First time Africa

45 years of confinement to the Western world (does that include Istanbul and Abu Dhabi?) have finally been surmounted. On a Tuesday I learnt that I shall be on a plane to Nairobi, Kenya, Africa, Sunday next.

Was I excited? Yes! though knowing, I would not see much of this continent, country and city, which I had never set foot on. I would be attending a workshop in a hotel all week.

So what! A 6:30 flight took me to AMS. I got to know parts of Amsterdam's Schipol airport I had never seen. Then I boarded an aged and pretty full 747 to Nairobi and proceeded to chat with a French engineer, who worked 'in oil (petrol)' and other industrial engineering, in many countries. He had recently moved to Mombasa, though he still had a home in Southern France; a nomad by (work)-choice. That's globalisation for you! In the smaller plane to Amsterdam, I had talked to a Hamburg doctor, who was heading to safari in Kenya. He would be flying to Kilimanjaro airport. I thought he was pulling my leg, until he showed me the airport location on the map in the in-flight magazine. That's globalisation for you, of the tourist kind! At that point, it struck me that to ask developing countries to contribute to mitigating climate change was truly a western, cheeky joke!

Back to 'my' 747. Flying down the Italian shoe, the monstruous plane cruised above the Mediterranean for about 1/2 hour. I know, because I was looking out the window to experience that moment; when we would hit the shores of Africa, in this case Libya. The lightish blue of the Mediterranean was replaced by the reddish yellow of the Sahara desert. It took a good 2 hours to traverse it. What where those concrete installations in the middle of nowhere, down there? Rocket launch installations? Terrorist training camps? What was that airstrip doing there in nomansland? Towards the end of the desert, I could identify circular irrigated fields, some wet, some fainted, some dry. Though I did not wonder what might be grown on those fields, I was struck by the size of the African continent, which is hardly illuminated at all. Even in the Alps, you see lights at night.

We landed at Nairobi's Kenyatta airport in the dark. With my 5-day bag, I got out of the airport pretty fast, after having purchased a visa. I quickly identified the sign, which Martin, the driver, had held up, among the mass of chauffeurs waiting for their prey. Because it was my first time in Africa, Kenya, Nairobi, he made a detour, passing through the centre of town. Not very enticing, but a very friendly gesture nonetheless.

And so I arrived at the Sarova Panafric Hotel, which I would not leave for 5 days, but for 3 short excursions (a dinner, visiting the International Livestock Research Institute and an hours' walk in the city centre).

The next morning, I swam in the agreeably cool pool, all alone (it's too cold for most people, but I'm used to the North Sea). During a cigarette break from the workshop, I saw lots of mini-busses on the avenue, which led to downtown. They had very entertaining names plastered on their windscreens: Happiness, Babyface and other names. I was told that people chose particular mini-busses according to the kind of music they played inside; the 'image' they had. Otherwise, people might opt for the KBS, the public transport busses. In the afternoon, a vast array of school busses transported girls and boys in red or green uniforms, which naturally reminded me of England. I've also seen schooluniformed children walk by the wayside of busy roads, which I doubt any Western European mother would allow their brood to do.

The three outings from the hotel took us to a Brazilian restaurant with lots of meat, the aforementioned agricultural research center, which is agreeably nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the city, with a view of the Kilimanjaro, if you're lucky (we weren't) - and the walk into town, during which I got to know a Zimbabwean teacher (refugee), who spoke a little German and very elegantly succeeded in making me give him some money. I did not doubt his account of his recent experiences, but apart from that, he did an excellent job of insinuating himself into my path.

What else did I see and learn? Little. Kenyans drink milk with tea, not tea with milk. Most men wear big, elongated shoes. Most peoples' teeth are startingly white (ok, contrast). The air can be fresh, when there's no rush hour. The city park features lots of dry grass. Nairobi residents thrive on petrol, there's no non-automobile transport to speak of, apart from walking (or biking). I saw a corrugated iron-roofed slum and it's "market street", running along the highway. As we rushed by in a Land Rover, I saw the most colourful patchwork clothing on sale at one of the stores.

In the hotel enclave, I met laughing Philippines, joking Tanzanians, headshaking Indians and positive Americans during the workshop. We could have been anywhere. We were surrounded by many hotel staff, in orange, yellow or blue jackets or full, dark suits. At night, a security person was stationed on every floor, wearing a lilac uniform. Many other workshops took place beside ours, including one for lots of women, organised by a local savings bank.

Indeed, I have seen little of Africa, Kenya, Nairobi. Perhaps I shall have the chance to go back.

perspective

Is our sense of history confined to our limited ability to imagine times past - any kind of history - beyond the lifespan of a two, three or four generations? How scientists do it, who research with millennia in mind, I certainly cannot imagine. There is time and there is cause and effect. Many people are concerned with the extinction of all manner of species, to which our human way of life contributes. But there are mightier causes at work, over very long periods of time, which you can read about in Elizabeth Kolbert's New Yorker article "The Sixth Extinction". Yes, we have a lot of work to do to reverse the reduction of biological diversity. But just because we humans made a great mess does not mean we can clean all of it up.

Scholarly Consideration

What an exhiliarating and strange feeling to read the first review of one's first book. 'Tis done. A Mrs. Carla Lord of Kean University (USA) read my book on the grotesques and published a review of it in the Renaissance Quartely that's just come out, which I'd like to share with you (excerpts). There is room for improvement, were I to take on the grotesques again ... .

Victor Kommerell. Metamorphosed Margins: The Case for a Visual Rhetoric of the Renaissance Grottesche under the Influence of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag AG, 2008

... It is difficult to know what readership was intended for Kommerell’s short guide to grottesche. Perhaps it is meant for monolingual undergraduates, since there is little else available in English that is recent, except for another, more comprehensive, book issued in 2008, replete with 242 color plates: Alessandra Zamperini, Ornament and the Grotesque: Fantastical Decoration from Antiquity to Art Nouveau. For his study Kommerell has depended on some fine scholarly sources. He has also found guidance from the dean of grottesche studies, Nicole Dacos. Kommerell presents some unusual new material from buildings recently restored, along with a bit of etymology and some potted history. Kommerell tells us that the first use in writing of the term grottesche is in the contract of 1502 for the Piccolomini Library in the cathedral of Siena, which ‘‘many scholars have cited’’ (15). He neither specifies the scholars nor the citations. ... . The excavation of the Domus Aurea in Rome inspired an explosion of enthusiasm, copying, and variations of grottesche themes in the Renaissance, which built on an existing fascination for classical antiquities (among his chronological errors, Kommerell places Cyriacus of Ancona, an early recorder of antiquities active in the first half of the fifteenth century, in the fourteenth century).

Grotesques were everywhere in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries: in the center or the margins of walls and vaults, painted, or in relief on pilasters. Kommerell has indicated the main motifs used in Renaissance grottesche ... . Citing Paul Barolsky (‘‘As in Ovid, so in Renaissance Art,’’ Renaissance Quarterly 51.2 [1998], 469) Kommerell suggests that Ovid was everywhere in the Renaissance, but that thesis is difficult to substantiate. Dorothea Scholl offers more thorough coverage of Ovid as a source in her habilitation thesis on grotesques (Mu¨nster, 2004). Kommerell analyzes the intentions of patrons: to be in step with or ahead of fashion, erudite and/or politically assertive in their juxtaposition of heraldry with decorative patterns. He also discusses the role of grottesche in churches: their placement and themes. Among the less familiar sites that Kommerell illustrates and describes are the grotesques of the cathedral at Spoleto; the Palazzo Vitelli (now the city art gallery in Citta` di Castello); the painted vault, once a market place in Assisi; and the Casa Zuccari in Florence.

From the introduction onward Kommerell’s ebullient style may strike some readers as refreshing and others as irritating. Often he interrupts an argument to note the arbitrary closure of a museum or library when he visited it. If this book is intended for the monolingual student, Kommerell might in a revised edition translate suc phrases as ‘‘Fuga in Egitto’’ (n. 246), which has a perfectly good English equivalent, along with ‘‘parete’’ and ‘‘pomeriggio.’’ Or for a more systematic study of grottesche, the multilingual student can read Dacos’s classic La de´couverte de la Domus Aurea and her subsequent books on the Vatican logge (1977) and on Giovanni da Udine (1987) in Italian.

Laughing through the Crisis

Current financial and economic news are no laughing matter, though the crisis we're living through does not seem to hit one in the face, but rather peter around. For how long? Diversion by amusement is a good avoidance technique. French and Saunders recently got a British TV award. Those of you who have appreciated their 'Absolutely Fabulous' comedy series will surely understand why. Though my favourite French and Saunders miniteleplay remains their taking the piss of Bergman, the swedish film director. This take on the manic-depressive renders any financial crisis pathetic. Quite close comes Dawn French's spoof of Icelandic singer Bjork. Never has riding on a truck through London been funnier. Apparently, the comedy duo are touring in Australia this year for the first and last time. I do so very much hope that the duo will, at least one more time, create a new comedy series for television.

Still wondering why

Presidente del Consiglio, or Premier Silvio Berlusconi will turn 73 this September. With his Popolo della Liberta platform - think of the retinue, which incessantly surrounds Jennifer Lopez or Michael Jackson (used to) - Silvio won the election early 2008 to triumph over Prodi-successor Veltroni. The secessionist Northern League (keep Italy's South off, away) and right-wing National Alliance form a critical part of the retinue. This whole bag of sycophants used to be called 'Forza Italia', during his first two stints as Prime Minister (1994, 2004).

Like most foreigners and slightly dewy-eyed Italia-lovers, I have wondered many a time: "Why, oh why? Are Italians simply more masochistic or could they not care less? Who benefits from this and by him? Why did they elect this person once again?" Of course, by looking at the particularly crass Belusconi administration one tends to forget that very similar things happen elsewhere, in one's backyard for instance. In any case, there are many good reasons to explain this phenomenon. Nonetheless, I've heard the sigh "we'll simply have to wait until he dies" pronounced more than once by Italians. 

Significantly, the Forza Italia headquarters, which apparently still exist, lie in Rome's centro storico, just opposite the Elite 2 Nightclub, which is next to a small church. The headquarters are round the corner from the via dell'umilita (Humility Street). Too much for a Northern European to take in, but quite fitting for paradoxical Italia. Even more significantly, the headquarters are just below the Quirinale Palace, once papal, now the Italian President's offical residence - that's the President of the Republic, not the Consiglio (Cabinet), who also heads the Judiciary. It's been rumoured time and again that Berlusconi would like to assume that role before he parts from this earth. The comedian Roberto Benigni most recently alluded to Berlusconi's desire in a breathtaking performance at the San Remo Chanson Festival 2009. It's the most watched event on TV in Italy (by the way, Burt Baccarach was a guest this year). I certainly did not understand most of what he said - apparently it's a Tuscan dialect - but you'll hear the words 'Quirinale' several times. Ever the court jester in the Court of the Popolo, Benigni ties all the loose ends together, hoping the shake the Italian voters into some form of Liberta action - so that Berlusconi retires before invading the last vestige of Italian democracy. Or maybe, shit happens.

 

When in love, go to Venice

and bring your wellies, if you intend to visit this most wonderful of laguna cities. Jan and I did not, which is just as well, as it gave me the perfect excuse of purchasing stivali pescatori (fishermen's rubber boots) to splash through the high tide. We bought our wellies in a charming household goods store in the San Polo quarter. This involved walking to the store's little warehouse rooms, where Gianni searched through big boxes to show us the newest wellie models. We then paid for our wellie selection, back at the store.

Breathtaking: the Ca' Rezzonico, Venice's 18th century museum palazzo, remains one of the most beautiful museums I've enjoyed to date (PS: You can look at tons of images of the ex- and interior on the web). It now has a huge collection of 18th century painting at the top, from whose windows you can wonder at the impressive panorama reaching to the snow-capped Alps, beyond the town and laguna waters. Simply wonderful!

Exhibition overload

Since 2009 began, for some reason or other, I have visited a quite extraodinary number of exhibitions. It seems as if curators and artists are only now digesting the last 10 years of post-9/11 securitisation of our living environment (airport security, anti-terrorism legislation etc.) and what it is doing to us, or with us. Let's start with "Embedded Art" at Berlin's Academy of the Arts, which you can take in by taking a 1/2 hr tour with a fake security guard in an arty bullet-proof west, who moves the visitor group through 4 cellar levels, pretending to be rather strict (don't touch this, move on, you can't go to the toilet ...). As you wonder through the make-shift exhibition space, you're filmed. This footage feeds the exhibits in the more formal exhibition rooms on the ground level. The photos from Pakistan, features on electric gun inventors and security gurus and entire wall collages of news footage and the like leaves you exhausted and perturbed. Next in line is "Manson 69" at the Kunsthalle in Hamburg, which invited artists of all hues to provide visual inputs depicting "den Schrecken der Situation" (situational shock; the horror of the situation). You'll see Janice Joplin with her face burnt out of the painting, a fantastic installation of military installations, rockets and a nuclear explosion. The artist Elmar Hess used cosmetics products to create the installation. Though this exhibition does not target post-9/11 terrorism and security-craziness specifically, it wants to make us think about the attraction and repulsion generated by 'extremes' - of which suicide bombers are but one example.

Simply overpowering is the contemporary art collection assembled by German industrialist Falckenberg, installed in an ex-factory in Harburg on the outskirts of Hamburg. It's a private museum, open to the public only when they attend a tour. The space has just been redecorated. Bit of a CostCo shopper of ContempArt, this Mr. Falckenberg, who was giving a tour to friends as we toured ourselves. The current exhibit brought together Falckenberg's holdings and those of a Spain-based collector, about to open her own museum. No theme to this exhibit, though some works would have fit perfectly into the art shows I described above.

While I'm at it; if you haven't seen the Paul Klee exhibit in Berlin, you missed a fantastic show. So much to see (250 works), I had to take a break and have an awful coffee in the Neue Nationalgalerie's cafe. Apart from the always breathtaking Kolumba episcopal museum space in Cologne, designed by Swiss architect Zumthor, the Wallraff-Richartz Museum, also in Cologne, offers the visitor a colourful tour of its Middle Ages-to-early 20th century collection: They have just redecorated the rooms, giving the walls a very well chosen variety of colours, which in my view fit the exhibited paintings very well indeed! 'Embedded' PC screens inserted next to the seats allow the visitor to delve into one of the paintings featured in a particular room. This way, I learnt more about Max Liebermann's 'women bleaching the washing on a lawn' (2nd picture down).

Though I humbly admit: I remember far too little of what I've seen. Which reminds me, as a family we took a tour of Mr. Balkenhol's wood sculptures of non-descript people after Christmas, who produced some truly striking, huge 'paravents' - and a very entertaining flock of penguins. 

ThinkBits No.2: Airport smoke

Starting on a light note; this make-shift water capturing device at Frankfurt airport struck me as quite contemporary art-sort-of-thing. Most amazingly, the airport company Fraport clearly considers it essential to document its ownership of the plastic sheating, itself surely the physical expression of a German norm (industrial standard). I just wonder why? (50,000 people work at the airport and roundabouts). 

Moving onto heavier stuff; Inbetween flights I met a chubby man in one of the cosy all-glass smokers' cabins, sponsored by cigarette companies and invariably inadequately air-conditioned. We got chatting, as smokers do. He was just back from Varna, Bulgaria, where he is involved in building a new shopping centre. Of course, I immediately asked: "Is construction still on-going?" and he replied "Yes", indicating that the financial crisis has not hit that particular spot on our planet. He didn't much care for Bulgarians, he ventured, so I asked why. Describing the dirt in Varna's backroads, he also informed me that Bulgaria was a sex tourism destination. "In the Sofia Kempinski, kids are placed in a row like a string of pearls, so the old buggers can pick one". Hardcore porn is standard in all hotels he's been in (No, I did not ask if he liked watching them). Waitresses in a popular restaurant chain called 'Happy' something are forced to wear very short hotpants. We finished our cigarettes and wished each other 'bon voyage'. I was left quite shocked that a new member country of the EU would allow child prostitution to take place, so openly (not that the hidden version is any better).