scholarly journals “What Is Colonial Art? And How Can It Be Modern?”

2021 ◽  
pp. 149-170
Author(s):  
Ashley V. Miller
Keyword(s):  
Author(s):  
Maria Berbara

There are at least two ways to think about the term “Brazilian colonial art.” It can refer, in general, to the art produced in the region presently known as Brazil between 1500, when navigator Pedro Álvares Cabral claimed the coastal territory for the Lusitanian crown, and the country’s independence in the early 19th century. It can also refer, more specifically, to the artistic manifestations produced in certain Brazilian regions—most notably Bahia, Minas Gerais, and Rio de Janeiro—over the 18th century and first decades of the 19th century. In other words, while denotatively it corresponds to the art produced in the period during which Brazil was a colony, it can also work as a metonym valid to indicate particular temporal and geographical arcs within this period. The reasons for its widespread metonymical use are related, on the one hand, to the survival of a relatively large number of art objects and buildings produced in these arcs, but also to a judicative value: at least since the 1920s, artists, historians, and cultivated Brazilians have tended to regard Brazilian colonial art—in its more specific meaning—as the greatest cultural product of those centuries. In this sense, Brazilian colonial art is often identified with the Baroque—to the extent that the terms “Brazilian Baroque,” “Brazilian colonial art,” and even “barroco mineiro” (i.e., Baroque produced in the province of Minas Gerais) may be used interchangeably by some scholars and, even more so, the general public. The study of Brazilian colonial art is currently intermingled with the question of what should be understood as Brazil in the early modern period. Just like some 20th- and 21st-century scholars have been questioning, for example, the term “Italian Renaissance”—given the fact that Italy, as a political entity, did not exist until the 19th century—so have researchers problematized the concept of a unified term to designate the whole artistic production of the territory that would later become the Federative Republic of Brazil between the 16th and 19th centuries. This territory, moreover, encompassed a myriad of very different societies and languages originating from at least three different continents. Should the production, for example, of Tupi or Yoruba artworks be considered colonial? Or should they, instead, be understood as belonging to a distinctive path and independent art historical process? Is it viable to propose a transcultural academic approach without, at the same time, flattening the specificities and richness of the various societies that inhabited the territory? Recent scholarly work has been bringing together traditional historiographical references in Brazilian colonial art and perspectives from so-called “global art history.” These efforts have not only internationalized the field, but also made it multidisciplinary by combining researches in anthropology, ethnography, archaeology, history, and art history.


1969 ◽  
Vol 49 (2) ◽  
pp. 325-326
Author(s):  
Joseph A. Baird
Keyword(s):  

Author(s):  
Raman Siva Kumar

The Santiniketan School refers to a small group of artists who were active in Santiniketan, a small university town north of Calcutta, from 1921 to the 1950s. The most prominent among these artists are Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), Nandalal Bose (1882–1966), Benodebehari Mukherjee (1904–1980) and Ramkinkar Baij (1906–1980). Their work marks a departure from the historicist moorings of the earlier nationalist movement in Indian art and the development of a contextual modernism sensitive to the physical and cultural environment, as well as to the historical moment in which the artists lived. While Rabindrath Tagore provided the framework, Nandalal Bose fashioned its pedagogic program, which was more broad-based than that of colonial art schools and more modern in outlook. Although it began with anti-colonial and pan-Asian interests, the school’s stress on freedom, and the individual pursuit of elective affinities and eclectic assimilations, meant that it became more cosmopolitan and modernist over the years. Bound by shared concerns rather than a common style, the school represents the most fruitful modernist movement in pre-independence India. Defined more loosely, the Santiniketan School represents a larger circle of artists trained at Santiniketan, encompassing a wider geographical and temporal boundary, and thus includes Satyajit Ray (1921–1992) and K. G. Subramanyan (1924--) among its later luminaries.


Author(s):  
John Xaviers

Jamini Roy is considered one of the most important modern artists of pre-independent India. While proficient in Western academic realism, he completely rejected the style to adopt folk traditions such as the Kalighat patua. He mass-produced his folk-like paintings in a guild or kharkhana in order to reject the uniqueness of the modern art object, and to democratize the art collection process (he rejected bourgeois taste and buying habits). Roy invented his own folk-inspired form as an anti-colonial visual idiom. While an agnostic, he deliberately painted Indian religious or mythological themes as an antidote to the ideas of colonial art education. Adamant about the use of homegrown art materials, Roy often used tempera with tamarind glue as a binder. Roy painted Christian themes to test his ideas, and to see if the folk schema that he developed in his workshop could be used successfully in non-Indian religious contexts. Roy simplified his curvilinear painting method to such an extent that the indexical mark of his brush strokes could be replaced with the reproducibility of a schema in an art workshop. Such simplification has resulted in an upsurge of Jamini Roy replications. This, however, is a problem largely in the eyes of collectors, who hold the very bourgeois art ethos that Jamini Roy rejected while mass-producing multiple copies of his works.


2020 ◽  
Vol 2020 (46) ◽  
pp. 72-82
Author(s):  
Fatima El-Tayeb

This article addresses the long-term impact of colonialism on Europe’s internal structures and on its self-positioning in a global context. Using the 2015 refugee crisis as a focal point and centering the German example, the author explores the complex relationship between memory discourses and visions of Germany’s and Europe’s postunification future. The author argues that the erasure of colonial violence from the continent’s collective memory has a direct, negative impact on its ability to let go of a racialized identity that is in increasing tension with Europe’s actual multiracial and multireligious composition. The article traces this dynamic around the example of the non-European collections in Berlin’s Museum Island and the future Humboldt Forum, conceptualized as the world’s largest “universal museum.” The narratives through which this art is integrated into Europe’s cultural heritage are in stark contrast to those that simultaneously defined the refugees, who arrived from the same region in which the art originated, as fundamentally different and threatening. The narratives intersect in the Multaqa initiative, which offers Arab language tours of Museum Island to refugees, and in the controversy around the site of the Humboldt Forum and the colonial art it is meant to house.


2009 ◽  
Vol 13 (2) ◽  
pp. 181-204
Author(s):  
June-Ann Greeley

AbstractThe colonial art of New Spain/Mexico provides the viewer with a locus of examination into the robust Christianity that emerged over time out of a native spirituality newly laden with the contours and images from the Old World theology of late medieval/early Catholic Reformation Spain. Franciscan and especially Jesuit missionaries, impelled by a devotional zealotry, championed an apocalyptic vision of hope and suffering that was well suited for artistic expression. Religious art, whether or not patronized by European colonizers, became an instrument for the missionaries to teach and for the native artists to interrogate religious doctrine, and some artists, consciously or not, created their art as a response to that catechesis, a subtle fusion of ancient passion with the dramatic intensity of the new Catholic faith. One array of images in particular, that of the dolorous Passion of the Christ, was especially vibrant in the imaginations of the native artists and in the contemplation of the European missionaries and patrons. The image of the Suffering Servant resonated in the hearts and in the daily lives of the people just as it humbled missionary ardor, and excited a spiritual enthusiasm that forged an art of stunning doctrinal intimacy.


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