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Mutual Surrender by Brendan Fernandes
Truck
Friday, February 20 - Thursday, March 26

More in: Visual Arts

Tourism is a prefabricated quest for authenticity. Through advertising, travel guides and other forms of cultural representation, the tourist industry labels, assembles and packages cultures so they can be easily consumed by western tourists. Oftentimes, these “cultural packages” are composed of neatly structured stereotypes that distinguish other cultures as exotic or primitive — they become the image of the ultimate visual escape.

In Mutual Surrender, the current exhibition at Truck, artist Brendan Fernandes challenges the cultural identity assumptions of western society. His work juxtaposes stereotypical representations of Africa with symbols of western culture to critique projections of “primitive tribes” and African safaris as genuine experiences. As a Kenyan-born Canadian of Indian heritage who currently resides in New York, Fernandes’s cultural identity is complex and constantly in flux. His work is personal but can be read subjectively, instigating dialogue on post-colonial issues of cultural identity and tourism.

Cozy images of campfires and roasting marshmallows enter one’s mind as the low crackling sound of a burning fire emanates from the gallery. Inside the space, a triad of camouflaged sniper tents sit in a triangle formation. As the viewer enters the villiage-like setup of Nyumba ata Choma — meaning “The House Will Burn” in Swahili — comfort is transformed into unsettling apprehension. Each tent contains a video monitor that displays a static image of burning ivory overlaying a video of a domestic fireplace. The crackling of burning wood becomes symbolic of cracking bones as the imperiled viewer stands within the triangle of sniper’s tents, a glimpse of Kenya’s violent political history.

In 1989, the same year Fernandes’s family moved from Kenya to Canada, Kenyan president Daniel arap Moi ignited 12 tons of tusks as a political statement against the poaching of elephants. The $3 million ivory pyre was a brief international spectacle, but did not gain as much international aid or media attention as intended. This work references the violence and political instability in Africa, but also highlights the lack of concern for Africa in global politics.

The video work, Aya Mama, is projected on the far left wall. The sonorous chanting of Masai men engaged in “traditional” tribal rituals is juxtaposed with a New York fashion show with tall white female models moving slowly down the runway. Looking closer at the “primitive” Africans, wristwatches and other indicators suggest that this tribal ritual is merely a cultural performance. The tall, thin black men gaze back at the viewer, unwilling to be passive spectacle. In contrast, the New York models do not make eye contact, they are an empty void, a body that is readily consumed by the viewer.

Fernandes’s voice plays over the video, reading a letter dedicated to his childhood nanny and his Kenyan homeland. He expresses his fear of returning to his birth country; he is afraid of what he has become. This work reveals feelings of displacement and the loss of culture and language that occurs with immigration.

On the wall opposite the gallery entrance, a flat screen monitor displays the video homecoming. The video depicts lions, bellowing low growls, while the subtitles “go home” appear at the bottom of the screen. Lions make this call to regroup their pride early in the morning. The call essentially translates to “come home,” but Fernandes plays with ideas of language, translation and interpretation to ask what it means to “go home.” However, this message might be lost to a viewer who does not know the context of the work. After having the invasive act of viewing exposed and turned back upon the viewer, the already uncomfortable gallery setting becomes ridden with slight feelings of guilt and anxiety. As the lions growl into the headphones hugged tightly to one’s ears, the call to “go home” is more personal and almost commands withdrawal. The spectator is then left to walk back through the burning sniper tent village out to the snowy Canadian sidewalk.