Toni Sanon
http://arc.psu.edu/news-events/blog Ghetto Biennale, Louko and Me: Reflections on a Revolution From December 12-19, I participated in Ghetto Biennale, an artists’ conference held in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. The conference was an experiment of sorts as artists and scholars from all over the world came together to collaborate and create. The entire city was our atelier. The inspiration and driving force behind the conference was a group of artists who lived and worked in an area called Grand Rue in downtown Port-Au-Prince. The area is filled with the sights and sounds of men and women hard at work, squeezing a living out of almost nothing. It is a cacophony of activity. Street vendors pedal everything from lottery tickets to telephone calls. Men construct everything from spiral staircases to coffins. Women sell pepe (secondhand clothing), small bags of laundry detergent, cans of condensed milk, imported apples. Amongst all of this activity, just a short distance from the main road and presided over by Bawon Samdi, lwa (god) of the dead, is an amazing space where a violent and beautiful creativity has taken root. The Grand Rue artists led by André Eugene and Celeur Jean Hérard, create works of art from largely American detritus. They have been creating art for years and exhibiting their works internationally. The artists who are also part of the collective, Ronald Bazile aka Cheby and Destimare Pierre Isnel aka Louko as well as the young children of the area use their art to comment on globalism, spirituality, life and death, politics and progress. Almost every day during my time in Haiti I visited Grand Rue to see the artwork as it progressed. I witnessed people from the community who were curious about what was going on wander in and listen and look. I witnessed others wander in and pick up tools, eager to join in the process. Everyone was welcome. While there I took the opportunity to interview one of the artists whose work I admired. His life-size metal sculpture of Gran Brijit, the lwa of the dead and wife of Bawon Samdi, sat out on the curb, surveying the passersby as they went about their daily existence. Louko, as he is known, readily agreed to an interview. He patiently explained his inspiration and his process to me, taking me through the space and pointing out aspects of the work that would have otherwise escaped me. What came through most during the time that I spent with him was his passion for his art and for his community. He saw spirit in everything that he did. Spirit was him and he was spirit; the two could not be divided. On December 16th the art that people had been working so hard on was revealed to the world. The atmosphere was like one big party that began in the afternoon and continued well into the evening despite the absence of electricity. As everyone stood around chatting with in an array of different languages, some young men grabbed drums that had been used in an earlier performance and treated us to amazing drumming session. An elderly gentleman found a metal bowl and joined in keeping time with the infectious rhythms. This was not the space for prepared presentations. On the last day of the conference, those of us who were there as scholars were charged with the herculean task of contextualizing what we had seen, heard and experienced. We were encouraged to work with one or two artists to come up with a panel. My obvious choice was Louko. I said a bit about the role of nature and spirit as integral to the work of the Grand Rue artists, and to Louko in particular. I then turned the microphone over to him. Everyone in the packed audience of the auditorium of FOKAL (La Fondation Connaissance et Liberté), got a glimpse into Louko’s passion and commitment to the creation of art that had so moved me. I am grateful to the organizers of the Ghetto Biennale conference for creating a space for such exchanges to take place. I am grateful to Penn State University and the Africana Research Center for supporting my participation in such an innovative gathering. I am eternally grateful to Louko for sharing himself and his art with me. My life will never be the same. Postscript: The morning after the conference I was scheduled to depart for New York. The night before, as we all celebrated the conference’s success, Louko had told that he wanted to make me gift of his art before I left. However, in the frenzy of packing and repacking everything to head home, I was unable to make it down to Grand Rue the next morning. Fortunately, when I arrived at the airport, I saw Louko. He was disappointed that I hadn’t come down to get my gift. I was disappointed as well, but assured him and myself that I would be back soon, perhaps in February for Carnival and if not then, definitely in the summer. We would see each other then. He nodded, gave me a big hug and we went on with our lives. Three weeks after I got back to State College, Haiti was hit by a devastating earthquake. I sat for days glued to the television watching in disbelief as places where I had spent so much time were reduced to a mass of rubble that I did not recognize. Immediately, the communities to which I have belonged for years as well as the newly found one of artists and scholars who had participated in the Ghetto Biennale kicked into high gear. We shared whatever information was coming through. The latter community was how I learned that Louko, such a talented artist and someone whom I now considered my friend, had perished in the quake. My heart was broken. It remains broken. Nonetheless, I am grateful, will always be grateful that I was privileged to know him. His art and his spirit live on.
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