I will show you passion, passion, passion
Tempestuous drums drumming
Mayanman Ibo le lelelelele
Thin voices threading needles
Prickling you drawing happiness
Redder than raw sugar cane
Sweeter than hot rapadou dripping like sap
Where limbs were amputated for firewood
I will show you this and more Someday7
COMMUNITY
Germany has something of a sordid connection to Haiti that most Germans may not even know. This exhibition in some ways represents another turn. Art knows fewer boundaries. Art heals. Art can also make and remake connections and communities. Thirty-seven pieces purchased over a decade ago will now be exposed to celebrate a Haiti that once was and perhaps can be again.
In the aftermath of the earthquake, assessment of the damage revealed loss that is unimaginable. Hundreds of thousands of people are gone, most of them uncounted and undocumented, now buried in mass graves. Additionally, state properties have also been affected, including the Centre d’Art—the art center opened by DeWitt Peters in 1944. The center became both an exhibition space and a training ground for artists, especially those who were self-taught. Many of the artists in this collection (Gabriel Alix, Préfète Duffaut, Jean-Baptise Jean, Philton Latortue, and others) honed their skills there or had some connection to the Centre d’Art.
This exhibition at Höfgen may very well be the first one to occur since the earth cracked open and fractured Haiti. For that reason, it is of great importance. It is both homage to Haitian artists and recognition that Haitian art must not only survive this earthquake and its fallout, but also thrive in the future, especially within Haiti. Given this connection, hopefully, Höfgen will play a role in the rebuilding efforts of the Centre d’Art. And perhaps someday, this same exhibition will cross the waters and be shown in Haiti. Then Haitians too can see these works up close and revel in the mystery, poetry, and passion that are at the very core of their artistic traditions.
Haiti
Haiti, réveille-toi!
Haiti, ouvre tes yeux!
Redeviens belle et prospère!
Redeviens “Perles de Antilles”!
Redeviens notre lumière brilliante!
Redeviens les rayons qui éclairent la Caraïbe!
Redeviens notre fierté!
Redeviens notre orgeuil!
Redeviens AYITI!8
7
Sisters of the Cowries, Struggles, and Haiti’s Future
March 18, 2010 / Honorée Jeffers blog / @ Phillis Remastered
December 14, 2009, the day before my last trip to Haiti, I met briefly with an old grad-school chum. P is a sister who also made it through the struggle (of being one of very few) at the University of Michigan, where she earned her JD and I a PhD in anthropology. We overlapped only by so many years as I neared the last stage of the doctorate. We held on to survive the process and now nearly two decades later are working on thriving as professionals.
P and I have more than an alma mater in common; we are also both Haitian-born U.S. diaspora dwellers. We were not close at UM, but we connected. After her graduation, she helped hook me up with an internship in South Africa, where we met up again and bonded. I will never forget upon my arrival in Capetown, P gave me a quick breakdown of local dynamics that ended with her saying “pitit [child with serious emphasis], and then you’re going to find out you are colored” as she broke into sardonic bouts of laughter. Our conversations have always been peppered with Creole words. Another point of connection was the sameness in awareness of our identities and the various social and symbolic politics of being black women.
I sat across from her that Tuesday after several years of intermittent contact. We both marveled at the obvious changes in our state of being and appearances that we recognized as coming from deep within. We did high fives to mark the synchronic moments in our conversation where without question we got each other. “Life is too short.” There were uhmms and uh-huh. “Girl, I am just tired of struggle.” “It’s all about being present.” “I want to live my life now,” we each said. Which comments belonged to either of us hardly mattered. We have been on separate journeys but seemed in many ways to be in the same spot of the crossroads we faced today.
Then I revealed the significance of this moment for me. I was on my way to Haiti and did not tell family members the details of my impending trip, nor did I plan to have or make any contact with my folks in Haiti. I needed to be there as a researcher embarking on the preliminary phase of a new project, not someone’s daughter, niece, or cousin. My reasons were quite simple, as I sought to learn whether I could have a relationship with Haiti on my own terms that were not overshadowed by family dynamics.
Then P made a most definitive statement that resonated with everything I have been struggling with around this journey. I would come back to her words again and again while in Haiti and even now as I write this. She said: “Our culture doesn’t have a space for women to mature and come into our own.” That comment led us into a discussion on what it means to be grown (resurrecting bell hooks) as women when we do not possess the primary marker of adulthood (children).
How do we transition from girl to woman to wise one? She had been married, and I remain single. Those of us who take nontraditional roads are continually reminded there is no point of reference for us. Yet we also know that who we seek to be stems from deeper desires to come to terms with ourselves as fuller beings made in our own visions. We are not like our mothers or grandmothers. We are engaged in conscious acts of self-making as we resist the urge to be crunched up into other people’s fantasies for us, as Audre Lorde has written.
The next time I saw P was several weeks later. January 12, 2010, is the day part of the earth had cracked open in the Western Hemisphere and fractured our beloved country of birth, only to reveal its most persistent inequities and vulnerabilities. We tried to squeeze every concern we had into the fifteen minutes she was available. I needed to reconnect with her before facing an audience of strangers. At times, we shook our heads in disbelief and shared continuous repetitions of the word pitit that needed no explanations.
Then our attention turned to the planeload of the very young, labeled “orphans,” who were whisked off to foreign lands. “I called my mother and even said I would take a couple and bring them home,” P said. We scrambled for words to reflect our outrage and still make sense of this desperate act. What is the value of Haitian children? The worse was yet to come as we discussed the dead. The uncounted. The mass graves.
Where are the Haitian voices on this issue? Why so many artists? How can the president remain silent throughout this moment? The conversation turned to our commitment to helping in recovery somehow, as it is our duty to do so. Then we realized we had not talked about my trip to Haiti. I gave her a brief reply in minutes and told her I had been writing op-eds for sanity and to make sense out of this moment.
The thing about P is that she too is at a point in her life wherein
