Above: Study for I Have Only What I Remember, and In Silence, Memento Mori, by Xavier Verhoest. Pictures: Frank Whalley
The sound of silence is loud and clear.
It can be heard echoing off the walls at one Nairobi gallery.
For the current exhibition by Xavier Verhoest, called In Silence, deals, he says, with the universal themes of mortality, fragility, and the natural world.
In them, Verhoest finds a still space that resonates with meaning.
“My work is devoid of human presence but filled with stories. I try to translate the lack of communication and unreliability of our memories through abstracted landscapes,” he says.
All of which sounds well and good, but how does this actually translate in the work? Is it pretentious gibberish or a real shot at delving deeper into the human condition?
Before answering that, let me borrow heavily from the artist’s press release, which accompanied an invitation to the opening of this show, on until December 5 at Le Rustique restaurant on General Mathenge Road.
“Born in DRC in 1964, Verhoest studied film editing in Belgium and subsequently followed courses at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris and in Brussels. In 1992, he joined Medecins Sans Frontieres as a volunteer and worked in Burundi, Azerbadjian, Rwanda, Sudan, Somalia, Laos, Palestine and Kenya until 2003. Since then he has concentrated on his art, which has been influenced by his experiences of war zones and by time he has spent with communities on the margins of society… the latter a reference to the good works he does creating body maps, life-size outlines of the human form which enable people living with HIV to investigate themselves, their hopes and their future. His art shows us an alternative space, unpopulated by people, but where memories and imagination retain their power.”
In other words, his paintings are landscapes with content relevant to himself, that also reflects our place in society and the forces that are shaping us.
I am reminded of an elderly editor for whom I worked in the UK. When faced with a particularly convoluted piece of prose he would throw down his pen, shake his head wearily then shout across to the hapless reporter, “But what does it mean, cock? What does any of it mean?”
One of the difficulties of answering that question is that much of Verhoest’s work is so apparently non-specific, so self-effacing, that it is like a blank screen on which you can project your own thoughts and memories.
Maybe that is part of its attraction. We step into these silences he has created for us and fill them with our own memories and beliefs. You have a question, you can answer it yourself in any way you please and be sure its validity is reinforced by the artist’s intention. So the viewer comes to dictate the artwork. It is a slippery slope.
Surprises
There are clues, however, in this show that allow Verhoest’s paintings to reveal themselves like a strip tease artiste, rather slowly.
All of Verhoest’s work — much of it photographs worked over with mixed media and often bearing stencilled lettering or handwriting in the artist’s mother tongue, French — has a calm and contemplative look that encourages interaction.
Penchant for French in a Kiswahili and English speaking country is as irritating as ever, but I guess the artist thinks it adds to his work a certain je ne sais quoi. The work itself appears to be gentle. It does not seem to confront you and you are seduced into giving it a closer look.
Cool colours predominate: greys and a soft prussian blue with even the harshest hue being a gentle magenta blush.
This is beguiling, and it is only here and there that little eddies in the white gouache drizzle that falls over many of the pictures betray the thrashing feet of the swan, paddling furiously beneath the surface while above all seems to be serene.
Then there is the lettering. It is particularly prominent in the series of pictures that deal with the fate of the IDPs. Under the general heading of I Have Only What I Remember, they were first shown at the Roots Gallery in Nairobi, only five months ago. The letters are various dates, or the file numbers of cases before the International Criminal Court at The Hague.
The titles help, too. In Silence, Memento Mori deals with memories of death while Le Dernier Soit (The Last Evening) recalls a quiet and beautiful dusk before the post- election mayhem began.
There is the quality of the work, as well. Occasionally meltingly lovely (see the shifting tones in the small Study for I Have Only What I Remember) always carefully constructed and immaculately presented, these are works that would be a pleasure to hang.
Trees, clouds, a landscape glimpsed from an aircraft window… their meanings change as you begin to associate them with the fate of the dispossessed, the maimed and the murdered.
These are powerful works that belie their gentle appearance. They do confront us, and project a pointed message. One perhaps we should heed.
Frank Whalley runs Lenga Juu, a fine arts and media consultancy based in Nairobi. Email: [email protected]
