Objects Talk Back – serie

A reflection on the reconstruction of the Berlin Palace and its contradictory use as an ethnological museum.Having recently accepted German citizenship, writer and activist Priya Basil explores the Humboldt Forum from a deeply personal perspective. She delves into the question of what such a building, such a project, means for an understanding of the past and for belonging in the present. This much disputed, contested, celebrated monument now exists—but what exactly does it monumentalize? Basil writes, “In German, the word Schloss means a palace, and also a lock. The central question: Can a lock also be a key?”

A narrative of the early modern Indian sculpture known as the Mithuna couple.Meena Kandasamy writes about the Mithuna couple, a seventeenth-century ivory sculpture from Tamil Nadu, India, depicting lovers. Kandasamy unfurls a multi-layered, multi-directional narrative built from images, questions, and contradictions evoked by the sculpture. “How can we look at this work and not talk about who produced it?” Kandasamy asks and then examines how caste and class are carved into the object as indelibly as its physical details. Such knowledge complicates easy associations of love that may be evoked by the couple. Refusing any impulse to idealize or exoticize, Kandasamy connects the carving to personal and political stories that expose painful realities of who gets to love whom, and how. She sets the intimate alongside the institutional to interrogate terms such as decolonize, restitution, and preservation. Through an astonishing stylistic mix, including Twitter, academic discourse, poetry, and memoir, she talks back, forward, and sideways with the object.

An astonishing new narrative of Mandu Yenu, a throne from the ancient Kingdom of Bamum.“Most of the time, it is the power of men that we remember.” With these words, which open Léonora Miano’s text for Objects Talk Back, an astonishing new narrative unfurls around Mandu Yenu, a throne from the ancient Kingdom of Bamum (present day Cameroon). The Germans long claimed the object was a gift from King Njoya to Kaiser Wilhelm II. Miano reads “between the lines of beads and cowrie shells” to show the complex intricacies of colonial and gender relations. Dismissing all pretense of egalitarianism between colonizer and colonized, she hones in on the very nature of power—how and by whom it is defined-wielded-subverted. King Njoya said he “felt like a woman in his relationship with the Germans.” Miano takes this as a prompt to examine contrasting cultural notions of femininity and thus reveals how central women are to the story of the throne. As the very name of the object suggests, it is the power of women we should remember.

Is there an autonomous republic of art that transcends time and place?Canadian writer Madeleine Thien reflects on a fragment of a mural depicting Three Uighur Princes from one of the Bezeklik Caves along the Northern Silk Road, in what is now the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region of China. This most renowned donor portrait of Uighur-Buddhist art was brought to the Berlin museums following the Second German Turfan Expedition (1904–5). Thien responds to its vibrant colors and expressive lines with a literary text, transporting us into the daily lives of the painters who adorned the caves with strikingly lifelike murals in the tenth century.

A personal reflection on fragmentation, language, and place.Following one of the Turfan archaeological expeditions in the early 1900s, a fragment of a Manichaean text written in Uighur and Old Turkic found its way to the Asian Art Museum in Berlin. Originating from the Northern Silk Road region (now the Xinjiang Uighur Region in China), these “loose leaves” became a source of inspiration for Rawi Hage. Hage writes, “I was born near Byblos in Lebanon. The ancient city of Byblos is believed to be the place where the first alphabet was invented.” Encountering this rare and precious manuscript, with its layered and multicolored words, Hage reflects on the movement, uprooting, displacement, and migration of both objects and people.

In Whiti Hereaka’s new fiction collection, a single comb becomes a universe of stories.Drawing inspiration from a seemingly simple comb, or heru, this new text by Whiti Heraka comes in nine sections, “a part for each tooth, and a part for each space between them.” The parts tell stories of love, loss, and longing: tales of whales whose bones were used to make objects, of a carver creating a comb, of Maori gods and the power of women, of colonial whalers fishing their prey almost to extinction in the South Pacific, of a writer who cuts her hair and moves across worlds, weaving connections. Hereaka unfurls a stunning cosmology around the heru, combing with it through time and space to make “stories of ocean blue, blood red, bone white.”