These images are part of my Chantuelle series, articulating my response to the socially sanctioned slow and painful death of our indigenous artform, the ShortKnee, now commonly denigrated to sideshow, instead of esteemed holder of knowledge.
Bloody village rivalries on either side of the Atlantic boiled down to produce perhaps the most compelling iconic image of Grenada’s annual masquerade, the ShortKnee. Traced back to West African spoken word traditions, these oral libraries or chantuelles intheir song structure, descended from work songs brought by plantation slaves, bear witness to generations of anguish and abandonment.
Walking faces of metal mesh appear blank. Close inspection reveal sardonic grins and hypnotic gazes of ancestral visitors who demand payment, a little something, for the telling of our story.
Bold stomping in circuitous routes, wild chanting, screeching whistles and ankle-belled feet part crowds. Sunlight flashing off mirrors on their chests, reflect their enemies. Thick clouds of talcum powder, symbols of peace and good luck, become vehicles of escape. In the town, the society sees them as jester and reveller, but in the outer parishes, after the mas, scraps of clothing are claimed as potent talismans by descendents of the original enslaved Africans.