Gor Soudan

R.I.P Freaky.....am at loss for words...

2010-09-17T08:50:00.000-07:00

“The gods hide from us the beauty of death so we may endure life”- Lucan

The news of Freaky’s death on September 11th at the age of 26 left me with an acute confusing sense of loss, even though we hadn’t hang out in nearly two years. He was unassuming a human being and awesome company.

Reading the flood of memories that have accumulated in the week after his death- many friends have been posting their reflections- it’s hard to say if the shock has been assuaged of merely deepened.

Freaky was a true original. He undertook most things with natural charisma and exuberance, pushing through into our thoughts and feelings; mapless terrain which he tracked with uncanny, ruthless precision and wit to arrive at the very center of our lives.

He was utterly unlike anyone I’d ever met- there was something of a generational oddity about Nick- maybe that’s why we called him Freaky. It was like he belonged and didn’t at the same time. No one I’ve come across has registered so carelessly the impact on experience generally, and the internal landscape of so many people in such a short span as Freaky’s life and times.

Nick’s manner of exit slightly distorts and even belittles the kind of person he was. For those of us who really, truly knew Freaky, his life in its most breath taking flight evoked thoughts and feelings that is both earned and deserved.

Freaky’s unbridled candor often pursued a lost sincererity- or at least a lost something – an overwhelming poisonous wit with highly wrought humor. Acutely aware of how easily we discard the ‘Kisumu’ in us, he constantly challenged how we pretend to forget the town of our childhood, “Kwenda, acha kujifanya hapa na juzi tu ulikuwa Bhayani!!”- I can’t say that it always worked- it’s too bristling and strange to be functionally straight forward and blunt.

Talking to a gal – She tells how Freaky was a tease who flirted with being misread and being taken at face value; “He taunts, exhausts, and repels: yet he gives a complicated sense of sincerity”, she said, talking of Nick like he had merely skipped town to return on some unknown future date.

Some people are funny (I have not said enough about how funny Freaky was). Some are like horror movies. Some are curiously damaged, hyper personalities. Others are just beautiful. Freaky was all these people in one -on K. K.

The facts of anyone’s death should not overshadow one’s life. But it is hard to forget such a graphic fact as Nick’s freak accident once you know them, as it is to undo things once you’ve done them. And facts insidiously do odd things to one’s life. Nick’s life was so original; most of us can only covet and be inspired by its lifist abandon. As with many lives brought to such abrupt ends, his death sadly makes our lives more urgent. I know his presence will be felt for many years to come. R.I.P Freaky…I finally found the words, bro…

I want the world to recognize, with me, the open door of every consciousness. - Frantz Fanon

2010-06-30T04:49:00.000-07:00

Is Art a universal notion or is it defined only by its provenance? This question forms an integral part of a prevailing discourse on the role, position and aesthetic concerns of the African artist in the contemporary art world. Debate on constraints which make African art subject to differing artistic values seek to address the art world’s positioning of contemporary works by African artists in terms of provenance.

Unfortunately, art and politics are not often separable from political realities; the West’s representation of ethnic and cultural authenticity, its construction of primitivism and aesthetic value are intimately bound to the discourse of colonialism and racial marginalization. Western culture and its redemptive myths elbow the ‘other’ to the margins. “To be part of the margin”, bell hooks says, “is to be part the whole but outside the main body”.

We are faced with an art establishment which is slow to recognize the individual cultural practices of artists from Africa beyond the stereotypes pf ethnicity. Moreover, the beauracratic and chauvinistic pressures of the art market puts onus on art professionals and institutions to position art from Africa in terms of origin.; potential audiences know ‘Africa’-safari, sunsets, poverty, conflict, know it is bound to be exotic or political- but they might not have a clue where on the map to look up Guinea Bissau, Cameroon, Cote d’Ivoire. The role of curatorial practice and the modern museum is therefore brought under scrutiny in relation to the debate on cultural identity and difference; do they exploit the stereotype of the impoverished, naïve African art?

Artists across the board are integrating visual vocabulary developed from ever increasing globo-cultural interaction even as they maintain informed awareness of their own individual heritage. Therefore traditional talking points on the ‘African art’ debate such as authenticity and provenance are losing relevance. Artists from Africa have earned the right to full participation in the global cultural life by merit of their work.

"Tomorrows’ headlines" ,tale from a post-conflict zone.

2010-04-20T08:07:00.001-07:00

Tomorrows’ headlines
…tale from a post-conflict zone.

For modern African societies, youth violence/ gangsterism is an issue pending solution. It requires awareness for the genuine issues which manifest as relentless crime, especially in urban and peri-urban areas- It requires the society to embark on a deep journey into its own psyche in a bid to unravel the causal subject.

Tomorrow’s headlines through a visual creation and debate expresses the current Kenyan society (in a theme of denial, repression, projection) as a conflicted psyche which needs to transcend to a post-conflict zone where salient episteme are recognized. Consider the society of Kenya as an individual, a person. His tragic reality is to relive his nightmarish history; the emancipation from colonialism he fought for was all but a short lived dream, usurped by African Elite-Barons, bent on keeping him down.

The individual suffers to cope, but the reality of his promethean existence has resulted in erratic psychotic breaks and has increasingly growing violent- ethnic strife, criminality; manifest principally among the youth, naturally, as they are the more vigorous and restless section of the society. In a context which is persistently impeding access to more conventional avenues to self-actualization, the youth are resorting to anti-social means- Gangsterism! Even though this discourse highlights the more familiar Mungiki gang, alarmingly, there are more than forty youth gangs and vigilante groups in commission all over the country.

The transition from colonialism to the current situation has concentrated the bulk of national resources in the hands of only 10 % of the population (neo-barons). Consider that the total population of Kenya is estimated at 35 million, 75% of which is below the age of 30. 38% of the population is youth aged 15-35 years. 76% of the youth are unemployed-this garish demographic reality has resulted in a circumstance where youth are balking against a system which has consistently failed them.

Ideally, the media in the modern society ought to be an independent platform upon which these issues in are highlighted then critically examined. However, in the contemporary Kenyan society, the industry is effectively owned and controlled by the Barons; accordingly it has emerged as the theatre upon which our conflicted societal psyche is played out. No where are the Denial, Repression and Projection more evident than on the newstands. There is a lack of representation of the genuine issues affecting the plebeians (the bulk of which is the youth). Their voice is stifled; the youth cannot be heard even if he tried with all his violence.

Issues are either systematically disqualified as valid by an oppressive system, or are ironically distorted by the media. Either way, they are trapped in a violent paradox. In this sense, the media is neither impartial, nor a space to acknowledge the underlying issues relating to place of the youth in the society, but a means to misrepresent a pathetic reality. Sensationalist headlines and graphic images through which the media account the tale of the Mungiki and other gangs become a decoy from confronting the genuine underlying issues that continue to fan thuggery and gangsterism among the youth. Walter Lippman, a journalist says, “The news and truth are not the same thing”.

Tomorrows’ headlines is an installation which seeks to steer the audience past the sensationalist imagery of the wild-eyed, machete wielding gangster into a realm where the ‘unbearable truth’ is confronted within a post conflict zone.

The opening of "Tomorrow's headlines"- tale from a post conflict zone

2010-04-20T07:28:00.000-07:00

outta time

2009-11-05T23:03:00.000-08:00

this piece is a commentary on the Kenyan political situation, after the bloodletting of 2007( who can forget that). we are quickly running out of time to clean house. good, (or bad?) thing is everyone is aware that 2012 is our deadline. God save my country!!

TAKE TWO!!!

2009-06-10T03:01:00.000-07:00

Only in Nairobi is getting caught up in a snarl up, in a matatu blaring deafening irrelevant music a cliché. The instant contrasts between easy Kisumu( my home town) and harried Nairobi are constantly in my face. What was otherwise a well planned day had quickly turned into a fiasco the moment I stepped onto the streets. I had spaced out my appointments for the day with plenty of time in between to make runs across town. However the Nairobi public transportation keeps its own schedule, and makes no excuses. As if running late isn’t bad enough, am lagging along with me a portrait, an awkward reminder of an appointment missed and a client pissed!

Half an hour late, I eventually make it to the Go Down Art Center, where I am meeting a certain Marlon Hall, one of a visiting crew of artists in the country to document a project involving leading Kenyan Artists. I stop by the reception to inquire of this Marlon’s arrival, they are clueless, so I figure the artists’ studios should be a good place to search for him...I have no idea what he looks like, however I imagine he is some lanky,fast talking American!

At the studios, having failed to locate this Marlon, am doing tea and words with Salhaa, who lately seems to have adopted me as his apprentice. His works are subliminally surreal, seemingly influenced by Egyptian hieroglyphics, however closer scrutiny will reveal that it Sudanese influenced, thus the Nilotic undertones. He’s explaining this new painting technique that he just discovered when a loud group of three pass by his studio window, talking in that unmistakable American twang- Marlon!!!!

This Marlon looks nothing at all like I imagined. He’s not fast talking, and certainly not lanky, he is just about as tall as I am. He quickly puts me at ease with his affable demeanor. I soon learn that this is his fourth visit, but every one of those times felt like he was coming home for the first time.

We talk about the project, aptly named Cross pollination because it’s an artistic exchange program of sorts. It strives to inspire artists locally and internationally to continue the lineage of artist like Miriam Makeba, Bob Marley, John Biggers, among others, whose art has been both a mirror that reflects the current state of our society and a light that pierces into the future and leads us to envision positive change and love for humanity. The whole thing is to be documented on film- I like!

It is only when this Marlon whips out a shiny, gun metal black camera that it strikes me that this is going to be on cameras interview-bloody! I shoulda dressed up! Another thing, Camera??!!! You might as well hold me at gun point, am breaking into sweat already!!!

We walk around. This Marlon picks a spot which he says is perfect for lighting. He lines me for the shots and the questions soon fly. My mumbled answers follow, I try to sound intelligent- before I know it, the interview is a wrap!

Back at home, fed and rested, and unwinding after surviving another one on the streets of Nairobi, I can not help reflecting on the questions that Marlon had for me-not only because the prospect of being on T.V is exciting stuff, but especially because those questions were meant to evoke critical thought on the role an artist plays in the society, hmmm….

Often I get asked what I do. Often the answer varies, depending on what day it is, or who is asking; sometimes I am just a regular guy, doing regular guy things. Other times I am a volunteer, working with underprivileged kids. Often times, however, my answer is that I do art- wait a minute! Doesn’t this make art sound like a functional thing I do??! Like it is an 8 to 5 job? It isn’t. Art is not something I do…it is who I am!

So, now that we have established that art is who I am; when asked what kind of art I do, my answer that I am a painter-poet, given in haste under the glare of a shiny, black camera, was of false premise. At this point, my answer seems like it was too much a reduction of what my art is all about. Whenever I paint, say, people, it is means through which I observe people going about their business, and there is a huge comedy of life in that sort of thing .you see some extraordinary things, a whole rainbow of people. Moreover, when I paint, I hope people not only find my paintings beautiful, but are also stimulated by them. If my pictures reflect the richness and excitement of life in some tiny way, I’ll be pleased.

Does art have a role to play in social change? It always has had. Art doesn’t need to be concerned with social problems, but it can be. Mbuthia’s socio-political paintings quickly come to mind. His Chagall like artistic impressions of social problems in the Kenyan society intrigues me so. Goya’s war pictures are also trying to make art out of the social dilemma. Concern with the plight of powerless is not unconnected to art, and the Idea of man’s place on this planet.

Does art have a contribution to the great scheme of things? I cannot say for art in general, but I can speak for myself; it means to get in contact with values that exist irrespective of whether man exists or not. If I feel in touch with my subject then I feel in touch with something longer lasting and more significant than man.

I am especially concerned with social deprivation and the horrors of an African child’s living conditions. My poetry comes from this view point of social realism. Although I do not paint these subjects, I am still concerned to a considerable degree with the problems of children living in squalid conditions, and am very much actively involved in that kind of problem(www.tumainichidrensproject.ca).

After observing the strong work ethic of artists and artistes that I admire, and who influence my work, Alyssa Bistonath, Salhaa, Paul Le Cdm, Wainaina, Kobe Bryant ( he makes Basket ball seem like an art!), I can’t help thinking how overrated talent is!! It should be the ground we take for granted. Talent is the least important aspect of being an artist. It is the commitment and the enthusiasm that is the more important and has to take precedence over all else. An artist should never allow themselves the luxury of working only when they feel like it.

I also have the highest regard for artists like Kanji Mbugua (or whoever writes his songs), designers like Vaishali and Kaveke,and painters like Jak Katarikawe and the Banana Hills school. When I look at their work, and look at what I do, I fall so far short; it doesn’t do to look for long!

Too bad there isn’t a second take on that interview, but such is a day in the life of an artist. Inspiration comes from all around, and with it the reminder that art bears the responsibility to spark social consciousness in the society.

To Find out more about social consciousness and volunteetrism follow the links:
www.awekeningsmovement.com
www.tumainichildrensproject.ca

Gor.

wrong hypothesis.....

2009-04-18T01:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I discovered
Mathematics was a useful sort of creature.
I found I could calculate
how many deaths occurred
Because of a single rationalization.
“He had to die,” said the philosopher,
“because he was growing in value,
And I didn’t believe he should grow at all.”
He tried to explain it to me,
In great detail,
But I lacked the sentience to understand it all.
I told the philosopher
Why I believed he killed this man
And instead of laughing
at the implausibility of my hypothesis,
He grabbed me
And dipped my head into a pool of water
Until, in a sense, I couldn’t breathe.
But before I saw my life
Flash before my eyes,
He pulled me out and shouted
“I believe the sky is green and the ocean is made of air.”
“Yes, of course” I replied,
for as the weaker being,
Who was I to question the absolutes.
And so, I used that new equation
I had devised,
To calculate the number of ways
My hypothesis on existence was wrong.

2009-04-07T01:26:00.000-07:00

No one will ever know for sure
how our world works.
Some have theories
some have beliefs
and others just be.

There are some
who do a rational investigation
of the truths,
principles of being,
and knowledge.

Their findings are wonderous
curious
and even scary.
The words we speak have come from somewhere
these simple things we say all have a reason.

Many questions will go unanswered
and many prayers will go unheard.
We all need to remember that
Everything has a meaning behind it.
Sometimes you just have to look harder.

ONCE, I THOUGHT...........

2009-03-27T00:42:00.000-07:00

I once thought that
A brain
And a heart
Was enough to get by in this world
Where I’d know everything there was to know
About everything, and everyone,
That I could put it into context
Whereas those without soul have no context
In their lives
And they go around
With empty knowledge
And loaded brains
With the one thing they don’t know
Being where to unload
It all.

And then as soon
As I stepped into school
My brain became the center
Of ridicule
Turns out smart isn’t all
It’s made up to be,
You’re a nerd
A geek
A loner
An elitist
Think you’re better
Than everyone else?
Well, think again.
But I didn’t.
I took my brain
And put it on my bookshelf
Next to my ADAM magazines
Full of jokes about
The people running the country
For the past 7 years
Who seemed to do just fine
Without brains
So why can’t I?

Here I am now
With only my heart
On my sleeve,
As they say
But who says it
I’m not sure
It’s a pretty inconvenient place
To place your heart
Where everyone can see it
And ridicule it
Lover-boy
Hopeless Romantic
And I wanted to say something back
Something clever
But I realized that
I couldn’t
Because I didn’t know enough
About anything
To come up with a good enough
Argument to contradict
What they were stacking up
Against me like
A house a cards
Ready to fall down in a slide of
Royalty and servants
Where the King of Hearts
Is at the bottom
Of it all.

So that brings me to
My current situation
Where I sit here,
With a pencil and an empty page
My brain next to my
ADAM Magazines
And my heart in my MP3 player
Spinning around inside
Rewinding
All my painful encounters with
Actual feelings
Dancing through the airwaves
How trivial they seem now that
I’m completely released
From all that held me down
My intelligence,
My compassion,
My emotions
All that which made me vulnerable
Is gone
So I’m reduced to a state
Where all I can do
Is sit and try to remember
Whether or not
Anybody benefited
From that group of people
At the seat of the nation
With their intelligence
And their compassion
And their emotions
Discarded beside them.

my streets...

2008-09-24T00:06:00.000-07:00

Am walking down one of the main streets in Kisumu. Its Sunday so the stalls along this street are deserted, leaving the whole stretch looking absolutely derelict. Usually ,during the week ,they would be straddled with colorful wares; red, blue, yellow toys, red, blue yellow ‘kangas’, hell, even red, blue, yellow fruits! But not today! The sagging wooden structures look totally bland; an eye sore! So I cannot help thinking that the council is sleeping on the job! For the next five steps or so I maintain this line of thought; wondering _WTF_ is wrong with this town, when the city Fathers let such rot take root right within the CBD!

-wait a minute! I reign in my trail of thought before I drift too far out to sea with this one. The street philosopher takes over my thought process-
I realize that am falling victim to the kind of smothered reasoning that our policy makers, you know, those fat guys in dark suits, preach when they jet in back from those Dubai, London or New York- tax funded, all expenses paid- trips, talking about how Kenyan cities are being left behind, stragglers, as other cities of the world keep petty traders off their CBDs.

The other day, I woke up to the now all too familiar sounds of street battles; the friendly Police force versus the good citizens of Kisumu- surely, the Peace accord couldn’t have fallen through so soon, this fast!!- I remember thinking! Fortunately (unfortunately?) , later I learnt that Raila and Kibaki were still very much in bed, screwing (up) the country for you and I, and that the ‘small’ commotion, in which a person died (live ammo-yes, again) was just about the little matter of the diligent City Council of Kisumu demolishing ‘illegal’ trading structures- in the night! If these stalls were really illegal- no doubt they were- why go around demolishing them in the middle of the night!? And without prior notice? Could it be because it had to be done by the same individuals who illegally collect revenue from them during the day? No wonder the traders were pissed!

But that is not the point I am trying to make- I do get carried away sometimes. Well, my point is this; yeah, some- okay, most of these stalls are no sight for sore eyes. Everyone, absolutely everyone, loves a clean city; gleaming hypermarkets, with endless gleaming rows of cars, being opened by beaming, satisfied shoppers- you get the picture. However, call me simple, but the fact is that for the moment, we are no U.A.E, nor U.K, nor U.S.A. We are a country of small cities and little towns like Kisumu, Mombasa and Nairobi, Kakamega, Eldoret and Mogotio, whose bulk of residents derive their livelihoods directly or indirectly from these bland, derelict wooden structures; from these Kiosks!

We are- wait for it… a kiosk economy! And the sooner we realize that this country shall be built upon the sweat of Mama Kiosk, and Msee wa Stall, and not in the thieving hallways of the Nairobi Stock Exchange, I say, the better for us all! Yes, we look across the Atlantic (I think) at the U.S of A and all we see are the looming fortune 500 companies; the Microsofts, Coca colas and the GM motors, and think, we gotta have those in 12 years ( vision 2030), nothing wrong with that, a little ambition never killed anyone. However, what we fail to see, hidden in the shadows of these (crumbling?) giants are the true source of America’s economic might; the millions and millions of small and micro enterprises that buttress that (great?) economy. And all over the developed world, this principle holds true- the greatest contributors to these nations’ G.D.P are the middle class, who make a greater percentage of the citizenry, and own and run their own businesses.

So instead of stifling Mama Kiosk and Msee wa Stall, who are trying to claw their way across the poverty line, our policies should instead be geared towards extending a helping hand towards these simple business folk, because they are the future of our nation. Look at it this way; it was the same crowd on the streets early this year! Translation? They will either tear this country apart of build it up for posterity- personally, am rooting for the latter!
This country cannot afford to keep on piling one obstacle after another on the path for the simple business folk to trip on, even as it turns a very blind eye to Chris Kirubi’s and Nyaggah Stock brokers shenanigans at the Nairobi Stock Exchange, as it slaps the likes of Khetan Somaia on the wrist and rewards Kamlesh Pattni with a 2 BILLION shilling payoff…

*slap!* then “thanks for scamming our state out of 40 BILLION, here’s two more for the effort.”

And what about those dirty, thieving hawkers on the streets?
“Chase them down! Gun down those who refuse to comply!”
And the matatus?

“DO NOT let them enter the C.B.Ds, they cause congestion! Light bulb! Let in the bus companies though!”

Don’t buses cause even more congestion?

“NO, London has buses!”

And the subway too!

Next Sunday, am going to be walking down the same street in Kisumu, checking out the bland, derelict wooden structures that line up my street. Next Sunday am taking a friend along with me, to show them wherein lies the hope of our country.

Blogging form the realm beyond entertainment!
Gor.

Growing...

2008-09-03T03:58:00.000-07:00

When I set out to do the Kok thuon Exhibition, I was not under the illusion that it was going to be easy. It has turned out to be quite a learning experience. The first lesson I learnt was that thinking you can, and actually doing it are two very different things. The other thing I learnt is that I am not a quitter; during the preparations for the exhibition almost everything that could have gone wrong, did! There were times my frenzy of painting would be brought to an abrupt pause because I had run out of paint, or funds to get more material! My budget for the whole thing more than doubled (inflation?), in fact midway through the whole thing, I had to sell my phone to raise more money for “Kok Thuon!” These and other frustrations threatened to derail the ‘Renaissance of Gor’, but then like the street wise brother Fifty says, “if I can’t do it, my hommies, it can’t be done…”

The best, most profound lesson though was discovering that life is touched by art, and art is touched by life… this is a new beginning for me, a renaissance of Gor, as a social activist, a champion for the voiceless, the brush and pen, my weapons, and the million words of this blog, my army. We relentlessly march against social evil, against the corrupt in our leadership, against the hate in their speeches. We march for accountability, my army and I, weapons in hand, for my brothers and sisters, for the children born into stifling debt because the few are busy lining their pockets with the World Bank loans!

The period I had set for myself to complete this project has turned out to be, well, too short! I have realized that ‘Kok Thuon’ and what it stands for cannot be captured in a few months’ work! Even though the exhibition itself has had to be postponed for two weeks, its spirit shall carry on for a life time, because it is about new beginnings and re-affirmed philosophies! It is about shattering the bubble of subjectivity, and casting away that mould of complacency that makes the injustices of this world bearable when really they should be fought with every thing at your disposal, even if that weapon is a brush!

"KOK THUON"

2008-08-05T05:16:00.000-07:00

This August: ‘kok thuon!’ a Gor Sudan Exhibition.

“Kok thuon” is a luo word

That loosely means” crow of the cock!”

A cock hacks a majestic figure

In the morning when it throws it’s head back,

Beats its wings in rapid staccato

And lets out a ‘kok-oo-ri-koo’

To mark the dawn of a new day,

Of new possibilities

And fresh hopes.

Metaphorically, “kok thuon” the exhibition,

Marks the beginning of a new day

As I shrug of the hurt and despair of the year gone by

And stir to a new beginning

To stoke the embers of a passion

Nearly extinguished in all the madness.

The exhibition marks the resolve to beat a new path

In an unfamiliar landscape,

Searching for the road to self discovery

From which I have hopelessly strayed,

This august,

I flap my wings and crow,

And grow…

Blogging from the realm beyond entertainment,

Gor, thuon ka thuon!