"East of Nowhere II"

  Continued praise for the insights in Edward Said’s book ‘Orientalism’, is well deserved not just because of the pressing relevance of his thesis, but also because his rivals eventually proved him right. Bernard Lewis, perhaps his most vehement adversary, joined Bush’s team of experts in the march into a war with Iraq (2003) on the presumption that there would have been little Arab resistance to an American invasion. We all know what happened as a result. Though hardly intended as gospel at the time, Said’s arguments were formulated thirty years ago at a specific point in contemporary history; before the collapse of the USSR and before the economic development of China and other Asian countries, when the cultural consciousness of his opponents was being shaped by makeshift ideologists who considered themselves cultural experts. Today ‘orientalist’ influences are much subtler. Decades earlier Said warned of the West’s condescending attitudes towards the helpless ‘Orientals’ (“paralysed children”). Now we find there are plenty of NGOs (the likes of which did not exist as he was writing his groundbreaking book) to take care of those ‘paralysed children’. Generally speaking, the ‘Orient’ is becoming less and less ‘oriental’ and scarcely ‘exotic’. Many cities, which in Said’s time were still connected to the idea of an ‘immortal Asia’, have been swept away and replaced by anonymously modern, technologically advanced cities, such as Singapore, Bangkok, and Hong Kong. The ‘mysterious East’, which focused our Western visual understanding of orientalism, no longer exists or is surely disappearing; cashed in for tourist gimmicks, such as an ‘old Silk Road’, which help to sell tours, souvenirs, books, films, and even art exhibitions. Their influence over Western consciousness is so powerful that publishers, news media, and exhibition organizers alike have systematically imposed them from above and in a couple of instances, I must confess, even I have conceded to using them. Everything ‘along the Silk Road’ typically appears under this grand and authenticating semantic protectorate: ‘Silk Road textiles’, ‘Silk Road art’, perhaps even ‘Silk Road oil’, which of course is yet to be exploited. As we know, this term is modern, beginning at the end of the 19th century, and an actual ‘road’ is merely a cultural mirage. Instead, there are hundreds of roads leading more or less east to west and vice versa from western most points on the globe towards China or at least as far as Bukhara and Samarkand. The most celebrated section of this ‘ancient silk route’, from Kashgar to Xian in present-day China, was full of villages and cities that have since been swallowed up by the ogres of modern intervention and contamination of every kind. Human populations have been displaced and even in the best case scenarios are surrounded by ‘historical sites’ that double as amusement parks; complete with fibre glass camels while the real ones sleepily tug along middle aged ‘Silk Road tourists’ on expensively priced ‘ancient wagons’.

  All these ‘silk routes’ throughout Central Asia intersect two significant political realities: the post-Soviet economic disaster affecting many regions of the five newly formed republics and the paranoia of their leaders, such as Turkmenbashi. Of course, it is still possible to be pleasantly surprised along the way as long as you are prepared to go well ‘off the beaten track’. Especially unknown to tourists is the adventurous path of Central Asian contemporary art, which embraces the very experience of travel without being in the least bit interested in tourism itself. Travelling as a theme has inspired brilliant work, such as ‘Noah’s Ark’ by Said Atabekov, where a ‘sorry-state dervish’ (as art critic Valeria Ibraeva once wrote) is seen traipsing through a desolate steppe that is littered with derelict Soviet factories. The notion of travel is also central to many of Moldakul’s paintings, depicting disused power generators alongside camels in abandoned oil fields. In the background there is often a man riding a donkey in a pose that is somewhat reminiscent of some painterly representations of Roman ruins from the 18th century. Sculptor, Georgy Tryakin-Bukharov makes horses out of object trouvee (discarded objects) that have become extraordinary monuments to what has occurred both socially and politically along this new ‘Silk Way’. Evoking the Central Asian steppe on a journey through time and memory, artist Almagul Menlibaeva has managed to establish her own kind of myth making. For many of these artists their ‘spiritual journey’ is carried out in costume: dervish garb in Atabekov’s case and the body itself in Menlibaeva’s work. Her characteristically naked female figures are paradoxically disguised, connecting both artist and subject to their mythical past.

  These and other Central Asian artists demonstrate a powerfully unique creative energy that seems to originate from their profound relationship with history and heritage. Of course, their interpretations are ideological and often poetic, since none of them are actually living as nomads (at least nomadizing from one Biennal to another). Nonetheless, their individual expressions reflect the enduring dynamism of nomadic life and culture. Many of them prefer the intensity and repetitive action potential of video as their medium, and it is interesting to note the differences with other kinds of contemporary Asian art. While many Pakistani artists, for instance, have chosen to rework the protracted and painstaking art form of miniature painting, their Central Asian counterparts have applied the immediacy and theatrics of performance. When Pakistani artists design installations their methods are often meticulously detailed, such as the sculptural pieces produced by Adeela Suleman. By comparison, a remarkable installation by Erbosyn Menlibekov entitled ‘Oriental Hospitality’ is accompanied by a short, sharp and fast-moving film in which the artist is slapped repeatedly by an anonymous and invisible ‘big brother’ interrogator. So why do I consider all this to be ‘east of nowhere’? I happen to come from an old city in an old Europe, where an old adage ‘all roads lead to Rome’ still rings true at least personally, but is no longer relevant in the ‘hyper-cyber’ new world we are creating. After thirty years of travel throughout Asia I feel myself ‘east of nowhere’ as I contemplate, over a good Toscano cigar and a green tea, that the usual cultural hierarchies have disappeared. In accordance with Said, it is evermore important to scrutinize those Western perspectives that continue in their arrogant and ridiculous hypocrisy to behave in neo-colonialist ways. It seems to me that both East and West would do well to realize just how much their ideas and image making are being irrevocably manipulated. The consequences of war in Iraq and Afghanistan should encourage even the most ardent Western commentators to climb down from their cultural and political pedestals.

  I also come from a generation that tried to find its spiritual path in Asia, seeking that ‘purer’ existence which seemed to have disappeared in the West. Today a new Asian materialism has predictably eroded the perceived supremacy of this Eastern panacea. Of course, no place holds the secrets to spirituality, just as none can guarantee material success. And yet both East and West furiously race towards a presumed psychological and economic Nirvana. The collapse of the USSR, which referred to this school of thought as ‘historical materialism’, has left the field wide open for a materialism that is no longer bound by history. To be ‘east of nowhere’ means to be firmly positioned in political incorrectness, especially regarding neo-colonialism and its complementary neo-victimization, which relinquishes all responsibility.  In terms of these Asian artists, the alibis were exhausted long ago. But what is most important and what I find most fascinating in the best examples from Central Asia, Pakistan, India, and China, is the fortunate and growing awareness that it is impossible to remain naïve or detached in a troubled world. In contemporary Asian art, particularly from Central Asia, the recovery of ‘orientalism’ in many ways holds the paradox of being ‘east of nowhere’. Refreshingly, it is boldly critical of its own perceptions, while allowing itself to be ‘colonized’ without too much anguish by Western languages (and the Western market). The revival of an ‘exoticism’ that is fully aware and often satiric opens up extraordinary possibilities for what ultimately cannot be learned in any art school.

Enrico Mascelloni, Italia

back

©SCCA 2001-2002