The Mancoba Textile: Marriage, Friendship, Collaboration

In the art storage facilities of the Museum Jorn  (Silkeborg, Denmark) we came across a white and black patterned textile said to be by Ernest Mancoba (1904–2002, South Africa/France) and printed by Helga Foght in 1948.^[1] However, showing us a shirt and a photograph of Ferlov Mancoba wearing it, the Chair of the Estate of Ferlov-Mancoba believes the attribution to be a mistake, and that the textile is the work of the artist Sonja Ferlov Mancoba (1911–1984, Denmark/France), Mancoba’s wife.^[2] The Museum Jorn’s attribution cannot be easily dismissed as it must have come from the Museum’s former director, Troels Andersen, who curated exhibitions of work by both artists.^[3] Textiles are not associated with either though: Mancoba is best known for paintings and Ferlov Mancoba for sculptures. Besides the question of who made the work, we must also ask how this work came about.

Our own research trajectory proved to be not straightforward and required us to deviate from customary art historical praxis. Firstly, art historical writings only briefly discussed either artists’ work in relation to craft and design, and there was no mention of the textile.^[4] Turning to the artists’ artistic oeuvres, we could see aspects of the textile’s form in both their works but could draw no firm conclusion. This was further complicated by us “changing our minds” as we shared our relative expertise with each other. For instance, when Løgstrup pointed to Ferlov’s drawings and her symbolic use of “stars”, Sze found herself switching from Mancoba to Ferlov; when Sze showed Løgstrup images of the geometric patterns painted on the homes of the Ndebele and South Sotho, which Mancoba would have been exposed to during his teaching year in Pietersberg, South Africa, Løgstrup agreed it could be a source of formal inspiration. As we got to know the “other” artist, we came to realise how much they each impacted the other’s work. It is from this realisation that we came to our conclusion that the textile must have been a joint effort.

A second issue that puzzled us was why there only seemed to be a single textile work. Our answer came from considering Mancoba and Ferlov Mancoba’s artistic life in Denmark, and the general social and historical context during the post-World War II years. We believe the fabric was created to be sold as curtains, tablecloths and general homeware in the hope of supplementing the family’s income.^[5] Our research experience raises the question of whether widening art historical praxis by, for example, considering artists’ biographies can further art historical understanding. Traditionally, biographical details and social contexts are relegated to side notes in regards to artists’ practices, although recently these factors have begun to occupy a more prominent role. On the other hand, a biographical approach risks replacing focus on the artistic practice with selective biographical attributes. However, focusing on the “identity” of the artist is seen as a way to prevent Western art historians from defining and thereby subjugating art made by those marginalised by the establishment.^[6] What the right balance is when writing about Ferlov Mancoba, a white Danish woman, and Mancoba, a black South African man, to recognise their artistic contributions and not just as identity politics “ciphers”, is a key concern.^[7]

The textile was destined for curtains and other homeware, situating it as an object of design or craft. But we found that analysing it in the same way we would an artwork helped us see not only the textile, but also both artists’ artistic language in greater depth. This is not to disregard the difference between art, craft and design, but, taking an interdisciplinary approach, also recognise their similarities. It led to our final consideration, on artistic autonomy versus common practice. While Mancoba and Ferlov Mancoba maintained their own individual practices, they also shared a great artistic affinity and engagement in each other’s work. Terms like “influence”, widely used to acknowledge and sweep away the details of such relationships, is insufficient to recognise the mutual impact on both their work. There are arguments to consider the work of each in the context of the other, as well as their mutual interest in the art, and their experiences of, living in other cultures. We write this article as an experiment on how a wider contextual reading may be able to add new artistic knowledge about Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba. If our paper reads as a mix of biography, art writing and social critique, that is intentional, for we feel no single method is able to speak conclusively in contemporary times.

 

The Textile(s)

Let us begin with the textile: in actuality, there are two. Fig. 1 is an image of the textile in the Museum Jorn  and Fig. 2 shows the textile made into the shirt in Mikael Andersen’s collection. The dominant formal aspect is the pattern, which consists of straight lines that border and carve out smaller environments within which elements such as circles, ovals, crosses, chevrons and “stars” appear. There are no primary focal points, no one environment or element that sets the direction, rather the overall pattern reads as a labyrinth, causing the eye to chase its lines.

The two textiles’ overall design can be said to be essentially the same, but certain elements within them differ. This suggests that the overall pattern was not made from one drawing but from multiple printing plates, where the plates were moved around and/or replaced to make different compositions—a technique familiar to printmakers.^[8] The textiles also differ in palette and material, which has consequences for the formal qualities. The textile in the Museum Jorn, consisting of black lines on white fabric, feels synthetic to the touch, whereas the textile in Mikael Andersen’s collection, with white lines on near black, has a more natural and textural feel. As a result, the lines of the former appear crisper and the lines on the latter softer.

Both textiles were printed by the textile printer Hanne Danielsen, of the Helga Foght studio in Denmark. Helga Foght was a highly respected textile artist and her studio printed not only her own work but also that of others. Danielsen recalls printing them in 1951, challenging the dating by the Museum Jorn  (which dates the textiles to 1948). She is clear about this as she had been living in Sweden prior to 1950. She also recalled that it was Ferlov Mancoba who approached the studio, with the intention of selling the textile as curtains or tablecloths.^[9]

That the textiles were destined for homeware is credible, as patterned curtains were in demand in 1940s Denmark.^[10] They were popular with the younger generation, and promoted by the likes of the Kunstindustrimuseet, which hosted competitions and exhibitions to educate consumers’ taste and encourage new Danish designs.^[11] According to design historian Louise Skak-Nielsen, textile companies such as L.F. Foght were working with artists and designers to launch kunstneriske tekstiler (artistic textiles) such as curtains, upholstery and carpets for the Danish modern home (see Figs. 3 and 4).^[12] We do not know how much of the Ferlov-Mancoba 1951 textiles were printed or sold, but they do not seem to have become commercially successful.^[13]

Ferlov Mancoba and Helga Foght had previously worked together on a textile for the 1947 exhibition at the Kunstindustrimuseet (today’s Danish Design Museum) of textile works by the Haandarbejdets fremme (Danish Crafts Association).^[15] The catalogue lists “Helga Foght—Haandtrykt Stof, tegnet af Fru Mancoba” (Helga Foght—printer of a handprinted fabric designed by Mrs Mancoba; see Fig. 5). Asger Jorn (1914–1973, Denmark) also exhibited a weaving at the exhibition.^[16]

Both Foght/Ferlov Mancoba’s and Jorn’s works were explicitly mentioned in an article in the newspaper Politiken review of the exhibition, “Høj Kvalitet paa det danske Haandarbejde” (The high quality of Danish craftwork). The Foght/Ferlov Mancoba textile is described as “Blandt de trykte Dekorationsstoffer bemærker man et smukt brunt, lidt negroid Mønster af Fru Mancoba, trykt af Helga Foght” (Among the noteworthy printed cloths is a beautiful brown slightly “negroid”-patterned one by Mrs. Mancoba, printed by Helga Foght; see Fig. 6).^[17]

Ordinarily, the Håndarbejdets Fremme exhibited only objects made by its members, but this restriction was suspended for the 1947 exhibition, possibly because the association wanted to broaden support for the textile industry during the difficult post-war years.^[18] Troels Andersen believed that the Chair of the Kunstindustrimuseet Fru Gertie Wandel invited Asger Jorn, as they had a long-established friendship.^[19] Is it possible that Jorn shared the invitation with his artist friends, including Ferlov Mancoba?^[20]

Ernest Mancoba and Sonja Ferlov Mancoba, Denmark, 1947–1952

Writings about Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba’s time in Denmark, from 1947 to 1952, focus on their association with Høst, and through that, their association with CoBrA, suggesting a time of rich artistic companionship. If this was the case, why forsake full attention of their art to branch out into a world such as homeware design, in which they had presumably little experience? It turned out that after the auspicious start with Høst and CoBrA, the couple’s artistic lives became a struggle. Their friend Ejler Bille, who had returned to Denmark from Paris when the war broke out and had joined the art association Høst, arranged for Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba to be special guests of the Høst 1948 annual exhibition.^[21] Ferlov Mancoba was also invited to be a special guest of Linien II’s exhibition that year.^[22]

Danish artists associations were founded in the nineteenth century in opposition to the established art academy, where only few exhibitions took place at the behest of one selection panel. Groups of artists with like-minded views on art and social engagement self-organised, with the associations providing an opportunity to enter an otherwise exclusive art society. The associations’ annual exhibition also offered the artists the possibility to earn income. By the twentieth century, the associations, which by then had proliferated, showed more contemporary art than the conservative larger institutions.^[23] The Høst association, which began as a membership of mainly landscape artists, soon became known for its avant-garde members—the 1948 exhibition was the last to show Høst Danish landscape artists. Besides Bille, Ferlov Mancoba would have known Richard Mortensen and Carl-Henning Pedersen, as she worked closely with them during her formative years as a young artist, and she and Mancoba were to (re-)establish a friendship with Asger Jorn, and of course meet the Dutch members of CoBrA—Constant, Corneille and Karel Appel (Fig. 7).

In 1949 they were elected to be full-time members, but that year also saw the association effectively dissolve amidst artistic rancour. An artistic debate on how art should continue, whether in an intuitive or rational direction, had escalated. On one side of the divide was Mortensen, advocating the path towards geometric rationality, “hard edge”. On the other side was Asger Jorn, whom Ferlov Mancoba described as the “most radical representative of the spontaneous method in Danish Art”.^[24] Jorn, together with Appel, Corneille, Constant and Jon Erik Nyholm, overpainted a Mortensen painting; in protest, some of the artists walked out of the  Høst 1949 exhibition, taking their artworks with them, effectively ending the association.^[25] Mancoba and Ferlov Mancoba, living in the village of Kattinge, were late to realise this, only finding out after that their artworks had been taken down and left outside the exhibition hall.^[26]

Ferlov Mancoba tried to bridge the rift, including writing letters to the artists.^[27] However, this may have backfired on her. Mancoba observed that there was “a certain irritation towards Sonja for repeatedly insisting on the movement”, which—together with racism towards him—led to a decline in invitations for exhibitions.^[28] After Høst, Mancoba did not join another association, though he participated as a special guest in some of their exhibitions.^[29] Ferlov Mancoba did not continue with Linien II, though much later she became a member of Den Frie.^[30] Because the Danish art associations were such a vital part of being part of a Danish artistic community, the couple may have felt even more isolated in their small village outside Copenhagen.^[31] Moreover, without the annual exhibitions, sales came to them more haphazardly.^[32] Their CoBrA association led to Mancoba being invited to the 1949 Stedelijk Museum exhibition, although he did not participate. Ferlov Mancoba was the subject of one of the Les Artistes Libres books. But as the movement was short-lived, it did not end up helping the artists at that point either. Thus, with their artistic networks providing no support, designing curtain fabric may have seemed a plausible way of supplementing their increasingly precarious income.

We could stop here and present the textile as an interesting footnote in the artists’ histories. However, its intriguing form compelled us onwards, to consider both artists’ artworks at that time, and eventually to how their work impacted each other’s.

On the Art of Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba

For Ferlov Mancoba, the Danish avant-garde artistic argument spurred experimentation in both directions. Mancoba said that Ferlov Mancoba did not believe there needed to be only one direction, that intuition and rationality could be embraced in a dialectic artistic interplay. In works such as Maskeskulptur (Lillemaske) (Mask sculpture [Little mask]) (1948) (Fig. 8) and Opbygning (Sculpture) (1948) (Fig. 9), she seemed to explore a constructive and geometrical approach. Maskeskulptur (Lillemaske) also revisits the masks that she was making in 1939, but this time the head turns upwards rather than face forwards, allowing the interpretation of an African ritual stool.^[33]

Opbygning (Sculpture) (1948) has an architectural character. Sadly, it has been lost and we only know it from the photograph (Fig. 9), but even from the one given angle we can see that the sculpture does not appear to have a front but is multi-faceted—like the textile. In contrast to these works, Den lille nænsomme (The little careful one) (1951) (Fig. 10) is a more organic and centre-based sculpture. The artist described it thus: “It seeks, through its inner power and tension, built like a fortress, to stand up despite its small stature” – a description that curator of a Ferlov Mancoba retrospective Dorthe Aagesen sees as corresponding to the work in its “clumsiness and vibrant potentiality”.^[34] Later works by Ferlov Mancoba which drew on the tension between the constructed and the organic may have drawn from the lessons of this time.

A visit with their Høst and CoBrA artists friends to mediaeval churches seemed to have introduced Mancoba to a new art direction. He was fascinated by the fading and peeling paints of the murals, which left colours of varying intensities and revealed parts of the church wall alongside the murals. It may have impacted his thoughts on perspective. His Danish-era paintings and drawings could be read as “colour fields”, with the depth dependent on colour contrast rather than linear perspective (Fig. 13). He also used unprimed and unpainted parts of the paper and canvas as “marks” (Figs. 11–12). This visual language was to continue through to his best known kota-esque paintings. As he made more drawings and paintings, he eventually left sculpture behind, with his last known sculptures dating to 1951.

 

The textiles’ pattern cannot be said to directly correspond to either Ferlov Mancoba’s or Mancoba’s oeuvre of this time, though it clearly touches on aspects of both artists’ works. Take, for instance, perspective: the textile’s pattern is rather a pattern of patterns, with no single, or few, viewpoint(s) or line(s) that direct the gaze, as seen in Ferlov Mancoba’s Opbygning (Sculpture) (1948) and in Mancoba’s obliteration of perspective in his colour field paintings. The textile pattern is made up of elements—notably the circle, oval, cross, “star”, chevron and straight lines. Some of these—such as the circle/oval and star—are lexicons in Ferlov Mancoba’s abstract two-dimensional works, creating the central subject matter(s). Their use, however, is less obvious in Mancoba’s works.

The lost “Kunstindustrimuseet textile” was described as “negroid”, ^[35] and the composition of the two 1951 textiles is certainly atypical of Western painting compositions, which rely on vanishing point perspective rather than syncopation, rhythm, or multiple viewpoints.^[36] Both Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba had exposure to and interest in African forms. As a small child, Ferlov Mancoba had access to Carl and Amalie Kjersmeier’s collection.^[37] As Mancoba describes it, “as a little girl, instead of dolls, she had been sitting with African masks and sculptures on her knees. This had developed in her an intimacy, a feeling for African sculpture—but also for Oceanic and Mexican expression as well—that was unique.”^[38] In a 1984 film made about her by Torben Glarbo, Ferlov Mancoba holds a jar made in Mali featuring four figures holding hands, and states that she sees “fellow feeling, humanity, unity and solidarity”.^[39] The importance of this theme, and her perception of its manifestation in African objects, is one reason for Ferlov Mancoba’s exploration of masks.

Though Mancoba encountered African objects formally through European museums, he could also draw from his memory of lived culture in South Africa.^[40] This included the patterns decorating the pots his mother made as part of the family’s mFengu culture,^[41] and the distinctive and complex geometry of lines and chevrons that decorated the houses of the Ndebele people, which he encountered while he was living and working as a teacher in Pietersburg (now Polokwane), South Africa.^{[42] [43]} Despite this, there are no other Mancoba works with as obvious African patterning. Though we focus on Africa, it should be acknowledged that syncopation in a pattern is not a uniquely African characteristic; it can be created by breaking up the picture plane, and is used in other cultures. This, however, further muddies the attribution of the textiles as both Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba were interested in arts of different cultures and times. On the walls of their joint studio on 153 Rue du Château, Paris, hung numerous images of art and objects from many different contexts and eras. Such was their interests that it is difficult to argue to whom which image “belongs” (see Fig. 14).

On balance, we believe the textile was made by Ferlov Mancoba with significant and possibly equal artistic input from Mancoba. Having come to this conclusion, our natural next direction was to query whether they made further works together, and generally, how their work influenced each other’s. This was not an obvious question, since neither recent retrospectives or scholarship has suggested this as an option, let alone provided answers^[44].

It is known that Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba’s artistic closeness began when they first met. The two were inseparable, visiting each other’s studios nearly every day and, together with Ejler Bille, often visiting the newly opened Musée de l’Homme (now Musée Quai Branly) and galleries showing modern and contemporary art. Mancoba scholarship also revealed that Ferlov Mancoba and Bille shared surrealist artistic techniques such as automatic drawing with Mancoba.^[45] Setting Ferlov Mancoba’s and Mancoba’s 1939 drawings side-by-side, we can see what the two artists had in common as well as the specificity of their individual voices. The works read not as one artist copying the other, but each looking closely at the other’s work and making their own work as a response, having an artistic dialogue (Figs. 15–16, Ferlov Mancoba; Figs. 17–19, Mancoba). Their isolation in Kattinge would have enhanced their natural closeness. After they left Denmark for France, the couple and their son Marc, known as Wonga, essentially became a unit artistically and socially. It was not just that they shared a common living and studio space, but that they came to rely on each other for artistic and intellectual company, to the degree that the family became almost recluses. One could say they became their own artistic “association”—in the Danish art association way of like-minded artists supporting and engaging with each other’s work, not in the CoBrA way of Jorn and his collaborators making works jointly. The exception being the 1951 textiles.

Consider, for instance, the couple’s works of the mid-1950s. Mancoba began making his kota-esque paintings. Two of the earliest are shown as Figs. 20 and 21. At the same time, Ferlov Mancoba worked with clay to make humanoid vessel-like sculptures (Fig. 22). They clearly differ in their treatment of the subject matter. While Mancoba continued flattening his picture plane with the kota dissolving into abstracted marks that sit on the same plane,^[46] Ferlov Mancoba considered the subject matter in the round, from multiple viewpoints. Thus, their works remain specific in their preferred medium and idiom, but nevertheless point to a common interest explored jointly.

What that common interest was is humankind’s relationship to humankind. Ferlov Mancoba did not forget the selfish interest that drove formerly artistic comrades to break up Høst. It must have seemed even more dispiriting following the horrors of World War II. Mancoba, having grown up in a country where segregation limited the opportunities of a people and finding both kinship and prejudice in his new home, understood that if humans did not find a way to live together, they would continue to tear themselves asunder. They came to believe that the role of art was to help society find what connected them. Mancoba told curator Hans Ulrich Obrist:

[Sonja’s and my creative works have] always been a problem for ethnocentric categorizations and fears, as it disturbed and moved established boundaries and the classifications imposed by the perspectives of a particular time or the bias of a certain critical intellectualism, often motivated by other considerations than Art. In spite of such [a] hostile environment, it has stood up for and, constantly, kept as a priority the integrity of the human expression. Neither Sonja, before she died, nor I, today, can accept to be separated from each other, as far as the significance of our work and common engagement is concerned, because it would be the negation of our very lives.^[47]

Conclusion

When we began this research, it was a way for us, separated geographically—Løgstrup researching Ferlov Mancoba in Denmark, Sze researching Mancoba in South Africa—to pool information on the artist we were researching and come to our own answers about who the artist of the textile was and why it was made.^[48] Working from our own interests, we felt able to deviate from traditional art historical praxis by considering the artists’ lives, their interest in craft and design and Danish society. This approach led us to the conclusion that the textile was jointly made by the two artists.

We have also come to believe that a wider reading may help in opening up the discussion on contemporary art history writing. For one, it raises the issue of autonomy and common practice. In traditional art historical writing, an artist’s work is considered in near isolation, with terms like “influence” used to acknowledge the impact of the works of other artists. Mancoba and Ferlov Mancoba’s artistic relationship goes beyond this. While we do not believe most artist friendships are as close as theirs, researching how Mancoba and Ferlov Mancoba worked together may help us see how artists generally “see” the works of other artists and incorporate aspects into their own works. This research offers an example of bringing greater nuance to words like “influence”, “pastiche” and “appropriation”.

Moreover, the unquestioned position of artistic autonomy leaves little room for discussion on both artists’ engagement with other cultures. Writings acknowledge the artists’ interest in the arts of other cultures, but the discussion is limited. To be fair, such brevity follows similar treatment of the influence of African art on Picasso’s and other European modernists’ work, and one could argue that Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba are being treated no differently. However, unlike the modernists who seemed to have been attracted purely based on form, both Ferlov Mancoba and Mancoba have spoken about how deeply they felt about other cultures. Should this not be interrogated? How did Mancoba see the Danish Inuit, or indeed the West Africans whose art he first studied from a book and later in museums?^[49] In what way did the art of the Aztecs and Africa inform Ferlov Mancoba’s work—besides eliciting her interest in masks? In our contemporary society, where we struggle to bridge an ever-widening divide, could considering how these artists see “the other” help us understand the successes and failures of our own navigation?

Thinking more broadly also leads us to suspect that craft and design were not a marginal aspect of Ferlov Mancoba’s work. The formal quality of the 1951 textiles suggest that she was interested in them as an artistic object as much as a design object. Their predecessor, the lost 1947 textile exhibited at the Kunstindustrimuseet exhibition, would seem to have been made in the same artistic spirit that Jorn made his. There is extensive scholarship on Jorn and craftwork. Why is there nothing on Ferlov Mancoba? Although we did not discuss Ferlov Mancoba’s work with clay in this paper, we note that both her breakthrough sculpture Levende Grene (1939) and her change to the organic form of Den lille nænsomme (The little careful one) (1951) after the geometric rigour of the likes of Maskeskulptur (Lillemaske) (Mask sculpture [Little mask]) (1948) came during her time on Bornholm, with access to the clay studio of the Hjorth sisters.^[50] Could working with clay and the plates for the textiles have helped Ferlov Mancoba find a release in new artistic thinking?

Finally, despite having argued our conclusion, we acknowledge uncertainty. Even with extensive research in archives, archival information cannot but reveal a mere sliver of information, and we must necessarily interpret it through our frames of reference. While traditionally such a risk was seen to offset the new knowledge it might otherwise bring, we argue that if done in a scholarly and open manner, these approaches can address some of the charges levied against classical Western art historicism. For us, open reading versus absolute determinism led to greater self-awareness and critical positioning. Thus, in stating that our reading may be frail and unstable, we do it in the service of inviting disagreement and discussion, in recognition that our reading of the textile is but one “path” along the textile’s labyrinth of many different, intersecting, paths.