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Showing posts from 2007

Faithful Mirror: Return to an old rebellion

In the beginning of the nineties, when a group of young – perhaps fresh from school -- fine artists stepped out to the public in an exhibition titled Young Masters, they created more than a stir. They unsettled some seated posturing. Audaciously, they not only proclaimed that they were poised to offer fresh coating to the features of the gallery, which as co-notated in the subtext of their show, had grown stale; they also conferred status of ‘master on themselves’. Of course, they did not get away so easily with the audacity; they were named, labeled and critically pummeled, even as it was clear that since many of them were fresh from art school, they were driven in this mission, by the exuberant resourcefulness, enterprise and energy conventional to their age; and were merely responding to the dynamics of shifting paradigm in global art discourse at the time – this era was in the throe of post modernism debate, remember. The ‘freshers’ as they were described in one particular critiq

something to smile asbout

Why I Fired My Secretary It was my thirty-fifth birthday, and I wasn't feeling too hot that morning anyway. I went to breakfast knowing my wife would be pleasant and say ?Happy Birthday. And would probably have a present for me. She didn't even say ?Good Morning, Let alone any 'Happy Birthday' I thought. Well, that's wives for you. Maybe the children will remember. The children came in to breakfast and didn't say a word. When I started to the office I was feeling pretty low and despondent. As I walked into my office, my secretary, Janet , said, 'Good morning boss, Happy Birthday' So I felt a little better; Someone had remembered. I worked until noon. Then Janet knocked on my door and said 'You know it's such a beautiful day outside and it's your birthday. Let's go to lunch, just you and me. I told her that it was the best thing I've heard all day. 'Let's go'. We went to lunch. We didn't go where we normally go; We w

What True Love wants

(Text of an e-chat with TRUE LOVE magazine (July Edition) on one of my least favoured subjects, Religion.) To which spiritual denomination do you belong? I have sympathy for all religions but I prefer my neutrality. This means I could participate in rituals and ceremonies of all 'spiritual denominations' so far it is all about advancing the good cause of humanity. In essence, I worship God/Allah/Olodumare or whatever name is given to the Supreme Being - the creator/ owner of the heaven and the earth and all the components therein. How do you nurture your spirit? By being very human; loving others as I love myself; cherishing others the way I cherish myself; working for the good of all creations of the Supreme Being. I believe that by loving and appreciating other human beings, I am loving and cherishing the Supreme Being. What inspired you to becoming a journalist? I say always that I am a Culture Communicator and not a Journalist in the way it's usually or tradition

You want to be a critic

You want to be what? A critic…? (Being an extended version of a ‘mentoring letter’ that I was asked by me friend Ita for her magazine, Muse’) Dear Comrade-to-be, Shall I humour you with a lie? I was really silently bemused albeit rankled by your expressed desire to work as an art critic after your graduation. If you had observed closely, there was this bold improbability sitting at the corner of my mouth in response to your statement. Oh, you saw it? You thought it was a sign of approval? Wrong, friend! And there goes your first lesson in arts criticisms… always seek the inner (hideous, if you like) meanings of statements and actions; except if such was made by an angel! Left to me anyway, even the angel should be probed further. … Well as I was saying; being an arts writer (or arts critic as you have called it) is like signing a pact with poverty… please, do not be scared. All I mean is: it is pretty difficult to get a job anywhere to operate optimally, efficacious or even p

Soulmates we lost

RE-NA-TE: The one that drew my tears I was on a performance tour of Mexico, where the National Troupe was representing Africa at the Cervantino Festival of World Theatre when the news stole in on me and upstaged my joy. ‘Renate is dead!’ It came like the evil wind. It swept me to nothingness. A momentary trip to blandness. In a sense it was my own ceasing of being; even if momentarily. My head was heavy. My feet will not shift. I was rooted, yet there was a sudden rush of motion in my soul. It was watery; bloodily watery threatening to burst me open… I let out… screeeeeeeeaaaam! Then sank into the seat, sending bottles, cups, kebab in directions on the well-paved floor. This dirge leveled my soul. The voice on the other end was unsparing. ‘She did not survive the operation’, continued Mihai, my friend, brother and son of Renate. Tall, gangling Mihai -- to whom I had laid a siege ever since Renate was dispatched homeward to Bremen following the horrid twist in her malignant battle

Soulmates we lost

RE-NA-TE: The one that drew my tears I was on a performance tour of Mexico, where the National Troupe was representing Africa at the Cervantino Festival of World Theatre when the news stole in on me and upstaged my joy. ‘Renate is dead!’ It came like the evil wind. It swept me to nothingness. A momentary trip to blandness. In a sense it was my own ceasing of being; even if momentarily. My head was heavy. My feet will not shift. I was rooted, yet there was a sudden rush of motion in my soul. It was watery; bloodily watery threatening to burst me open… I let out… screeeeeeeeaaaam! Then sank into the seat, sending bottles, cups, kebab in directions on the well-paved floor. This dirge leveled my soul. The voice on the other end was unsparing. ‘She did not survive the operation’, continued Mihai, my friend, brother and son of Renate. Tall, gangling Mihai -- to whom I had laid a siege ever since Renate was dispatched homeward to Bremen following the horrid twist in her malignant battle

The Artist and His Patron

The Professionals: How Patron Under-develop the Artists By Jahman Anikulapo (First published in 1992) Banjo Kale talking softly and carrying himself maturely, last weekend saved his men from wittingly annulling the birth rite of their organization, The Professionals, into art and culture programming. The medical doctor, exhibiting a winsome, accommodating mien stylishly reversed a less careful veto from a member of the body who, angered by a position earlier canvassed by one of the club’s guest speakers, had call for a ‘Vote of Thanks’, even while the event was at mid-course! In the club’s upstairs apartment at 9 Biadou Street, Ikoyi, Lagos had converged artists, journalists and art enthusiasts invited by The Professionals to discuss a new idea Entrepreneurship in Contemporary Nigeria -- Focusing the Creative Arts. The walls of the apartment bore an exhibition of a collection of paintings from select artists. But the living room played host to the mini-seminar at which certain

The Job Is My Struggle

(Being an interview granted OLIVIER BARLIET, leading critic and Documentarist of African films and Moderator of Africultures in August 2007) 1) JAHMAN ANIKULAPO, AFTER HAVING BEEN CHIEF EDITOR OF THE CULTURE PART OF THE GUARDIAN, YOU ARE NOW CHIEF EDITOR OF "LIFE", THE GUARDIAN MAGAZINE DELIVERED FREE WITH THE NEWSPAPER ON THE WEEK-END AS IT IS OFTEN THE CASE IN THE ANGLOPHONE COUNTRIES. DOES THIS EVOLUTION OPEN YOUR FIELD AND YOUR POSSIBILITIES OF PUBLISHING CONTENTS YOU LIKE ? JAHMAN: Thanks Olivier. You are indeed right. I was Arts, Culture and Media reporter for The Guardian (Daily) for 15 years (12 years as Editor); and in that period my area of influence was concentrated on matters relating to the arts in all its ramifications - Literature, Visual Arts, Music, Film, Theatre, Media, as well as culture-related subjects including the museum, language etc. In 2003, I moved over to edit the Sunday edition of The Guardian, and one of the innovations we brought in to increase