion to one of the faithful, who kneels with his mouth open to receive the sacrament; a heraldic lion that rears up on its hind legs; seated dignitaries and leaders gesturing and shaking hands; executions and punishment scenes; boat builders, wood carvers, and a blacksmith working a forge; two copulation scenes; a drinking scene; a funeral scene; and a Muslim man being kicked in the behind by a goat. Among my favorites was a fabulous hairdresser using a large comb and scissors to cut a seated client's hair; not only could he move his implements together but he could also turn his head and wink. Another favorite showed two men fighting over a woman, each pulling one of the woman's arms back and forth. The men could bend backward and forward, and when they pulled hard, the woman was suspended in mid-air. A last favorite was a man on a telephone; he could move both arms so that while holding the phone to his ear, he could gesture with his other arm. This telephone mask was also on the cover of the catalogue.