About halfway through our conversation, visual artist Sabi John makes a case for abstract art; “there’s a lot of Tanzania’s history and culture that cannot be depicted through realism, like our true emotions about our history and culture. If you are only painting things that you can see, you miss out on a lot of our culture that can’t be physically seen” While contemporary Tanzanian visual artists have more readily embraced abstract forms of art, the majority of Tanzanian art canon remains predominantly realist. In 2019 Sabi John moved from Arusha to Dar es Salaam to work as a visual artist at Nafasi Art Space, an Academy for Contemporary Art. In five years, she has had two solo exhibitions, numerous group shows in and out of the country, and has cultivated another skill-set in art curation. Sabi has also grown up in those five years. Naturally, time has given her the experiences and space to know herself deeply, which has been essential for her evolution as an artist. “Sometimes we pick professions and we don’t realise how much they will force us to engage with people and the world,” she starts before adding, “but I feel far more confident in my work now that I know how I want to share my art practice with the world.” For her, this art practice takes the form of abstract visual art anchored on her emotional response to her internal state, the communities around her, and the ideas important to them. In this conversation she delves deeper into that practice, offering insight into research, process, and presentation of her work.
What came first for you, curating or pursuing visual art?
I started as an artist; you can’t start as a curator before being an artist.
Are all curators also visual artists?
Yeah, because you usually start by making art and sharing your practice, and then after that, you take a course and learn about curating. But even without taking a course, you must learn how to curate because, eventually, artists often have to curate their shows. But I was an artist first.
When did you decide that you wanted to be a working artist?
I decided after realising that there are so many people who value art. They value it too much for it just to be a side gig. I’m from a family where most people have conventional careers. Art and journalism are not considered important careers. But I studied art as a subject, and then fine arts. All of my professors have gone beyond sharing their art knowledge to create their art, which earns them a lot of money. So, the decision was never a big challenge for me. I decided I was going to be an artist the same way people decide that they are going to be a doctor or a pilot.
You had a solo exhibition recently titled ‘Emerged From My Slumber Way Too Early’ that featured a lot of the colour red. Why red? And what does red mean to you or the exhibition?
So, most painters avoid red because it’s too bright. They want to be minimal and stick to browns, blacks, and greens. There was a time when earth tones were on trend and most people, including myself, avoided bright colours. So, I began by researching why people avoided red specifically and I found out that there were several stereotypes associated with red. These are things like witchcraft, especially in African cultures. It was spoken about as a demonic colour. I wanted to challenge this stereotype and treat red as any other colour. In my exhibition, there’s a collection of paintings called “What’s with the colour red?” As if to say there’s nothing wrong with it. To me, red is a beautiful and powerful colour. Our blood is red, it symbolises life.
In the curatorial text, you mention that the exhibition is a reflection of your emotional and mental state. How does it feel to give audiences an insight into your internal life? Do you enjoy sharing that part of yourself or does it feel a little like we are reading your diary?
I felt that way during my first exhibition in 2021. I called it “The Quiet Mind,” and it felt vulnerable. That exhibition came with so much positivity, but it also came with people who thought, “Wow, you’re crazy.” Some people even called me names after that. So, I waited for two years to have another exhibition because I was trying to find the courage to be able to speak about things without being fazed by people’s responses. Also, I was collecting ideas. My art is not only about me. I pick up ideas from conversations with friends and even strangers, and I collect concepts that affect the communities I am a part of. “Emerged From My Slumber Too Early,” is a reflection of my creative world, and the things that I have absorbed over the last few years. The title itself was referencing me waiting too long to find whatever I wanted to showcase at the exhibition.
I would have thought that the title was referencing you not taking long enough because you emerged “too early?”
I’m using “too early,” as a metaphor for me waking up from something that most people are still afraid of. I don’t want to say that I want to be an inspiration to people, but I think many artists in our country are far more comfortable with doing realistic paintings of things like nature and landscapes. So, when you have an exhibition that is what people expect to see. I’m trying to challenge people around me to embrace being abstract. The title speaks to me feeling like everybody’s putting their heads down about certain concepts, but I’ve seen something else we can do and I want to try that instead. I know the fear with abstract and contemporary art is because we feel like no one will understand it, and I get it, we all want to be understood. But everybody will get whatever they get from it. It’s not about a collective of 100 people coming at once and being like, “Yes, we love your art.” As long as at least one person is moved by it, then it has made its impact.
You feature masks quite a bit in the exhibition, what drove that choice?
I have so much love for African masks. I’ve travelled to different countries in Africa and I’ve seen how similar we are through our use of masks. There’s a Culture Centre in Mwenge that has so many masks, and I often visit just to see them. I had a chance to speak to the people selling them and they shared that they collect them from various villages and then come to sell them here in Dar es Salaam. It frustrates me that they are being sold because they’re supposed to be in museums for future generations to see instead of in the hands of private buyers who will take them away from their homes. And you know, religion has played a huge role in how we view our culture because a lot of the sellers said they found them to be ugly and demonic. And just like with the colour red I wanted to change that. Also, on a personal level, there is a part of me that is still hesitant to fully show up in public. I always mask when I’m working in certain spaces so that it’s easier to blend in in that space. So, it just made sense for me to include masks in these paintings.
You mentioned the area in Mwenge but I wonder if there are other areas in Dar es Salaam you have unexpectedly found to be sites where art happens?
I recently went to Ununio Beach, near Baharu Beach and I found this rasta land with art collectors. There’s another one in Masaki but this one specifically has a space where they sell things, but they also collect art. I saw some art from an artist I know from Zanzibar, which I thought was beautiful.
I love that, I think our perception of art collecting can be narrow. We often imagine it to be an elitist practice but I love confirmation that it does not have to be.
Absolutely, and this area is just outside so it’s accessible to locals and tourists alike. It’s just beautiful, especially for me as a collector myself, I was so impressed to see so many artists’ works in their collection.
Have you got a routine?
Yes, I need one. You know, I’m not just painting because I love to paint. I love to paint, but I have also decided that I want to push my art far, so I need to have a schedule if I’m going to meet my goals. Before, I used to only paint when I felt like I had an idea, but now I make sure I always have canvases ready in the art corner of my house. Seeing empty canvases invites me to want to fill them up with colour. I am also always sketching, and coming up with themes for my sketches. I’ve moved from telling stories with one canvas, these days I like to use several canvases for my storytelling.
I come from a writing background where we have editors, how do you edit your work as a painter? Do you self-edit or is there someone to show your sketches and paintings?
So, for us painters, we have critics. Before an exhibition, you have walk-in gallery visits. As you put together the exhibition, you invite people who will browse through what you’ve done so far and ask questions about intention, technique, or anything else that might come up. And those conversations that you have in the gallery walk-in help you shape and refine the rest of the pieces that will be included in the show.
Who are some of the critics that you trust to be part of your walk-ins?
My sister. She is my biggest critic because she’s not an artist so she’s able to be honest with me when something doesn’t make any sense. I trust her voice because most of the people that will view my exhibitions won’t be artists and I want to reach those people. My house is my studio now so sometimes I’ll invite her to visit and figure out how to ask her to look at my art [laughs]. But also, here at Nafasi Art Space, we have a team dedicated to helping artists realize their vision so I use that help too.
Are there other Tanzanian artists that you call on for help?
Yes, before I had this exhibition, I invited Gadi Ramadhani to my studio a couple of times. We talked a lot about the pieces and what I was trying to do and he gave me his views. You know, he has been in this industry for a while, so I trust his opinion.
When I look at the bulk of your work, I notice that you use different painting styles. Are you fussed about having a signature style? Do you care for people to see a piece and recognize it as a Sabi piece of art?
The funny thing is, a few people have already noticed my art in places. I don’t know if that counts, but if it does then I guess I already have a signature and I can build on whatever I’m doing right now instinctively.
But does it matter to you?
It doesn’t really, but it’s good that it doesn’t matter to me. I think if it did, then I would lose focus on whatever I’m doing right now. I just want to focus on translating my ideas into art and sharing it. I’ll find my style in the process of doing that, however long it takes. I meet so many much older artists, only realising what their style is later in their careers. I want to focus on enjoying the process and bringing art to the table authentically. Especially because I’m not an experienced artist, I’m doing all of this for the first time.
I appreciate spaces like Nafasi because it seems to me that artists of all levels can exhibit their work here. I think we’re often told we need to be experts at something before we can share it with people, which can be stifling for budding artists.
Yeah, because there are so many people here in Tanzania who make art just for themselves, which is needed. Because in other spaces, and my experience abroad, there’s a lot of pressure to be a certain way before you can exhibit and sometimes it makes artists conform to a gallery’s voice, instead of their own. I appreciate that the philosophy around spaces like these is just, “You have a passion, and you want to share it so tell us about your work and we can see how to help you.” You don’t have to be anything other than yourself before you get that opportunity.
About Author
Karen Chalamilla is a researcher and writer based in Dar es Salaam, with a keen interest in African art and (pop)culture. Her work explores art in all its forms, against political and identity considerations including race, gender, sexuality, and class.