“Bush Spirit” © D. Yael Bernhard
Here’s a painting I did in 1990, from the depths of my immersion in African art and culture. In my early years of learning African dance and drumming, I cast a wide net, studying with teachers from countries all along the west coast of that vast and mysterious continent, from Senegal to Ghana to Cameroon to Congo. Each region had its own distinctive style of music, dance, and sculpture. At the same time, there’s a common thread that runs through them all. Ancestral worship, animist beliefs, bold visual forms, and dynamic polyrhythms express the shared sensibilities of these ancient, tribal cultures. I loved them all, and steeped myself in their art forms as much as I could. For almost a decade I was fortunate to study with some excellent dance teachers from the Congo, where the deep jungle gives birth to songs as exotic as the birds that live there, and movements so fluid that my lithe-bodied teachers appeared to have no bones in their bodies. It was from this part of Africa that I drew inspiration for this painting.
Like most Westerners, I was deeply intrigued by the African bush – that impenetrable wilderness of tropical rainforests, tangled brush, and uncharted grasslands. Anything could be imagined in these landscapes. My African acquaintances spoke of ancestral spirits that hid among the lush foliage, or lurked in forest pools. In my mind’s eye, this image began to form – a weaving of interlocking rhythm streams, radiating outward in a swastika-like pattern from a mask-like face. Instead of leaves, I drew patterns representing the rhythms of the Congo, with spirits and creatures crouching among them.
How can a rhythm be visual? After all, it’s made of sound. But to the African mind, a rhythm is an invisible web made up of many strands that exist whether they’re articulated or not – like a cat’s cradle design, or perhaps a molecule, or even an atom. To play a part in a polyrhythm is merely to give voice to something that’s already there. Dance movements are an expression of the same thing. They don’t see these forms as separate.
The painting measures 22”x30”, taking up a full sheet of cold-press watercolor paper, my surface of choice at the time. The only black is the central face, and the lines separating the wavy streams of rhythm. Flat, solid color was used to maximize contrast with this black, and the white channels of bare paper woven throughout.
I never did make it to Congo, but I remember a night in the Fouta Djalon mountains of Guinea, West Africa, when I wandered under a full moon down a scrubby slope behind a hotel of decaying French decor where I was staying. The valley fell away before me toward a distant dirt road, where market-bound people walked with large bundles on their heads every morning. The cooing sounds of the night thrilled me, and I laid down on the earth with my feet uphill. Thank goodness nothing bit me that night in the African bush. I did contract malaria on a previous trip to Senegal, but ironically, that happened in the capital city, Dakar.
Soon after I finished Bush Spirit, a friend who was in medical school at the time bought it, and off the painting went to Illinois. I love it when my art goes to people I know; it’s rather like having a brainchild adopted into a loving home. I’m curious to know if my friend still has the painting, and what impression it made on her children as they grew up around this face that stared out at them from this strange visual weaving. Maybe it’s time to reach out and rekindle our connection.
A good week to all!
D. Yael Bernhard
https://dyaelbernhard.com
Have you seen my other Substack, The Art of Health? In addition to being a visual artist, I’m also a certified integrative health & nutrition coach with a lifelong passion for natural food cooking and herbal medicine. Now in its second year, this illustrated newsletter explores cutting-edge concepts of nutrition. I strive to make relevant information clear and accessible, and to anchor essential health concepts in unique images. Check it out, and if you like it, please subscribe and help spread the word. Your support keeps my work going!