The final piece will be three over lapping drawings, the city in the middle with a tree on either side.

approx dimensions when finished 4ft tall x 8.5ft long

Here is a mock up to give you an idea of what it will look like.

In Senegal I was inspired by how close and connected everyone/everything. You rely heavily on other people and things to get by, in America it is simple to get by with just yourself. If you choose, you can be completely self absorbed, you can self checkout at the grocery store, you can easily transport yourself from point A to point B. This however is not the case in Senegal, everyone is dependent on everyone. It is a very crowded, close knit community. These observations led me to start work on three large scale drawings (which I am currently still working on) using tiny dots to make up the entire image. Here are some photos from that project.

Eva

Aprox size: 4ft high x 2.5ft wide.

This is my interpretation of the musical and visual rhythms of Dakar, and life in general.

This was installed to welcome our French instructor Moutarou and his wife Carmen. These were made from the multi-gallon bottles of water that we were utterly dependent on every day. I was inspired to make these after seeing families gathered around similar, non-decorated lamps in front of their houses in a village on the drive back from Lac Rose. The color choices refer to the unexpected colored lights that I noted in Dakar at night.

Selections from a show of the students of Oumou Sy, the best-known designer from Senegal.

Dust becomes rain, sand becomes mud, vibrant color and sound becomes a muffled palette of neutrals. As I sip a smooth latte instead of a mouth-anesthetizing Cafe Touba, I reflect upon the orderly traffic, the fixed prices, and the over-abundance at the stores. I miss the mash-up of Dakar: the shocking blare of horns, the spare personal space, and the omni-presence of life. I am already plotting my return. (DB)

Now that it’s all said and done, the fat lady has sung, Elvis has left the building. It’s hard to express in words the sites and sounds, the warmth and friendship and the beautiful generosity and openness I experienced on this trip. I would like to thank (in no particular order) Amadou Sow, Ndary Lo, Mohamadou Ndoye Douts, Florent Ebion, Ndella Dieng, Adama Seck, Serigne Mbaye Camara, Simon, Orchestra Baobab, KT Allred, Moby, Mamadou Diakhaté, Just 4 U, Kehinde Wiley, CCH Pounder, Leah Marvin, Oumou Sy, Maksho, Deanna Bredthauer, Mohammed Dieng, Delta, Nina Simone, Terrou Bi, Diplo, Poftan, Ray Barrett, Soly Cissé, Moutarou Diallo, Carmen Diallo, Rama, Desperados, The bunnies & coyotes, Youssou N’Dour, All the taxi cab drivers, and last but certainly not least Modou Dieng for making this an amazing, wonderful experience. Thank You!

Pristine blue waters shimmering beneath the layer of smog from Dakar. A goat on the boat. Swimming boys yelling for coins to be thrown overboard by children on field trips from the city. Extremely insistent women all selling exactly the same necklaces sharing space with 400-year old artifacts left over from the slave trade. Profound spaces crowded by camera-snapping tourists from all over the world. (DB)

Mind-blowing architectural vision. (Gigantic coconut “pods” at the beach? “Waau.”) Mohamadou Ndoye “Douts.” Malls of desolation…All of the action is in the streets! Fashion show of the students of Oumou Sy. Gabon is winning the Africa Cup! Poppin’ ‘n’ lockin’. Breakdancing! Just starting to find the balance now that we’re about to come home. All of us realizing how well Senegal (and Africa) is designing its own future…(DB)

Walking through the fish market, buckets of guts lay underneath the tables. Women scaling fish using a board with nails, I look over just in time to see the head cut off a fish with a giant cleaver. Huge fish laying in rows, little fish in staggered stacks. Beautiful lobsters sit in crates and shrimp that are the size …of my hand giving a whole new meaning to the word “shrimp”.

As I walked among the slums where the resourceful residents revive refuse in to finely crafted creations. Thoughts of value retrieved from earlier conversations mingle with a bombardment of sensory stimuli as we made our way through the market. Graphic linear and textual information of all shapes and colors found on the walls, on banners hung across the street, arranged in the presentation of goods, and ornately fashioned iron bars all combine to enrich the impoverished life in the slums of Dakar.

Visiting the urban slum/junkyard where people collect trash and turn it into art, and then returning to the apartment and having to collect refuse off the street and dig in our own garbage for materials, I have a newfound appreciation for the way many African artists have to work. It’s like the original SCRAP, for you Portland folks. I will never look at the luxury of office supplies the same way again. (DB)

Fist-bumping with Ali the chimpanzee at le Parc Zoologique and being met with annoyed incredulity when enquiring “est-ce que vous avez des toilettes?” at the front desk. The latrines without seats and the urinals without doors, I am surprised to feel so content without the comforts and familiarities of home.

“Avez-vous un feu pour les fours?” et “A demain matin.” Names such as Moutarou, Mohammed, Ammadou, Adaman, and Simon. English is beginning to sound more foreign every day. I spoke with an employee at the bookstore today and understood almost everything he said; he complemented my French when I told him I had been in Senegal pour seulment une semaine.

It’s a Bugs Bunny sky out tonight and it’s quiet in le salon, but I am not alone. I sat on the patio, missing the sounds of Les Simpson en francais for its ability to drown out the noise of my thoughts. I ran all last night in my dreams; I don’t want to slow down our days of break-neck speed because it welcomes such inquietude. I have so far left to go on my journey of realizing myself as an artist and a human being, but I have gained so much from the guidance of fellow artists here.

Feeling the sincerity in Ndary Lo’s words when he said, “we all complete each other,” and feeling the authenticity in the moment which Amadou Sow gathered up a small mound of soil in a cloth and presented it to Ray. It’s in our hands now. I only hope I can bring back these treasured experiences and do right by them, for my greatest fear is that they will somehow lose their power when I’ve taken them out of their original context. Such is the struggle of l’artiste.

In other news, I finally discovered the name of my new friend: Pofton/Apple of Sodom/Calotropis procera. It’s the friendliest-looking tree you’ll ever meet, though its Wikipedia page has tought me that its looks are deceiving. That’s okay, Pofton, my love for you is unconditional.

As we process our experiences and begin to make work, I am all too aware of how deeply we are connected, from sharing our food, our belongings, our toilet paper, our beds, our time, our freedom, our words, our patience, and our hearts. I have never felt so deeply a part of such a web. Every disturbance affects everyone, but our individual and collective integrity also makes us stronger. (DB)

We have taken in so much. But now it is time to give back. I am anxious to see how my experience will expressed in my art. There is still much work to be done, and so little time left.

During my first semester at PNCA, I took the opportunity to investigate, for the first time, what it means for me to be a black artist. It seems only fitting that my inquiries would lead me to Africa. Although my life in the United States has been largely influenced by the color of my skin, the African residing in my DNA still remains a mystery to me. Coming to Dakar has made me realize that I am much more American than African. I think of Hamza Walker’s essay “Renigged”, and my own feelings about the term “African-American” I have found that we—our society— all too often settle for labels that are inevitably inadequate and limiting. As James Baldwin once poignantly stated, “ Now, as then, we find ourselves bound, first without, then within, by the nature of categorization. And escape is not effected through a bitter railing against this trap: it is as though this very striving were the only motion needed to spring the trap upon us. As an artist, I reflect a vision of an undefinable infinite that is beyond definition. That is what I have to say for now. To be continued…

Apocalyptic potholes. Chains of bone and iron. Ice cream melting into caustic diesel fumes. Hundreds of eyes upon us as we inch through town. Red dirt. Bleached seashells. Bottle-spiked memorials to parties past. Insistent flies. Inspiring sincerity. Wine and warmth and sparks stretching up to meet the stars. (DB)

Market negotiations. Keeping eyes and ears open. Courtesy is important, but dithering too long can invite trouble. Michael Jackson on the piano. Delicious, girly “Pinko” cocktail. Cabbie with a sharp tongue and great taste in music. Hot reggae beats at “Just For You” (No mosquitoes this time!) Hilarious French tourists… in African garb. Ouloff salutations. Being reminded of that “Jah Irie” feeling…(DB)

With Modou interpreting French to English, We have had the pleasure of engaging in many stimulating conversations with some of Dakar’s finest contemporary artists, which has added another level of depth to an experience already rich in culture. Words often fail to communicate the sensuous. Language can be a barrier. Some things are lost in translation. Each day I realize that art has the power to transcend such limiting constructs. From Portland, Oregon to Dakar, Senegal, we continue to find common ground through the exchange of ideas and sharing of experiences.

Briny, glow-worm-pink skies pregnant with droning voices have given way to urban seclusion, the only drone coming from the air conditioning units. Is it odd to feel nostalgia for a place we only visited for three days? In reality, there are way too many things to see and experience in Mermoz on a given day to dwell on thoughts of Yoff for too long.

Yesterday, we visited the studio of Soly Cisse and had the privilege of looking through his massive stacks of paintings while Modou translated for him. Most of his paintings are the exact same size, which he found to be his ‘ideal size.’ He explained that it is particular to each artist – big enough for freedom of gesture, but not so big that he hurts himself. We learn that a blank canvas can be black and how he feels that through his incorporation of text, he can become immortal.

The spontaneity of his process is evident in his brush strokes and the beauty comes from that spontaneity. He does not plan an image and force the subjects in, but allows them to materialize of their own free will during his process of delicious mark-making. The rich layering, play of light and dynamic movement of his pieces only adds power to his message. He left us with this phrase: “I love painting dicks!” He walked briskly out of the room as this was being translated, erupting with laughter. A truly enchanting afternoon.

Later, Modou cooked us all a delicious dinner of spicy shrimp and stewed vegetables. As is customary, we said “douche” for the camera, because it’s apparently more flattering than “cheese.” You can be the judge of that.

“Freedom within art” is a complex subject. To be “free,” according to Merriam-Webster Online (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/FREEDOM), means a: the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action; b: liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another. Many artists view their practice as functioning in the manner described in definition “b.” They believe that they are working towards absolute freedom of expression: “Fighting the Man,” so to speak. This is particularly true in the United States, where such action is supposed to be protected by our Constitution.

Such a manifesto has driven many an artist’s passion, both historically and in contemporary times. In Africa-a continent characterized by its history of oppression by European colonizers, corrupt and dictatorial governments, and religious constraints-this is clearly a very worthy cause. African artists have the unique opportunity (and weighty responsibility) of negotiating these and other obstacles in order to communicate their interpretations of life and experience to each other and to the rest of the world. So many factors contribute to the experience of African artists that most Western artists never have to consider that finding ways to speak out through art is not only valuable, but essential.

After visiting a large artists’ colony in Dakar, Senegal, Le Village Des Artes, I am much more aware of the challenges many contemporary African artists must be willing to negotiate in order to express themselves. Even on the most benign of levels, they are not “free,” according to the first part of the above definition. These artists work under countless constraints, including access to and affordability of raw materials, safety concerns, weather, transportation, and security. Found-object artists (of which there are many in Africa) have adapted in one way by utilizing the materials that they find in their daily environments, but this system still demands a high degree of flexibility and innovation.

I witnessed such an example when I spoke with Senegalese artist Serigne Mbaye Camara at the Dakar Village des Artes as he carried two broken and dirty telephones from one part of the colony to his studio in order to begin creating a piece that contrasted the concept of African time (known as “Inshallah” or “God-willing” time), which is less precise and and more cyclical, and Western time, which is characterized by its adherence to time-pieces, daily planners, and exact units of measurement. Camara regularly uses wood from the baobab tree, as well as other found-objects and natural materials in his sculptures. While visiting his studio, I saw only a few jars of commercial paint. Everything else appeared to be largely self-created or repurposed. Nothing was shiny or new. Another artist at the Village used paint that he made by himself out of natural pigments. Still others used discarded tires, photographs from magazines, plastic jugs, and rusted metal.

While these kinds of materials appear in other contemporary African art, in the Village (as surely elsewhere in Africa), this is largely a practical rather than a purely aesthetic choice. In fact, I was recently told by Senegalese language instructor Moutarou Djello that this collective recently petitioned the Senegalese government for financial help in maintaining their colony. The government, who clearly has other financial concerns, declined. Thus, the community will likely continue to sustain itself as it has done thus far: by carefully marshaling resources, wasting little, and cultivating a relationship with tourists and other visitors. The other choice, of course, is to close down.

In many ways, these artists may appear to be creatively restrained by their lack of resources. On the other hand, they are doing what artists have done for centuries: making do with what they have in order to continue being artists. Choosing to become an artist has never been regarded as a path to fame or fortune. Contemporary artists living in Western societies have analogous concerns, even if they have easy access to running water, easy transportation, and abundant supplies. However, if they do happen to acquire a certain level of success, then they have to deal with the new set of constraints that the market brings with it: Time to make the work itself, space to show completed pieces, proper representation, opportunities and resources to foster networks, and coming to terms with not necessarily having a “stable” lifestyle or ideal relationships. A “lack of freedom” is built into the artist’s life at nearly every level.

An artist such as Soly Cisse, however, even though he has plenty of talent and is acquiring more and more recognition, still requires an “entourage” in order to get his work produced and out into the the world. In addition, by being Senegalese, he faces constant challenges in terms of expectations of what his art should be. Despite his skill and style, many Westerners will still surely view him as primarily an “African artist” rather than as an artist foremost. During a visit to his studio, he told our group that he has encountered critics who expected him to use an “earth-toned” palette or not to use the color pink, comments that he chose to react against through his work. Cisse is highly motivated to consistently break out of others’ preconceived notions. He takes these challenges to his own creative freedom and uses them as jumping-off points.

It is this author’s opinion that this perpetual struggle against constraint is precisely what makes good art. As they say, “Necessity is the mother of invention. Overcoming obstacles builds creative muscle, and a constant and consistent reaction to controls (both internal and external) lies at the heart of creativity. Would we as artists want it any other way? Would our patrons have any interest in our art if we had not somehow sacrificed in order to create it? The tension of fighting against restraint in order to express oneself is precisely what makes creativity interesting. This is where the power of art lies.

Like every other artist I know, I have overcome challenges constantly as I have grown. Years ago, I was deeply constrained by fear, and I tried to run away from my artistic urgings into the logic of science. Then I experienced long-term, debilitating health problems, which pushed me even further away. When I overcame those, I found that I had a lack of training and still a lack of confidence in believing that I was up to the task. Receiving the training created financial problems, which forced me to work so much at four different jobs that my creative practice suffered. As I continued to gain skills, I then realized that I was constrained conceptually. As my concepts developed, I discovered that my relationships had suffered. The cycle never ends. At every level, I have had to make a conscious choice not to allow myself to become too discouraged and to develop the belief that I can find a solution. Each time, I do.

As artists, we are obliged to rattle cages and to do our best in order to improve our situations. At the same time, we should not be surprised if we can only do so in increments. A new threat to our “freedoms” is always on the horizon. The ability to recreate oneself over and over again both expands creativity and strengthens artistic practice. Artists who do not care to network or to learn how to appropriately deal with resources (both financial and otherwise) create their own limits. In order to play the game, they must be willing to learn and comply with the rules. This balancing act is the foundation of professionalism in the life of an artist. If it was too easy, why would anyone care? I am quite sure that I would not either.

Baba Cool and Black Mic-Mac. The inimitable Soly Cisse and his raw creations. Merlot, Moby, and head-bearing shrimp, haricots verts, and pommes de terre in a spicy sauce. A supermarket with a Diesel boutique inside. Raunchy R. Kelly on the taxicab radio. $12 hand towels, and $8 to print out a 3-page paper. Ah, Dakar, you beautiful astonishment. (DB)

Today we got to meet the contemporary urban artist Soly Cissé. He works a lot with the duality of tradition and modernity, his work breaks away from the standard approach to canvas and paint. He starts with a black canvas not a blank one, from there the work evolves in a spontaneous manner. Layers of paint and images fill the canvas and turn into worlds only one would see in a Soly Cissé painting, everything next to anything.
His art is compelling and emotional; colorful and raw; harsh and poetic. I can only hope that someday my art can communicate in a similar way that Soly’s spoke to me.

Day 4: INCREDIBLE visits with artist Serigne Mbaye Camara and others at an artists’ colony in the heart of Dakar. Sand-floored art gallery. More insane cab rides. Sweet but mangy kitties. Drinks at “The Black President” on the beach at sunset. Watching calisthenics and drumming. Viewing the private art collection of actress CH Pounder of “The Shield.” Bob Marley in the kitchen. “Desperados” to come…(DB)

Day 3: Daily French tutoring. Dakar National Museum. Amazing contemporary artists. New house. Vicious mosquitoes. Whole fried fish on a plate. Pharmacy visit. Photographing carefully so as to not be scolded. Pretending to be Spanish in order to fool aggressive vendors shouting “American! American!” Crazy man running through traffic. Fantastic bookstore. Cashew nougat. Delicious “Desperados.” (db)

Voyez-vous plus: http://homeroom.pnca.edu/members/lmarvin/portfolios/7452/public

Painting by Soly Cissé a Senegalese artist

We have now been here for four days and I think I have shaken the jet lag. Being able to rest the first couple days was wonderful. We had been staying at Modou’s sister Ndella’s (pronounced with a silent N) house, we were made amazing meals and very well taken care of. I am grateful for every ones hospitality. We have now moved to our permanent residence half way between downtown and the suburbs.

Our first French lesson was yesterday from 9-12, we will be having french everyday for the first week. It was very fun to begin to learn to speak the language and our teacher is very nice. Navigating the language barrier has been my biggest challenge, and trying not to seem like the “stupid American”. There are several languages that are spoken here in Senegal the most prominent of them being Ouoloff and French.
It is wonderful to hear Ouoloff, it is a very pretty language. I have learned a couple Ouoloff words and am wanting to learn more, perhaps that will be another trip back to Senegal.

The traditional greeting in Ouoloff is -Naa nga def and the response is maa ngi rek. If someone says this to you it is impolite not to answer.
One of my favorites is -dia dieuf is the equivalent of -right on

Greetings take a very long time in Senegal, once you ask how someone is you ask about they’re family and how they slept and so on and so forth. I myself have not engaged in this typical greeting but I enjoy the thought of it.

I have only been here for three days and I am in love. Big slab buildings next to shacks standing in circular arrangement; The colorful fabrics and beautiful dress wherever you go; Men carrying flats of eggs stacked four high on their head; Senegalese art; The baobab trees like over sized stumps with stubby branches and barely any leaves; Horse drawn carts used to transport items; The sound of women selling fish outside the window. I feel it will be hard to come back home.

Gallery visit at the museum yesterday.

french class in the house with professeur Moutarou

a new monument for the african rennaissance is draining a lot of controversy in Dakar :) doing my survey about it and talking to a lot of people that I have a moment with specially cab drivers since they are the only ones I share my private time with sitting next to them! the group is representing! and a lot to see without even looking !
we went to a workshop of artists from swizerland,haiti,usa,senegal,japan,france.. the energy was very interesting…the critics take on it was really good which was the group subject of conversation after dinner…which will produce more thoughts on the artist the self and the pretence of freedom or let say its posturing vis a… vis its share of determining a making of a product or a market or a critic ….

Modou.

It is interesting to see the world from a different perspective—literally and figuratively. I never knew the moon waxes and wanes horizontally when viewing it from Dakar. I know it may be trivial, but it’s a relatively small yet important piece of the larger picture. In the last two days, I have been forced think about my subjective reality. I look forward to the expanse of experience that lies ahead. Ray

Day 2: Learning to say “desole.” Finding ample opportunities to say it. Workshop on the meaning of artists’ freedom in Senegal at the “Maison de la Culture Douta Seck.” In French. International found-object art show opening. Hibiscus juice! Discovering that “le darkasse” is the cashew fruit in Wolof and not a pejorative. Ginger juice!! Downtown Dakar at night. STRONG African tea. Photos to come…

Night 1: Some of the best pizza on the planet.“Orchestra Baobab.” Great friends. Great times.

Sandy roads. Grabby wheeler-dealers at the airport. Countless unfinished stucco houses. Two-wheeled horse carts. Goats and Brahma cows. Cabbies inventing their own lanes. Incredibly friendly people. Beautiful men and women. Mansions with shacks lining their outer walls. Muezzins’ calls to prayers. Loud voices. Roasted sheep’s liver. Used plastic water bottles paving the road. Arabic Coca-Cola…

We have arrived. Africa. Off the plane to sticky, salty breeze from the Atlantic. Early morning sunshine. Croissant and tea at Modou’s sister’s house. Introduction to third world dichotomies—shacks next to elaborate villas, horse-drawn make-shift carts and a Bentley seen within minutes outside Le Meridian Hotel. A beautiful afternoon at the beach. Delicious fire roasted lamb for lunch back at the house. Nap. 10 p.m., wake up to music, chatter, and fireworks—big and small—from outside. The nightlife. Pizza, libations, Orchestra Baobab. Blue Moon. One long and and amazing day.

http://www.le-cap.ch/TGD8english.html