The Yoruba and The interrelationship of "style" and material is revealed when we examine the formal differences between Yoruba woodcarving and Yoruba metalwork. The lost-wax casting process is principally an "additive" technique. In the first stage, strings of beeswax are carefully built up and freely hand shaped into a delicate wax original that is, shaping for the fire. At first glance, the figurative elements of the metalwork look remarkably different from wood sculpture. The additive method used to create, for example, the Yoruba cast-metal staves--such as the Iwana Ogun or chief blacksmith's symbolic poker (right), results in figures that look very fluid, carefully joined, and ornamental. The subtractive processes of woodcarving render a more direct form, with an unambiguous sense of volume and line, as in the Ogo Elegba or dance wand for Eshu-Elegba(left). Yet in both wood and metal, we can still recognize a distinctly Yoruba treatment of the eyes and nose, the same static posture and formal gesture, and the same relative body proportions that are the basis of the Yoruba style. The extraordinary individuality, movement, and spontaneity of the cast sculpture is revealed to be partially related to the technique used to create it.
Each medium has its own set of formal possibilities and physical restrictions within which the artist must create. The process not only affects the final form but establishes criteria that the artist may use to evaluate the technical success or failure of a piece. For example, the contemporary eastern Yoruba carver, Lamidi Fakeye, once commented that when the second stage of a four-part process (aletunle, or breaking down the larger forms into smaller ones) of carving is slighted, the sculpture will inevitably lack clarity and definition. However, this quality is not as highly valued by western Yoruba carvers, who work primarily in two stages and produce a more rounded looking sculpture that lacks a strong suggestion of an underlying formal geometry.
We know that Yoruba and Akan carvers and casters are usually apprenticed
to a master craftsman for many years before they are considered capable
of undertaking a commission completely on their own. Even then, a
carver might continue to consult his teacher, especially when confronted
with a difficult commission. Such a lengthy period of formal training
undoubtedly has a stabilizing effect on an artist's style, regardless of
the medium in which he creates. Artists are also compelled by their
society to craft objects that accurately portray and reinforce specific
core values and beliefs. The artist must blend his own creative desires
with the dictates of social and ritual conventions. For example, a
specific wood might be mandatory, or the use of a specific set of
symbols, colors, and forms might be required. If the final form did not
adhere to these guidelines, it would fail in its primary role to
celebrate the gods and
to bolster the status and power of the artist's patron.
First and foremost then, Yoruba and Akan art was made to be used. The artist gives birth to an object, yet once he has put it before the public, the work will continue to change and formally evolve. There is a "call and response" implicit in all functional art that requires us to be acutely familiar with an object's history and relevant traditions if we are to understand its cultural power and the meaning behind its present form. Most Akan and Yoruba objects of value are consecrated shortly after being created and stored in a shrine when not being openly handled. Shrines are the residence, or "face," of a spirit or deity. Here objects are protected, and even empowered, by association with the supernatural forces that infuse the location. Priests and members of the household regularly visit the shrine to say prayers and make offerings of food and drink.
This daily pattern of interaction
plays a significant role in determining the final look and character of
Yoruba and Akan artwork. Ritual consecration, customs of handling, and
special modes of decoration can radically modify an object's appearance.
The Asante carve stools in soft, white wood. They are kept white by
regular washing. Gradually, vigorous scrubbing and constant use wear
down the surface and necessitate repairs. After the owner dies,
however, his favorite stool would be ritually blackened,
ornamented with charms, and transformed into a religious icon through
which the living can communicate with their lineage of ancestors.
The incidence of twinning and infant mortality are unusually high among the Yoruba, and twins are thought to possess unusual powers that must be respected by their parents. Shrines will frequently have bowls containing small male and female carvings of deceased twins (ere Ibeji) sitting on the altar. When one or both twins die, a substitute figure is commissioned upon consultation with a diviner. A sculptor will carve a generalized, recognizably mature figure with the facial scarification of the lineage. Often this figure will leave the carver's hand with the delicate faceting of tool marks still showing as an indication of the carver's masterful sense of balance and technical skill. Yet, as the figure is bathed, scrubbed, oiled, decorated, and fed, it begins to acquire a different character. Use bestows upon it an "affecting presence" that makes it look more and more like the earthly reservoir for a cherished family spirit that it was intended to be. Cosmetics such as blue indigo powder and red camwood are rubbed over portions of many figures. Beads, cowries, bangles, gowns, and caps are also common additions.
Sango, and Ogun, and certain
hunting and war masks. Thus, like a fine antique, a sculpture's formal
evolution does not come to a halt when it leaves the hand of the carver.
Society and owner leave their mark. Like any revered and well-used
object, it will gradually acquire an expanded sphere of associations and
a heightened sense of place. Yet, the owner will sell, destroy, or
replace a carving that has outlived its purpose or has been badly
damaged. Outside of its context, a sculpture will have almost no
independent aesthetic value for its users. We may appreciate the
technical mastery of the artists, but function gave these artworks their
value and meaning to the Yoruba and Akan who owned and commissioned
them.
