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:: Tracing The Spirit ::

INTERVIEW WITH EDOUARD DUVAL-CARRIE
MIAMI, FLORIDA FEBRUARY, 1995

Karen McCarthy Brown (KMB): Tell me the story about
how you became an artist.

Edouard Duval-Carrie (EDC): When I was in my last year of high school in New York, I used to go to The Museum
of Modern Art. I took art classes then. I didn't know which direction I would go. Would I be a totally contemporary artist in New York, or what would I do? So, when I went back to Haiti, I spent a whole summer visiting artists, meeting them, and checking out what was going on at the Centre d'Art.'

KMB: Did you ever take university classes in studio art?

EDC: No, no, no. I did that my first year [in Montreal], but I had an altercation with a professor, and that was the end of that. He thought he could tell me what to do.

KMB: Who was the first person who looked at your work and said, "Yes!" and gave you that sense that you could be a professional artist?

EDC: Francine Murat at the Centre d'Art. My first year in Montreal I was studying, and was trying to get oriented to a university. So I decided to do my first canvas, and I brought it back to Haiti-and Francine loved it! At that time, I was working at this gallery around the block from my studio in Montreal. The guy there said, "I love this, let's put it in the window." He sold it a couple of days after that. I was twenty-one, twenty-two. I don't remember.

KMB: You know when I first came into your studio today, what struck me is what always strikes me about the incredible imagery in your work. I want to ask, where does it come from? Is this your dream life? Are you an adept in a secret sect?

EDC: No, no. Some strange sect? No, no, no! I mean my influences are so varied and I pick and grab. Haiti is a very small place and information gets to us in dribs and drabs, sometimes completely transformed or reconstructed. We feel free to utilize whatever is at hand, like those kids in Haiti who make those little toys out of nothing. This is the same way I construct my work, from dribs and drabs of things, and I build up this vision. It's sometimes quite personal; it's my reinterpretation of things that I feel I have seen. I think the whole of Haiti is like that. Haiti is sort of like limbo as far as communication and information are concerned. People just grab what they can and recreate it. This is what I have learned and this is why I like Haitian art.

You know, sometimes, reality in Haiti can be so disastrous that you have to take a little excursion into some surreal or fantasy world. One has to create, hoping things will get better. It is very difficult to explain these sort of things, you know.

KMB: Let's talk about a particular painting of yours, Azaka Agro Rex (Azaka, King of Agriculture) (cat. 23, see p. 48).

EDC: I was very interested in Renaissance painting and also interested in the Vodou world and the deities. But I had studied very little Vodou, and I had never seen anything like a portrayal of the deities. 1 knew that all that the people who serve the Vodou spirits do is draw these veve [abstract drawings done in cornmeal on the floor of Vodou temples] and stuff like that. So I decided why don't I do this program? Why don't I give them their final, full, flesh-type of pictures so that people would readily recognize the Iwa from their attributes. I just wanted to bring that personification. That was one of my first projects, and the first image that I did was Papa Zaka, who is the most important Iwa for Haiti, but also the most controversial because of the state of agriculture in Haiti.

KMB: Then your painting of Azaka is the first in a series of paintings of the Vodou spirits?

EDC: Yes. Ezili, I've done. I've done Papa Loko. What's funny is the Davenport Museum of Art made a poster of the Azaka painting, a small one, and one day, I found that poster at Sucree [a well known Vodou community in the Artibonite area of Haiti]. It confirmed my wildest dreams. I could not imagine that it could happen, but it did happen! My image was recognized and appropriated [by the Vodou community]. One day, when I am financially able, I will build the ultimate Vodou temple somewhere in Haiti.

KMB: And put all your images of the Vodou spirits in it?

EDC: The whole pantheon! Right there! Yeah.

KMB: Painted on the walls?

EDC: On the walls! Directly on the walls. Vodou has been the soul of Haiti, the backbone of that country, the essence that permitted these people to emancipate themselves, and at the same time it is a religion. But it has gone underground; it is a religion on the margin. You know religions are big builders. They build big buildings-rallying people, and making them do things. Unfortunately, Vodou has not been permitted to play that role in Haitian society. I think it would take just one thing for the whole psyche of this thing to change. I want to build a magnificent type of gathering place-architecturally magnificent, I mean. I wouldn't do it all myself, of course, I would consult with people who are into those things. I would build something that would be a lasting monument to a very big part of the Haitian people.

The Centre d'Art, located in Port-au-Prince, was founded in 1944 by DeWitt Peters, an American who was originally sent to Haiti as an English language teacher by the United States government. Subsequently, Haitian art became the focal point of Peters' life. After his death in 1966, Francine Murat, a Haitian woman, became its director. The Centre d'Art is often credited with developing worldwide interest in Haitian painting and sculpture.

I haven't been living in Haiti for a long time. As a child I was taken out of Haiti, when my family moved to Puerto Rico. This [experience] has permitted me to be a little more open in outlook. I speak Spanish. I speak English. I speak French. I grew up far removed from my Haitian environment. I mean we were displaced people and then we chose to go back to Haiti, and we have never been able to be the same. No matter how hard we tried to accommodate, the environment just did not work. So my family has a very strange relationship with Haiti. We are Haitians. We have always been. But we also have very critical eyes, because we are not submerged in Haiti. We have seen other things, and we are able to step back and look at Haiti.

My family is from the privileged part of the population in Haiti, but I feel that I don't have the reflexes of my social class. My reactions to certain things are completely different than what people would expect normally. So, as a member of my family, my interest in Vodou is a complete' "no-no." My interest in the arts? They ask, "What is this? You are a peasant now?" I say, "Yes!" This has always been a very difficult position for me to maintain within Haiti and this is why I went into exile. Ten years later—no, it is only eight years-I am on my way back. I've moved from Paris to Miami, and I'm on my way back home. It takes a long time, but it will happen.

KMB: If you are thinking of going back, you must have some hope for Haiti after all the turmoil it has been through in recent years. What gives you hope?

EDC: The people of Haiti are there. They will always be there, and they will continue to exist in communities abroad. I've learned that their spirit goes wherever they are. I think it is time to go back and show what I have done. You know, to finally concertize what I have done. At the point where I am, I should be able to have some sort of respect from different groups, and maybe I'll be able to do things that are positive and full of energy. Haiti is a country full of energy and you have to use that to do things.

KMB: Do you ever think of your paintings as historical chronicles, historical records of what has happened, or what is happening in Haiti?

EDC: Oh, yes. They are chronicles. Haiti is a country of people who are unfortunately illiterate and the image is essential. You know they have a knack to convert so much into one image. I think it is marvelous. The power of the image! You know, the whole world is not verbal; we Haitians are a very visual group. Every work of art from Haiti is either a chronicle of history or a very strong statement about aspirations or frustrated aspirations. These people are projecting into these works what they think life is all about-their concept of morality, their concept of equality, their concept of everything!

I mean to do chronicles with my work. My first project was this total revamping [of the iconography of the Vodou Iwa. But also I have been chronicling through the years. If you look at my work, sometimes you might not understand where it is going but, when you see the whole group [of paintings], you understand the puzzle that I'm trying to solve. Because I was displaced, I'll never be an unconscious Haitian. I am very bewildered by Haiti. I'm very in love with it, and I am trying to understand it.

KMB: I know you recently made a short visit to Haiti. How did you react to the political murals that are all over the place now?

EDC: The murals are not really violent, but at the same time, they tell you of years of terror. Do you understand? There is enough said and enough not said that you know what was happening there. How would I explain that? When you look at the walls, the violence that exists in Haiti is not fixed on those walls. It is there, but in a very abstract way. It is not like actual blood and dismembered people. There were also a lot of religious images and very simple images that date back to the concept the Haitians had of liberty from the period of the French Revolution— the glorification of liberty, the glorification of equality, of fraternity. These elements are always the ones that are put up on the stage.

People tell me, "Oh, there is no portrayal of-or confrontation with-the complexity of Haiti in any Haitian artwork that I have seen." I answer, "That is a very Western way to think, but that is not how we construct the world." Just by showing how the system is, those mural artists tell you all about it. They just show you the picture. You read it as you have to—you know? All the images in Haiti are always so complicated. They are never sharp-edged, clear-cut truth. We live in a world of contradiction.

KMB: So, the talent those artists have is knowing how to say something without saying it?

EDC: Yes, yes. I mean we became masters at that after thirty years of repression [under the Duvalier family rule]. But we are now in a position where things can be said, should be said, in a very articulate and a very clear manner to make sure that they are understood. But even now, you know, there is confusion-contradiction. You can see that. I mean the country never has had a chance. You know like they prayed for this breakthrough, but now that Aristide is back in office, they have to start all over again in the same big world. Haiti after thirty years. After two hundred years!

What a total fiasco! Now, they are completely occupied [by the U.S. armed forces which invaded Haiti in September . 1994] and they have no say whatsoever from that position. I am hoping this time a group of people will make sure this is a gain for democracy, so it will never revert to what it was. It cannot keep returning to what it was. In Haiti everything is possible, as they say, even an egg going back into a chicken.

KMB: It is incredible to remember that the last time you and I talked was in Africa. We were in Dahomey, in the People's Republic of Benin, at "Ouidah, 1992," a grand reunion ofVodou cultures from all around the world. Remember that? You were then living in Paris and had been invited to do some artwork in the sacred city of Ouidah, the place from which slaves destined for Haiti embarked in the eighteenth century. Edouard, now that some time has passed, how do you feel about that trip?

EDC: The trip to Africa was very interesting for me. To be there and to grasp this continental shift and how it landed [all those African people] in Haiti. To be able to assess the differences, but also to really understand what we have in common. It is unfortunate that until now Haitians have not been able to make a bridge, a straight bridge, back to Africa. Spiritually that happens, but in other terms it does not. I had to go through the States and all through Europe to get back to Africa. The trip to Africa has profoundly changed my approach to art. It was very enlightening to be there, and also very touching at the same time. Africa was amazing! I had an idea that this was going to be a heavy scene for me and I did prepare. I wanted to put these antennas on that beach where the slave ships loaded. You know how the spirits of the dead go back to Africa? You have to ask Ginen (Africa) to be sure that you get there, but sometimes you get lost. Maybe, you do not have enough money for the fare, or you might get lost in the middle of the sea. So I made these antennas for the spirits of the dead to be planted on that beach. I never got to do this project, but the idea was there. The beach is an amazing thing. You see, this was the last thing the slaves saw of Africa. That beach is really something else, you know-like heavy.

KMB: How ironic that you should have been asked to come from Paris and paint a temple in old Dahomey before you have gotten to paint your own Haitian Vodou temple, the one you have been dreaming about building in Haiti.

EDC: Exactly.

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