Three primitive elements that articulate the discourse in this project. Project- protest, where, from the recognition of the African woman comes the demand in the form of the final piece (the installation). This discourse is materialised in pieces based on paint on paper, video-installation, photographic series and the final installation. It was shown in two solo exhibitions in 2009 and 2010.
“Water as humidity, a necessary condition for the Earth to be fertile, where the rays of the sun are materialized (fire), an ascending path for the humidity to reach the sky. That is where the god of the water Amma lives and it is he who will descend to make the Earth fertile. The stars were made out of clay. The Earth was also modelled out of clay and was given life by the water granted by the god Amma. That is its vital force. This force is in the blood, in the stones, in the rivers, and on the pathways because humidity is everywhere. It is also the woman’s condition to procreate. Woman symbolized by her womb, the womb converted into an object, the vessel. Thus Amma created the universe like a potter: so the vessel, as a womb becomes the symbol of the universe.”
Marcel Griaule, Dios de agua
“Yesterday I painted on the dunes at sunset. I was alone. Fussein was dozing at a prudent distance. Some way off, groups of men were lying on the sand talking and laughing. A boy-man was studying out loud. His voice sounded like a prayer. In front of me, a red track crossed the ochre coloured sand of the desert like a gash. Along it walked women and children with vessels on their heads. Sometimes, there were camels. From time to time, a car lifted a white cloud of dust that blotted out the distances and outlined the contours. I like their silhouettes on the diffused landscape. Woman remains and the earth disappears. Here, when the Harmattan blows the earth almost becomes one with the atmosphere. The dust rises and colonizes the air. The earth flies. The air is earth. Woman is covered in sand. Woman is earth. Around me, I could hear the deep, muffled, voices of the men talking on the dune.”
Pilar Millán, Timbuktu, January 2008
“Pottery was born in the forge. The blacksmith’s wife set out to dry in the sun a bowl she had moulded to resemble the shape of the spheres of the bellows. But she thought that it wasn’t hardening quickly enough so she put the objet close to the fire. Thus, she observed that the clay was fired and hardened and, from then on, she put all the bowls she moulded onto the fire.”
Griaule Marcel, Dios de agua