The stuffs in my office
The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
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The stuff in my office needs organizing. One day I’ll get to it. One of these days when I have nothing to do.
II The doctor is Seyi Ogunjobi, an artist in residence at the Obafemi Awolowo University’s Center for Cultural Studies. He has been assisting me to build the ÀKÒDÌ ÒRÌṢÀ. At the exact time the police was storming the construction site of the ÀKÒDÌ ÒRÌṢÀ, Ogunjobi, a Leeds doctorate in creative arts, was moderating a discussion in the lecture theater of the Center for Cultural Studies, at the Obafemi Awolowo University campus. Part of the seminar series of the center where Ogunjobi works, his duties include hosting the seminar series, at which invited guests presents on a regular basis. Yesterday, Ogunjobi was moderating a seminar that I presented, titled, “Invisible Canvas: Painting as Performance in Ile Ife.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I asked Steve when he said that Gina was probably in my room. He extended his bottle of beer to Rufus who yanked off the top with his teeth and handed it back.
“Why sounding so alarmed?” Steve asked. “If you asked me, I’d say let’s swap places.”
“What!” I said, alarmed at his suggestion.
“You can stay in my cold room tonight,” Steve, “and I can use your warm room.”
“Is that British custom?” I asked sarcastically.
Did he wink? I couldn’t quite tell in the dark. He said, “The British have no custom. Only Africans have customs.”
When I became the Curator of African art in 1999 for a major art museum in the United States, the irony was not lost on me.How do you steal, loot, confiscate or pillage something, display the stolen or contraband goods publicly in your house, and hire the owner of the objects as the guard for the contraband or stolen goods?
Àwọn Yèyélórìṣà, Akirè Shrine Ilé Ifẹ̀, 2003.
After I took this picture in 2003, I returned to find the group in 2017.
But for the two women at the extreme left, all the others had transitioned.
Everything had disappeared.
There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Zit.
But the Irunmoles have a way of ensuring that we don’t lose everything, even though we might be careless as humans.
Akinwumi Isola (1939-2018).
One of the greatest.
The only Honest Man
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981, (Part Four) Obaseki’s eyes were boring into my back as I…