I can't believe it, but the pump was spoiled again. When we were on the roof terrace yesterday with John and his carpenter to discuss the shape of the roof, we realized that the tank was still empty, although the sun had been shining brightly for hours. Exactly half a year this pump has lasted, like the former on. Of course, the fact that we had no water hit me down and in the beginning I didn't do anything. When Ous asked me if I had already called the plumber, I replied that I needed breakfast first. The carpenter had been two hours late - a black man's time, John explained to me - and we hadn't eaten at eleven thirty that morning. Even after breakfast I was paralyzed and couldn't do anything. Only at half past one I made my first call. Then as schedueled our tv technician Njie arrived to bring back the major channels like BBC and CNN. Sometimes I want to see them to know how the world is going from that point of view - pandemic and so on. Since we thought it might be an electrical problem, the plumber said after assuring he would come by before five that he would send us an electrician's number. Meanwhile I had called our house electrian Abdou, who didn't pick the phone. We spoke to Njie, who fixed the satellite dishes in seconds - it was just one cable that needed to be tightened - about our problem. He said he knew someone from Nawec, the only water and electricity company in The Gambia. Ous asked for his number, called and this guy, also Ousman, assured that he would be there in an hour. While Ous was waiting for him, I received the number of the plumber's electrician and at the same time Abdou called me back. After checking the electricity, which seemed to be functioning correctly, the two Ousmans pulled out the pump. Ousman investigated it and came to the conclusion it had been spoiled by mud. Finished. What now? He said it was up to me. I asked if he knew where we could get a new one. He made a call and said the price. No other chance than to drive to town and to buy it. Because I didn't have that much cash at home, we stopped at an atm, but i wasn't able to pull out the full amount. Apparently no bank was open on a Saturday afternoon. Fortunately I had a two Swiss franc notes (the old ones with Giacometti. I kept them from my last trip to Basel four years ago) and was able to change them on the black market. When arrived at the store, I heard the seller ask Ousman if he would go to America. He replied with a dry no. You see, that's how it is. I show up somewhere and get identified as an American, as English, a Swede or whatever, without them saying a word to me. The constant question FROM WHERE never ends. Somehow in my subconscious I had thought that after a few years it would stop. No more children yelling Toubab after me. Anyway, the fact that I'm not from here seems to be written all over my face though I'm used to it and don't mind anymore. I know that in most cases it is not meant negatively. It's a way of communicating. But, there are moments when I can't stand being told who I am. And even that seller, as in most of these types of tech stores and supermarkets, could be from Lebanon or India - written all over his face. Ha!. At least and finally, this morning as I write this text, I hear the calming sound of water flowing into the tank. The new pump is working.
I would like to add something. The seller's question to Ousman "are you going to America" was a sardonic reference to the behavior of young Gambians, that when they are with whites, they tend to have the ulterior motive of being taken abroad. It wasn't about me at all, although I then write exclusively about myself. In a way, that view hurts me. The view that I'm just a means to an end. Most of the time I vehemently oppose it as soon as I notice it. In the case yesterday, I was only interested in the pump and not in the mood for any discussion.
As an art student, I was looking for my identity in photo booths - our selfies back then in the early 1980s. Likewise Polaroids. We wanted the picture right away. Have something in hand and don't wait for the film to be developed.
Friday, 26
the strategy of creativity for change is unlearning, subversion and intervention
Unlearning colonialist's education to find your truth
A conversation between Heba Y. Amin, multi-media artist, researcher, and lecturer, and Adama Sanneh,
Moleskine Foundation CEO.
we need to do things differently ... what role we play just even as global citizens in this context ... We're not just working hermits in our studios completely disconnected from the world. ... engaging in kind of educational formats. That means making my work but attempting to kind of go beyond the art world or kind of the exhibition format. ... suddenly it was a sort of awakening ... I mean, this is a very kind of one-directional narrative that I've learned. And I think in recent years with the digitization of a lot of historical documents and archives and access to information in general, it's something that kind of opened up the ways ... I was educated in a particular way that was at a crossroads and in conflict actually with my own history and my own identity, and that somehow my artwork became a way for me to come to terms with that ... And so we begin to understand than people's behavior in a contemporary context that it's linked to almost over one hundred years of infrastructure that's being built under this kind of hierarchy, under violence, under colonialism, under imperialism. And that then becomes a way to explain all of that. It becomes an entry into understanding that better ... Somehow, in many ways, art goes under the radar. It's somehow allowed within the art world. There's a way in which you can nurture a discussion around politics that you can't in media as a journalist or you can't as a human rights lawyer, or you can't as a professor ... So I think what I'm finding is the power of being an artist is that I just have a lot of flexibility ... the world, in general, has this outlook and this idea that in a capitalist society, if you're not making a ton of money, then you're doing something wrong. ... And I think it comes from this experience that I had growing up of not being part of anyone's culture, having an education that conflicts with my culture, and living between geographies. And so I just became accustomed kind of to being an outsider in every context that I'm involved in. ... technology is a double-edged sword. ... a system that kind of exists on its own and is somehow autonomous and makes decisions through algorithms and things like that, but we need to somehow reconnect the ways and the context in which those technologies are developed and then how these systems of power and hierarchy are being inscribed into them ... And I think it has really come to the forefront, especially now during the pandemic, during the current pandemic, because we've become obviously so dependent on technology ... the conversation about the complexity of a system that is diffuse and goes into transforming the reality that each individual at the personal level is able to process and is able to create to the point that actually this is not only a method of access to information, but it also goes to changing our biology that makes everything even more complex to face. .. And I think this is something that younger generations are starting to understand because their future is at stake and it's becoming very, very visible ... We have to take risks, and especially those of us who are more privileged and are in a position of comfort should be at the forefront of that ... I think art is not just about creating objects. It's at least for me, it's really a way of thinking. It's a way of embodying. It's a way of living. It's you know, it's the lifestyle that I choose. It's the way that I choose to engage with the world.
I have only selected a few statements that grabbed me and that I really want to pass on. There's no point in bringing the whole conversation here. And I'm actually too tired to sum it up in my own words.
You can find the entire conversation in full here.
Thursday, 25
I used to ridicule people who enjoy studying the lives of celebrities, reading magazines about famous actors and dynasties, or following them on the internet and television. I didn't like it at all. I didn't think of them as someone seriously trying to understand how the world is. I considered what they were looking at as cheap literature - lots of pictures and almost no text. Now I think maybe I'll do the same, Patti Smith as an example. Perhaps it is the need to go into this world that I cannot partake in, in order to transfer the meaning of her onto my own. Or to use the familiar phrase of getting a piece of the pie, believing that I am somehow important too. To compare her life to mine and see if my life can keep up with hers. No, the ones I follow I need them for inspiration to become creative. Especially, when I put myself in the lives of artists, by reading autobiographies, but also in interviews and panels, I start to define my own life by drawing certain parallels and out of this energy I get the strength to be creative. But somehow I still think that for a lot of people it's glamour that they just want to consume, like a glass of wine.
Fishers in Ghana by Regula Tschumi 2020Wednesday, 24
The picture of Regula Tschumi could be photographed here in Gambia. The time I did my walks on Brufut beach towards south a few years ago, I sometimes tried to take photos, but as soon as I got near the fishing boats, there was a big palaver and I put my camera back in my bag. It is really a great achievement to have taken such a beautiful picture, which looks almost posed, like in the photos by Jeff Wall. I've actually more or less given up on taking these kinds of shots in an environment I don't really belong in. But it still excites me and this photo encourages me to try it again. The Patty Fogarty Awarard that Tschumi won with it is absolutely deserved.
Tuesday, 23
(no notes)
Monday, 22
This is a mixture, it is an internal search. Sometimes I am not ready and then write about the weather. But that, too, is an insight of a certain kind that refuses to admit vulnerability - just produce dry facts. A kind of veil that should then protect me. But I prefer when I'm ready to be attacked. Basically, I am vulnerable as soon as I am creative. I expose myself to criticism. What will people think of me if I write things that are questionable or not resolved? Or I do something that is considered outrageous. But I am learning to remove the fear of criticism and thus to let creativity run free. In any case, I want people to know that I am not invulnerable.
Sunday, 21
Sunday Blues...
Saturday, 20
Today I learned from another friend that the mist is actually harmattan haze, which has to do with pollution and moisture.
Haven't taken any further steps with regard to the auction. But I'm more and more convinced that it is the only way to sell the collection and give the gallery a boost.
We are also talking to various people about making the roof the TintintoHouse waterproof. There are still a few months until the rainy season, but time is passing quickly.
Friday, 19
(no notes) but was thinking about doing a sale auction at the gallery
Thursday, 18
What I learned from a friend today: the fog that I mentioned yesterday is not fog, but calima. So it is not a matter of fine water droplets but of fine dust. You can see it on the tiles too.The fine dust goes through all the cracks and within a short time everything, whether floor or furniture, is covered with a thin layer of dust.
Wednesday, 17
Yesterday, in the Süddeutsche Zeitung, I read a review of Isabelle Graw's book In Another World with the title Epiphany of Everyday Life written by Jens-Christian Rabe. I found the following section interesting (in the context of this Diary), which I reproduce here in translation. The principle of seriously but fragmentarily thinking for a while about everything that the day coincidentally brings in front of one's eyes and into brain - if you don't want to be an unworldly eremite - forces to be absolutely contemporary. There is always the risk that banalities of all kinds will be born, because in the best case scenario, what seems new is more interesting than what has long been known. About the new, however, must necessarily be thought more insecurely. If it succeeds, what is rare can arise for it: intellectual originality with maximum accessibility to the objects of reflection. And The great strength of Graw's notes: Not to omit oneself as object of criticism in a posh way (or being arrogant, as is often is the case with male attempts of this kind), though without making a large ego number out of her thinking.
It popped into my mind as I was thinking about how to describe this day, today. I didn't go to the gallery, but I spent the whole day in the garden. Now I am completely exhausted. The garden is overgrown, but we're trying to make something out of it. With all our strength. Fruit trees and vegetable beds, as well as some flowers. Today I cleared the entrance area. The weather was correspondingly favorable. No sunshine that drives me into the house around noon. Yes, it was even a little foggy. Not at all do I regret that I stayed here. By the way, I don't care if it sounds like I am a weltabgewandter Einsiedler, I know that i am not.
Tuesday, 16
I have to be more open to give the spirituality a chance, in the sense of a charismatic athmosphere. This regularily going to the shop brings to much pressure and nothing happens. So I decided for tomorrow not to go. Even my phonenumber is written on the door to get us if needed. I feel better now with this decision. Maybe that one day will be enough to let me get back to the old regularity or something better comes to my mind. We will see.
Monday, 15
I catch myself making connections where there actually aren't any. To establish pairings, so to speak, where no pairs are required. It's probably some kind of shock processing. I know that when I'm irritated, I sometimes act nonsensically as if I were crazy. I then need time to catch myself and to process this special fact. It happens when I am offended or injured. Over time one becomes immune to certain insults - for self-protection. Just don't listen. But it still can happen that someone who means something to me misunderstands me or deliberately wants to hurt me. Or doesn't realise what he or she is saying feels painful in my ears. It can be even non-verbal when someone I am happy to see immediately turns the back towards me. Or something terrible happens, an accident or something else cruel that blows my mind away. It's kind of a troublesome time right now. I'm not really enjoying anything. The days in the gallery are getting bitter. There is no interest. I don't know if I should change something or just continue like before. At the moment I don't have any notion to make a change. Thus I have to continue, because halting is not the solution.
Sunday, 14
Two more photos of who I was and who are still part of me.
Saturday, 13
Report from quarantine in Taiwan. Philippe Rahm at e-flux architecture
Friday, 12
There are moments when I wish I had paint and canvas in front of me to express this feeling of desire. Just picking one colour, spreading it on the canvas, and then the next colour until the canvas is full. That's how I did it in my first own studio at 7 Kleine Reichenstrasse in Hamburg, a former piano workshop on the top floor. The building has since been completely rebuilt. At that time it was a corner house, the view to the rear was free as far as Ost-West-Strasse, which is now called Willy-Brandt-Strasse. My pictures are lost as well as my enthusiasm for expressing my feelings in this way. Nobody was ever really interested in my pictures. Why should I bother buying paint and canvas? There are other ways to channel such sweet feelings. And sometimes I'm just waiting for them to leave.
Thursday, 11
As I wait for the people I will talk to about the roof and its waterproofing, I scroll through my photo file from a few years ago, the time before I emigrated to The Gambia. I think of Patti Smith, who said photos of her don't have to be flattering, but she does need to recognize herself. My relationship with photos is rather ambivalent. As I said, my father bought me my first SLR and took me to the darkroom. He often photographed us when we were kids and also as teenagers. We were kind of used to it. Family photos were a must. I can't remember any of us rebelling. I always gave in even when I didn't feel like. It went so far that my brother, who is five years younger and then about ten years old, took the liberty of taking photos of me in the bathtub. Like father, like son. No, my father never took nudes of me, luckily. However, my mother was upset when she caught my brother. As for my father's photos, he did not let me participate in the design. I was not allowed to pose, do nonsense or even look into the camera. No chance for me to portray myself as I wanted. Instead, I should pretend I didn't know that the camera was there in order to look as natural as possible. When I later started taking photos myself, I wasn't allowed to portrait him. Whenever I tried, he looked sternly into the camera and thus clarified the balance of power. My mother decided which photos we looked good in so that they could be added to the album and then presented to friends and acquaintances. When I showed photos to my mother where I liked myself, she often reacted dismissively and couldn't understand. Her idea of what was beautiful was very different. Especially in my punk days. Despite the generation gap, I tried my best to make my parents understand me, but they couldn't. In the meantime they have become much milder and mostly acknowledge me. It also doesn't really matter anymore. I know their attitude and leave them alone, even if I disagree. There are just things we cannot share.
Wednesday, 10
I was about fifteen or sixteen when I copied and interpreted Paula Modersohn-Becker's Tine (1903). I can't remember the context in which I painted the picture. I don't know if it was in art class at school or in private drawing class I attended with my artist friend. At that time I was into big collars. I think I wanted to style this little girl and bring her forward into my time, the seventies. The picture was later mounted and framed and hung above the television in my grandparents' living room. It's now for sale in the Art Space. But the climate has left its mark and I'm afraid no one needs it.
Tuesday, 9
Yesterday, Greta (Gambians call her Belinda) from Norway, whom I met for the first time in a yoga class last year, visited me at Art Space. I introduced her to my work through this website and told her a lot about my life - I was in that mood and almost gave a lecture. She sat on the little white sofa, I stood. In the end, she asked me about my blog, which I told her about the last time we met in Tintino. Together we searched for malola.net on Google and it really didn't come up. Only after searching a second time did she find it. I have not performed any search engine optimization for this website or the Tintinto website. I don't really care because I think if people really want to find the site, they will find it. I give the exact address to all interested persons with whom I am in contact. They will have no problem finding the website.
Monday, 8
(from my notes) In her interview about her book M Train, Patti Smith says she loves looking for signs. For me it's the other way around: I fear signs. I fear they are telling me things that I don't want to hear, that I'm not prepared for, or that are inconsistent with what I'm actually following. I'm afraid they will mislead me, while Patti uses them optimistically, they cannot harm her. But she also admits that we sometimes ignore signs and she illustrates this with the example of Jonah. She goes on to say that people are too busy with their phones and suggests sometimes letting your thoughts drift and see where it goes. At the same time, in connection with her predilection for fictional detectives, whose lifes are dysfunctional, she says that she is not looking for suspense, but she likes to solve puzzles. She says she is ritualistic and has nothing against repetition. Oh, So many things she says are absolutely inspiring to me and I see a lot of things just like her. Unfortunately, time is running through my fingers and I can't write about it anymore, but I hope to be able to go into it at a later date. Or check it out for yourself: Patti Smith interview q on cbc
Sunday,7
ST at Independence Stadium
Saturday, 6
Patti Smith at Polar Music Prize Talk 2011
Friday, 5
Being at the Art Space like every Friday and going through my entry from yesterday I found some mistakes. I have to be more thoroughly with what is the final upload. I take the liberty and correct the mistakes afterwards. It's not about writing something in a day and that's irrevocable. My aim is to write something that corresponds to what I want to say or express. So if unwanted mistakes creep in, they are not my original intention and therefore it makes no sense to leave them where they are. But it can also happen that I discover errors - mostly in entries from a long time ago - that I don't correct because I think these errors are now part of the whole.
Thursday, 4
Another idea I like a lot that came from Patti Smith on that talk in Chicago. When the interviewer (sorry, I didn't find out her name) asked her for her favourite photo of herself, Patti Smith replied: If I see a photograph that doesn't have to be flattering, but I feel like I know her and it could be from any era, and a lot of the photographs are by friend Judy Lynn, who took pictures of me 68,69,70. She was one of the first photographers I worked with, and all our photographs we imagined were stills from French movies that weren't shot. I like them very much. But also... there is a picture taken of me in Chicago, like 1948. I'm standing with my little haircut, my little bob. And just with my hands like this, crying, and I still look like this. I mean I can look at that picture and go, yeah, I'm still her. Yeah, I like that. Yeah, that is the idea I like. I stay the same person, no matter what happens. And I am still the same person that was born sixty two years ago. (No today isn't my birthday - I should say approximately) And I am the same person that is there on the pictures. Here an example of 1970, when I was travelling home from a holiday in Portugal with my grand parents. My grandfather took this picture. My grandmother is on the left watching, while my aunt is standing next to me. The colours have changed. The yellow has all but disappeared. I even remember that dark blue handbag. The white bag I am carrying in the right hand probably was my aunt's. Still now, I use to carry my handbags on my left side. You see, I am still her. She is part of me, she is inside me.
I allow myself to feel happy. in the face of all the strife in the world, all the things we are facing as Americans, as human beings. Our personal things, our global things, our political things, climate change, all of these things that are pressing upon us, we have to keep a little path of joy, moving through it, or we would have a terrible life. So I try to hold on that, you know, just move a little happily through life, as rough as it can be.
Life is good... And it is, even when it's bad, it is.
I stay grounded in doing my work, because I like to work, and I do my work, making sure my family is good, and then the next level, I think of sort of radiating circles, I start with my work and my children, and then whatever I can do, you know, whatever civic duty I can do, speaking out or sometimes all you can really do is just be as good a person as you can, and I don't want to start sounding like, you know, the Maharaji or something, not that there is anything wrong. It's just that I'm not one. But there's a certain... if you go through life basically as a good person, and just try to be as fair minded as possible to the environment, to our species, to a river, to people, that energy reverberates and is infectious.
Patti Smith at Chicago Humanties Festival 26 October 2019
Tuesday, 2
Some are whistling, I use words. Originally I wanted to write, I use my own words, but do the words really belong to me? I don't think so. They have been passed on and further developed by mankind over millennia. They belong to everyone. They are a freely usable means of communication (as long as freedom of expression is guaranteed). However, using words seems more dangerous than whistling a melody. Certain words or even whole sentences that you have said can be used against you, but the whistling not, even if it is a standard that words go with. Then why is the word whistleblower used for people like Julien Assange? I ask because he uses more than simple words. Probably in the sense of a police whistle.
I like to express my thoughts, but often I do it unfiltered and therefore get reprimanded for it. Many apps offer filters to change the image quality. Filters seem to be indispensable in our society. For example, instead of talking about something neutral as the weather, I express my disappointment on something in certain circumstances. My topic then didn't go through the filter that removes emotion. In Photoshop, maybe that would be - certainly not the Smart Sharpen filter, the one I would use for an argument-based debate - but the filter Texture Mosaic Tiles, for example. A filter that splinters all feelings and makes them unrecognizable. Then you are no longer a target for dissatisfied people.
Monday, 1
Work of the month at Art Space: Teddy by Stephan Balkenhol, 2004, woodcut, 76.5x56.3 cm
