sx art
sx art is the Small Axe Project platform devoted to visual practice and its place in Caribbean cultural, social, and political life. Since its inception, our print journal Small Axe, has been concerned to explore ways in which visual practice, and more generally Caribbean visual culture, has been at the center of the experimental cultural, political, and aesthetic imagination of the region and the diaspora. The journal has consistently featured the work of artists on its covers, developing a distinctive style and sensibility and focus. During this period, also, reflecting our recognition of the increasing importance of visual arts to the self-consciousness of Caribbean critical practices, Small Axe has published visual art portfolios that engage in greater depth the work of contemporary and emerging artists. sx art aims to expand this work, presenting visual culture across a range of genres and forms: from photography to the moving image, from performance to architecture, from soundscapes to painting and sculpture. We aim to create a significant body of visual material with a scope and breadth that contributes and compliments what has gone before. In our view, it is through further discussion and questioning of visual material created by and about the Caribbean, that more progressive insights and meanings may be gained. sx art will unveil a new visual arts-focused feature every January, May and September.
Curatorial Director
Andil Gosine
andil@yorku.ca
artist / project
sx art 6
-Steve Maldonado Silvestrini
MACANAS
I first encountered Steve Maldonado Silvestrini in the Summer of 2024, during his AIR residency at Mass MoCA, in North Adams. I was intrigued by the scientific training he brought to his work as a specialist in Caribbean neotropical botany and taxonomy, and charmed by the project he conceived for "Moss MoCA," the residents' interactive mico-museum exhibition. Through small paintings, Steve represented the climate for each day, creating a modular composition displaying a week’s weather forecast, which also served as windows to an imagined landscape. I invited Steve to share these first images and thoughts about his current work-in-progress, which investigates and transforms indigenous trees from his environment in Puerto Rico into baseball bats. -Andil Gosine
We were somewhere, perhaps inside a cave. Someone pointed at a rock, and we looked at it closely. It seemed to gaze back at us, its punctured eyes piercing the still air between us. The petroglyph was no longer petrified. Hidden among the bushes, it was calling to us.
Indigenous art in the Caribbean accentuates what is already manifesting itself (Conrad et al.) As a result, seemingly inanimate objects become alive through the interactions other beings have with them. The aliveness of a thing is only confirmed through others. When we connect with these entities we also interface with those who have interacted with them prior. This act requires awareness as we traverse the landscape, seeking what yearns to be noticed.
In my practice, I linger on that which is present but not detected by everyone. The presentation of these objects challenge viewers to ask: Have you ever considered? My interest lies in providing additional tools for sensing, not in producing objects to exhibit. People often tell me that by engaging with one of my artworks, they now notice what has always been around them.
A family of words encompasses my process: awe, awareness, wonder, and wander. Awe and wonder motivate me, while my awareness when wandering encounters them. As someone who works as a field botanist, my practice is enriched and informed by the adventures and expeditions I partake in. My senses guide me as I pace the landscape. I see, hear, and touch, but even that which I cannot perceive in conventional ways directs me along unmarked paths. My hands bounce and rest on lianas and trunks. I trust the forest will not harm me as my intentions are good and my touch is gentle.
Many plants in the Caribbean are heavily armored with spines and thorns. The native species evolved ways to survive out of their skin, developing these defenses due to predators that no longer exist. While those predators have gone extinct (see Cooke et al.), we have taken their place, but the plants remain vigilant in case they feel threatened again. Trees and shrubs such as ceiba (Ceiba pentandra), cenizo (Zanthoxylum martinicense), cojoba (Anadenanthera peregrina), espino rubial (Zanthoxylum schreberi), molinillo (Hura crepitans) and ortiga brava (Urera baccifera) are some examples of these forest sentinels. For those of us who immerse ourselves in the bush, they are guides. Getting lost in the forest is impossible as they will tell you where to go. It is no coincidence that we revere some of these species and have held them sacred since we met them.
During one expedition, I was struck by this fact: nature provides. If needed, it would be these trees, the ones that would become boutous or macanas. The spikes developed to deter prehistoric giant sloths could now be used to protect ourselves from other threats, even if just as a performative bluff. These clubs were among the first weapons of defense used by the first human inhabitants of the region. Many societies of the Caribbean, Mesoamerica, and the Amazon basin had weapons of similar nature. Their designs reflect their diverse places of origin. Examples from our islands are elongated and flat, similar to paddles, or showing an hourglass shape. Palm wood seems to have been the primary material used for their craft. As far as I know, none of the documented examples exhibit spikes on their surface or dermis. The closest is the Mesoamerican macuahuitl, but its ‘spikes’ are encrusted obsidian blades.
Memoria de Johan de Melgarejo (1582) documents their use in Puerto Rico: “Those from the coast fought with arrows and bows, while those from the inland used sticks as staffs.” Shortly after, the author mentions that the natives adored the devil, with whom they spoke. Although we recognize that these historical documents are full of biases and ignorance, we may find a poetic resource in reinterpreting them. Natives did communicate with various entities, including their ancestors and spirits. I wonder if the devil referenced could be the trees that proudly display their spikes and thorns, resembling horns. Yet, not everything horned is a devil.
I remembered a quote dubiously attributed to Albert Einstein, likely a paraphrased general sentiment of his time: “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.” The thought from before became a mission that I took upon myself. I began by waiting for the trees to appear in my travels and call me, not actively looking for them. Their elaboration follows the pace and rhythm dictated by nature.
The diameter required for the macanas to be manageable is short, so harvesting may be performed through pruning. At times, harvesting the wood has been difficult due to the distance where I have encountered the plant. Once cut, they are dried with the heat of the Caribbean sun. For those species that have toxic sap, this is an obligatory step. For example, molinillo trees have caustic sap that burns your skin upon contact, another layer of defense added to their numerous thorns. Once dry and safe to handle, I bring the pieces to a workshop to cut them to an appropriate size. This is usually close to a meter as this is the manageable length for turning and woodworking.
As soon as I had the first piece of wood ready, I decided it was time to test the feasibility of this idea. I contacted Mario Gracia, my friend and master woodworker who has experience fabricating baseball bats. To me, macanas and baseball bats have a subtle relationship and familiarity. Since baseball is one of the most popular sports in Puerto Rico, it seemed both prudent and necessary to incorporate play into the conversation. There are previous examples of blending play and defense in the Caribbean. Cocobalé and tire machèt are endemic martial arts that function as playful dances while serving as training for protection and resistance. Could baseball or a similar game serve as a Miyagi-esque training method for the defense of the future? When the memory of site joins muscle memory, an elegant resistance emerges.
I have not yet assigned a final purpose for their creation; I might never assign one. As Alexandre Bernand says, they are 'not just weapons but should be seen as sculptures that represent weapons' (Bernand). We acknowledge that we may not need them to strike enemies. Instead, they may serve as tools for defense in other ways. They could become speaker staffs or talking sticks for activists defending our islands, helping to forge connections with higher powers and amplifying their voices; or batons in the race of life, passed on to younger generations, along with the wisdom of our elders.
References
Bernand, Alexandre. (2022). Macanas: the art of clubs from Amazonia. CRATER, Arte e Historia. 1-21. 10.12795/crater.2022.i02.01.
"The carver took advantage of the natural form of the wood to create the crocodilian imagery.” in Conrad, Geoffrey & Foster, John & Beeker, Charles. (2001). Organic Artifacts from the Manantial de la Aleta, Dominican Republic: Preliminary Observations and Interpretations. Journal of Caribbean Archaeology, ISSN 1524-4776, Vol. 2, 2001, pags. 1-20. 2.
Cooke, Siobhán B.; Dávalos, Liliana M.; Mychajliw, Alexis M.: Turvey, Samuel T. & Upham, Nathan S. (2017). Anthropogenic Extinction Dominates Holocene Declines of West Indian Mammals. Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics, Vol. 48:301-327