In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers.
In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers. *Wells plays the role of the artist to create a place of profound beauty and space where various species of creation can meet together. The cave becomes a sanctuary, a refuge for the ever-present and the ever-awakening, and the Chinese dragon stands guard there. The figures of the male and female forms are blurred and their bodies distorted so that the male dominates the female. But in one of the most memorable images, a male with a gleaming white shield rises above a group of growing male dancers, as if under a spell. The shield is a contradiction: it is a sign of authority and power, it stands for the male. But the divinity of the magical power within the body and of the masked male is given a dramatic twist: the male body becomes a symbol of instability and aggression.In Sixto del Fino (Sixto del Forco) (all works 2003), the masked man standing with the male body is twice transformed into a woman, first into a human (woman) and then into a human being. The masks of the male and female bodies appear, but no transformation takes place: the womans face seems as if under a spell. Man, woman, and mask all turn into one another. The artist seems to be making use of a certain kind of vulgarity, but with each instance of transformation, the theme of the individual role grows more and more subversive.The masked man stands in a sacrificial scene; there he stands like a victim, stripped of all personal and possessive attributes, and reduced to an ancient sacred place. The mask is placed on the kneeling male body, ready for the artist to remove, and the idea of the mask as a malignant evil, a malignant authority, becomes more and more apparent. Well demonstrates once again that anything and everything is possible when a place, an idea, a human being is transformed.
In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers. <|startoftext|>The dominant metaphor of the abstract is the mask, but abstract art has always used masks and masks in order to represent what is perceived as subjective. This is an artistic genre not necessarily linked with or modeled by specific political themes. For the most part, political artists have avoided masks, preferring instead the process of applying mask-like images and figures to painting—that is, to rendering the mask as image. Monique Prieto shows that the painting of the mask can also be made to embody a mask, and as such the painting of the mask has become a political act.She paints faces and/or headless figures that are partially covered by a mask. Faces and/or heads have been painted by what other artists use to represent or refer to certain political themes. Her recent work is a continuation of this tradition. Although Prieto continues to use the mask as a pictorial sign, the process of conceiving these images and figures has led her to a more specific and domesticized form. The canvas has been covered with mats, a traditional sign of ceremony in different cultures and languages. Prieto has, in effect, painted her figures and masks. These mats are at once topographical and pictorial, as they are painted, and represent real markings and marks that represent the participants reach of the brush.The masks are at once abstract and concrete, abstract and domestic, although they have the appearance of being photographs. Prieto has made them in various media, and the prints, photopies and spray paint on the canvas are all hers. These abstract masks have been used in various combinations, but one of them is a large, vivid-faced white face, and the other is a small, black-faced mask. These are her best images yet.The masks are also marked by their use of her hand.
In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers. <|startoftext|>Hans Humes is an artist whose work combines elements of psychology and art. He created his identity as a professional magician when he was seventeen years old. He became interested in the psychology of the medium after seeing the work of Wanda Gáldánez and Albert Perry. Humes uses his own drawings as his medium. From the drawings he makes the costumes for the masks. The masks, which resemble elaborate costumes, are painted on the back of paper or canvas. After carefully covering the mask with drawing paper, he then throws it in the body of a person, who wears it on his head. He then comes close to the wearer and makes eye contact. Sometimes he only needs a finger to tell that someone is wearing the mask and that there are other, less visible people around who will be able to identify the wearer. This is the kind of interaction that is repeated by people outside the realm of the art gallery.Humes presents his costumes in public places—in places that are so rare that they seem nearly irrelevant. In conjunction with the installations, the works are a visual art that attempts to comment on the present and future. The costumes are presented in a way that opens a dialogue between two positions: the artist who presents and watches, and the spectator who compares and interprets the work.In the past Humes has used gallery walls as a support for his costumes. A number of the masks are hung on the walls at floor level. The spaces they occupy are lined with black paper, as if the mask had been thrown there. In this respect, the masks reinforce the separation of art from life. The costumes, which contain all the usual elements, become objects that are separated from their time and place. They exist in a state of perpetual preparation for a performance.The masks come in different colors, and they are decorated with the same costumes and other ordinary paraphernalia.
In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers. (New Image) included performance artists who adapted painting to feminist critiques of power and commodification, as well as Mari OBrien and Sophia Ortman, musicians from the Swinging Sixties who tapped into the power and spectacle of youth culture. Perceived in terms of cultural production, the masks, which are made of solid black steel, towered over the few women who were standing with them, facing the wall and the audience. The masks were suspended in a narrow, low-ceilinged room; they seemed to be floating, arching upward from the ceiling, as if about to drift off. The women in the group looked stoic, and one assumed they were all dressed the same, but one woman, as if to signal that they had entered the room, wore the same look.There was nothing wrong with this installation: nothing was staged or sensational, and no artistic imagery was directly visible to the audience. The masks made of the finest fabrics were meant for the ages of four and a half, but they were not meant to suggest a destructive state, or to incite a response, or even to evoke such feelings as rebellion or fear. The masks formed a spatial union, a simple gesture of peace and conciliation. The women were peaceful, which may have something to do with the fragility of the fabric, which was also soft and dry, and with which they shared space. These interdependence of styles and materials and personality and the presence of a wide range of fabrics captured a tender and sensual scene. One could feel the rhythm of their voices as they sang and played, and felt the beauty of their bodies as they blithely displayed their masks. The performance was relaxed, gentle and sensual, and this sensuality was enhanced by the muted tones of sound and the ambient light of various colors. OBrien and Ortman exposed their muscles in a gesture that was both sexy and brave, feminine and masculine.
In many communities in the state of Anambra in south-eastern Nigeria, celebrations, burial ceremonies and other special occasions during the dry season to evoke fertility and a bountiful harvest feature the performance of the Ijele masquerade. The mask is about four metres tall so large that it takes a hundred men six months of work to prepare the costume and build an outdoor house to hold it before a performance. Divided into upper and lower segments by a large python at the centre, the ijele is constructed of colourful fabric on a skeleton of bamboo sticks and decorated with figurines and depictions of every aspect of life. The towering masked figure dances at the culmination of a series of other masquerades, protected by six police and carrying a mirror with the power to draw in and punish evildoers. Signs of death and the presence of a dying are everywhere in the installation; in the shadows, on the side walls, on the floor, under the sandbags and on a small block of limestone. The sounds of footsteps, of a woman walking, and of a new dancer joining the group move from the nearby tree to the group. In a narrow corridor, a frail and broken-faced figure appears. Her body is wrapped in the meringue on the floor and the neck is cut off. At the foot of the rope, she is thrown down a long, narrow hallway. At the left of the corridor, a backwards-looking figure holds a lantern, and in its shadow, a child smiles out of the darkness. The last piece is a puppet whose mouth is slit, at the top of which hangs a dead fish. This piece concludes the journey of the ijele. The gathering of pieces is impressive but the spectators were left wondering what is happening to the speaker, who is singing again but sings in a different voice. The Japanese-language translation is a song of retribution for an unforgivable sin.Japanese martial arts have been used for centuries in China, in performances that involve the death and rebirth of the warrior. In his most famous piece, Sakurajimasaka (Growth-Death), 1967, the eighth-century Japanese philosopher Kenosaku was executed for his faith in the Buddha. In one form the execution was a mythic and symbolic sacrifice, but Sakurajima tried, by a Japanese court, to escape death by promising to marry the emperor and that he would visit Japan several times. Sakurajima died several times and never visited Japan, despite Sakurajimas promises. The events in Sakurajimasakis life are captured in a video of the emperor sitting on a stone in his ancient garden, chanting and singing.
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