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Alain Weill: It is indeed completely misunderstood and is probably the victim of some sort of conspiracy. A kind of standard was created in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries when the fi rst dealers began to import African objects and individuals like Paul Guillaume began to sell to the fi rst collectors. This was at the same time that Avant-garde artists like Picasso, Braque, Derain, and Vlaminck were looking for them as well. Objects such as Fang fi gures, Kota reliquary guardians, and Dan masks, whose magical qualities the Surrealists later also

Interview by Alex Arthur and Elena Martínez-Jacquet

TRiBAl people

Alain Weill A Collector

of SculptureUnlike Any Other

FIG. 1 (left): Pierre Le-Tan, Caricature of Alain Weill Depicted as a Mounted Colo-nial Offi cer.

Curious, lively, eloquent, and lucid—all words that describe Alain Weill. A specialist in posters and the graphic arts, he is also a collector of all kinds of “uncertain-ties,” as he refers to them. These include African artworks representative of so-called “colonial art,” that is, fi gures of missionaries, fi gures wearing pith helmets, and any number of other carvings that testify to the interaction between Af-rican and Western cultures. We spoke with Alain Weill a few days before the opening of the exhibition Homme blanc–Homme noir. Impressions d’Afrique (White Man–Black Man. Impressions of Africa) at the Pierre Arnaud Foundation in Lens, Switzerland, which explores the relationships between Western and African art. On view until October 25, 2015, the show was the brainchild of Nicolas Menut, Christophe Flubacher, and Alain Weill and is built primarily around co-lonial artworks from the latter’s collection. The exhibition served as a springboard for the lively discussion we had with him about the nature of colonial art, what moves him, and the impetus for his collecting.

Tribal Art Magazine: As post-contact art, colonial art is largely out of favor with most major collectors, who erroneously see it as non-authentic and decadent. And yet it is a unique form of artistic expression that is full of invention. In your opinion, why does this misperception persist?

FIG. 2 (above): Stall of a sculptor at the Pointe-Noire market, c. 1900.Photo postcard.

FIG. 3 (left): Glasses. Ghana.Low-grade gold. L: 13 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

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FIG. 4 (right): Military fi gure. Igbo, Nigeria.Wood. H: 64 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

FIG. 5 (left): Detail of the same object by Nicolas Bruant.

embraced, became the norm, even though those objects actually form a limited corpus. As time passed, fi rst the dealers and then collectors and museum curators nourished the idea that Fang, Kota, and Dan represented what African art is. That principle was deemed immutable, as was the idea that African secret societies and village ceremonial performances consistently used the same types of masks or fetishes throughout time.

This perception of African art is completely erroneous. When Europeans began to settle on the continent in the nineteenth century, Africans used two coping mechanisms that they had always possessed: their sense of humor and, as Susan Vogel has demonstrated, their particular faculty to incorporate anything and everything new into their artistic representations. Even at that early time, an evolution in the subject matter of African sculptors was apparent.

Europeans found it effi cacious to offer top hats, bicorn hats, or sparkling tunics to chiefs to convince them to sign

FIG. 6 (below): Figure of a woman sewing.Akan, Ghana.Low-grade gold. H: 13 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

treaties. As should be expected, altars quickly began to include carved fi gures wearing top hats or pith helmets, which had become symbols of power. When colonials and missionaries settled in new places, they became represented by localized masks or fetishes that were placed on the altars and danced in village ceremonies. When bicycles appeared, African sculptors naturally integrated them into their work as well.

To deny this evolution would be like wanting to restrict Western art to the profi le representations produced by the Egyptians—in other words, absurd.

Despite this obvious reality, this limited conception of “art nègre” (a term less pejorative in the fi nal analysis than “primitive”) perfectly suited those who had created the market. Their lack of curiosity and their racist condescension were obvious. Even though it would have been possible to do so, who at the time ever thought of going to Africa or even trying to identify major sculptors by name?

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FIG. 7 (far left): Detail by Nicolas Bruant of the head of an Igbo colonial fi gure with an articulated jaw.

FIG. 8 (left): Large standing fi gure wearing a pith helmet. Igbo, Nigeria. Wood. H: 192 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

FIG. 9 (left): Detail by Nicolas Bruant of an Akan fi gure of a degenerate exhibitionist.

FIG. 10 (right): High-ranking administrator seated in a chair. Wood, pigment. H: 49 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.This object was offered to the painter Capon in the early 1920s.

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T. A. M.: It seems like what you’re saying is that colonial art has meaning and signifi cance in the recent history of societal encounters and cultural shocks. Can it be seen as a form of political art, or is it an early expression of modernity?A. W.: African artists describe what they see, and that is not always going to be an appealing subject. Obviously they had political vision, and many of their works were ironic mirrors for exorcizing demons. Many of their works were even vitriolic caricatures, though certainly not all of them.

Regarding the question of modernity, African sculptors freed themselves of stylistic constraints little by little. They innovated new approaches, deviating in some ways from traditions that were rooted in the sacred and gravitating toward a more lively and personal art. The latter has elements of the profane, and as such is basically more modern.

T. A. M.: The exhibition at the Arnaud Foundation shows sculptures by African artists but also features works by European sculptors and painters. Is this Africanist imagery also part of what can be referred to as “colonial art”? A. W.: Obviously not. The painters who have been dubbed “Africanists” and whose works function as an interface in this exhibition are essentially Belgian and French artists. Moreover, there aren’t many of them, and what their work mostly has in common with so-called colonial art is that it is also little known and seldom exhibited. This exhibition will also help familiarize its audience with these artists’ unjustifi ably ignored work.

T. A. M.: So the term “colonial art” is one that should be considered carefully and needs to be better defi ned.A. W.: Absolutely. In fact, I prefer the term “art métis,” or “blended art,” but even that isn’t entirely satisfactory. This art is truly a hybrid, which is what fascinates me about it, and that is what the Homme blanc–Homme noir exhibition is intended to demonstrate. It is the fi rst of its kind in Europe and the fi rst to examine the various facets of the subject. Since it is so comprehensive, it does not rely solely on pieces from my collection.

Its three curators, Nicolas Menut (curator of documentary acquisitions at the Musée du Quai Branly,

FIG. 12 (below): Saltcellar. Sapi-Portuguese,Sierra Leone. Early 16th century.Ivory. H: 34.8 cm.© Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon.

AlAin Weill

FIG. 11 (left): Auguste Mambour (1896–1968), Sculpteur africain àl’herminette, c. 1925. Charcoal on paper. 90 x 63 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

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FIG. 16 (below): Figure. Asante, Ghana.Wood. H: 37 cm.Photo: Alberto Ricci.

author of L’Homme blanc published by Editions du Chêne, and a close friend too), Christophe Flubacher (scientific director of the Pierre Arnaud Foundation), and I were interested in presenting a fresh approach to the subject, but we wanted our endeavor to be rigorous and scientific. In order to make the exhibition complete, we borrowed certain important pieces to fill it out. These include bronzes from the Kingdom of Benin on loan from the Dresden Museum, a Sapi saltcellar from the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Dijon, and objects from the Louvre in Paris, the Musée Royal de l’Afrique Centrale in Tervuren, and several other major museum and private collections.

T. A. M.: You were initially interested in the traditional arts of Africa, Oceania, and the Americas. How did you come to collect colonial art? A. W.: Yes and no. I was originally interested in European painting and decorative arts, as well as in art brut. My next publication will be devoted to a collection of unusual bottles. I’m always a bit on the margins and between the lines, which many people have trouble understanding. I came to tribal art quite early on and by a circuitous path.

I discovered colonial art pretty much by accident. The grandson of an old painter named Capon gave me my first object (fig. 10). It was unlike anything I had acquired until then —and I didn’t have much at the time. My budget was limited since I had very little money but a predilection for an expensive, night-owl Parisian lifestyle.

Soon thereafter, a friend of mine, who had just returned from a trip to Africa, brought me a Dan spoon on which the figure was wearing a charming pair of pants. The unique qualities of these two objects aroused my curiosity. Even if I wasn’t fully aware of it at the time, I’ve found that what stimulates my interest most is what triggers questions in me. I was lucky to have had the opportunity to learn from François Mathey, head curator at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs when I was working there. He cultivated an approach to art in the broadest sense, which was unique and knowingly paradoxical. He went from contemporary art to art brut and conceived of exhibitions like Sucre d’Art (Sugar Art) and confrontations like Equivoques (Ambivalences), which dealt with late-nineteenth-century academic painting. I owe him a great deal..T. A. M.: How do you keep your collection going? What do you see its future to be?A. W.: First of all, I would rather call myself an aficionado than a collector, even if the end result is a collection. I am not compulsive, although I am always guided by

my intuition. To see a part of my collection exhibited obviously gives me some satisfaction, but it is not the crowning highlight of my life.

I am sure that I will always have a predilection for colonial art, but beyond that I always will be open to whatever awakens my curiosity. Whatever they may be, my acquisitions will be coherent to the extent that they will be unconventional. They will represent interesting choices rather than the conformism that often guides the decisions of people, who, due to lack of passion, imagination, or judgment, allow themselves to be swept up in repetitive or even speculative behaviors.

That aside, given the limited means I have at my disposal, if I want to acquire quality objects, I have to stray off the beaten path. There are countless little masterpieces to be discovered if one searches for them. Buying mediocre objects to follow trends or a list of recognized artists makes no sense to me. I would paraphrase the great antiques dealer Nicolas Landau to say that the beautiful will always be very, very far from the very beautiful. Wanting reassurance is a choice —but not mine. My approach is resolutely poetic.

FACING PAGE FIG. 13 (far left): Articulated marionette by Stéphane Brosset. Outskirts of Kinshasa, DR Congo.

FIG. 14 (near left top): Georges SchoefferBoussembo, chief of Baloumbo (left), and Maroumbi, chief of Bayaka (right). Gabon, January 1911.Silver gelatin print.Éric Deroo Collection.

FIG. 15 (near left bottom): Photograph by ArmandJoseph Oscar Hutereau ofthe Monga chief Bula-Matadi.Ubangi, DR Congo.Musée Royal de l’Afrique Centrale, Tervuren.

AlAin Weill

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