These days, two art shows in Washington DC are laden with hot political undertones. One is Jacob Lawrence’s “Migration” series — a brilliant set of works documenting how African-Americans from the south went to the west coast in droves, looking for jobs and freedom. This is at the Philips Gallery.
The second show, about Afghanistan’s “Hidden Treasures”, is at the Smithsonian’s National Gallery of Art.
Many of the works here were hidden away by museum authorities in Kabul when the Taliban became stronger and the destruction of idols and looting began. These were found in the presidential palace. Others were retrieved from tombs and distant cities.
Migration is one of the most contentious issues in the US today. In this debate, several previous waves of migration have changed colour, literally.
African-Americans and their migration are not at the fore any more in the migration discourse; they have been superseded by the waves of luck-seekers from Latin America.
Yet, Lawrences’s paintings are reminders of the inevitability of migration, its organic absorption into society and society’s own resultant change of complexion.
In Lawrence’s highly stylised and colourful paintings, we find crowds of weary migrants standing at railway stations, preparing to leave. His work, deliberately flattened figures devoid of perspective, glances at what some people term Naïve Art — unschooled narratives showing it as it is. Of course, Lawrence is much more sophisticated, and these metaphors are an essential part of his work.
It’s likely Lawrence’s exhibition was never planned with political undertones. His Migration series, split and kept by two owners, was painstakingly united at the Philip’s Collection. The planning was likely undertaken a few years before it was exhibited.
The Afghanistan show, on the other hand, was a thank-you statement from the Afghans to the American people.
In exchange for loaning these riches, Afghanistan received $1 billion. The day I visited it — a weekday morning — there was no place to walk. There was an awed silence and the exhibits brought out a deeply emotional response in many viewers, both because of their history and their fragile beauty. Even I, not unfamiliar with several of the artifacts, could not help being wowed.
When I saw the images of the destroyed Bamiyan Buddhas, I was angry but relieved at the survival of the rest. Many others shared that sense of relief, an emotion that can collectively build support for continuing and intensifying operations in the country. It was the artistic victory of military power.
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