Exhibition Feature - THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PENTAPRISM at TERN Gallery

Tiffany Smith, Study 6, 2014, Archival Inkjet print, Ed 5. 22 x 17 in. (unframed) / 26 x 21 in. (framed)

The Other Side of the Pentaprism (re-)mirrors a vision of the Caribbean as it is, but seldom is seen. The six artists in this show are the pentaprism, filtering their gaze through their creative vision. Revealing a different universe while questioning the “real” one in which we inhabit, the exhibition upsets the narratives and histories many of us have been taught, showing that the norms and status quo are truly mad. Is it not our accepted world that is illogical? A world where the homes of the enslavers are venerated while those of the enslaved are forgotten, where women are valued only for their ability to serve or bear children and where histories are unwritten. These artists present us rather with a world where people exist as more than props within a fabricated backdrop.

The show will be on view through October 30, 2021 at TERN Gallery, Nassau, The Bahamas

CURATORIAL STATEMENT - by Amanda Coulson

The Bahamas has a long history of a fairly advanced and developed art scene and various practices; we have just remained marginalized due a variety of factors that I won’t get into here as that is a whole other essay.

When I came home 10 years ago to run the National Art Gallery of the Bahamas, one thing I did not see quite as much of was photography or performance being used in new or original ways. Over the past few years, I’ve seen more experimentation and approaches in these media, so for my own first curatorial outing at Tern (and the gallery’s fourth show since its opening) I wanted to focus on this.

The photograph that got my brain ticking was “Ellie” by Melissa Alcena. Ellie appears to us through the gloom almost as a Black Caribbean Alice in Wonderland. Her large bow and her puffy dress contrasted against the dark, lush foliage just instantly made me think of a tea party in the forest. She is the yin to the yang of Disney’s blonde, white Alice, as she walks through the rather sinister Tulgey Wood, a forest with no end, where people get lost to eternity and which is populated by bizarre creatures, like the Mome Raths. Ellie is dwarfed by our Bahamian “bush” and many of our folktales speak to the “sperrits” or “duppies” (in Jamaica patois) that live there or, in our context, beasts like the Chickcharnee. Alcena celebrates our landscape and people but in a way that is the polar opposite of tourism’s images.

This made me think of other photographers doing that: using their vision to take us to another world that might make the viewer feel as though they, too, have gone “Through the Looking Glass.” It just so happened that the six artists were women and also fit quite neatly into three pairs working with different approaches of their camera: self-portraiture (Jodi Minnis and Tiffany Smith); portraiture (Alcena and Tamika Galanis); and Landscape/Architecture (Lynn Parotti and Leanne Russell).

In some cases, there is also a performative element, as in the case of Galanis’ work — which is “paired” with Alcena — although her works touch on topics that also speak to all the other artists’ work in the show: reclaiming space for women of color and highlighting how architecture and landscape hold our stories. In Galanis’s work a central female figure is reclaiming her place in the bush, standing in the ruins of the former “great house” whose inhabitants enslaved the model’s forebears. Alcena and Galanis use portraiture in entirely different ways, where Galanis re-stages mythical characters, Alcena allows her characters to present themselves in their most authentic form.

Performance features also in the work of Smith and Minnis, both of whom dress as the various caricatures of the Caribbean women to dispel the various tropes around our existence, while Russell and Parotti both us the technique of digitally overlapping images to speak to how the past affects the present and how architecture — its preservation or destruction — speaks to our willingness to remember or forget.

Melissa Alcena, Ellie, 2020, Archival Inkjet print, Ed. 5, 32 x 24 in.

Thoughts on the exhibition by the artists:

Melissa Alcena: I do photograph people from the front and, in that case, will always be on eye level with my subjects, to have it feel as though we are in conversation. However, I also enjoy to photograph people from the back or by taking detail photos of them, like of their backs, or hands. I feel that this pushes the viewer to construct their own idea of who that person is and also to figure out the story behind them, which in my opinion is another way of creating intrigue and empathy, because we usually draw from our own memories and experiences when doing so. For example, with “Auntie Val,” her finger nails are black this is in fact a result of the chemotherapy she was undergoing, alluded to in the dying flower she holds. I always name the sitters to ensure their personhood remains and that, in 50 or a hundred years, viewers will still know them and who they are. This is important given the history of Caribbean documentary, anthropological or tourist photography where most Black people were not really subjects, but almost objects and remain unnamed.

Only in “Bird of Paradise” is the subject — who is me — unnamed, but I can choose that for myself. Like the flower in “Auntie Val” the selection of this bloom tells the story: the plant itself is associated with tropical and exotic places that are usually considered to be “paradise” as well. Here I’m using my nakedness to illustrate my vulnerability as an individual while speaking to my Caribbean heritage at the same time. We all have some form of insecurities and putting yourself on display (especially naked) is a difficult act. It’s funny because I really had to treat myself like I treat those whom I photograph, and push myself to create an internal dialogue that was open, kind and respectful in order to create this image.

Looking at my work against others in the show only reinforces that I’m not alone in my desire to depict The Bahamas in a more intimate light. It’s very easy to view anything, including a country from a surface level, as we are so often seen, and I think that — as artists — we’ve all recognized this and have taken on the task of creating deeper dialogues and insights about The Bahamas for people to engage with. 

Auntie Val, c. 2020, Archival Inkjet print, Ed. 5, 32 x 24 in.

Bird of Paradise, c. 2020, Archival Inkjet print, Ed. 5, 32 x 24 in.

Tamika Galanis: I Name Charlotte, 2019

The Charlotte series is a conceptual/speculative documentary project about an enslaved woman who has long lived in the shadows of the history surrounding an uprising of enslaved peoples in The Bahamas in 1831.

“Black Dick” Deveaux, an enslaved man from the Golden Grove plantation on Cat Island, Bahamas has historically been recognized for his role in coordinating the revolt.

In short, this story is one of an egregious exercise of power by plantation owner, Joseph Hunter, during the Christmas week of 1831 arising from a dispute in working days. A week-long-standoff culminated in Dick firing at Hunter in self-defense, in the resultant chaos, Hunter aimed his weapon at an enslaved woman named Linda, and Charlotte came to her defense armed with a rock. It is important to note that during the week leading up to the day that Hunter accused Charlotte’s sons of theft; they were also among the ten imprisoned and charged for their “crimes.” Nine of them were acquitted because of the close proximity to Emancipation (1834) to avoid the ruffling of abolitionist feathers. Black Dick paid for his role with his life.

Archival records uncovered by Dr. Alan Myers, conducting plantation research in Cat Island, revealed that Charlotte had not only defended the only other enslaved woman named in court documents on the day of the uprising, but Charlotte had also previously made attempts on the plantation owners’ lives. In this series I speculate Charlotte’s use of plants as poison — a letter from Hunter’s daughter after the fallout reads, “With great difficulty we got an overseer to go up and take all the felons up except Charlotte & as she attempted to poison both Master and Mistress five years ago…” Hunter and his daughter died in 1838, shortly before the end of Apprenticeship (the transitional period immediately following Emancipation when enslaved peoples were still bound to plantation own owners).

Today the plantation ruins on Cat Island are overrun with the castor plant, which depending on its intended use can be medicinal or poisonous. If cooked properly, castor can be an excellent source of sustenance; otherwise, it’s a natural source of cyanide. Many of these ruins are overgrown with plant-life that has taken back the buildings — in many cases cracking the foundations and engulfing the walls. A poetic justice for Charlotte stepping out of the shadows.

In this photo series, Feleshia Hunter — a direct descendant of the enslaved peoples from the Golden Grove plantation — embodies Charlotte standing amidst the ruins and castor, wrapped in love vine, prevalent on Cat Island. This parasitic plant engulfs its source and feeds on it until they both die, making it near impossible to extract from what it’s feeding on without maiming or altogether killing the source plant; such is the case with the legacy of slavery in this region.

I Name Charlotte 1 (2019), Archival Inkjet Print, 17 x 22 in. (unframed)/ 20 ½ x 28 in. (framed)

I Name Charlotte 2 (2019), Archival Inkjet Print, 17 x 22 in. (unframed)/ 20 ½ x 28 in. (framed)

I Name Charlotte 3 (2019), Archival Inkjet Print, 17 x 22 in. (unframed)/ 20 ½ x 28 in. (framed)

I Name Charlotte 4 (2019), Archival Inkjet Print, 17 x 22 on.(unframed)/ 20 ½ x 28 in. (framed)

Jodi Minnis: No, 2019

This work falls within my ongoing investigation of the multiplicity of the “Bahama Mama.”

No (2019) is a direct response to the “mammy archetype.” It’s a rejection of the reduction of black women as a domestic aid and commodity. In the image, I adorn myself like the Bahama Mama salt shaker holding a black doll baby swaddled in a tropical fabric while wielding a rolling pin towards the viewer. The domestic, docile, all accommodating “mammy,” in this instance, is volatile and angry. In reference to the exhibition, the work serves as a concave mirror to the idea of who and what a “mammy” is. 

“Salt, Pepper and Lime” (2021) inserts the salt shakers back into their original intention — racist aesthetic salt holding ceramic table top items. They are fashioned in a product photography style along wish limes and goat peppers. The combination of salt, lime and pepper is a popular addition to traditional Bahamian breakfast meals. I often think of households where these shakers exist as these ornaments in the 21st century. I wonder if Morton salt is the salt in the shakers, and I wonder at what point does the shaker become a part of the table’s cape and at what point does it animate as a “mammy”. 

Salt, Lime & Pepper (2021), Archival Inkjet print, Ed. 5, 22 x 17 in. (unframed) /23 x 18 ½ in. (framed) 

No (2019), Archival Inkjet print, Ed. 5, 22 x 17 in. (unframed) /23 x 18 ½ in. (framed)  

Salt, Lime & Pepper 2 (2021), Ed. 5, Archival Inkjet print, 22 x 17 in. (unframed) /23 x 18 ½ in. (framed)

Tiffany Smith: My interdisciplinary practice moves between photography, video, installation, and design to define spaces and experiences that oscillate between the roles of visitor and native and parse the definition of “home.” Using plant matter, design elements, pattern and costuming as cultural signifiers, I create photographic portraits, site responsive installations, user engaged experiences, and assemblages that are informed by researching histories of representation, experiences of cultural ambiguity, and themes of displacement.

My photographic work focuses on creating empowered imagery of people of color informed by personal narratives and cultural histories that center subjectivities of migratory lives. For Tropical Girls… is an extended study in which I cast myself as the subject of an ethnographic survey of constructed personas who author their own representations of a blended cultural heritage. Masquerading in costumes and throughout sets crafted to mine the personal and collective memory of cultural signifiers of the Caribbean, I produce vignettes that use my own experiences and recalled memories to create performative studies that empower reclamation of representation. 

The portraits included in The Other Side of the Pentaprism intentionally play into exotified tropes of Caribbean women, as much as they are informed by personal memories that reveal my lived experience. Photographs such as “Yellow Bird in Banana Tree” reanimate memories of my formative childhood years spent in Nassau, Bahamas, enveloping me in the beauty of a lush tropical vista and the solace it provides even as the true version of myself, beneath the veneer of the tropical fantasy, struggles with reproductive health issues. In reality, this image was made in my Brooklyn studio — closer to the lull of the J train than the tropical sun, the trees and birds are all fake, and the fruit symbolize the fibroids I carry with me (which, ironically, for most Black women is not exotic).

In "Overseas We are Our Own Islands" my body is grounded in isolation against a field of overlapping aquatic patterns that shift perception, serving as a metaphor for the omnipresent and often menacing external forces that surround a politicized body. Created while under lockdown during the pandemic, making this image became a strategy for survival. Channeling the spirit of Yemoja to manifest measured resilience in the face of turbulent forces, I constructed a safe space in which to meditate on my personal affinity for the ocean and memories of days spent in communion with its calming energy.

Yellow Bird in Banana Tree (2021)

Overseas We Are Our Own Islands (2020)

Lynn Parotti: The price assessment of a human being was deemed necessary to establish the amount to be paid to plantation owners as reparation to facilitate the abolishment of slavery. The planters calculated the economic worth of their plantations and were then remunerated by the British Government to grant their slaves’ freedom. The funds to secure payback were provided by the Rothschild family in the form of a £20 million pound loan highlighting the gross monetary imbalance during the 1800s cemented through colonialism, notwithstanding the grotesque contrast of a human’s fate contingent on aristocracy, lineage and birthplace.

The Enslaved House series merges ghostly images of an abandoned, dilapidated slave house in Exuma, The Bahamas with a lavish Rothschild Country Manor House, in Buckinghamshire, England. Built to entertain the elite and host royalty like Queen Victoria, Waddesdon Manor houses a renowned art collection epitomized by extreme wealth whilst the slave house does not. Painted Masterpieces by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough, Francois Boucher and Antoine Watteau accompany exquisite furnishings by Jean Henri Reisener, Beauvais Tapestries and Sèvres Porcelain embodied with the history of opulence and privilege.

The Enslaved House series adopts the concept of the pentaprism through the intentional inversion of where the two houses overlap and where their contents and external spaces either fuse or become disparate and disintegrate. Each print is composed of fragmented images of the two houses which seem to float into the picture plane and blend with details of art or landscape to reflect the past back at us, redefined and through multiple gazes. Like the extravagant Reisener chest of drawers, and Francois Boucher painting which form the room built especially for Queen Victoria which has been superimposed over the unkempt backyard with honeycombed rocks and bush surrounding the decomposing home of the formerly enslaved. Overwhelming disconnect exists between what has been taught and the truths currently being unveiled through re-examination of the documentation of this period. Is the viewer seduced by the architectural grandeur of the manor house and divine Proserpina Fountain or horrified by the termites nest, rotted walls and goats grazing on the parched remains of the small cotton plantation? 

The bafflement of the coexistence of these events in time reflects the pentaprism. Through the exploitation of the enslaved a small few were able to thrive and prosper re-shaping our world, both physically and economically whilst others suffered. Through the pentaprism light is distorted and reflected back as is the past in these prints. This past is further bounced through to the present in some of the images when a capsized Haitian migrant vessel is introduced recalling that the current crisis in Haiti is too a direct result of historical enslavement and environmental eradication.

From The Enslaved House series

Leanne Russell: Upon coming out from the cellar of our destroyed home, 48 hours after the passing of monster Hurricane Dorian in September of 2019, nothing was recognizable; the island where I was born and raised was inexplicably changed. Strangely enough, a month later, I was gifted an archive of photos that documented the impact of the Great Hurricane of 1932 — and our unrecognizable “new reality” became recognizable only in the parallels of the damages on Green Turtle Cay after both storms.

This realization assisted in the creation of the work — and the collection “1932 or 2019” became more than a juxtaposition of traumas, but a layering that transcended time. A dual reality was created in the space between the images, one that was separate but somehow existed simultaneously, and with the later work, “The Things We Inherit”, the concept of lives lived in tandem, at different times, anchored in the same location, was further solidified. The place became the living element, and the people became just an earmark for time.

When speaking about the use of archival layers in my collages, I reference Toni Morrison’s writings about time and how she explains her theory of “rememory, ” a term that she coined in her novel “Beloved”:

“I was talking about time. It`s so hard for me to believe in it. [...] Someday you be walking down the road and you hear something or see something going on. So clear. And you think it`s you thinking it up. A thought picture. But no. It`s when you bump into a rememory that belongs to somebody else.”

Particularly after the hurricane, Morrison’s concept of “rememory” intrigued me, and resonated in the concept of my work: “Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place — the picture of it — stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world. […] even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.”

The vehicle of Rephotography, overlapping archival images of my home, Green Turtle Cay, Abaco, with present-day images, brings light to the untold histories of these spaces, but also, in the vein of Morrison’s theory of “rememory,” harness the memories of others, that still reside in that place. I like the idea of having “bumped into” multiple “rememories” in these places, harnessed them into a tangible reference to share with others, while also leaving my own “rememory” imprint on the space. It has taught me to consider the sacred aspect of even the most mundane spaces.

1932 or 2019: A feeling of relief … (2019), Digital archival photo collage on metal, 18 x 24 in.

The Things We Inherit: The Paper Crown (2020), Digital archival photo collage on metal, 36 x 24 in.

1932 or 2019: Little Maggie Bar (2020), Digital archival photo collage on metal, 18 x 24 in.

CURATOR BIOGRAPHY

Amanda Coulson has worked for three decades as a scholar, critic, curator and cultural producer on both sides of the Atlantic. She has collaborated with artists and institutions, and worked alongside both private and corporate colleagues in the US, Switzerland, Germany, France, Italy, Austria, the UK and various sites in the Caribbean.

ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES

Melissa Alcena: Alcena is Bahamian portrait and documentary photographer based in Nassau, Bahamas. Her work often focuses on shifting the narrative around the Caribbean, and specifically The Bahamas, which is regularly portrayed as a country of shallow luxury, corruption or climate destruction.

Tamika Galanis: Galanis is a documentarian and multimedia visual artist. A Bahamian native, Tamika’s work examines the complexities of living in a place shrouded in tourism’s ideal during the age of climate concerns.

Jodi Minnis: Minnis is a multidisciplinary artist who investigates the intersection of gender, race and culture. Through photography, painting, drawing, sculpture, video and performance, she scrutinizes the traditional representations and tropes around Black, specifically Bahamian women.

Tiffany Smith: Smith is an interdisciplinary artist from the Caribbean diaspora working in photography, video, installation, and design. Using plant matter, design elements, patterning and costuming as cultural signifiers, Smith creates photographic portraits, site responsive installations, user-engaged experiences, and assemblages focused on identity, representation, cultural ambiguity, and displacement.

Lynn Parotti: Parotti is a Bahamian painter who is preoccupied with the environment in all its multifaceted connotations. She has a consuming passion for the natural landscape of the Bahamas where she was born but is equally concerned with the social geography of place; the human experience and relationship to these locations, the historical traces, the economic and environmental impact and consequences.

Leanne Russell: Initially interested in the visual arts, she chose to pursue commercial studies and obtained a Bachelor of Commerce undergrad from St. Mary’s University, Halifax, Nova Scotia in 2002. Returning to Abaco she was reunited with her first love of painting.

Introduction paragraph, bios, and all images courtesy TERN Gallery