By Lekan Balogun
As noted by Kabali-Kagwa, Fleishman reminds us of our relationship to tradition as a means to (re)acquaint ourselves with other ways of interpreting a work of art ; that is, from the lens of a culture other than the one in which the work was produced. For certain, the Yoruba idea of art, performance and aesthetics, is one perspective that is useful to examine the cultural and political content of the production’s symbolism. Staged in three-parts that are demarcated or named after the characters: Ismene, Antigone and Tiresias, Antigone (not quite/quite) presents bodies in space and time, and conveys a deep sense of imagination and mytho-aesthetic. Deploying meta-textual resources to probe history, he presents what amounts to a historiographical account of the country even though the production echoes its Greek sources. While that attachment is done through the re-inscription of classical tragedy without its principles or unities, it nonetheless remains a universe of meaning produced from an African/local resource. Hence, while the production pays homage to Greek tragedy through its three-part structure or the ternary, it can as well be understood from the lens of the Edan Ògbóni, in its metaphor for the rhythm of life and as a semiotic device that embodies community, as well as the essence and timelessness of being.
Ordinarily the ternary is peculiarly Greek. Or so it seems. But, it is also possible to argue that the ternary has a universal origin. In Yorubaland/Africa where art and spirituality are intertwined, where both are located on the same “performative continuum,” an appraisal of Antigone (not quite/quiet) from such a lens will show that the impulse that drives the production transcends the simple manipulation of tools to give meaning to new ideas or reformulate the old ones in order for them to appeal to new audiences. As Babatunde Lawal explains, such a creative process involves ìmò (mastery of time-honoured conventions), ìmòòṣe (technical proficiency) and ojúìmò (lit, “artistic eye”) or visual cognition that allow for selection and the processing of images/thought from daily experiences into schema or templates, upon which is imposed a style of creativity. Antigone (not quite/quiet) shows that Fleishman possesses these qualities and demonstrates how an artistes’ creative sensibility can engage with both the physical and the (meta)physical dimensions of the performance arena. He also combines imagery with memory, vocal rendition with choreographic beauty, in order to show that Antigone (not quite/quiet) can be considered to be an àwòrán, a generic term for any artistic representation in two or three dimensions, and that it is also mnemonic in nature. According to Lawal, works of art as àwòrán are a construct specifically crafted to appeal to the eyes, relate a representation to its subject and convey messages that have aesthetic, social, political and/or spiritual significance. It is all these I have termed the “spectacular” in the production.
Critical reflection on the play’s three characters—another of the ternary— shows how this “spectacular” representation is artistically woven. Ismene begins on behalf of the other characters that process of the spectacular with her performance of the “Àgò-o!,” that is, the permission to traverse space from a realm to the other. The “Àgò-o!” is the word which, as Lau Santos notes, mobilizes deep levels of communication between the visible and the unseen world. With her cry, “I am here, I am here!,” Ismene combines this request for passage through the epistemic crossroads with initiatory rites for sustained connection to the earth and the source of her origin that she tries to link through Antigone’s imaginary grave. “The grave does not mean death” writes Dennis Duerden, but symbolically, it is “continued living.” Ismene’s constant gesture toward the grave thus shows her awareness of herself and the audience before whom she performs, “I am living! You are listening!” she tells them. Such a line of communication is important after crossing the imaginary realm. Her story also bears testimony to her duality as it both departs from the often-recounted, common narrative of her sister, Antigone, which scholars and theatre makers continue to engage with, and yet remains connected to it eternally.
Although frustrated by her inability to make physical contact with her sister, Antigone, Ismene still manages to articulate through metatheatrical means the gradual swell of social atrophy in South Africa. Although she is old, and ancient, as her hair and dress suggest, she is still “modern.” She knows this too well, “…still my voice will chatter on, in your house, in your kitchen filling the children’s dreams,” she says. Seen against the backdrop of the national frenzy over water shortage and other public anxiety of the time, her comments surely affirm the social relevance and currency of her return to the earth. This return, similar to the Edan, is a reinstatement of inventiveness and the demonstration of great artistic skill by Fleishman. Yet, that is not all.
Like the earth upon which she dances, kneels, and struggles to tell her story, Ismene also endures, “We are reversed. And I must begin,” she proclaims excitedly the moment she appears before the audience. The earth represents the dignified bearing of old age, the sacredness of the female gender and/or the feminine principle in its relation to the masculine, a relationship that is summed up by the often-chanted Ògbóni society’s statement, “À yà gbó, À yà tó,” that is, for longevity and prosperity. Although Ismene is an individual in one specific sense, a deeper reflection about her symbolic representation shows how she transcends singularity in terms of number; hence, like the Edan and its veneration as a symbolic representation of the continuity of human life and institutions, Ismene is also a community, both Greek and Yoruba/African.
Whereas the Edan is a pair of male and female brass figures with iron stems, the dynamic qualities of the component parts—one for its lustre and permanence and the other for valour, high integrity and mature judgement—recall Ismene’s relationship with her sister, Antigone, with whom she forges a connection to the earth, their gender notwithstanding since through them, human society has continued to gain valuable insight into politics, traditional lore and mythology, human nature and philosophy. In fact, as Lawal explains tellingly, we stand to benefit much from reconciling myths and symbols with new historical and social realities, and by reinterpreting and synthesizing traditional lore with contemporary experience, we can have changes in meaning and perception. Moreover, because Ismene embodies the narrative that involves her and Antigone, like the Edan, she also strikes a balance with physical presence and èhìn–ìwà, the afterlife, hence, she is the “Eni òrun tó wá mo ilé ayé” the “Heavenly Being on Earth” but not an irúnmolè. As such, I think Fleishman achieves at least two things with Ismene’s constant gesture of contact with her sister, Antigone, through the ojú orórì (the grave) that links the living with the dead; first, he shows Ismene’s rootedness to the earth since èhìn–ìwà is subterraneous; and second, he expands her singularity to accommodate the Antigone that we eventually encounter in the performance. Continued on blog 15