Exhibit Explores History of African Art Collection
BY NICK STILLMAN

Small fields of text are displayed in bold lettering on the walls of the Allen Memorial Art Museum’s new exhibition, A Matter of Taste: the African Collection at the Allen Memorial Art Museum. The most insightful and thought-provoking of these reads, “How do art museums deal with art made by people who do not call it art? How do we decide what types of objects to select, and how do we determine quality among objects of a similar type?”
The question is a helpful one to bear in mind when viewing A Matter of Taste, especially when considering the incredible influence African sculpture and design suddenly exerted on Western modernism in the early 20th century.
Wooden sculptures, masks, jewelry, clothing and objects for everyday use are plentiful, while there is not a painting sight. A Matter of Taste is a relatively modest exhibit — it occupies only one small room — but is packed with objects and has an ideological force that makes the show successful and engaging.
The first piece the viewer sees on approaching the entrance is the mid-20th century “Ancestral Cloth Ensemble” from Benin. When standing at the correct angle, the exhibition’s logo, stenciled strikingly on the wall, looms over the garish costume. 
The outfit is gaudy and ostentatious in both color and decoration. Bright red, green and gold are combined with leather, sequin arrangements, beads and shiny tassels to create a visually stunning (and slightly repelling) ensemble. The choice to introduce the exhibit with “Ancestral Cloth Ensemble” seems strange, especially since many of the other pieces on display address tribal pride and tradition and this one seems to flaunt the wealth of the powerful.
The most powerful and engaging pieces are the wood sculptures. The late 19th century Liberian “Standing Female Figure” exhibits the different interpretation of form African sculpture employs in comparison to Western counterparts. The nude woman’s breasts are unrealistically long and dangle dramatically from her chest. Her buttocks are exaggeratedly bulbous, and her sensuality seems deliberately emphasized.
It is important to consider how the piece would have been displayed when attempting to glean clues to explain its form. As the placard reads, the piece was probably commissioned by the woman’s husband who would have publicly unveiled it, possibly boasting his wife’s fertility and feminine sexuality.
The late 19th or early 20th century “Yoke Mask” from Guinea, another wood sculpture, but with just a massive head and a small torso that immediately becomes four legs, employs similar characteristics of exaggeration. Like with “Standing Female Figure,” the breasts are elongated, but the facial features are given a dramatically exaggerated treatment in “Yoke Mask.” The figures’ eyes, lips, ears and nose are enlarged on a scale that exceeds the rest of its head, giving the face an imposing look that clearly informed European modernists in the early 20th century who were responding to the harsh ugliness and brutality of world war.
“A Pair of Figurative Wands” forms a sort of impromptu sculptural diptych. Both pieces are from late 19th/early 20th century Nigeria and stand over four feet tall, although each is hardly thicker than a few sheets of paper. The wands were to be worn around the necks of the owners during certain festivals. Shown here, out of context, the pieces still are compelling due to their formal simplicity and also because of their precarious nature. A tiny push seems as if it would topple either to the floor.
When viewing the wands, the writing on the wall becomes especially pertinent and challenges the viewer to rethink their initial interpretations of the pieces. Are the wands striking on their own or because they recall Giacommetti’s gaunt sculptures of the human form? Are the harsh angles in many of the wooden sculptures bluntly powerful only after viewing Matisse and Picasso’s reinterpretations of them? Whatever one decides, the strategically placed text on the wall forces the viewer to confront these difficult questions.
The question of how Westerners can place qualitative judgements on African art becomes especially pertinent when viewing the jewelry and textiles on display. Many of the beaded necklaces use complex and often beautiful color patterns, but one wouldn’t be shocked to see cheap imitations in American stores that capitalize on the exploitation of African-influenced accessories.
An especially interesting portion of the display is the combination of textiles, forms of currency and a small sculpture, all from various West African nations. The grouping of these objects together suggests a stylistic similarity among them, especially in the similar linear patterning elements in the various textiles, but also serves as a subtle warning that African art is incredibly varied, and to lump it all together would be careless and ignorant.

It is disappointing that the museum doesn’t possess more contemporary African pieces that address the nature of 20th century society, politics and life in modern Africa, but the collection on display is impressive, especially given Oberlin’s small size. 

Curator Sharon Patton should be commended for compiling an exhibit that is not only visually compelling but is structured so as to challenge and initiate meditation on common stereotypes and misconceptions of African art.