Ghana Studio

Art, Time, Memory and Shaving Cream in West Africa

by Todd Gray

In the fall of 2005 I was invited to show in an exhibition organized by New York University to celebrate their newly opened campus in Accra, Ghana. I flew out, dropped off the work, participated in their visiting artist program and then went off to adventure on my own. After working through my culture shock I started to sync up with the rhythms and pace of the place. It took about a week for this to occur. Afterwards my day to day experience changed appreciatively. I slowed down, made more room for conversation and became less conscious of time.

About two weeks into the trip I discovered the seashore in the western region. I became conscious of how completely at ease I was and witnessed a steady stream of ideas and connections whirling through my head. This was a defining moment. Not only was I experiencing a creative flurry, I was completely open and free about it. Non-judgemental. Also absent was the internal voice commenting on the perpetually changing race: ahead when feeling one way, behind while feeling another. This voice was mute in Ghana, apparently forgot to get on the plane. Another surprise was my lack of concern about the impact these potential ideas might have on my current practice or the disruption of their perceived linear progression. Feeling liberated, I walked on the beach and through the fishing village smiling broadly.

Later that day I went for a swim in the ocean, took a nap and ate freshly caught seafood on the beach while reggae was blaring out of weathered rickety speakers at a Rasta beach bar (many Jamaicans have repatriated here). As I walked away with beer in hand, music fading, overtaken by the crashing waves, I thought to myself, this is it. This is the place. I can make great work here. Completely care free. Los Angeles art culture felt like a distant flickering memory. I was both at peace and full of excitement.

Immediately I went to the rooftop bar of my hotel with my cell phone (better reception in the remote spot I was visiting) to place a call to my love in Los Angeles, Kyungmi, and told her of my plan to buy property and build a studio on the beach. Her reaction: "Have you lost your mind?" I agreed to hold off on acting too hastily when she agreed to make a return visit with me a few months later.

When I got back to LA I became acutely aware of my change in disposition. I didn't feel as competitive or judgemental as I normally do with regard to art issues and other areas important in my reality construct. This lasted about a month. Then my familiar urban neuroses was back in effect.

Kyungmi and I flew to Ghana in January '06 for three weeks to find some property to buy. We returned to the western region and visited many beach communities. She connected with Ghana, and knew that she could also make work here as well. Now we were both crazy. We found some land on the beach, went through a magical mystery tour to find the owner(s) and purchase it, then returned six months later in June to start building our studio. Our friend and architect Ilaria Mazzoleni teaches at So. Cal. Inst. of Architecture and took on the challenge of designing a structure with native materials and techniques -- a cross between a cocoa bean and Richard Serra's torqued ellipse. She came out and helped us build along with 22 local carpenters, masons and laborers.

Since West Africa was the top exporter of slaves to the Americas, and Ghana was a primary departure point I figured that I may have history there although no record of this exists in my family. So here I am returning to the continent my great-great-grandsomebody was plucked from centuries ago. I feel no nostalgia or romance about this though I did reflect often on it on my first visit and went into a funk shortly after touring the slave castles on the coast. Now, however, I can't escape the paradox of an ex-slave returning to the motherland as a prince from the west (our middle class and working class material existence here can only be compared to the lifestyles of the rich and famous in this developing country) and making work that I loosely describe as post-conceptual-neo-primitive (shaken, not stirred). I find myself less interested in objects and more intrigued with ritual, experience and communication while I beat on drums, smear my body with shaving cream, walk my land, throw paint on photographs and make an overall mess of things. Then take a dip in the ocean before making dinner. It's not a bad life.

Published 05/18/2007