Lawrence's Painting

Lawrence Yombwe

Watching Lawrence work on a painting is a thing of beauty, grace and purpose. I doubt that he makes a decision to begin a painting until he has settled the issue of whether or not the theme is ready to see the light of day. Once he begins on a course, the painting seems to paint itself, and he, the master magician, makes the process appear seamless. I was lucky to be able to track his progress through a painting from beginning to end over the course of a couple of weeks. And when the mood was right, I able to pick his brain a bit about what his process is and how he is inspired.

Lawrence has a deep connection to the concept of family, fixed by his tribal roots. Through his painting he returns to this theme again and again. His concept of family grows to take in the community and their stories. It becomes larger still as he takes on social issues that are a response to the global issues of our times. His work is mostly figurative, and most often his subjects are overlaid with symbols that refer to tribal identity and also hold deeper meanings. This distinctive use of symbols has also become a signature of his work.

Figures overlaid with tribal symbols

A landscape begins to form

Lawrence begins by stretching hessian (a coarse jute fabric) over a frame. In this case the frame is a very large one, 10’ x4’. Lawrence sometimes takes off on a painting with very little preparation, but in this case, he works over a thematic idea with drawings, sketches and cut-outs that he tapes temporarily onto the surface of the fabric. This helps him get a sense of the placement and scale of the intended composition. On this painting, the images are worked out and sketched in with dark graphite or charcoal. Then he applies a series of overlapping washes that magically begin to form a landscape that supports and gives a sense of place for the figures.

Figures join the landscape

As the painting progresses and the figures are secured in the background, Lawrence begins to work the fabric from the backside, pushing paint through the weave of the jute so that it makes an appearance on the front surface as small pixels. This process requires him to travel quickly from the back to the front again and again to see that he is achieving desired results. This method yields a kind of pointillist effect to parts of the painting, and Lawrence chooses which sections to manipulate further or leave unaltered.


                        

Pixels of paint push through

It was fascinating to watch his progress over time. One day it would appear that he was finishing the painting, and the next day he would have covered the entire painting with another wash and seem to be starting over again. He used multiple washes over paint that was already dry, and controlled how much effect any of the washes would have by leting the wash sit for a short time, then rubbing out the parts that he did not want to be affected.

Reworking with washes...late night work

I have done enough painting to know that it is typically a lengthy, laborious process to satisfy the demands of the artistic vision. Watching Lawrence tackle a painting, it is obvious that he is driven by his vision and gives himself energetically to his work. I would see him out in the courtyard late at night working in the pale light of a florescent bulb.

I have been privileged to experience a camaraderie with Lawrence, as we have shared, in depth, discussions of our work. What a blessing to have had the opportunity to see such a skilled artist move through a creation from concept to conclusion, and to have been a part of this special artistic community!

It all comes together

Tribal Cousins

The constant comings and goings of the variety of people at WayiWayi Studio have provided me with fascinating examples of the many languages, characteristics and customs of some of the many different tribes of the Zambian people. I have learned to recognize a number of tribal characteristics because of my association with employees who come from the community to work here daily to assist in chores, help with the teaching and work on the residence facility.

The Tonga are a common tribe in this area. They have occupied the southern part of Zambia for over 1,000 years. Tonga is the Shona tribe's word for independent , and I have found the Tonga whom I have met to embody that spirit. Then there are the Bimba of the North, the Tumbuka of the East, The Lamba of the Copperbelt, the Toka Leya of the South and the Lozi of the West. And, of course, there are sub tribes... but basically Zambians are made up of a lot of tribes...each with its own customs, language and rituals.                                                                  

At least 72 different tribal languages are spoken here. Each tribal language includes words and phrases common to most tribes. Most have roots in Bantu, and all share use of at least some English. The average Zambian is multimultilingual. Unfortunately, I have very little knack for picking up languages. Even though the workers guide me faithfully on simple phrases, I write them down on scraps of paper and fish them out of my pockets in order to say “Good Morning, or Thank You” properly to someone in their own tribal language. The effort is much appreciated.

Lawrence is from one northern tribe, Agness from another. And though it is not unusual for tribal members to intermarry, clearly there are distinct divisions between tribes. Everyone seems to keep track of their history and knows their roots. Agness has been gold for me, helping me gain insight into the personal back stories of the people whom I meet, and Lawrence has a love and knowledge of history. With their help I have pieced together a broader understanding of what I am experiencing in my multi-culture environment.

One question that I have posed to them is why they think the Zambian people seem so happy? Surely there is history of tribal warfare in the not-so-distant past. What they shared was a surprise and inspiration to me. Zambians are not traditionally a warlike people, and throughout their history there has been an absence of tribal animosity. The tribes basically coexist in the spirit of cooperation and sharing of resources.

The creation of Rhodesia (the former British Colony that was comprised of what is now Zambia and Zimbabwe) took the form of a cooperative business deal between the local chiefs and Cecil Rhodes. Zambian tribes did not suffer the bloodshed and warfare that was the fate of other southern African tribes, such as the Zulu to the East. Zambians certainly suffered losses to their cultural identity with occupation, but amazingly, they also found ways to cooperate and “get along” with the British.

Yonde really likes to goof around...so does Russell

As you see, Kondwane is much more serious.

One endearing custom that exemplifies this spirit of cooperation is one the Zambians call Tribal Cousins. In any group there will typically be people from various tribes. The differences between them actually become assets.  For example, the injection of humor into an otherwise serious situation, while in terrible taste inter-tribally, is perfectly acceptable and even expected for someone outside the tribe.

A funeral, typically a solemn event, will have representatives of other tribes present who will do the cooking and the chores to free up the grievers, but they also have permission to lighten the mood. Jokes, funny stories and playful teasing are welcome. Even in casual street gatherings, members outside one’s tribe have permission to poke fun, lambast or make light of one's concerns while one’s tribe would not do so.

Having the distinction of being totally outside anyone's tribe, I soon learned that my injections of humor were universally welcome. After I discovered that the custom of Tribal Cousins was the imbedded reason behind this phenomenon, I concluded that I was probably not as clever or witty as I might have imagined. Fortunately, the Zambian penchant for laughter does not rate humor so critically.  I have enjoyed easy, laughter-filled conversations with most of the people I have met here. In this society, people give each other the space to have fun and be happy, and we are all the richer for it.

Martin enjoys a lighter moment in the shade

Petty Beaurocrats and the girls

I will begin this by stating the obvious: As an outsider in this land, I lack the cultural and  historical experience required to qualify me to make a serious critique on almost any subject. Also, it is not my intention to share my observations as an effort to convey a truth. It is in this spirit that I offer the following observation: the Zambian system of government and business seems awash with undesirable aspects that are often the trademarks of inefficient bureaucracies and their attendant petty bureaucrats.

People who, in my opinion, take their jobs and positions of authority way too seriously. Also, there seems to be a general attitude of acceptance by the public for many of the accompanying petty rules and regulations that seem so unnecessary and yet, are interwoven into common daily activities. (Sound familiar?  Yes, the US and many other countries are also awash with petty bureaucrats!)

 Zambians are proud, hardworking people, and it is not surprising that when there is an overabundant supply of people who need jobs, people are hired to do things that do not seem essential, such as: gatekeepers attending open gates, or uniformed protectors to watch your car while you park in in a perfectly safe public space or someone to hand you a ticket upon entering an establishment devoid of clients so that you will be waited on in proper order.

The contrast with my own cultural experience was highlighted when I accompanied my host Lawrence to a local bank to transfer funds to a friend, Martin, who lives in neighboring  Botswana.  Martin needed to purchase ceramic supplies for our project. Upon entering the bank we were invited to wait in line by a uniformed guard. When our turn came, I attempted to accompany Lawrence to the teller to explain the particulars of the transfer. As we approached we were told that rules only allowed one person to go up to a teller at a time. We ended up conducting our business by shouting information back and forth across the bank foyer, Lawrence at the teller, me still in line. No plea for common sense will work to dissuade a rule keeper from his job and similar strict adherence to rules can be expected with nearly every business transaction. Being polite, patient and accepting are requirements necessary to move the process along as quickly as possible.

What I believe I have observed in Livingstone as a social norm is a certain respect for the regimented systems imposed on indigenous people under the formal control of British colonial occupation. I suspect that fixing social status by wearing uniforms and following strict protocols may have resonated with the people and even mirrored indigenous systems of establishing social status through dress, ceremony and ritual. One thing is clear, that gaining independence did not bring an end to this aspect of display of authority. In Livingstone, and I assume most of the country, all school children wear uniforms displaying the colors and style of the school. Anyone in fact who is in charge of anything will likely have some form of dress that announces the status of their job.

While I retain my visitor status, I have been in a position to simply observe this phenomena, and rarely did I feel any frustration arise that I surely would have felt had I faced similar restrictions on my home turf.

Some of the Saturday girls

The one exception came when I lost an opportunity to teach classes to a group of girls at a local high school. This project was particularly exciting to me because I had planned to teach a project that high school students were doing at the same time back home. I was excited about the possibilities of the students Facebook-sharing their experiences across the globe. This opportunity went south (no double meaning here) when protocol was not strictly followed prior to setting up our first meeting. No amount of explanation or apology was going to alter the decision to cancel this opportunity. Things can get complicated and often do when cultures come together. I had prepared myself to accept failure along with success when I signed on as a cross cultural ambassador, but this was a tough one.


The silver lining was that I had more time to work with another group of girls that I will call the Saturday girls…which I will share in a future blog.

Victoria Falls, or Mosi-oa-Tunya- "The Smoke that Thunders"

Flying in to Livingstone, the pilot alerted the passengers that Victoria Falls, the world’s largest, would be visible to those lucky enough to be seated on the right side of the plane…I was not. I knew it was only a 30 minute drive from Wayi Wayi Studio to the falls, and there would be  ample time to explore it once I was settled in. On my daily walks, I had occasional views of the surrounding countryside, the vast, dry savanna that dominates this section of the sub-Saharan continent. Hovering hundreds of feet into the air hangs a massive plume of mist that marks the falls. To my eyes, it looked like a cloud of industrial exhaust, much  like what I see in the sky west of my home in Vancouver on a cool winter’s day.


A week after I arrived, my chance to view the falls came with an offer from a group of women involved in Global Sojourns Giving Circle, an organization that supports and sponsors girls who are trying to better themselves (and the organization through which I met Lawrence and Agness).  I was invited  to join a busload of girls who come to WayiWayi Studio for free Saturday art classes and a group of girls from a local high school.

Most of the young people of Livingstone have never seen the falls. It is a lengthy walk from the city, along a busy highway. And once there, you can only hear the thunderous roar and see the mist, unless you pay to walk on the falls trail. Most cannot afford it, so the girls were excited to be going and filled the bus with their laughter and singing.

The girls at the falls

The Zambizi River separates Zambia and Zimbabwe at the point of the falls and can be viewed from either country, but most locals will tell you the viewing is better on the Zambian side. After fees were paid, most of the group rented rain slickers at the trailhead, but I declined, having braved many a Northwest rainstorm. I figured a little mist would feel great on a hot day. Big mistake. The trail is carved into a cliff a few hundred yards from the face of the falls, and unlike Niagara or any other falls I have seen, the topography is such that you can walk a good distance in front of the falls as if you were centering yourself in a theater. You look directly at the spectacle in front of you, as cascading whitewater more than a mile wide, drops 350 feet into an unseen chasm far below. And sends another rush of water back up as spray, mist, rain, whatever you might call it that immediately drenches you to the bone. And it is cold.

Crossing the footbridge

 I tried desperately to see the face of my droplet-covered pad screen to record a video of the spectacle and ended up pushing the selfie button by mistake. Later when I reviewed what I had captured, what I saw was a water soaked close-up of me, valiantly panning back and forth, sure that I was filming one for the Ages.

In May the river is near its peak flow, and conversation was nearly impossible through the roar. The girls, having been sufficiently impressed, were soon eager to return to tranquility, and the adults were more than happy to oblige. This required crossing a slippery, narrow footbridge, spanning the depths, as the girls clung to us in semi-panic.

Me, thinking I was getting "the" shot

The hot afternoon sunshine had us dry  and comfortable in a short time, and as we hung around the area reading about the history of the falls, we were visited by resident baboons and monkeys looking for a handout. Our adventure paled in comparison as we read about how Dr. David Livingstone had come upon the falls from upriver in a dugout canoe on his journeys into the heart of the continent.

A litle slice of the falls

The Kiln

The idea of packing the makings for a portable kiln to my destination at WayiWayi studios was one that I struggled with because it involved purchasing and transporting a complex array of equipment and assuming it actually could be set up and become a useful addition to the program once my residency was over. My own limitations of knowledge and experience in kiln building certainly were considerations to think about as well so when I finally got around to asking specific questions about what to take at ceramic supply stores, I was predisposed to be talked out of the venture. That didn’t happen. I was encouraged at every level to go for it and so it came to pass that I became a missionary for the art of Raku and a deciple of kiln-building.

Laying out the kiln site

Raku kilns can be constructed in a variety of ways but I was interested in a low budget affair that did not require brick construction, only a relatively thin shell of insulation (high temperature fiber blanket), a metal cage and a burner device attached to a pressurized bottle gas source. Since Zambia has no art supply stores, let alone ceramic suppliers, I needed to carry the insulation and burner with me counting on being able to find the metal cage and bottled gas locally. By the time I had purchased and packed a variety of other odd accessories related to the kiln and glaze making materials, I was sure that one of the many TSA checkpoints I would need to navigate through would suspect that I was carrying bomb-making equipment, but I arrived with all intact and with much local support began the assembly of the kiln.

 Martin the potter and I with the finished kiln

Lawrence had contacted his friend Martin, a potter who lives in nearby Botswana who was excited about the project and wanted to help. We wired him money and he drove some distance to South Africa to a supply store to purchase kiln shelves, some bricks for the base and some other items. His background and experience was essential to our success. We put our heads together and and through our colaborative efforts were able to figure out how to get the results we were after.

Oscar and Almakyo 

With help from a few other local artists, we assembled the kiln in a few days and Martin, Lawrence and I fired it for the first time. We had some success, we had some failures, but we learned a lot and everyone involved was ecstatic.


Sitting around the kiln while it was firing (as potters are inclined to do) the discussion turned to the history of pottery in Zambia and I learned that the history was far richer than I had imagined. Going back to one of the first archeological finds of African civilizations, at a place called Broken Hill, pottery continues to be associated with human activity in Zambia up to the present time.

 During the colonial occupation, the tradition of pottery making was encouraged and supported in schools across what was then, Northern Rhodesia,  but after independence, lack of funding has rendered most of the ceramic programs inactive. In some rural areas, the traditional pottery makers still produce but the pots are fired in primitive style, with large wood fires and the relatively low firing temperatures make the pots beautiful but fragile and short-lived. Additionally, traditional potters are having to travel longer distances to collect the necessary firewood and are depleting the natural resource and adding stress to thier environments.

Women bring traditional pit-fired pottery to the market

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

                                                                                               
One of the artists helping with the kiln building, Almakyo Banta, is a student of the Zambian history and happened to have pictures of native Zambian women building large pots that predate National Geographic Magazine. Our talk turned to the concept of building kilns that might be taken to the villages where these women are working and introducing them to the higher temperature firings possible with these portable kilns. The comment was made that if it took four of us two days to construct this kiln, it would take two of us one day to repeat the procedure and a small business (of which Livingstone is rife) could be turning them out in numbers with very little capital investment.
Excitement for the idea has grown as the days go by and as I will be leaving soon, it will be with a thankful heart that I was encouraged to pursue this idea and that the industrious friends I have made will be taking this project forward.

Finished kiln with first load of ceramic pieces

Sunday Morning in Livingtone

If you are planning a trip to visit Zambia and you find yourself in Livingstone on a Saturday night and have no particular plans for the next day, let me recommend going to bed early so you will be up in time for an experience unlike any you will find suggested in a travel brochure. I have been taking casual walks and bike rides through the town in the mornings and afternoons when it is cool.  One Sunday morning I happened to choose a route that put me in a neighborhood that had an extraordinary number of churches.

Now it should be said that Livingstone has churches like American cities have Starbucks…seemingly on every other corner, so what I mean by extraordinary is that I passed by 7 places of worship within a few blocks of each other. Some of them were back to back. None had steeples or stained glass. None had any features at all that distinguished them from any other building in Livingstone, which is dominated by cinder brick, cement and local red brick architecture. Many had no walls, but all of them were filled to capacity with the overflow spilling onto the surrounding grounds. They seemed to be competing for God’s attention with full voices raised in praise and celebration. This was the real deal gospel music like I had only heard in recorded form. All of them were blowing the roof off praising God with amplified accompaniment from any number of instruments. To say Africans love music is an understatement. When large groups gather and love it, it is something to behold.

seven churches within a few blocks and the music fills the air