Reading: “Shaved Ice and Wild Buses”

Jamaican dancehall star Sean Paul painted on a minibus in Paramaribo, June 2009; photo by Christopher Cozier


By Chandra van Binnendijk

[Adapted from an essay in Schaafijs en Wilde Bussen: Straatkunst in Suriname, by Chandra van Binnendijk, Paul Faber, and Tammo Schuringa, published in March 2010 by KIT Publishers]

One does not have eyes enough when making a trip through Paramaribo. Not only because of the people, the market, the nature, and the buildings. Anyone who pays attention will see that the city streets are filled with fine paintings. Inventive and funny images painted with great skill can be found on a small scale, such as on the fuel-tank covers of buses, but also on a gigantic scale, whereby entire buildings are covered with hyper-realistic advertisement-paintings. Seemingly real drops of water hang on the walls, as if the city is sweating due to the ever-present heat. How to quench the permanent thirst becomes immediately clear through the adjacent painted drink label.

Anyone who hangs around on a street corner for fifteen minutes will see a colourful parade of movie stars and celebrated singers and musicians passing by. The supreme Bollywood star Amitabh Bachchan passes by in five or six different film roles, alternating with Bob Marley. 2Pac looks at you with piercing eyes; Britney Spears gives you a provocative gaze that asks: would you like to drive with me, in this bus? On Johnny Sordam’s shaved-ice cart on Domineestraat, the two greatest peace apostles of the twentieth century, Gandhi and Mandela, stand fraternally next to each other, as if indicating that quenching one’s thirst is important, but not the most ponderous issue in the world.

What these forms of street art all have in common is that they are hand-painted with great care, and that the makers are unknown to the general public. The work of these painters does not hang in a museum. The street is their museum. They do not see themselves so much as artists, but in a way as advertisement painters.




Minibus, Paramaribo, June 2009; photo by Nicholas Laughlin


This kind of street art has not always existed in Paramaribo. The first scenes painted on buses begin to appear in the early 1970s, as additions to fixed information such as “Route 7, 15 passengers”. These images, portraits, and decorations give each bus a certain accent, ensuring that it stands out, drawing the attention of clients. The first bus painter, Eric Gilles, created highly imaginative scenes which have unfortunately not been preserved in photographs. After Gilles came a few others, such as Dennis Riebeek, Waldi Landburg, and Gerold Lobles. They painted large colourful names of buses such as MAGIC and MUSIC MACHINE, hot women, and internationally famous stars.

These artists all left for the Netherlands in 1990. Ramon Bruyning, an assistent to Lobles, managed their legacy and thereafter built up his own practice. He has worked on a great many of the buses which drive around today, which can be recognised by the motif of a symmetrical medal with a portrait in the middle, and Afro-American music stars. During the mid 1990s a second group of painters entered the flourishing bus-painting sector, led by the brothers Nishar and Johnny Khodabaks. Their repertoire consists mainly of film stars out of the Bollywood film industry, and has become the favourite of many bus owners.

The painting of shaved-ice carts began in the mid 1980s, when the number of ice-carts had a turbulent growth. The carts became bigger, they acquired roofs, and they were decorated in highly imaginative ways — some of them by the owners themselves, and others by the professional bus painters such as Lobles, Riebeek, and Bruyning. The peak is now past, but a number of shaved-ice carts still indicate how varied and attractive they once were.




Painted advertisements on the wall of a small grocery outside Paramaribo, June 2009; photo by Nicholas Laughlin


Advertisement painting is older than the moveable paintings on buses and carts. It began to conquer its place in the street scene after World War II, following the American example. The logos of international brand names such as Coca-Cola and Bata were faithfully copied, gradually joined by local brand names such as Black Cat and Parbo. Now giant advertisements and detailed reproductions of sweets and shining cars appear on walls and billboards. The walls of supermarkets are totally painted with cans of red beans or sardines.

In the last few years the paintings have increased both in size and in realism. A style of shop-painting has started in which the building is overgrown with advertisement. More and more the designs are prepared on computers, but the execution is still done by hand. Painters such as André Sontosoemarto and Hendry Singoredjo prepare the work and supervise different crews of painters, who tirelessly enlarge the design, covering even the bars of shutters and windows.

All these forms of painting find themselves places next to each other, and intermingle. “A bus is a bus, a billboard is a billboard,” says Sontosoemarto, and most of the painters stick to their particular area, but once in a while a crossover does take place.




Schaafijs en Wilde Bussen, an exhibition of Surinamese street art (including specially commissioned works) opens on Friday 12 March, 2010, in the Open Air Museum of Fort Nieuw Amsterdam in the Commewijne district.

The exhibition is open to the public from March 13 to May 2.
Tuesday-Friday, 9 am to 5 pm.
Saturday and Sunday (and on all holidays), 10 am to 6 pm.
Closed on Mondays.




Portrait of Paramaribo, by George Struikelblok, was created for The One Minutes project and is nominated for The One Minutes Awards 2009

Conversation: “positive tension”

Paintings in the Surinaamsche Bank conference room: left wall, Waterfall (1976-1977), by Paul Woei, oil on canvas, 300 x 170 cm; back wall, Wooden House (no date), by Jules Chin A Foeng, oil on canvas, 222 x 142 cm


By Chandra Van Binnendijk

De Surinaamsche Bank, with its 350 employees, is the largest commercial bank in Suriname. It opened its doors to the public on 19 July, 1865, and celebrated its 145th anniversary in 2010. The head office is supported by five branch offices and two agencies in the Nickerie and Marowijne districts.

Visual art has always been an important aspect of the bank’s culture. Five years ago, when DSB celebrated its 140th anniversary, it presented its own art collection to the public — a most valuable collection which is praised unanimously by art lovers — by holding an exhibition under the title Visible and publishing an art catalogue (author/editor Chandra van Binnendijk) with the same title.

DSB is one of the main sponsors of Paramaribo SPAN, and the bank’s headquarters on Henk Arron Straat in Paramaribo is the central exhibition venue.

From a conversation with Mr. Martin Loor, Chief Financial Officer, DSB:

“With this art event we want to express that this bank has its roots in the community. Through art we want to give back to the community on the occasion of our anniversary. Art is an expression and a reflection of how a community thinks and feels. In our case it reflects the fine complexity and the fine tolerance of our society.

“I am most curious! [Paramaribo SPAN] is very new and positively challenging. The challenge is one of the beautiful elements of this exhibition.

“I find the name of the exhibition appropriate in so many different ways. Just this week we had a meeting with all the department managers, and we discussed the many meanings of the word ‘span’. The word itself also has something elusive, and that makes the whole event even more fun.

“I have no idea what to expect, there is positive tension in the air!”




In the Surinaamsche Bank reception area: Two Women with Headscarves (no date), by Nana Liem , acrylic on canvas, 94 x 63.5 cm

Response: some thoughts on Someni Tongo

Part of the audience at the performance of Someni Tongo in the Palmentuin, 29 November, 2008


Just over two weeks ago, Paramaribo SPAN posted information on Dutch artist Arnold Schalks's Someni Tongo project (2008), which examined Suriname's cultural and linguistic diversity through a live performance of a celebrated poem. The comments left on the original post raised interesting questions about how this and other art projects are (or could or should be) received and interpreted by audiences and the wider art community.

Writer Chandra van Binnendijk, who witnessed the live performance of Someni Tongo, offers her personal response to the project and the resulting discussion.


I was one of the handful of people on that early Sunday morning in the Palmentuin nine months ago, there to watch the performance of Someni Tongo. There was a kind of silent conspiracy-like feeling, for being together for the event. The ones with cameras wanted to take pictures, but the best angle near the podium was not approachable: a vagrant had left a fresh turd right in that spot. And the manager of the Palmentuin refused to clean it up, for this was not his duty, he said.

It did not bother us at all: we placed an old newspaper on top of it, we warned others not to step on it, we moved around a little until everyone found his best place around the podium, and then we watched and experienced and enjoyed the Someni Tongo performance. All those tongues, speaking in all those different languages, expressing the same lines -- it was special, it was beautiful, and more so because we were there for the live experience.

The audience that morning left the Palmentuin with a feeling of upliftment, of contentment.

Shouldn't a similar feeling of contentment remain with the one who created this beautiful experience? What happens to the artist when he is so attached to the fruit of his work that he feels disappointed when response and feedback from the public are not what he expects (or even feels he deserved)? When he is not praised or imitated? Where is the pure joy of creating?

I think art is exactly and only about this: the need to create and express what is uniquely inside you, and to do so because you have no choice. Something is envisioned, it wants to come into the world through you, and it can only be born through your effort. Full stop. No ulterior motives. Creation is making art -- not the aftermath.

Someni Tongo was beautiful. But in its significance it was not unprecedented. Over the years, Suriname has seen high-level performances of multi-racial, muli-ethnic, and multi-lingual performances. One example is the theatrical production Rebirth, by director Henk Tjon, which was presented at Carifesta 1981 in Barbados, with a dazzling combination and integration of all these aspects. There have been performances by the National Ballet of Suriname choreographed by Ilse-Marie Hajary, who created the Dogla style, in which she integrated Afro drumming and winti elements with classical Indian dance movements.

So multi-culti is not really new for us. One should not overlook history -- we are able to reach heights because we are standing on the shoulders of those before us. Tjon and Hajary were not greeted with lavish standing ovations -- their work was not understood at first. This takes time.

On that beautiful mormning in the Palmentuin, we did not let the turd disturb us. Because the performance was compelling. The experience was enough.

Art in itself is enough.

Reading: on Waka Tjopu

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By Chandra van Binnendijk

[An abbreviated version of an essay first published in The Wakaman Project catalogue, 2009]



10 Years' Independence, monumental painting design, by Ray Daal (1985)

The name Waka Tjopu is derived from an old-fashioned Surinamese marbles game, where the aim is reach a new and more distant target with each turn. The players try to touch -- to “tjop” -- and gather as many of their opponents’ marbles as possible. The name perfectly suits the activities of the artists’ collective set up in the 1980s, whose members were continuously stimulated by touching on the specialities of others in the multidisciplinary collective.

Visual artist and designer René Tosari founded Waka Tjopu in 1983. He played a leading and decisive role in its development until the end of the collective. Other members of the collective were the artists Soeki Irodikromo, Ray Daal, Steve Ammersingh, Winston van der Bok, John Djojo, and Ramin Wirjomingolo.

Designers, illustrators, graphic designers, painters, decorators, ceramists, photographers, artists, sculptors, batik artists, and wood and metal craftsmen were all represented in the collective. What brought them together was their conviction about the practice of art: that art and society are inextricably linked to each other. The climate in Suriname in the 1980s challenged them to make their own interpretation of values; a promise of progressive social renewal initially offered by the military coup.

Waka Tjopu wanted its work to make a purposeful contribution to increasing the cultural identity and self-respect of Surinamese people. For its members, artistic manifestations had not only an authentic, expressive, and aesthetic value; they also thought that the foundation for developing works of art lay within the immediate social reality. This was the vision from which they worked.

One Waka Tjopu project clearly expressed their deep and heartfelt connection with the environment. From 1983 to 1984 the artists regularly visited the district of Commewijne, where a number of them had their roots. The area had a rich plantation culture history, but few who remembered it. Among the run-down and dilapidated remains the Waka Tjopu artists found renewed inspiration for what would be their most remarkable enterprise, which they lovingly christened Terug Naar Huis (“Back Home”).

As they wandered through the abandoned plantations they talked passionately about “art confrontations”, a term they often used to describe the creation of interactivity between social reality and artistic expression. They had close contact with the plantation inhabitants and shared their day-to-day activities, recording the entire district in paintings, sketches, and photographs; a triptych portraying the present, the past, and the future of the plantations on the right bank of the River Commewijne. The paintings, linked to an actual restoration project for the area, have a historical, a current, and a future portrayal of the area in the style of historical pieces. The Terug Naar Huis works represented Suriname’s participation in the prestigious 18th Biennale of Sao Paolo (1985), and were exhibited again in 1990, in Theater Thalia in Paramaribo. They are now housed in the Openlucht Museum in Nieuw Amsterdam, in Commewijne -- they are back home.



Terug Naar Huis project, design for triptych (1985)

During its seven years of existence, Waka Tjopu was engaged in a huge range of exciting activities including architectural works and designs, banners, and a television flash card series themed on original craft forms such as native ceramics, traditional basketwork, and wood carving. Art was also used to illustrate subjects such as standards and values, healthy eating and economic progress through production. These projects encompassed making district signs, designing complete house-styles for new companies, industrial design, making scale models, drawing postcards, caricatures and comic strips, and holding art workshops at schools in the city and in the districts.

Waka Tjopu also felt very strongly about public service issues, such as good parenting and the value of local qualities. It was the collective that made the first, colourful giant signs in Suriname drawing attention to the importance of local production and good education for all. In addition Waka Tjopu also took on the design for the national industries rapidly emerging at this time, and was responsible for the design and furnishing of some major, high-profile production fairs showing locally produced goods. A spectacular example was the design, dressing, and performance for two historic processions with floats through Paramaribo in 1985, held to celebrate five years of revolution and ten years of independence. Waka Tjopu was entrusted in 1988 with designing a national AIDs campaign and all the associated informational material.

By now the collective’s work had expanded to include a city face-lift, applied art, and architecture. Members of the group were involved in designing and making objects and the decoration of interiors and building facades. For many years the facade of De Surinaamsche Bank was adorned with a number of greatly enlarged Surinamese coins including the old-fashioned two-and-a-half cent piece or “bigi sensi”, and the curious, square five-cent piece.

The collective was actually disbanded in 1990, and the members continued with their creative work as individuals in their own discipline.

Waka Tjopu occupies a unique position in the history of the visual arts in Suriname. This type of group experience for artists had never taken place before, and has never been repeated since. Their collaboration radiated a great deal of strength and inspiration. Not only did the Waka Tjopu members produce an enormous amount, but they also modernised due to their purposeful approach, focussed on social consciousness-raising. And they undeniably inspired subsequent generations of artists.



Left, poster design for the foundation of the 25 February Movement, by René Tosari (1984). Right, poster design for World Environment Day, by Winston van der Bok (1985)

All images from the Waka Tjopu archive

Conversation: bridges and silences

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Brug

Auto's daveren
over de brug
maar de kreek
voert uit het bos
nieuwe stilten aan

-- Eddy Pinas


Bridge

Vehicles thunder
over the bridge
but the creek
brings new silences
from the forest

-- trans. Marieke Visser


Marieke Visser: The idea is clear: the fact that a bridge can bring worlds together is not necessarily a blessing. It should not be taken lightly.

The bridge over the Suriname River is to me also a strong reminder of the May demonstrations in 1999, when many of us went out on the streets to protest the presidency of Jules Wijdenbosch. He was the one who built this visible bridge, this symbol of hope, of growth, of expansion. We shouted: "We don't want bread with bridge!" But after a few days everything went back to normal. And now, now and then, I notice thoughts in my own head like: "Well, at least he built something tangible for the country!"

Chandra van Binnendijk: I am intrigued by this little poem. Not only because of its simple beauty, but because the poet refers to "silences", indicating there is more than just one silence. The creek supplies us with new silences, he says--and I wonder: Are these more of the same, or do we get a variety, will we get different kinds of silences each time the creek brings them to us?

When playing around with these questions, my image of the bridge changed, it widened the scope of how we could look at a bridge. It is not just a construction which links one bank of a river to the other, but it also has something above it--air--and something underneath it--water or ground. The water brings new silences, but the water itself has many layers--there are the bubbles and the waves on the surface, but there are also the undercurrents. The same goes for the air above the bridge. So looking at a bridge in a wider sense we could see it as one (horizontal) layer of many in its wider surroundings. What does one see when looking at the surroundings while standing on the bridge?

MV: I think of a friend, the visual artist René Tosari, the man behind Waka Tjopu. More than anyone I know, he is at home in both worlds: the artists in the diaspora and the artists at "home", but also the worlds of the older generation and the younger generation. I don't see him as a bridge builder or a bridge--it is more like that he is a person on the bridge, accepted by both worlds as someone who "belongs" to their world.

When I think about this image, a man standing on the bridge, walking to both sides, sharing with people on both sides, I see how this is how I myself feel. That is also why the Wakaman Project was so exciting. It transcends that issue of home or away, of that recurring--and sometimes very irritating and time-consuming--question of which world we belong to. I don't want to choose, I am not willing to defend one world over another. But I do speak both languages, and I do miscommunicate in both languages as well. On both ends of the bridge are sources of inspiration, which I feel free to be inspired by.

I have the feeling that more people are moving in that direction, and I see how the bridge can be a way to get out of a place that has become too limited, and maybe later on it is a means to return with new stuff in your suitcase. But also the bridge itself means a new freedom--it is like an opened window (to the future but also to the past). It is an opportunity to connect and to re-connect and to cut loose (disconnect) as well.



Untitled (1998), by René Tosari; photo by Roy Tjin