1
Introduction: On the Centrality of Africa in
African Art Studies
Art scholars rarely venture outside of dominant Western paradigms, even
when they analyze works from non-Western cultures. In the past, this
proclivity has led to an unfortunate weakness in the study of African
art because it has ignored the discovery, recognition, and analysis of
African-derived paradigms. To illustrate, let us take a cursory look at
two fairly well-known images: one from Europe, the other from Africa.
Each one displays its significant features. Michelangelo’s David, an Old
Testament hero, is executed in marble (1501–1504), stands at seventeen
feet, and embodies most of the highly extolled virtues of a Renaissance
male. The Ère-Ìbejì (statuette for a departed twin) carved in wood (late
nineteenth/early twentieth century), stands at about twelve inches tall
and embodies some of the finest aesthetic notions in Yoruba sculpture.
Though coming from different cultures – Italian and Yoruba – they fulfill
the artistic intentions of their creators. This is not to say that Italian culture
is representative of all Europe or even the West any more than the
Yorùbá represents the whole of Africa.
Both males are focused, determined, and strong in their own ways.
The figure of David displays the confident contraposto stance of the
Renaissance period while the Yoruba Ère-Ìbejì adopts an affirmative
symmetrical pose, dídúró, which literally means “standing, stopping,
waiting.” In this context, dídúró carries the intended meaning of “not
fidgeting but giving one’s undivided attention” – a powerful plea to
a departed twin to stay and remain wholeheartedly with the family to
bless it.1
The more than life-size scale and idealized proportion of David clearly
invoke the Greco-Roman classical ideals extolled in Michelangelo’s time.
The Yoruba Ère-Ìbejì’s preference for less than life size and a different
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language2
1a. Michelangelo, David. 1501–1504, Florence, Italy.
Marble. Height: 17 feet. Photo by Ralph Liebermann.
1b. Ère-Ìbejì (Male Twin figure), Oro/Omu
Aran, Igbomina. Wood. Height: 12 inches
(late nineteenth to twentieth century). Photo
by Jean David.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 3
system of proportion (often called “the African proportion”) respects
and conforms to the context of its use as it emphasizes those parts of the
human anatomy that are directly associated with àse (vital force, authority,
the power to bring something to pass). In David, Michelangelo achieves
an equally important goal by drawing our attention to the detailed styling
of the hair and a meticulous description of biceps, triceps, and veins,
especially on the hands and around the neck.
Though the carver of the Yoruba Ère-Ìbejì also considers the depiction
of the hair or coiffure, the face, and the limbs quite important,
they are highly stylized. It is, however, depicting the eyes, mouth, broad
chest, and the penis with the cap (that is, the circumcised penis) perfectly
that Yoruba critics may focus upon to judge the technical and aesthetic
competence of an artist.2
In both images, the artist’s priorities
are informed by the aesthetic values of their cultures. Thus, it would be
unfruitful to make value judgments on the work of one culture by the
values of another.
The methodological tools that have been inherited from most of
Western art history are, in my opinion, seriously inadequate to cope
with the challenges of studying the art of African societies which,
according to most Western definitions, are considered “non-literate,”3
and, therefore, “non-historical.”4
An analogy might be helpful here.
In many ways, conceptual frameworks in academic disciplines, including
art history, function much like “point and shoot” instant-picture
cameras with fixed features such as shutter speed, aperture, and focus.5
I remember owning such a camera in the late 1960s, and I was always
dissatisfied with my family pictures.6
The images of my wife, a person
of European heritage, always came out fine, while I, because of
my dark complexion, always looked like a black silhouette. I often
could not recognize my own image. If I smiled, at least my white teeth
would show.
Thus, for a while my image was framed literally, metaphorically, and
aesthetically (that is, my image was constructed and defined) by this
“point and shoot” camera – a supposedly accurate technological instrument
that seemed to work for just about everybody but me. I thought
this was a personal problem, until it finally dawned on me that the camera’s
fixed, pre-programmed settings had been selected to recognize a
version of “normality” that did not include my African complexion. Of
course, one conclusion was that I simply needed a different camera or a
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language4
different light meter setting that would put me back in the picture. But
that solution likely would have effaced my wife’s image, which might
have appeared washed out or even ghost-like. Clearly, I needed a camera
with the capacity to see us both.
Very much like the “point and shoot” camera into which I had not
been factored, so too are the majority of Western art historical and aesthetic
theories in vogue today – African art was never a focal feature in
their formulation or development.7
African art was not even considered
art with a capital “A” until relatively recent times mainly because art
was defined entirely by modernist Western scholars for whom art was
“for art’s sake.” The urgent task before us is to ensure the survival and
essential role of African artistic and aesthetic concepts in the study of art
in Africa.8
Indeed, one of my arguments will be that the methodological
problems in the study of African art have been created, partially if not
wholly, by the conventional divisions among academic disciplines in the
humanities in general, which has had the effect of concealing and even
eliminating the social and religio-aesthetic foundation of the visual arts.
The fact that the study of African art is relatively recent compared
with its counterpart in the West means that it will take some time to
identify and articulate all its artistic and aesthetic terms and indigenously
derived paradigms for our immediate use. I have, however,
endeavored to provide a fairly extensive glossary of indigenous Yoruba
terms like ìwà, ewà, ojú-inú, ojú-onà, iluti, ìmojú-mora, tító
, ìfarabalè;9
àsà;10
as well as detailed explanations of newly coined, Yoruba-derived
terms like “Ifè-naturalism,”11
“àkó-graphic àsà,” “àse-graphic àsà,” and
“èpè-graphic àsà”12
in the text. There is also a substantial section on
Orthography and Phonological Notes (with an accessible online audio
recording).
This effort is a work in progress. It is important that Yoruba art be
made more meaningful through the Yoruba language and culture in
the same way that Italian terms like contraposto or chiaroscuro have, for
example, been crucial to a proper understanding and appreciation of
Italian art. Where Western terms like “naturalism”13
and “abstract” have
appeared in the text, I have used them only as an interim measure until
African language and art scholars can work collaboratively to provide
appropriate indigenous and contextually meaningful equivalent Yoruba
terms. For now, I try to let the contexts of use of these non-African terms
determine their meanings.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 5
My goal is to explore new, holistic perspectives for the critical interpretation
of African art as exemplified by the interrelationship of the
visual and verbal arts among the Yorùbá of West Africa. My purpose
is to lay bare cultural meanings and themes that have been overlooked
and even forgotten. This approach is not meant to diminish, in any
way, the contributions of many distinguished scholars who have written
extensively on African art. Rather, this study is offered as a contribution
to, and revision of, the conceptual tools that we need in order to meet
the challenges of studying Africa’s still largely misunderstood artistic
traditions.
The aim of this study is to look at Yoruba art as an expression of
oríkì,14
which I believe is fundamental to the study, understanding, and
aesthetic appreciation of Yoruba art. While oríkì has been generally translated
as “praise poetry” or “citation poetry,” broadly speaking, all verbal
and visual invocations qualify as oríkì in Yoruba culture. Oríkì affirm the
identity of almost everything in existence. Thus, oríkì extend beyond
our traditional categories of two- and three-dimensional arts and color.
They include architectural space,15
dress,16
music,17
dance,18
the performed
word,19
mime, ritual,20
food,21
and smell,22
engaging virtually all
the senses.
More important, oríkì energize, prepare, and summon their subject
into action. Put differently, Yoruba art, like most African art forms, is
more like an active “verb”23
than a static “noun.” Irrespective of whether
they are sculpture, shrine paintings, poetry, or performance, Yoruba art
forms are affective – they cause, they influence and transform. Many
things happen, not just what one can see, hear, or comprehend at one
time. Quite often, they are mnemonic devices, transformer-carriers
intended to facilitate free communication between this world and the
otherworld thereby providing valuable insights into Yoruba metaphysical
systems, myths, lore, and thought patterns.24
It is useful to give very brief but necessary background information about
African art studies (with which many but not all of my readers may be
familiar) to understand their link to the methodological problems still
facing the discipline today. To support this move, I offer the following
Yoruba òwe, generally translated as a proverb:25
“Wón ní, ‘Amúkùnún,
erù é wóo.’ Ó ní, ‘Ìsàlè ló ti wó wá.’” (“People said, ‘Cripple, your load
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language6
is crooked.’ He responded that, ‘the crookedness was from the ground
up.’”) (In considering a problem, one must look at the root causes, not
only the manifestations.)26
Most art scholars will acknowledge that because of the aesthetic, cultural,
historical, and political predispositions built into the development
of art history, the discipline itself has resisted non-Western approaches to
the study of African art. The discipline that first demonstrated authentic
interest in African art studies was anthropology. African art has, therefore,
been investigated and theorized most extensively through a Western
anthropological lens.27
Paula Ben-Amos, while appreciating the contributions
of anthropologists to the study of African art in general and the
influence of their models, points out that the continuing tendency of
scholars “to use them without questioning their implicit assumptions
means that their problems are perpetuated as well.” She concludes that
“different paradigms are necessary” and calls for studies that are “more
emic, more integrative, and more comparative” and which would “generate
the models so clearly needed.”28
One of the most significant drawbacks to the perspective of anthropologists
and ethnologists in the field of African art is that so many scholars
with little expertise in art history have been the main conduit through
which African art has been interpreted to the West. They also employed
the theoretical frameworks that were adopted by Western artists and art
theorists, and these have functioned as the dominant paradigms for well
over a century. Trained art historians in the West have tended to select,
as representative of African art, images that suit their preconceived theoretical
perspectives. They have often been interested mainly in African art
as a catalytic inspiration for the works of modern European artists such as
Picasso, Vlaminck, Brancusi, Matisse, Modigliani, Derain, and Braque.
In general, Western-trained art historians have often applied their
own periodization schemes (e.g., “Gothic,” “Classical,” “Baroque,”
“Modern,” etc.), with all their conceptual assumptions, whether or not
these terms are applicable to the study and analysis of African art.29
As
Monni Adams notes, “An art historian is not anyone who ‘studies art,’ but
a scholar who has been educated in certain, very specific techniques and
beliefs.”30
The unfortunate result is that most of these beliefs and methodologies
have been applied as “universal.”31
Thus, for almost a century,
in Europe and the United States, Africanist art scholars have employed
primarily Western art historical approaches to the study of African art.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 7
To varying degrees and in different ways, prominent Africanist art
scholars and historians in the United States and elsewhere have tried to
counter these misguided notions of African art even as they have labored
to build new methodological “cameras” of their own. William Fagg, more
than any other single person, defined the place of Yorùbá within African
art studies; John Picton, through photographic documentation and collection
of works that had fallen into disuse worked on the characteristic
features of the history of Yorùbá (art historical studies) with suggestions
of areas for development; and Reverend Father Kevin Carroll’s timely
intervention was, arguably, the single most important reason for the survival
and continuation of traditional Yoruba carving today.32
Roy Sieber
principally addressed questions of style, history, and connoisseurship;
Douglas Fraser, by means of the practice described as “motif chasing,”
focused on recurrent symbols of ideas and social relations; and Robert
Farris Thompson made what was perhaps the most radical and important
shift in perspective by seeking to look at indigenous art forms and
aesthetics from the users’ points of view.33
Equally noteworthy are the
scholarly output of Arnold Rubin34
and Rene Bravman,35
who focused
on the ways in which styles have been determined by contact, migration,
war, and trade routes; Herbert Cole’s search for meaning;36
and Leon
Siroto’s analysis of culturally specific imagery.37
Much credit should be
given to these pioneers and their students for their attempt at redesigning
the methodological camera.38
Though the list of scholars who mention African concepts in their
work is growing, those who actually allow it to inform their methodology
are relatively few. In this respect, I would like to cite Allen and Polly
Nooter Roberts’s essay, “A Fellowship with Objects” in their A Sense
of Wonder: African Art from the Faletti Family Collection.39
There, the
concept of ìwà (discussed in greater detail in Chapter 8) enabled them to
escape the Euro-American bias that would attribute all agency to human
actors when, if we are to return the African to “African art,” a different
sense of shared agency not only explains the “work” of works of art, but
permits a different sense of personhood to emerge.
However, since Africanist art scholars also deal with the problems of
cross-cultural translation and have to shuttle between two different artistic
cultures – Africa and the West – the perennial problem remains how
such translations can be done fairly and accurately.40
It is my considered
opinion that scholars need to be more conscious of, and demonstrate in
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language8
their work, the principle implicit in the Yoruba òwe “A-gbéjó-enìkan-dá,
òsìkà èèyàn,” meaning “He-who-decides-a-case-after-hearing-only-oneside
[is] the dean of wicked persons.”41
I believe that negotiating artistic
meaning and aesthetic concepts between two linguistically different
cultures cannot be done only from an outsider’s language and point of
view.42
Unfortunately, the already entrenched and palpable effect of the
printed word has made it extremely easy to recycle and reinforce the
same old errors, not only by field researchers but also by field informants,
who provide much of the data for our study.
The philosopher Gene Blocker tried to confront this problem in The
Aesthetics of Primitive Art (1995), wherein he urges Western scholars
like himself to consider “not only our own point of view as Western
scholars and connoisseurs of primitive art [African art included], but also
the point of view of those who originally made and used such objects.”
Blocker affirms that a good use of descriptive term “A” to describe an art
object or phenomenon “X” in a society other than our own must meet
the following three criteria: (1) X fits our category A [that is, Western],
(2) X fits their category B [that is, non-Western], and (3) A and B mean
the same thing. Thus, he calls for a “modified objectivist approach,”
which judges an object not only “by our own standards” but also according
to “how the indigenous society may regard it.” Pointing specifically
to Picasso, he warns that to do otherwise “is to adopt a highly subjective
account which is misleading in its implications regarding the beliefs of
the indigenous society and arrogant in its lack of concern for their point
of view.”43
Unfortunately, throughout the book, Blocker continues to make
uncritical use of the term “primitive” to describe the arts of Africa,
Amerindia, and Oceania. This designation invented many years ago in
the West was invoked to disparage or, with modern artists like Picasso,
to praise – in either case without considering “the point of view of those
who originally made and used such objects.” As Suzanne Blier rightly
observes, to some, this manner of designating African art is a minor and
essentially semantic problem. But the myths and errors perpetuated by
this term continue to have a deleterious influence among both Africanist
and non-Africanist art scholars.44
Blocker expresses a preference for the more “primitive” tribal art
of Africa over the elaborate courtly art of the kingdoms of Ifè, Benin,
and the pre-classical Meso-American (which to him resemble the more
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 9
“classical” or “naturalistic” styles of the West), although he acknowledges
politely that this preference is “purely personal.”45
Blocker’s “primitive”
then appears somewhat inconsistent, since his exclusion of Ifè art, with
its universally appealing “naturalism,” would be contrary to his “primitive”
versus “classical/naturalistic” dichotomy. Nevertheless, his continued
use of the term “primitive” demonstrates the powerful hold of a
biased art-historical paradigm on a scholar who, even today, attempts to
repudiate it.
To understand how Blocker’s theory fits into the conceptual framework
of the West, it might be helpful to review some of the definitions
of “primitive” in its connotative and denotative meanings. The
notion of the “primitive” is not new in the study of art history. Painters
and sculptors of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance, for example,
were labeled “primitive,” even though they have since been given
more historically relevant designations in the history of Western art. But
Giorgio Vasari’s notion of the term, by which he meant the barbarous
and the savage, seems to have survived in Western scholarly discourse
on African art.46
According to Henry Moore, the word “primitive”
(a term that he himself condemned) was used in reference to cultures
“outside of European and Great Oriental Civilizations” to suggest
“crudeness, incompetence, [and] ignorant groping rather than finished
achievements.”47
Waldemar Deonna, in his leading essay “Primitivism and Classicism:
Two Faces of Art History,” defined “primitive” as “a work that is useful
rather than accurate or beautiful” and in which “aesthetic concern is subordinate
... [or] even absent.”48
As Blier rightly noted, these “on-going
myths of the primitive” in African art and in art history “are nowhere
more evident than in H. W. Janson’s [1986] standard text [The History of
Art].”49
For this reason we ought to question the value of many African
art publications, with their seductively beautiful photographs but grossly
misleading texts about the “primitive” and the “exotic.” With such persistent
prejudices informing the study of African art for over a century, it
is hard to see how any formal or stylistic analysis, “a cardinal technique
of art historians,”50
could possibly correct the marginal status – the darksilhouetted
image – already imposed on African art.
Of course, some contemporary or “post-modernist” Africanist art historians
may argue that no theory should be considered superior to any
other, and that in this sense, Western theories derived from anthropology
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language10
and art history are as valid as others. The main argument against such a
marketplace of theories is that the premise should be righted first. More
than enough damage has already been done to the image and study of
African art through the domination of inaccurate and dismissive paradigms.
It is time for scholars to acknowledge that African peoples have
their own aesthetic theories that can contribute to a meaningful study of
their arts.
Claude Levi-Strauss implicitly endorsed this proposition when he
wrote about the Yoruba people of West Africa that they “seem to have
been able to throw more light than ethnologists on the spirit of institutions
and rules which in their society, as in many others, are of an intellectual
and deliberate character.”51
As more scholars of Yoruba art and
culture, who are not native speakers of Yorùbá, make the effort to use
and give Yoruba thought systems and language priority in their work,
their methodology and conclusions are bound to be more credible than
those who do not do so.52
Most important, they will have, in varying
degrees, affirmed Levi-Strauss’s assertion.53
It is true that English is quickly becoming a global lingua franca. But
just as we would expect a scholar of French Impressionism to read works
in French and be reasonably fluent in the French language, or scholars
of Japanese or Chinese art to know Japanese or Chinese, so should
Africanist art scholars have competence in the language of those whose
art they study. The philosopher Kwasi Wiredu poses a relevant question:
“Why should the African uncritically assimilate the conceptual schemes
embedded in foreign languages and cultures?”54
In the case of the “non-literate” societies of Africa, any study of their
art and aesthetics should consider the meaning of artistic works and
themes in the context of local languages and their oral traditions. In
Nigeria, several universities have, for decades now, been running successful
undergraduate and graduate programs that continue to produce
many distinguished scholars of Yoruba language and literature. Among
them is Karin Barber, a Briton whose work has been indispensable to the
new understanding of Yoruba art that I present in this book.
Fortunately, there is now a rich and substantial body of literature published
in Yorùbá and English on Yoruba culture,55
history,56
philosophy,57
religion,58
and literature,59
all of which would benefit the study of Yoruba
art history and aesthetics. Done properly, collaborations with Yoruba
language scholars would not only give a voice to the Yorùbá whose art
we study, but also lend more credibility to our analytical models and
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 11
theories. More important, we should be concerned about future generations
of Africanist art historians who could, by reason of a flawed training,
become further removed from the language and the culture of their sub-
ject.60
Babatunde Lawal rightly notes: “One valuable research resource
not yet fully explored by students of Yoruba art is oral tradition.”61
No one doubts the pivotal role that recent academic engagement with
colonial, post-colonial, and contemporary African art will play in shaping
the future of African art studies.62
Such engagements should not,
however, become a safe haven for the abandonment of African languages
and thought systems. “Going global” could not have arrived sooner for
scholars who would gladly want to be freed from the “burden” and often
“dreaded” prospect of learning any African language. Unwittingly, the
current, largely popular attraction to employing essentially formalist,
self-referential, Western-modernist approaches to contemporary African
art studies which, in the first place, were responsible for many of the
problems confronting the discipline today, might slow down the emergence
of African-derived paradigms.
Despite the sense of inclusiveness implied by the notion of “globalization”
– the most prevalent mantra in “art-speak” today – Western
philosophy and Western literary and art theory are still heavily privileged
over and above African thought systems and languages in African art
studies. Like “post-modernism” and “deconstructionism,” “global studies”
have undoubtedly generated theories – most of them, theories in
which indigenous African perspectives have been glaringly absent. Our
problem, therefore, is not really a lack of theories but of their relevance
to African art studies. Nkiru Nzegwu puts it quite succinctly, “Aesthetic
and art historical literature of African works of art must move beyond
bland empirical observations and Westernized speculation. Explanations
must center the relevant ontological scheme of the society in the course
of analysis.”63
The challenge, therefore, is how not to lose this important
focus as we study the arts of both the pre-colonial, post-colonial, and
contemporary eras.64
Clearly, any decision to ignore Africa’s unique perspectives
and languages on art or creativity as a whole would only hasten
the loss of her well-deserved place in the international art scene.
Yoruba Art as Oríkì
Verbal oríkì may take the form of any of the following Yoruba literary and
performative genres: o
fò
 (oríkì-type affective speech); ògèdè (empowered
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language12
oríkì-type recitation); àyájó
 (oríkì-based incantations); ìyè
rè
-Ifá (a type
of Ifá chant); èpè (a vocalized curse); è
sà (a targeted discourse, a genre of
oríkì); ewì-egúngún (oríkì-based egúngún chant); ekún-ìyàwó (a bride’s
oríkì-based lament); Sàngó-pípè (oríkì-based Sàngó chanting); ìjálá
(oríkì-based hunter’s dirge); è
fè
 (dramatized satire); and òwe (figures of
speech), among others. Olátúndé Olátúnjí writes that oríkì may be spoken,
chanted, or sung, depending on the context of the performance.
Oríkì can also be intoned on the drum, with speech tones reproducing
the drum sounds as a kind of surrogate language.65
(Listen to online
audio: sections 6a–6d, 7a–7b, and 8a–8d.) In terms of their subject matter,
oríkì are not limited to religious characters or events. Whether as
“praise poetry” or “citation poetry,” oríkì does not always praise. It is
oftentimes critical, highlighting flaws and imperfections in its subject.66
And, most important, oríkì can be made visible through sculpture
and other artistic forms according to Oba Fásíkù, the Aláayè of Ìkèrin.
Since virtually all oríkì evoke, or cite (kì) the essence or origin (orí) of
their subject, they can be an indispensable source of artistic and aesthetic
data. Without doubt, dealing with and interpreting oríkì, be they verbal,
visual, or performed, can be intellectually demanding, but they surely
always provide fresh and rich insights, as well as a channel for indigenous
voices to be heard in Yoruba art scholarship. (For example, listen to
online audio, section 11.)
Oríkì can be dense, and they often are difficult to understand and
translate to English. They are, however, always artistically rich and
loaded with information that is not easy to discover through any other
channel. The studies of leading Yoruba language scholars like Chief
J. A. Ayorìndé, Adébóyè Babalolá, Bóláńlé Awé, Karin Barber, Olátúndé
Olátúnjí, Olásopé Oyèláràn, Túnjí Vidal, and Olábíyì Yáì, among others,
have contributed significantly to our understanding of oríkì.67
The word,
oríkì, writes Ayorìndé, “is derived from orí (head or origin) and kì (to
cite), and therefore means, ‘to cite one’s origin.’”68
Given names, individual
characteristics, reputation, lineage attributes, and historical data
are among the kinds of vital information that can be retrieved from oríkì.
(Listen to online audio, section 11.)
To know the oríkì of a person is to be intimately familiar with his or
her place in society and to know the oríkì of the subject or an artifact is
to know how it came to be. In the context of Yoruba art studies, the oríkì
can take us beyond a superficial knowledge of the subject, illuminating
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 13
the conditions that gave birth to the art form. Indeed, oríkì is inseparable
from the art that embodies it. Karin Barber describes oríkì as “collections
or strings of name-like attributive epithets, ‘praises’ which are neither
narrative nor descriptive but vocative. They are addressed to their subject
or ‘owner,’ and are felt to encapsulate, and evoke in some way that
subject’s essential powers and qualities.”69
The following is an oríkì of a
very successful farmer, Àyìndé, cited by Karin Barber:
Àyìndé alágbàdo-ègbo-lóko
Babaà mi agbìngbàdo è
wà ló
tò

Àyìndé alágbàdo ìsáájú
Baba Ojútómo
rí, ni í gbani ló
wó
 ebi
Àyìndé, one who has maize for pottage in his farm
My father who plants maize for pudding separately
Àyìndé, “maize that ripens before other people’s”
Father of Ojútómorí, “is what saves us from hunger.”70
Equally instructive is Olábíyì’s gloss of “‘kì’ which is to (perform oríkì)
and to ‘gbé
’ or ‘yà’ (carve) ... to provoke and be provoked.”71
Essentially,
this means provoking one’s orí into action or more intense being. During
my research on Ifá divination art objects in April 1974, I met Oba Fásíkù,
Aláayè of Ìkèrin, near Osí in Southwestern Nigeria. (Ifá is the divination
procedure used among the Yorùbá, and also the deity of divination.)
The Aláayè, also an accomplished artist who had carved more than two
hundred o
pó
n-Ifá (generally translated as “divination trays”), impressed
upon me that o
pó
n-Ifá are more than just “trays”; their full designation,
he said, is “ohun tí a fí pón Ifá lé ni,” meaning “that which is made to
honor, cite, and provoke Ifá.”72
He explained further that although these
are objects (usually made from wood), they are similar in their cultural
function and significance to a verbal oríkì. Strange as it might seem, o
pó
n,
a three-dimensional object used in divination, is conceived as a kind of
oríkì in Yoruba thought. Figure 2 shows Ifá priests seated at a divination
session. On the floor, the officiating Ifá priest holds sixteen ikin (sacred
palm kernel nuts) in his left palm and sits directly in front of an o
pó
n-Ifá
(Ifá tray) covered with ìyè
ròsùn (a whitish camwood powder) on which
odù (divination marks) would be pressed.
In Yoruba culture an o
pó
n-Ifá and a performed verbal oríkì of Ifá have
as their goal the evocation of Ifá’s essential powers and qualities. Thus, the
full meaning of o
pó
n as “ohun tí a fi pó
n Ifá lé” conveys much more relevant
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language14
information than its English gloss could possibly do. In the same way, the
ikin, a set of sixteen sacred palm kernel nuts (Elais guineensis idolatrica),
arguably the most important instrument in the Ifá divination system, are
never called èkùró
, “palm kernel nuts.” They are always called ikin or identified
by their more expressive verbal oríkì “Ikú dúdú àtéwó” (Black Death
in the palm). Yoruba culture even warns against trivializing the ikin, as
in the saying, “Enití ó bá fi ojú èkùró wo Òrúnmìlà, Ifá á pà á,” meaning
“Whoever thinks that Òrúnmìlà [the patron deity of Ifá] is no more than
just palm kernel nuts, Ifá will affect73
such a person negatively.”
As this statement suggests, familiarity with indigenous Yoruba terms
for artworks and their oríkì is and ought to be a crucial part of any iconographic
and iconological study. Thus, an expanded sense and meaning of
oríkì can lead to a better understanding and appreciation of other visual
art objects, namely, ìró
ké
-Ifá (divination tapper), agere-Ifá (container for
storing ikin), ò
pá-ò
rè
rè
 (the ceremonial staff carried by Ifá priests), and
àpò-Ifá (Ifá priests’ beaded ceremonial bags), along with items worn by
2. Ifá divination rite at the palace of the Òràngún of Ìlá. The priest holds the sixteen
sacred palm nuts of Ifá in his left hand as he casts Ifá to determine the sacrifices that the
ruler and the chiefs in the town must make in preparation for the king’s festival (Odún
Oba). Photo by John Pemberton III.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 15
the priests such as beaded vests, necklaces, wristlets, and anklets, all of
which evoke the presence and power of Òrúnmìlà (patron divinity of Ifá,
but also often used interchangeably with Ifá).
Òrúnmìlà’s oríkì opens the path to a whole new world of the study
of Ifá sculptural repertoire, and indeed, the entire corpus of Yoruba art.
The Aláayè of Ìkèrin impressed upon me the need to understand Ifá divination
arts as oríkì in 1974. And in 1994, twenty years later, Olábíyì Yai
confirmed that same notion from his perspective as a Yoruba language
scholar. Yai’s exhortation to Yoruba art scholars could not have been
timelier. He writes, “When approaching Yoruba art, an intellectual orientation
... consonant with Yoruba traditions of scholarship would be
to consider each individual Yoruba art work and the entire corpus as
oríkì.”74
The Yoruba concept of oríkì as artistic phenomenon is not limited
to things we touch, smell, and taste but extends to experiences of
trance and spirit possession.75
Additionally, this expanded understanding
of oríkì would, in fact, be immensely useful in solving many complex
theoretical issues confronting African and especially, Yoruba art scholarship
today.
The approach just discussed is not without its critics, however. For example,
as recently as 2012, Blier declared, “My analysis moves away from
the recent framing of ancient Ifè art from the vantage of Yoruba cultural
practices collected in Nigeria more broadly, and/or the indiscriminate
use of regional and modern Yoruba proverbs, poems, or language idioms
to inform this city’s unique 700 year old sculptural oeuvre.”76
If this is
what she chooses to move away from, it is reasonable to ask what she
chooses to move toward. By disconnecting her rendition of art history in
the Yoruba context from Yoruba orature, what alternative sources does
she rely upon to “speak” for Yoruba culture? Her alternative itself contains
an inherent contradiction for she too depends upon modern-day
interviewees and relatively recent written sources.
Ifè archaeology has been interpreted and written about by scholars
who are by no means as old as the works they unearthed; would their
conclusions then also become suspect because they use oral sources?
Similarly, most scholars of Ifè history have had to start with, and rely
heavily on, oral sources because many events of historical importance
were not documented in the form of writing. Should we discount their
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language16
work as well? How can we be sure that even the names of key characters
like Oòduà, Obalùfòn II, Olókun, Òbàtálá or of important sites like Ita
Yemòó, Láfogído, Ore, and Wúnmonije were given to Blier by individuals
who did not derive their information from oral sources? Is their information
a fabrication of “later eras”?77
For a traditionally nonwriting society like that of the Yorùbá, whose
cultural practices and oral traditions are among the richest in the world,
it is extremely important to pay attention to their orality – their favored
means of communication, storing important information, and retrieving
art historical data.78
What really are the alternative sources of information?
And how much more reliable are they likely to be? We know that
even technology is not always as value-free as we might want to believe –
a point that I have amply demonstrated with the trope of the instamatic
“point and shoot” camera used earlier.
Certainly, the use of language and oral data can and should be
improved. This is the reason we have language scholars. Blier is concerned
about Ifè’s language being “notably different than those in the
wider Yoruba region and later eras.”79
Colleagues in the department
of African Languages and Literatures at Ife teach Yorùbá to students
from the wider Yoruba regions who speak different dialects of Yoruba
language all the time. Neither they nor I experience any difficulty communicating
with, and understanding them. (Listen to the online audio
sections 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12 which I recorded in several dialects of
Yorùbá.)
Blier also appears to become involved with historical linguistics visà-vis
her reconstruction of the history of ancient Ifè. To deal with that
issue, I suggest we defer to the expert opinion of Abiodun Adetugbo,
who has done extensive research on historical linguistics as it pertains
to Yoruba history. Adetugbo makes the fundamental point that “historical
linguistics itself presupposes a thorough understanding of the present
state of the language discussed”80
(italics mine). That should be our
place of departure and our immediate concern.81
It is only after heeding
Adetugbo’s statement that we would be better positioned to tackle the
issue of “the indiscriminate use of regional and modern Yoruba proverbs,
poems, or language idioms.” Otherwise, it becomes extremely easy to
privilege any number of foreign languages, Western values, and cultural
practices not connected with Ifè.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 17
Furthermore, Blier’s position of wanting to avoid the use of Yoruba
language “because Ifè’s history, language and art forms are notably different
than those in the wider Yoruba region and later eras” implies that
we should ignore it. This is, at least, the message one gets from her bibliography,
which contains no single work written in the Yoruba language.
However, in the same article, she is very comfortable with using the
French term oeuvre (“the works of a writer, painter or the like, taken as
a whole”; coined 1870–75),82
which is even more notably different and
removed temporally and spatially from “Ifè̤’s history, language and art”
than what she appears to be moving away from. The Yoruba term isé
-o
nà
(which means works of art, design, and creativity in the broadest sense)
might be more appropriate than the French oeuvre in the context of Ifè
works of art.
Her unfair comparison of Yoruba “Ifa divination verses and praise
songs” with the English children’s rhyme “Ring Around the Rosy,”
which has “its roots in the traumatic circumstances of the Black Plague
(c. 1348),”83
is neither applicable nor helpful. It would be difficult to
find any strong support for the unjustifiable comparison of “Ifá divination
verses and praise songs” with English children’s rhyme among Ifá
priests and Yoruba culture bearers. Nor would it be easy to find any substantial
backing for her position in the very rich scholarly work published
on the subject of Ifá.
Using European examples as the basis for making dismissive and categorical
statements about Yoruba oral literary forms and their applicability
to understanding Yoruba art is clearly not a positive contribution
to African art scholarship. Would Western art history disregard Western
canonical literature? But perhaps even more unfortunate, is that by mischaracterizing
“Ifá divination verses and praise songs” – the intellectual
powerhouse of the Yoruba people – Blier seems not to acknowledge the
phenomenal research and excellent scholarship that have taken place in
Yoruba language, literary, and cultural studies for well over a century.84
The timelessness of Ifá and its relevance to contemporary situations
are clearly embraced by the Yorùbá in the following verse:
Ifá ló l’òní
Ifá ló lò
la
Ifá ló l’ò
túnla pè
lú è

Òrúnmìlà ló n’ijó
 mé
rè
rin Òòsà d’ááyé
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language18
Ifá is the master of today
Ifá is the master of tomorrow
Ifá is the master of the day after tomorrow
To Ifá belongs all the four days
Established by Òòsà on earth.85
Bluntly put, Blier’s stance on Yoruba language is not just troubling but
also resembles, even if remotely, studies which (as described by Barry
Hallen) show that “the indigenous African intellect was somehow qualitatively
different from its generalized Western counterpart. The variety
of adjectives used to [identify by] type or to distinguish it in this regard
themselves seemed to share something in common: uncritical or precritical,
unreflective or pre-reflective, proto-rational or proto-scientific”86
(italics mine). She appears to ignore the long and rigorous training of Ifá
priests (which could be as long as twenty years), their lifelong pursuit of
knowledge after graduation, and the reasons that “Ifá divination verses
and praise songs” still remain highly respected and heeded by the Yorùbá
and their descendants in the diaspora.
We should also address Blier’s concerns about the “the indiscriminate
use of regional and modern Yoruba proverbs, poems, or language
idioms” (italics mine). From my experience in the field, the Yorùbá are
their own harshest critics on the inappropriate use of their language.87
They detest the “indiscriminate use” of the spoken word in all its forms.
Hence, they unequivocally condemn such practice as is evident in the
following saying: “Bí òwe kò bá jo òwe, a kì í pa á” (If an òwe [hitherto
generally translated as “proverb”] does not apply to a situation, one does
not use it).88
In other words, if a speech act is not a trope, one does not
propose it as a figure of speech.
This study demonstrates that Yoruba verbal and visual art forms,
though different, have always been interdependent, supporting each
other through mutual references and allusions. Starting with Chapter 1,
I try to show that this interdependence dates back to at least the thirteenth
century C.E. with works from Ifè. Yoruba language and relatable
cultural superstructure and practices may be perceived as a continuum,
characterized by referential congruity and mutual reflection. They evolve
within the notion of àsà – a dynamic concept of style and creativity that
incorporates tradition and innovation in Yoruba art and culture.89
No
doubt, a more-than-average proficiency in Yoruba language is necessary
to be able to make and appreciate this argument.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 19
Let us consider for the sake of argument a possible scenario in which
a truly indiscriminate use of Yoruba language might occur. And it is,
indeed, more common than we think. More often than not, it happens
with nonnative speakers of the Yoruba language who are unprepared to
devote the time and effort it takes to learn the subtle but significant tonal
differences intrinsic to Yoruba language.90
Changes in tone, we know,
can make huge differences in the meanings of words, terms, idioms, and
even entire propositions. For examples, listen to online audio: sections
1a–c, 3a–c, 4a (i–iii), 4b (i–iii), 4c (i–v), 4d (i–iv), and 5a–d.
Imagine a researcher of Yoruba art who is interested in gender. He
or she is fascinated by the ceremonial staffs of Òrìsà Oko (deity of the
rustic). But with only an elementary knowledge or superficial understanding
of Yorùbá, this researcher prefers to translate Òrìsà Oko,
“deity of the rustic,” as “deity of the penis” (Òrìsà Okó). Both terms
are spelled exactly the same way except that the last “o” in “okó” has
a high tone mark and is therefore pronounced differently. Òrìsà Okó
suits the researcher’s interests and thesis. So, he or she summons every
imaginable theory on gender in the universe to support the notion that
Òrìsà Oko is, indeed, all about male sexuality. To complicate matters,
the researcher, who (for the sake of our argument) is tonally challenged,
does not think it important to add the diacritical accents to “Orisa Oko”
in his or her publication because such marks do not occur in his or her
own language.
An audience that is knowledgeable about neither the Yoruba language
nor how tone functions in it might be quite impressed by a researcher’s
technical foreign terminologies and theoretical constructs that have
absolutely nothing to do with the Yoruba art forms being studied. So,
via the magic of print, the so-called researched work becomes authoritative.
Other scholars will then have to spend precious time and energy
debunking this researcher’s spurious theories instead of encouraging
the researcher to learn the language, or at least to work with colleagues
who are scholars of the Yoruba language. Disparaging the use of the
Yoruba language as an essential instrument for understanding the culture
is counterproductive and can only re-entrench mistaken perceptions of
Yoruba art.
My experience has been that scholars of African languages and literatures
can be immensely beneficial to our work and analysis in the field of
African art studies. Olábíyì Yai, for example, makes a pertinent remark
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language20
about the vexing issue of representation in Yoruba art and its translation
to the English language:
In a culture where orí, the principle of individuality, is perceived as a deity
that informs and shapes the world view and behavior of persons, it is simply
“natural” that the privileged idiom of artistic expression, indeed, the mode
of existence of art, should be through constant departure. The English word,
“representation,” with its assumption of and intrinsic bias toward similarity,
cannot do justice to Yoruba traditions of aesthetics and modes of relating to
otherness.91
Yai’s observation is immediately relevant to our understanding of the
reason for the wide range of styles – recognizable àsà, to be more exact –
which we encounter in Yoruba art, each àsà of carving being distinct
and specific to its own artistic context. Consequently, the prevalent àsà
of carving an ère-ìbejì (twin statuette) is clearly distinguishable from
the àsà of carving employed in àkó, second burial effigies in Òwò (see
Chapter 6), while the àsà that designates Orí-inú (prenatal allotment,
or the “inner spiritual head”) should never be confused with that of its
earthly human counterpart, Orí-òde (the outer, naturalistically looking
head), discussed in Chapter 1. This fundamental consideration in Yoruba
art and aesthetics is extremely important if we are to avoid the popular
pitfall that there is only one Yoruba àsà.
In Chapter 1, “Orí: No Òrìsà Blesses a Person without the Consent
of His/Her Orí,” I explore the concept and principle of individuality and
otherness in Orí (generally used to refer to both Orí-inú and Orí-òde).
In Chapter 2, titled “Àse: The Empowered Word Must Come to Pass,”
I discuss a wide range of visual and verbal oríkì (art forms) that are central
to or connected with Àse – the primordial life force that inheres in
all objects of consciousness: authority and power. In Chapter 3, “Òsun:
The Corpulent Woman Whose Waist Two Arms Cannot Encompass,”
I rely as much as possible on her oríkì to understand the numerous art
forms that help to define and illuminate the character of Òsun, a most
powerful and influential Yoruba òrìsà. (Listen to online audio: sections
9 and 10.)
Karin Barber suggests that the Yorùbá use oríkì as mnemonics and
goes on to explain that “oríkì are like objects – signifying objects
which exist in their own right and to which narrative explanations are
attached as it were externally.”92
This observation strengthens the premise
that oríkì is a logical place to begin the study of Yoruba art. So,
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 21
in Chapter 4, “Òrúnmìlà: Henceforth, Ifá Priests Will Ride Horses,”
I use verses from Ifá to carry out an in-depth formal and contextual
analysis of an agere-Ifá (the container for keeping ikin, sixteen sacred
divination palm nuts) with the horse motif. Chapter 5, “We Greet Aso
before We Greet Its Wearer,” examines Yoruba dress as a form of oríkì.
In Chapter 6, “Àkó: Re/Minding Is the Antidote for Forgetfulness,”
I explore the meaning and place of photography in Yoruba culture by
focusing on the oríkì and àsà of Àkó, secondburial effigies in Òwò.
Chapter 7, “Ilé-Ifè: The Place Where the Day Dawns,” reviews the
state of our knowledge of selected terra cottas and bronzes from the
ancient Yoruba city of Ilé-Ifè and offers new insights through the lens
of oríkì. (This is discussed fully in Chapter 7. Listen also to online
audio, section 13.)
Chapter 8, “Yoruba Aesthetics: Ìwà, Ìwà Is What We Are Searching
For, Ìwà,” addresses some major aesthetic concepts in Yoruba art and
thought using oríkì as an indispensable resource. Chapter 9, “Tomorrow,
Today’s Elder Sibling,” explores the Yoruba definition of style (àsà, to
be more precise) through time focusing on Olówè of Ìsè, comparing
him with another carver, “Master of the Fowler Agere-Ifá” from a later
period. Using verbal and visual oríkì, I move back and forth invoking
the place of yet another legendary sculptor, Àrè, Làgbàyí, ará Òjowòn,
Làgbàyí, the itinerant citizen of the city of Òjowòn who lived probably
in the early 1800s and whose works, sadly enough, are no longer available
for us to see.
While the oríkì of artists abound, their full names in Yorùbá were not
always revealed to strangers or made public. One reason that the Yorùbá
may not publicly or openly associate specific art forms with the names of
their authors is perhaps because names given at birth are closely linked
to and identified with the essence of one’s personality and destiny (called
orí-inú, or “inner spiritual head”), which in Yoruba religious belief determines
a person’s success or failure in this world and directs his or her
actions. Though the act of calling out a person’s given names generally
functions to differentiate individuals, in the Yoruba religious thought
system, it is also believed to have the ability to arouse or summon to the
surface a person’s spiritual essence and cause him or her to act according
to the meaning of those given names or in some other way desired by the
caller. This is the basis of the Yorùbá saying, “Orúko a máa roni” (One’s
name controls one’s actions).
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Yoruba Art and Language22
If specific works of art are attributed to a particular artist, the connection
is usually acknowledged only discreetly and usually through oríkì.
Over time, therefore, a notion developed in the West that Yoruba artists
were largely anonymous.93
However, artists’ identities have always been
discernible in their verbal oríkì. Chief J. A. Ayorinde explains that “all
chiefs and prominent personalities have oríkì describing their character
and achievements, which serve, as it were, as their ‘signature tunes’ to
announce their approach or presence,” and indeed that “no child is given
a name without being given an oríkì, which is an important adjunct to
any name.”94
Just as the absence of Yoruba art criticism or of a selfconscious
Yoruba aesthetic is a myth that developed over time, the conventional
wisdom about anonymity in Yoruba art is simply inaccurate.95
The fact that a Western art scholar has not been trained to recognize
the place of oríkì in the retrieval of artists’ names and their histories
should not lead us to conclude that Yoruba artists are anonymous. A
Yoruba òwe points us in the right direction:
Àńkì í
Àńsà á
Ó ní òun ò meni tókú
O ńgbó
 “ikú mé
rù
Òpàgá
Abisutabíòdòdó
Alábào
kà
Arokofé
yeje”
O ní “Àgbè
 lókú ni tàbí ò
nájà?”
Translation:
We recite someone’s oríkì
We intone his attributes
But an ignorant person says he does not know who has died.
He hears “Death has taken a renowned man,
A titled man,
Whose-yams-spread-like-petals
Who-possesses-a-barn-of-corn
Whose-fields-are-a-bounty-for-birds,”
The [ignorant] person still asks, “Is the dead man a farmer or a
trader?”96
As this òwe conveys, only the foolish (or perhaps, uninformed) person
does not see what is right before his eyes. This implies that any serious
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press
Introduction 23
attempt to conduct art historical research in a traditionally oral society
like the Yorùbá must take their rich tradition of oríkì into consideration.97
Olasopé Oyèláràn sums up our duty as scholars of the Yoruba art and
thought system with the proverb “Kí a ti ibi pelebe mú òòlè je; a lè ti ibi
oríkì bèrè ìwádìí ìjìnlè,”98
which he translates as “To do a thorough job of
eating ò
ò
lè
 [a most delicious Yoruba meal prepared from skinned blackeyed
peas, wrapped in leaves and steamed], we must begin by eating the
thin and flat pieces in the crevices – the tastiest part of òòlè.” Similarly, he
adds, “If we want to do a thorough job of explicating Yoruba thought
systems, we need to start with oríkì” – a reference to the thin flat pieces
that are the extensions, the sweetest parts, the small bits that carry the
flavor of the whole – its fundamentals.
https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107239074.003 Published online by Cambridge University Press